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#coven of chaos counter
cissa-calls · 3 days
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Countdown to Agatha: Day 752
Y/N: “Do you remember what thought when you first saw Wanda?”
Wanda: “I suggest you answer truthfully…even if you don’t I’ll still figure it out”
Agatha: “Mind reading magic should be against the rules!”
Wanda: “What. Was it.”
Agatha: “…my thoughts. My thoughts were…I could help her, or I could torture her - and either one would be acceptable”
Y/N: “…not what I was expecting-“
Wanda: “-exactly what I was expecting-“
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I’m starting a new series on this page called “Episodes of the Owl House we could have had if Disney wasn’t a little bi-”
Weird, my internet cut out. ANYWAY.
I present to you: the concept of a much longer rebellion (as in, one where Eda and her family get to join the CATTs more than a week before the DOU), where the rebels actually had time to bond and build relationships. Here are some potential side plots for your reading/writing pleasure.
Katya and Luz, bond over their love of writing and fanfiction. However, in a series of unfortunate events, they manage to bring their stories to life and have to deal with them. Raine and Eda come home to find their girls standing on the kitchen counter with a bat and a knife respectively, attempting to fight a bowl of fruit.
Hunter, after getting dropped off unceremoniously by Darius, is stuck in a house* with Lilith and Steve and slowly begins to open up to them. Bonus points if after a day’s worth of fighting and Steve playing the middle man, he comes home to Hunter napping in Lilith’s lap and is incredibly confused.
The senior members of the CATTs go out on a mission and leave the younger half of the kids (King, Luz, Amber and Hooty) under the supervision of the older three (Hunter, Katya, and Derwin). Chaos ensues.
Steve’s family (including Mattholomule) comes to visit him on what they think is his one day off. Steve, not wanting to admit he’s left the coven and joined a rebellion, begs the other members of the CATTs to help him hide it. They’re not very good at it.
Raine and Eda attempt to each spend a day bonding with each other’s kids. That’s it, that’s the headcanon. Have fun.
BEACH EPISODE!!!!!
Luz attempts to plan the perfect date with Amity and goes to each member of the CATTs for advice. They all give her wildly differing suggestions and she’s left to try and piece them all together into one coherent idea.
There ya go. See, Disney, it’s not that hard-
Whoops, my internet cut out again. Anyway, hope ya liked it! Fanfic writers who see this post, feel free to take any of these as inspiration.
*Steve and the BATTs (excluding Raine) stay with Eda’s family throughout all of this, since Darius, Raine, and Eber all have to be undercover as coven heads and have to stay in the palace.
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fallstaticexit · 3 months
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Would you be willing to give us a rundown of all of Edin's abilities? We've seen them bring someone back to life and create plants (and maybe something else I'm forgetting?). But I was curious if there were other things they could do that just haven't been shown. Or is that a secret yet to be revealed?
Omg thanks for asking, I hope it’s ok I use this opportunity to yap 🫶🏽😭😭
I’ll answer the question first tho of what Edin can do (so far) :
- Heal- most minor injuries
- Some Practical magic spells (herbio)
- Raise the dead (Necrocall)
As I continue to tell Edin's story we will learn what all Edin can do through time BUT I did want to yap about the dets of what exactly can EVERYONE do, which I explore more in the upcoming continuation but I'll give an general summary here:
For the most part, I follow the in game magic system with some minor tweaks to fit my own narrative. I also added three types of magic (alchemy is a practice in game already but I thought how cool would an Alchemist sage be)
Practical Magic - Everything in game except transportalate.
Untamed Magic- Everything in game.
Mischief Magic- Everything in game with an addition to the Strangeify - L. Faba can also do the counter of this which is make someone young/beautiful etc.
Healing Magic- the practice of using magic to heal, whether that's via potion making or if your Grace (and Edin} that's healing through physical touch.
Alchemy- similar to how alchemy is portrayed in Fullmetal Alchemist with more of a magical presence. So that's manipulating and altering matter by using natural energy, in this case: magic.
Dark Magic- an ancestral practice passed down through the female heirs of the Najares Coven. It's exclusive to this family and anyone trying to practice it without a blessing could be cursed or haunted by their deity. More to come on the abilities- we learn them alongside Adie.
Faerie Magic- Is a combination of all the mentioned types above.
When a spellcaster is born, they are all born with a magical trait that allows them to practice magic. Some a born with a stronger lean towards practical magic or mischief or healing and so on, so that's when they attend school at age 10 to learn more about their magic and practice the craft. If a spellcaster wanted to practice it all, they would overcharge and the consequence is death/chaos. Faeries can do this without having to worry about any of those consequences which Spellcasters find incredibly threatening, hence why they were outcasted from the Magic Realm.
Oh, and Mooncasters are mentioned in my story but I have no lore created around them, I just follow the in game lore which I thought was VERY well done.
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Marvel's Disney+ Slate Eyeing Just Three Series Releases in 2024, Which Could Be Bad News for Daredevil Fans
BY ANTHONY LUND  February 24, 2023  (X) The changing output speed of Marvel Studios seems to be rolling over into their 2024 schedule.
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Reports of Marvel Studios putting the brakes on their output seem to be gaining a little more traction as 2024’s Disney+ line-up appears to have changed again to that originally revealed by Kevin Feige last year. There are currently only two Marvel series that are reported to be guaranteed a release this year, which are Secret Invasion and Loki season two, and a new report by insider KC Walsh, via The Direct, it seems that 2024 is also going to see a small number of releases which could signal a delay for the highly anticipated Daredevil: Born Again series.
The original plan for Marvel’s Disney+ shows included five projects, with Echo, Ironheart and X-Men ’97 expected to line up alongside Secret Invasion and Loki. However, with new suggestions that Disney CEO Bob Iger has instigated a quality over quantity rule over Marvel’s output it seems that some of these shows will now fall back into 2024. In turn, that causes a knock on effect for other series that had been expected to land next year including the 18-episode long Daredevil: Born Again.
The latest update indicated that Echo, Ironheart and Agatha: Coven of Chaos could all end up being released in 2024 as the only MCU series of the year. Naturally, there could be additions to this list, which could arrive in the same fashion as last year’s Werewolf by Night special, which was not announced until a month before its premiere. The main thing to take from this is that if it holds true, then Daredevil: Born Again is likely to not make it to screens until 2025.
There are many things seem to be up in the air at the moment at Marvel Studios. This year seemed to be pretty much set in stone as far as their movie output was concerned, but in the last couple of weeks The Marvels has had its premiere date pushed to November after being expected to arrive in July. With the movie seemingly linked to Secret Invasion, the reported delay of that series until May would explain The Marvels’ latest schedule slip.
In addition to this, Loki has always been slated to arrive in Summer 2023, but once again, if Secret Invasion has been pushed to a May release, then that series is likely to move back to the fall. If that trend continues, then it would be very likely for Daredevil: Born Again to receive a hefty shove in to 2025’s releases rather than 2024 as planned.
Filming on Daredevil: Born Again is reported to be only starting in the next few weeks, and considering that shoot is expected to take up much of the year, it would once again put a lot of pressure on post-production teams to make everything perfect in just six or seven months. That is something that has been reportedly causing more and more issues for Marvel Studios recently, and it maybe that the next few years may see a dramatic slow-down in the MCU’s overall output to try and counter those issues.
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shadowofroses · 1 year
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Mother of Demons
Demon Slayer
Pairings: Lilith (OC) x Muzan
Warnings: Religion, Abrahamic Demons, Language, Incubus, succubus, mentions of Feeding via Sex, Witches, Offerings, Ritual.
Partially on Ao3 for Story Ideas
Story:
There wasn’t much that Bothered Muzan Kibutsuji. He just wanted to be whole, not ill. He mastered this. Thanks to a concoction he created of the Blue Spider Lily. The only pain was, it was a rare flower that he had a hard time finding after the initial flowers. 
Initial flowers provided by a woman who also had an illness, foriegn. Exchange? If he found a cure, to provide it for her as well. While Muzan was considered the King of Demons.
Lilith would be known as the Mother of Demons. For she provided for Muzan the means to create. 
Both happy that they could cure themselves, but now a separate thing all together they had to overcome. The Daylight. 
They went their separate ways. For a while at least. 
Lilith returned with more Blue Spider Lilies in an attempt to encourage him to create or perfect it. So that maybe he could create something to counter act the daylight, or even the blood lust. Once she returned to Japan, however, he was nowhere to be found. Demon Slayers were abound everywhere. 
Japan was far from a safe place. 
Eventually Lilith found Muzan again. The Flowers have died. So she gave it to him in the form of Dried flowers. A Blue Spider Lily oil as well. 
He in turn offered his blood, which he learned can make demons, and make demons powerful. Under his control even. 
She respected Muzan, but one thing she appreciated was her Freedom. She stayed around for a bit, and knew how he treated his creations. While He helped those who were weaker, ill etc. He encouraged the blood lust and chaos. 
Lilith loved her creations she called Children. Encouraged them to find different ways to feed and become stronger.  
He didn’t like it that she didn’t want his blood. Instead She offered a few vials of hers, in exchange for a few vials of his. Neither wanted to be under control of the other. To Muzan, she was no longer an equal, but a threat. She was the wild card. But he played along with this. His experiments to walk during the day. Her experiments to have different means of feeding, and creating. 
Lilith adored babies. She was determined to birth her children, and for them to continue that way. 
She would stay away from Muzan as much as she could. Make him come to her even though she found the flowers in Japan herself. She managed seeds from the flowers. Dug up a couple of plants as well to bring them home. 
Her home with her sweet children. 
Soon she was able to get more power, not by sexual acts or by taking energy. Soon, beautiful human witches were making pacts and offerings to her. 
Willing offerings. 
Like she was some sort of Goddess. 
She wasn’t but who was she to not eat it up and savor every moment. 
An explosion sounded outside of her abode. She sighed, She would never be able to hide from Muzan and his Twelve Kizuki. 
Footsteps sounded as Lilith refused to look away from her mirror. Watching as a coven raised energy for a ritual and making an offering of sexual energy to her. She watched as a tattooed man walked up behind her in the mirror, “Akaza, what can I do for you today?” 
“Give me the Blue Spider Lilies.” 
Lilith hummed, turning into a moan as he watched energy feed from the mirror and flow into her body. “Would you like some energy?”
“Pft. I want the flowers.”
“I didn’t take you for one to go flower picking, rather cute of you Akaza.”
“Can it.”
“That’s no way to talk to a Lady.” 
“Spider Lilies now.” He reached out causing Lilith to sigh. 
“I can’t give those to you, they are out of season, and only bloom three days out of the year Silly Demon.” Lilith stretched as she waved over the mirror. “I’ll allow their request…” referring to the coven wanting her favor for a fertility ritual before turning to look Akaza in the eyes. “Even then Blue Spider Lilies can only be found in Japan.” 
Akaza frowned.  “Where?” 
“Sanzu River.” she responded plainly. 
“Quit it with the bullshit. That’s a Myth.”
“My dear Akaza, we Demons are a Myth.” Lilith chuckled running a finger underneath his chin. Pinching his chin intimately so that he would look down to her. “We exist, River Styx exists, Sanzu River exists.” she hummed out before going to spout a lie. “They are easier to find the closer one is to death.”
Akaza frowned at that. “Great…”
“Closer to death, one can transverse the Rivers. Pick flowers certain times of the year, be brought back to life, one will have the flowers on them, However one cannot be greedy. Never take more than 25% of a plant especially if you want it to continue to regrow. However the flowers only bloom during the day.”
“What do you suggest?” 
“Keep some humans close to death near you on your travels. Eventually they will find and transverse these waters and find the flowers for you.” Lilith shrugged, “Save them, turn them demons I don’t care, once they are brought back the flowers will be in their hands, and you can even let them die by the sunlight once they transform for all I care.”
“Here I thought you cared for us Demons…” Akaza sneered. 
She smiled lovingly, “I care for my children, yes, however you are Muzan’s. Not mine. If you like I can write Dear Muzan a letter regarding what to do about the Spider Lilies, but I cannot guarantee which days they will bloom either. You would have to be on a constant look out.”
He tilted his head up grinning, “you could always come back with me and explain that yourself.”
Lilith laughed, “I’m not interested in getting killed anytime soon Akaza. Besides, all Muzan needs to talk to me is a Mirror and maybe a small blood offering. I tend to answer my calls.”
“Mother, do I have permission to feed?” you turned seeing a deformed Sucubus. 
“Darlin, yes. In fact, possess a human and work in a whore house for a while.” She responded rubbing her hand against the Sucubus’s cheek. “That should keep you quite content for a while.”
“I don’t want to be a Glutton…”
Lilith chuckled, “My children are not gluttons.” she kissed the succubus on the head, “Now go.” 
Akaza had tilted his head at the interaction. Comparing Lilith to Muzan. She wasn’t a Weak demon, she was on par if not stronger than Akaza. On par with Muzan? Akaza was unsure of it.
Almost as if reading his mind she smiled, “As I said, I’m not on Par with Muzan, as I don’t eat humans in the same sense as he does. Muzan is a powerful demon, and I haven’t allowed him to control me. I’m a Threat in that sense, and I’m not willing to hand over my control. Even if it would make me more powerful.” Almost as if she read his mind. Her hand waved in front of her mirror again, “Anything else I can help you with?”
Lilith bit her lip placing a finger on her chin as she looked up at him again. He knew the ploy. She wanted to eat his energy, his strength. He wasn’t a weak human. She would get strong feeding off of him. “We’ll be in touch Lady Lilith.” he took his leave. 
Lilith frowned looking around, knowing that she would have to move her location again. 
But what was the point? 
She’d always be found.
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goodbyegoldenboy · 10 months
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About me
I go by many names (Roy, Copper, Havoc, Kain, Denny, Hunter, Epoch), I am 18, and I use He/They/It/Kit/Mew pronouns! This'll probably get updated semi-often with new Guards and any added rules
Follows come from @handnsanitiziser
Find pics of all of them on my TH!
Rules
NO NSFW! EVEN WITH MY 18+ GUARDS! You WILL be blocked!
Any slur usage will be an automatic block
Do not harass me to rp!
Please please do not come into my DMs just to vent! At least ask first, and don't get mad if I say no
ASK BEFORE WE RP IN DMS FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD FUCKING PLEASE-
Meet everyone below...
Agate🔪, 15-16, He/Him, Gay
He's on the run from Belos and thinks everyone he sees is trying to turn him in. His lovebird palisman, Toast, is trying to show him that not everyone is like that.
Apatite🪱, 17, He/They, Gay
He's a necromancer that takes pride in his work. Using a forbidden magic, he takes great care in bringing the dead back to life. He has a vulture palisman named Garfunkel, who allows him to preform his magic.
Birch🪵, 20, He/Him, Bi/Demisexual
Based on epilogue Hunter, he carves palismen for a living. He's pretty laid back and is very fatherly to those around him. He's still got an adventurous side, but is quite ready to relax, at least for a while. His palisman is an opossum named Kip.
Bismuth🌻, 16, He/Him, Pan
Twins with Tin, they do everything in their ability to piss off Belos. Bismuth is a bit more emotional than his brother, but he doesn't mind it at all. He's both meaner and nicer than Tin.
Carnelian🔨, 17, He/Him, Gay
A big softie with a big love for building, he's not the brightest but he's certainly one of the kindest. He loves the craft, even if he can't build using magic, he's taken the time to learn the ins and outs of the construction coven.
Chromium⚙️, 15, He/Him, Gay/Demiromantic
He enjoys tinkering on mechanical bits and bobs, and somehow managed to infuse a small amount of magic into his prosthetic hand, which allows him to do simple spells. He also has a mouse palisman named Ike.
Citrine🦎, 16, He/They/She, Pan
Citrine is one of the few surviving basilisks, and to continue to live, he's taken up the look of a witch and has become the golden guard. She regrets joining Belos, but doesn't see a way out…
Curium🌈, 13, He/Him, Undecided
A gullable and naïve child, he's still under the impression that Belos is a genuinely good man. He doesn't know of his uncle's actions or the harm he's caused to those around him.
Gold⭐, 16, He/Him, Gay/Ace
Emerald🪡, 18, He/They, Gay
He's an amalgamation of an unknown amount of different DNAs, made in a panic by Belos, as he just needed something that would work. He's got back problems as he slouches heavily, and his tail doesn't offer enough counter weight. He enjoys using his uncanny looks to scare others.
He's long learned how Belos' temper runs wild and has long been a victim of the man's wrath. He tries not to start fights, but will defend himself against anyone but the Emperor. He will lose a limb to keep himself or a loved one alive, and will willingly give his life to keep someone he cares for alive. He's not quick to trust, but he's fiercely loyal. His palisman is a desert cardinal named Oatmeal.
Hematite🔥, 15, He/It, Queer
He's a Grimwalker based off the kind of biped demon that Eberwolf is, with a similar yet somehow more chaotic personality. He refers to himself as an angent of chaos.
Howlite🥀, 16, He/Him, Demiromantic/Bi
Cursed after angering Belos, he's destined to always have an open wound. As one heals and scars, another soon opens. Due to this, he's extremely timid and cautious of the world, yet also nonchalant about injury that befalls him.
Jade🎵, 15, He/They, Omni
New to the responsibilities of being Golden Guard, he's a gentle soul who finds comfort in music. He plays the cello, flute, xylophone & is actively learning the piano.
Jasper🦉,17, He/Him, Gay
He's the first successful Grimwalker made by Belos and isn't in great health overall. He's got a lot of allergies and autoimmune issues, but that doesn't mean he's not a spunky kid. He's relatively left alone by Belos, the Emperor using him more as decoration when he sees fit, even if it harms Jasper. He plays the guitar in his off time, and has a greater sooty owl palisman named Crepe.
Kunzite🪶, 16, He/Him, Pan
After pissing Belos off and getting cursed with the same owl curse that Eda & Lilith have, he's used his newfound abilities to learn the gossip around Bonesburough. He's a bit wild, but knows when to chill out, and somehow knows nearly everyone… yet he refuses to reveal how he knows so much about everyone.
Kyanite🍄, 17, He/Him, Gay/Ace
In his time, Luz had been completely manipulated by Phillip and joined his side. He sees her as an enemy, and has no recollection of ever being on the same side. He doesn't hate her as much as he does Belos, but he heavily dislikes her.
Larimar❄️, 15, He/Him, AceAro
At 11 years old, he was lost on The Knee during the mountain training session. He's been surviving there on his own since then. He's extremely skittish and rarely speaks due to a mental block in his mind that completely stops him from being able to talk in times of high stress. He communicates more through body language, pointing, and other vocalizations.
Lolite🔮, 15, He/Him, Gay
He studies oracles closely, both due to his love for the craft & Belos' demands. Although he can only do tea readings at the moment, he's become proficient in it. He purposefully leaves Belos' readings open-ended so he doesn't anger or aid the man in any way.
Malachite🌿, 17, He/Him, Gay/Ace
Still actively working for Belos, he works as an assassin type guard for him. He works well with both poisons and swordsmanship, though if magic comes into the equation, he's pretty much screwed. He finds comfort in gardening, and hangs out often with the plant coven, along with Terra Snapdragon. He has severe epilepsy that Belos continues to worsen, and therefore finds himself with Hettie often.
Moldavite💠, 17, He/They, Pan/Demisexual
Despite having been trained to hunt and hurt, the kid has a love and knack for patching others up and healing them of their ails. He may not be able to perform complex magic, but he still does all that he can to help. His ocelot palisman, Epoch, helps him with simple spells.
Obsidian🕸️, 15, He/It, Pan
There's not much to him. He's just a feral kid with *way* too much energy. He has wings, though they're too heavy for flight. He doesn't mind having them, though, as he can smack people with them.
Onyx🫐, 15, He/Him, Bi
Even with his quiet personality, this kid kicks ass, though he doesn't enjoy doing it. Belos had raised him with a sibling, and once they were older, made them fight to the death to see who should be Golden Guard. Onyx won that battle. He and his mourning dove palisman, Pikelet, get through the harsh realities of the world one step at a time.
Opal☠️, 15, He/Him, Bi/Ace
He can see and hear the dead, and the dead can interact with him, though he cannot speak back. He suffers from insomnia and paranoia due to the near constant chatter of the dead and what they tell him.
Phantom🌹, 19, He/Him, Pan
He's a run away guard who joined the CATS as sOon as he heard of its existence. He's a valiant fighter and has a love for theatrics and dramatics. He's a bit of a flirt but an all around good guy.
Pyrite🌼, 14, He/Him, AceAro
The child has had it rough, as he knows Belos wants his death, yet he cannot escape. He doesn't trust the covenheads, fearing what they may do to him. Belos sees him as a failure and a weak link, as Pyrite is skittish and doesn't have it in him to hurt others.
Quartz⛓️, 16, He/Him, Unsure
He hasn't left the castle once in his life, Belos having scared and gaslit him into believing that the outside world was unsafe. It's gotten to the point that he rarely goes to any portion of the castle grounds that isn't inside.
Rhyolite🌘, 17, He/Him, AroAce
He's a puppet from the Collector that's come back to life. He has his own thoughts and feelings, and he vaguely remembers his life before he was turned. Though he's still unsure of how to process everything, and is largely unemotional.
Seraphinite🧪, 16, He/Him, Gay
He's got a talent for potions and hangs around Vitimir often, though letting him into a kitchen would end up absolutely disastrous. He's a sweet, excitable, kindhearted boy.
Silver☣️, 18, He/Him, Gay
He worships the ground Belos walks on, doing any dirty work the Emperor sets him to do with joy. He's been possessed by Belos for years, but he sees the sludge as a gift. Despite his possession, his actions are still his own. He's unreliable and reacts to everything with anger, he's loyal to only himself and the Emperor.
Sugilite🕯️, 19, He/Him, Demiromantic/Gay/Ace
The Guard who doesn't Exist, blink and you'll miss him. Sugilite keeps to the shadows and keeps quiet, hardly interacting with the world. He doesn't get involved much with what goes on around in the Boiling Isles unless he's told to.
Tin🪨, 16, He/Him, Bi
The other half to Bismuth, he's a bit more soft spoken (though he still jokes and messes around with his twin). He enjoys harassing Belos with Bismuth, though leaves his pranks to the Emperor.
Topaz🍇, 16, He/Him, Gay
Doing everything he can to look and act like his father figure, Darius, he tries copying the Head Witch's mannerisms to a tea. He enjoys working with abominations, even if he can't bring most of them to life.
Wehrlite🩸, 17, He/Him, Gay
A false titan made by Belos in hopes of getting titan's blood for the portal. His blood is too diluted by witch's blood to work, yet Belos still takes blood from him in hopes that it'll work as he grows older.
Xanthite👑, 22, He/Him, Unlabeled
He, along with a small rebellion, managed to overwhelm and kill Belos before the events of the Day of Unity. He's taken the throne, and whether he's a better Emperor or not is up for debate. Those in immediate connection to him see him as much more watchful…
He has a jackal palisman named Abrax.
Zircon🌀, 16, He/Him, Gay/Ace
A demon/witch hybrid with too much energy to hold him, he was made to try and look friendly to the average Boiling Isles citizen. He's taken up illusions and looks up to his father figure and Head Witch, Adrian.
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soulsuckrrs · 2 months
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open to: m/f/anyone connection: friend, ex/old-fling, partner in crime, maybe some bonnie & clyde shit, toxic exes, frenemies/rivals, mafia member/criminal, another supernatural or rival coven member, idk whatever works~
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“Are you asking me to kill, someone?” Leslie interrupted the other, narrowing her blue eyes while she shifted forward some to place one hand against the counter and the other against her hip, blonde head tilting to one side just so in a curious and almost challenging manner. The slightest glint of mischief touched her blue hues as her lips turned up into a cocky and amused smirk, any inflection of accusation leaving her tone with the words that next left her lips. She couldn’t help but let a wave of powerful energy ripple from her as if a stone had been cast into otherwise still waters. Leslie would never really turn down the chance to create some chaos and mayhem, especially if it meant she could get a little aggressive. 
The blonde pursed her lips and tilted her head just a bit more, allowing her hair to fall slightly into her face before it was blown back with the small and intrigued laugh. “My mama taught me to never do what you like for free, but I’m sure we could come to some sort of agreement.” Leslie said with a grin, it didn’t matter if they actually were asking her to commit such a heinous crime or not, it could also be taken as a threat and that was what Leslie truly enjoyed, leading people on and keep them guessing what her next move would be. 
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xprojectrpg · 5 months
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Moment of Awesome - Topaz:In the midst of the chaos of an out-of-control magical ritual, Topaz uses the emotions around her to create a path.
By the Jeep, Amanda had been desperately trying to keep her feet, watching as somehow everything went to hell. But the thing she was focussing on most was the boy in the centre and when he called for help, even if she couldn't hear him, she could see the desperation on his face. They had to get up there.
"Topaz! Whatever it takes, get us to the kid! Now!"
Amanda could see the desperation in the kid's face, and Topaz could feel it - along with the ground trying to shake apart. She looked around, trying to project a calm she definitely didn't feel. Bullets pinged off her shielding, unfamiliar magic danced around chaotically, and there was absolutely no way she was going to get them there in time.
She took a step back, looking around, working through her options and counting. She needed enough magic to counter what the coven was doing, and even with one or two down, there were far more of them. Which meant she needed a lot more magic. Which meant...
Whatever it takes.
That was basically permission.
Topaz looked back at Amanda, meeting her gaze - an agreement and an apology. Her eyes swept around the area, taking in her teammates last, trying to figure out who would benefit from a sudden lack of emotions and who needed their heads on straight, while also reaching out and latching on to the coven members, the boy, and the mercenaries. There was no time to be careful - she just pulled, draining everything she could reach. She was a little more careful with her teammates - she didn't need everything, she just needed enough to top off.
The slates Marie-Ange had created began moving on their own, falling into place in front of Topaz and winding a path up the mountain, cutting through the magic and any solid objects in their way. They were impossibly, almost comically still given their shaking surroundings.
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communismlives · 8 months
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day 17 of dark souls
i met solaire at the sunlight altar. he didn't ask me to join his covenant, probably because i didn't summon him for the ornstein & smough fight. i also can't access the chaos bugs despite having the lordvessel. this is a dark day.
i crafted the dragonslayer spear. not enough dexterity to wield it.
then i made my way through the darkroot forest, to fight great grey wolf sif, who was defending her master's grave. after a few deaths, i succeeded, and claimed the soul of sif, the covenant of artorias, and the final ring of the four knights; the hornet ring.
then i descended through the new londo ruins, to find the abyss. i met ingward the sealer, who gifted me the key to the seal. the key ledd me to the inside of the tower in the valley of the drakes. there, i was killed by a darkwraith. i went back to try to get me souls, and was killed by a drake. no wonder gwyn declared war on those bastards.
i then decided to grind a bit, looking for titanite shards to upgrade my weapons. i had enough souls in my inventory to purchase 9 large titanite shards, and then converted the straight sword hilt that i had at the start of the game to the greatsword of artorias. i don't have enough intelligence or faith to wield it. *sigh* the other stat requirements made sense. high strength, high dexterity. weapons like astora's straight sword and velka's rapier are clearly meant for spellcasters, like the sorcerer and the cleric. but you're telling me that one of the most iconic boss weapons in this game requires a MULTICLASS BUILD?! not just intelligence, but FAITH as well? who the fuck is this for, final fantasy red mages????
so anyway, before i can up my stamina, i'll have to get my intelligence AND my faith up to 20. i spent ALL my souls on those titanite shards, god dammit!
i ventured back into the abyss, and found the entrance to the boss arena. the first of the four kings killed me instantly. i'll have to grind some more. i decided to try the catacombs again. after crafting a divine gargoyle tail axe to counter both the skeletons' bleed damage and the necromancer, i forced my way past the skeletons, found some more soul items, fell into a hole, then finally i made it to the second bonfire. a few minutes away, beyond an army of skeleton wheels, was the area boss.
pinhwheel was very easy to beat. just ignore his duplicates and keep hitting him. what wasn't easy was grappling with the fact that i didn't get the mask i wanted. i was hoping for the mask of the child, to stack with my chloranthy ring and grass crest shield, but instead i got the mask of the father. i guess coupled with havel's armor and the zweihander, i could be a sort of medium dad. meh, it's not my thing.
after dying in the tomb of the giants, and an intense series of moments where i scrambled to get my stuff back and run to a safe spot, i met patches. trusty patches. i quickly looked up what i had to do when meeting him, then let him kick me into a pit to my supposed death. still one of the more friendly characters on account of not just saying "i don't wanna talk, leave me alone." i met rhea and her hollowed bodyguards, the latter of whom i put out of their misery. rhea thanked me, i went back to the undead parish to make sure she was safe, then i went to the firelink shrine and killed petrus. that's how you do it. i couldn't afford absolution, but i don't care because i'm not planning on joining the blades of the darkmoon and i'm not sorry for killing that creep.
i went back to the new londo ruins, to face the four kings. i won't tell you how many times i died. just know that every time i died, i grinded for a bit and bought myself a ring of sacrifice, so i wouldn't go hollow if i died again. this of course meant i would have to finally get rid of the ring of favor. it was the only way to make room for both the ring of sacrifice and the covenant of artorias. i summoned a helpful player and the NPC beatrice. both of them were insurmountable in defeating the four kings! if you're gonna fight them, there's no shame in asking for help.
before i pledged myself to darkstalker kaathe, i spoke to kingseeker frampt one last time, to break all my titanite chunks down into large titanite shards. i wouldn't need chunks any time soon. i placed the lordvessel under the supervision of kaathe, joined the darkwraith covenant, and made my way to the demon ruins. then i died to kirk. then i died twice to the demon firesage. but hey, i also killed the sunlight maggot through the wall, so i'd say this was a successful session! solaire can do what he wants in his timeline. but me?
...
i serve the dark lord.
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cissa-calls · 15 hours
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Countdown to Agatha: Day 754
Agatha: “Who ever said: “an apple a day keeps the doctor away!” is a huge frickin liar.”
Wanda: “Why? They’re a good source of vitamin C and fiber - among other things.”
Agatha: “Well, I just threw one at Y/N, and now they need to go to the doctor! Thus, proving the phrase is counterproductive. Boom.”
Wanda: “…”
Wanda: “Should I get the car warmed up for the drive to the doctors office?”
Agatha: “Yeah, you do that and I’ll get Y/N an ice pack”
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tenelkadjowrites · 2 years
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Kiss of Chaos - Part One - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)
Summary:  In a world where witches and other magick users are increasingly being targeted, you have carved a spot for yourself in the city running a small magick shop. When a spell goes wrong and you are blocked off from your magick, you track down the most powerful witch in the city - Seonghwa - to try to fix it. As Seonghwa asks his coven for help, the two of you find yourselves increasingly attracted to one another. But will it be impossible for both Seonghwa and yourself to allow the walls that have been up for so long to come down and let each other inside?
Word count: 8,692.
Genre and warnings: smut. witch seonghwa with witch reader. fem pronouns for reader. depictions of witchcraft and magick. thigh riding. dirty talk. 
Tag list: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @billboard-singer - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @haruharu-egypt - @maarkcraft - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @offmymindmp3 - @xirenex - @violetwinters - @jayb17 - @passionloveindividualityempathy​
please note this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa or ateez in any way, shape or form. on top of that, this fic and the depictions of witchcraft are not meant to be taken as formal information on the subject and take many creative liberties.
            The bar smells heavily like cigarettes, and you know that the scent is going to cling to your clothes. Great. In the hazy cloud of smoke, your eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The bar, which took you forever to find because it was nestled in a corner in a forgotten part of the city and masked by a strong protection ward, is nowhere you would ever typically be caught dead in. With its run-down décor, a TV in the corner that is playing only static, muffled music pouring out of a jukebox that has clearly seen better days, and faded posters covering every inch of the walls, it is a place that would be easily avoidable if desperate times didn’t call for desperate measures.
               Tonight, there are only a handful of people inside and none of them look up at your entrance, including the bartender. But your eyes land on the one person that you have been searching for – the only person that can help you.
               He is sitting at the bar counter, hunched over a drink that swirls in shades of purple and green, paying no attention to you. Your heart gives a painful lurch in your chest. What you are doing could be costly enough to lead you to disaster. You are already mired in disaster, you tell yourself and it is those words that propel your feet forward.
               Stopping next to him, you clear your throat and go, “Seonghwa?”
               Slowly, like a cat waking up from a long nap, he tilts his face to look at you, eyes grazing your body for a beat too long. His beauty is striking – that is undeniable. High cheekbones, smooth skin, slightly messy black hair with eyes such a violent purple it is disarming. But there is something else underneath that pretty face that gives you the feeling of stepping off a pier and tumbling into freezing cold water. The green pendant you wear comes alive against your chest, humming with the intensity of the magick that Seonghwa gives off.  
               “What?” His voice is curt, making it clear that being spoken to is not something he desires.
               Even so, you push on, sitting on the bar stool next to his. The bartender comes by but Seonghwa speaks up. “No. She isn’t staying long enough to drink.”
               The bartender gives a nod and heads down the way he came. You protest, “I can drink here if I so please.”
               Seonghwa gives a small wave of his hand, rings of strange colours flashing in the dim lights, looking back down at his drink. “No. You can’t. This isn’t a place for you, and I don’t want to talk.”
               “You don’t even know why I’m here,” You speak quickly, stumbling over your words, “I just need a moment.”
               “Actually,” He takes a swig of his drink, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he does so, before placing the stein down with a heavy thunk, some spilling out and splashing onto the bar top, “I do know why you are here. You searching for me has been like a giant crashing around in a teacup store.”
               “If you knew I was searching for you, why didn’t you contact me?” You reply, irritation blossoming in your chest.
               Seonghwa looks at you then, no effort made to mask the annoyance that has settled across his beautiful features. “Me contact you? You come here like a rat looking for cheese, to beg me for a scrap of help, and then decide the best way to speak to me is to demand to know why I did not reach out as you tore through the city looking for me?”
               Things are not going as planned. You were aware of Seonghwa’s prickly nature – the stories about him are well known, after all. But in your urgency to fix your situation, you are not speaking to him as you should.
               “Get out of here. Whatever is going on with you, it has nothing to do with me.” Seonghwa turns his face away from you once more, back to tending to his drink.
               Desperation rises in you. You have spent weeks looking for him. He is the only one who can help you. Somehow, in some way, you know that he is your only chance at fixing things. It is just a gut feeling; one you have followed. You cannot be refused now.
               “Please, I – I did a spell. But it went wrong.”
               At this, Seonghwa emits a loud, dry laugh. There is nothing kind about it. “Do better research then.”
               Refusing to be balked into silence, you push on. “Whatever I did wrong, it backfired in such a way that I’ve been cut off from my magick. I can’t do anything at all.” You thrust your arm underneath his face, rolling up your sleeve. “See?”
               Seonghwa looks impassively at the burn mark on your arm, as if it is a rather dull book he is reading and not a warped and twisted scar of blackened flesh in one spot. He doesn’t speak.
               “I’ve studied and I researched, and I can’t find out what this mark is or why it’s blocking my magick. But I need to be able to do spell work. I run a shop. On the west end of town. If I can’t do magick, I can’t make a living. You know the state of the city. You know that there is no place for us among the humans. I’ll be cast out if I lose my shop and I won’t belong in either world. You’re the most powerful witch in the city. Your coven is famous. I know it isn’t my place to ask for help. But I’m out of options and I’m desperate. If you don’t want to help me, then all I ask for is a little information. Anything to point me in the direction of fixing this.” You are breathless, finally falling silent, hurriedly covering up the mark on your arm.
               Seonghwa shifts so that his body is facing yours. He is wearing a baggy button up purple shirt, the first few buttons undone so that the top of his chest is exposed. Necklaces lay against the skin, different charms and small spell jars jingling together when he moves. Each movement of his is fluid, languid, and the way he looks at you makes your cheeks flush. He jabs his finger in your direction.
               “You come here, and demand help and then on top of that, you lie and skirt around the reasons you were branded with that mark to begin with.”
               Your hand instinctively wraps around your singular pendant around your neck, the one thrumming with power at being close to Seonghwa. “I…”
               “You tried to speak to a deity that didn’t want to speak to you,” Seonghwa says ruthlessly, making you flinch, “How is it my concern that you are such an amateur that you attempted such a thing? This is your punishment for your overreaching. Next you’ll tell me that you tried to hex the fae.”
               Your face is bright from being put in your place. He is right, and you know it. The panic and anxiety from that night threatens to come flooding back – because while Seonghwa is right that you attempted to speak to a deity, he doesn’t know the full extent of it. If he did, it would slam the door shut on getting his help completely and that intense gut feeling you have is telling you that it must be Seonghwa who can help fix this.
               You rummage through your purse quickly, “Wait, I have – I have something you want. I was told…I was told you were looking for this.”
               You pull out the crystal, a heavy orb that is a dead thing in your hand. But when Seonghwa sees it, it is the first time an expression other than distaste crosses his face.
               “Why do you have one of those?” He demands.
               Talking to Seonghwa is so nerve wracking but this is not something you are going to easily give up on. “It’s a family heirloom.”
               “Who told you I was looking for one?” His tone is still harsh but his eyes have not moved off the orb.
               “Uhm…a witch in the red light district.” You mumble although you stare him down.
               “Fucking Hongjoong,” Seonghwa spats and then holds out his hand, “Let me hold it. I want to verify it’s real.” When you hesitate, he rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to steal it, it would be stolen already.”
               Seeing no choice, you plop the orb into his cupped hands. Unlike when you hold it, it immediately comes to life in Seonghwa’s hands. The orb pulses once, and all the necklaces and rings on Seonghwa react accordingly, momentarily lighting up from the sudden power. The orb turns into a small mass of swirling colours, meshing before coming apart, an entire galaxy inside. Wherever Seonghwa moves his fingers, the colours change and shift, spinning together in a violent swirl.
               Seonghwa’s deep purple eyes flick up to look at you. The orb gives off a surreal hue which covers his face like a blanket, making him appear otherworldly.
               “Why does your family have a Bowie’s Eye as an heirloom?” He asks suspiciously, “You know how rare these are?”
               “Yes. Which means if I am willing to part with it for your help then you should understand how important figuring out my situation is for me.” You dodge his question about why your family had such an item – the truth was, your great grandmother stole it ages ago from an important noble. You hold your hand out. “Now, give it back.”
               With a look of longing, Seonghwa relinquishes the orb. “Fine. I’ll help you get your magick back.” Seonghwa says, pushing his drink away and standing. He’s wearing leather pants, you realize, and wonder how he can be comfortable in such an outfit. “But,” His words snap you out of your wandering, “You have to listen and do what I say, got it? You’re the one who played with powers better than yours and might be cursed forever. That means that what I say is what we do, little witch.” The name sounds vaguely condescending.
               “Fine,” You agree automatically because what choice do you have? But if he thinks you are going to be some docile mouse, he is in for a surprise.
               Seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair, studying you for a moment before going, “We have to go see Hongjoong.”
               “I already saw him. He said he couldn’t help, that only you could.”
               “Well, he’s right about that,” Seonghwa replies dryly, walking past you towards the exit, “But he’s the only one who will know where San and Wooyoung are.”
               “Who?” You scamper after him – his long legs mean for every one step he takes, you need two or three just to keep up.
               It is late, and the temperature has dropped considerably in your short time in the bar. It had been raining all night, and now the streets are slick, puddles shining with gasoline run off from cars. Seonghwa tilts his face back to look at the rusted-out sign of the bar.
               “How did you find this place without your magick?”
               “Hongjoong explained where it was and that it had a protection ward on it. But I was able to use my necklace to find the location. It still responds to magick even though I can’t.”
               Seonghwa takes a step towards you, his slender fingers curling around your pendant made from green glass which vibrates like mad in the palm of his hand, his gaze lowered to study it. Up this close, his eyelashes are dark smears against his cheeks, he smells faintly like cinnamon, and for some reason, you think that you are blushing. There is something that flickers behind those purple eyes, as if studying you…and a heat between your bodies, although surely you must be imagining it. I’m distracted by his looks, you tell yourself. Surely, he cannot be looking at you in that way.
               “Remind me to tell Hongjoong to stop running his mouth to people outside our coven.” Seonghwa says quietly, and even though the words are a reprimand, his tone makes it feel personal, slinking up your spine and nestling in your head.
               He steps away from you, losing interest in the necklace. “Come on, little witch.” He is suddenly all business, making you think whatever moment just passed was certainly in your head.
               “Hongjoong’s club is halfway across town,” You point out, “And the city wide curfew went into effect an hour ago.” The curfew began six months ago, as the city fell more and more into disrepair, and the widening gulf between humans and magick users became more hostile.
               Seonghwa arches a singular eyebrow, “You might not have your magick but I do. Give me your hands.”
               He holds out his, and you take note of the rings on his fingers. Each of them is clearly expensive – not just in a monetary aspect, but in the time it would take to craft and enchant each one to whatever purpose he desired. After hesitating for a moment, you slide your hands against Seonghwa’s. They are warm, your pendant pulsing against your skin and you know that if you could feel your magick, the power radiating off Seonghwa in even this minor touch would probably knock you over. That same feeling from earlier passes over you – the heat of him, an energy that you must certainly be misreading. Why does your body react to someone you just met in this way?
               “Close your eyes.”
               “I know how to Travel.” You snap, feeling annoyed that he thinks so little of you that you wouldn’t know something simple like this.
               With your palms touching his, you close your eyes. There is heavy pressure on your chest. It grows, getting to the point of almost being unbearable. You hate Traveling. Even with your magick, it was always something you rarely did because it is so uncomfortable. Fighting the urge to yank your hands away, the pressure mounts in your head now, threatening to turn into a headache –
               And then the feeling slips away, like water down a smooth river rock, and the air smells different. Opening your eyes, you find yourself in the red neon glow of the sign outside Hongjoong’s club. Seonghwa pulls his hands away, seemingly unbothered by how uncomfortable Traveling is.
               “Come on, little witch.” is all Seonghwa says, heading towards the entrance.
               The bouncer doesn’t stop to check if Seonghwa is allowed, merely moves to the side to grant entrance. You haven’t actually been in the club before. You tracked down Hongjoong and cornered him after it closed at four in the morning, risking the fact he could be an asshole. But he seemed amused by your plight, as all witches who were extremely powerful were any time a lesser witch made a mistake or groveled for help.
                That is just how it is in the city. The more it fell apart, the more the humans disliked the supernatural world bleeding into the regular one, the more a chasm formed even in between groups that should be getting along. Everyone was out for themselves in the city. It is what made it easier for you to do everything alone.
               It had been Hongjoong who told you to seek out Seonghwa, who told you that he was looking for a Bowie’s Eye and it would be the only way to get him to agree to your plight. If you had known you would have ended up back here, maybe it would have saved time.
               Or maybe Hongjoong would only open up to another member of his coven.
                In the foyer of the club, which was entirely red, making your eyes water a little from the strain, Seonghwa stops you before stepping onto the main floor. The music is muffled, and when the curtain parts to let someone in or out, you can see a crush of bodies writhing on the floor.
               “Stick close to me, got it? Your magick being cut off means you’re an easy mark,” Seonghwa says, his eyes hollowed out shadows from the strange lighting, “And I hate clubs.”
               “Even Hongjoong’s?” You ask.
               Seonghwa frowns, “Especially Hongjoong’s. It’s extra noisy, extra crowded and you can’t make any conversation.”
               He turns to look at the curtain and you study his profile – the shape of his nose, the way the red lights rest on the top of his cheekbones. Pulling yourself out of staring, you say, “You know, there’s probably an alternate universe somewhere where a version of you loves clubbing. Like, goes every weekend or something.”
               Seonghwa glances at you out of the corner of his eye, “Hope I never meet him.”
                He pushes the curtain out of the way, ducking inside, leaving you have no choice but to follow. As soon as you cross the curtain, the noise hits you with such a force that you realize there must have been a spell to muffle the noise in the foyer. The music is so loud that you can feel the vibration in your feet, the place smells like a magick shop magnified by a hundred, and conversations are being shouted. The lights flicker and strobe, casting shadows and multi coloured hues onto everyone’s faces. Seonghwa stiffens at the assault, but he grabs your wrist firmly, yanking you through the crowd.
                You thought that the crowd would protest, that weaving your way through it would take ages. But Seonghwa isn’t just a random club goer and people know it. Some people stop dancing completely, gawking at the sight of him. Others quickly move out of the way, the crowd parting for him. You knew that Seonghwa and his coven are the most powerful in the city – feared but well respected – but seeing it in action has you start to wonder if maybe you are in over your head coming to him for help. It’s too late now, I was the one who sought him, who felt as if he could help me, you think, and getting my magick back is the most important thing.
               Seonghwa leads you up a sweeping staircase where another bouncer lets you onto the VIP floor. This place is not as crowded, and less people gawk at Seonghwa. A woman walks by in an ornate head dress, holding a champagne flute that is filled with a pink liquid sending off sparks.
                 “You’re not here to drink,” Seonghwa says in your ear, making you jump from his sudden close proximity, “Stay focused, little witch.”
                “I am focused,” You protest, “I just haven’t seen a drink like that before.”
               Seonghwa stares at you a beat too long again – and there is that feeling once more…some sort of electric current between the two of you, a physical pull -
              Seonghwa shakes his head and works his way through the VIP section all while you wish that your magick was accessible. You cannot imagine how it must feel to be connected to everyone in the club – judging by the way your pendant is responding, it would be enough energy to power spells for ages. No wonder the club is so busy and is so popular in the city. Not only is it a safe refuge for magick users but the energy is intense.
              The VIP section overlooks the rest of the club. When Seonghwa stops to talk to someone in a low voice, you look down at the crowd. Sparks flash over the dance floor – magick users showing off, their energy sent into explosions of colour and vibrations. Watching them depresses you. Not for the first time since everything happened, you wonder if you well and truly fucked yourself with your actions. If Seonghwa knew the entire truth about what you had tried to do, you know even the Bowie’s Eye wouldn’t convince him to help you. But I had to do it, you try to counter in your head, if I lose my shop, I lose everything. But your risk didn’t pay off and now you stood to lose even more.
                Seonghwa is at your side, shattering your brooding thoughts. “This way.”
               Following him down a narrow hallway just off the VIP area, your pendant jumps against your chest. Grabbing it with your hand, you hesitate.
             “There’s a ward up ahead.”
              Seonghwa, stopping to look back at you, replies, “I know. But Hongjoong knows I’m here.”
              “It isn’t an ordinary ward. It could injure me. Does he know I’m with you?”
               Seonghwa’s eyes narrow slightly. “You can tell it isn’t a normal ward? How?”
               “I…don’t know. I can just tell by how the pendant is beating. And I have a feeling.” You know the explanation sounds lame but you don’t know how else to describe it.
                Seonghwa reaches out for your wrist, long fingers circling around it. “Come on. It won’t damage you if we enter together.” The touch is electric, and Seonghwa glances at you once again, something in that gaze that makes you think…no, there is no way he can feel it too.
              If it was anyone else outside one of the most powerful witches in the city, you would have told him no. But Seonghwa has abilities you can only dream of having, and for this entire plan to work, you know it depends on if you trust him. He pulls you through the ward. You can feel some resistance, similar to earlier outside the dive bar, and then it snaps, granting you access.
             “See?” Seonghwa says, pushing the door open before you can reply.
              Whatever you were expecting in Hongjoong’s inner sanctum, it wasn’t this. The room is lavishly decorated, clothes lining one wall, the other wall stuffed full of shoes on racks. The air smells of lavender, and there is a mini fountain in the centre of the room. It is entirely gold, meshing with the red walls. A bright neon gold heart is above a large mirror in which Hongjoong is standing in front of, holding a long-sleeved shirt in front of him.
               He turns around when you enter, dropping the shirt to the floor and clapping his hands together. Hongjoong is wearing a pair of dress slacks that have glitter dashing up the trim…and you realize he must have enchanted the pants because the glitter changes colours and ripples as if it is a wave. His shirt is bright yellow with red glitter along the sleeves and neckline – again, shifting colours magically. His makeup is bright, in hues of red and gold, and his hair is a vibrant orange. Nothing on him matches. Visually, it should be an eyesore. Yet, strangely enough, it works on him.
           “Hwa! Didn’t expect you. You hate it here.”
            “I do hate it here,” Seonghwa replies, although it is in the friendliest tone you have heard from him yet, “But I had to ask you something.”
             Hongjoong notices you then. “Oh, the witch found you after all.”
             “Yes, that’s exactly what I have to talk to you about,” Seonghwa casually tosses his arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Is there a reason you have to direct every wayward witch in my direction? Or blab about my weak points, such as needing a Bowie’s Eye?”
              Hongjoong looks affronted. “Are you mad at me? You’re too stubborn to ask for help in finding that silly orb so when the witch said she had one, I simply sent her your way. You didn’t have to agree to help her.”
              Seonghwa pulls away from his friend, casting a glance around the room. “Are you busy?”
              “No, never too busy for you,” Hongjoong snaps his fingers and in the next second, the clothes are gone, replaced by a mini bar and a few tables, “What do you want to drink?”
              “Nothing. I have to ask you something.”
               Hongjoong shakes his head, “Was asking the witch, not you.”
              “Me?” You blink, still blown away by how powerful Hongjoong must be to change the entire room on a whim. “Sure, I’ll have a drink.” You say this just to irritate Seonghwa, who narrows his purple, cat like eyes at you.
            “Hongjoong is part fae,” Seonghwa says, “Which means he’s a trickster at heart. He can’t lie but he likes to make his fun…don’t you?” The last phrase is directed at Hongjoong, who looks up at him innocently.
               “What do you mean?”
              “Save it. Nothing funny with the drink, alright?”
               Hongjoong pouts, “You’re so boring. But fine. Nothing funny with the drink.”
                He motions for the two of you to sit down on an ornate loveseat. Gingerly, you perch on the edge of the seat as Seonghwa sits next to you. This close together, your leg presses against Seonghwa’s and you shift a little to the side. You admit to yourself his leather pants are a bit of a distraction. His hand rests on his knee and despite your attempts otherwise, you glance down at it. His fingers are long, nails painted the same colour purple as his shirt, and one ring has a crystal that has a swirling green centre. You feel his eyes on you and realize he has caught you staring. Quickly, you turn your attention to Hongjoong.
             “Here.” Hongjoong holds out a champagne flute which is dark blue. The top of the drink is a deep red but stays perfectly still, never blending in with the rest of the drink.
             “Thanks,” The glass is cold against your fingertips, giving you something concrete to hold onto.
              Taking a small sip, you marvel at how the drink tastes like a day at the beach. In it, you can feel the sun on your face, the scent of salt in the air, even picture a fruity cocktail you would be drinking.
             “Wow.” is all you can say. Drinks like this could only be crafted by an extremely powerful witch – but you suspect it is the fact Hongjoong is part fae that he can take the drink to the next level, make you taste things to experience them.
             He clasps his hands together, sitting down across from the loveseat, looking pleased. “My drinks are very special. I’m the only club that offers such a thing. All my bartenders are half fae so they can serve drinks with the same impact. That’s why people come here. Only I can offer such experiences.”
           “Alright,” Seonghwa has clearly heard this speech before and has grown bored, “Where are Wooyoung and San located tonight?”
“Tonight? Oh, you won’t be able to get to them tonight.”
               ‘And why not?”
               Hongjoong blinks. “It’s the twenty-first.”
               “Fuck.”
               Tearing your eyes away from your drink, which is so beautiful it is difficult not to get swept up in it, you ask, “What does that mean? And who are they? Also, why do we need them?”
               Hongjoong looks at you. “Did you just follow Hwa wherever he wanted to go?”
               Realizing how foolish you look, you struggle to reply. “Well, I mean…he’s so well respected. I didn’t think he would lead me astray.”
      ��        At this, Hongjoong laughs. “Oh, be careful, witch. Seonghwa is a lot darker than he looks.”
               You want to point out that Seonghwa, with all the rings and necklaces, his leather pants, black hair and serious purple eyes, looks dark enough. But your tongue is tingling a little from the drink and you take another sip.
               “Wooyoung and San run a shop. They do tarot readings, other divination work. But the location moves every night. For safety,” Seonghwa explains to you, “So the city watch can’t shut them down. But on the twenty-first of each month, they are closed. No one knows where the shop goes that night. Even us, the other members in the coven.”
               For some reason this makes you feel very sad. “Why don’t they tell you?”
               Hongjoong is watching you closely as he goes, “They like to have one night a month off. Nothing can be done about it. You’ll have to go tomorrow. I know where they’ll be.”
               “Great,” Seonghwa replies dryly, “You know anything about ending a deity’s curse?”
               “No, I’ve never been foolish enough to mess with a deity.” Hongjoong retorts curtly.
               For some reason, the sadness is growing in your chest although you have no idea why. It is as if your emotions are too big for your body. You sniffle but Seonghwa doesn’t notice.
               “Well, the little witch here is. She told you?”
               “She told me she tried to communicate with a deity, the spell went wrong and now her magick is blocked. You think San or Wooyoung will…what, exactly?” Hongjoong asks, although he is still glancing at you.
               Seonghwa leans back. You find yourself staring at one of the necklaces that has dipped underneath the low cut centre of his shirt. Has his shirt always been cut that low? For some reason, you cannot stop staring at his toned skin although your vision is blurring from tears.
               “I’m hoping they’ll be able to help, maybe even reach out to the deity itself, ask for the blockage to be released.”
               At the mention of communicating with the deity, panic suddenly surges through you. You open your mouth to protest, to tell Seonghwa that there has to be another way –
               But you promptly burst into tears.
               Over the noise of your sobs, Seonghwa groans. “Hongjoong! What did you give her?”
               Hongjoong scampers to his feet, shaking his head. “You said nothing funny! She’s not laughing, is she?”
               Seonghwa stands up, towering over his friend. “What did you do?”
               “Just a dash of emotional intensity, that’s all!”
               You can’t stop crying. Even though logically, you know there is nothing to cry about, your tear ducts aren’t cooperating. Looking upwards at Seonghwa, you manage to squeak out, “Sorry.”
               “It isn’t your fault,” Seonghwa says almost kindly, “Hongjoong put fae magick in the drink. It was my mistake. I said nothing funny, and he can’t lie. So, he’s making you cry instead,” He spins to glower at Hongjoong. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
               “I can’t. You know that.” Hongjoong replies, his eyes shining from amusement.
               “Just give me the location of their shop for tomorrow.” Seonghwa says with a sigh.
               As you sit there crying, Seonghwa gets the address and then pulls you off the loveseat. You look up at him, tears in your eyes, his stern look blurred, your cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of crying like this.
               “Where’s your back exit, Hongjoong? I’m not taking her through the club like this.” Seonghwa says, looking over his shoulder.
               “Taking pity on the witch?”
               “No, but I’m not about to further her mortification for drinking one of your silly drinks by parading her through the club as she cries uncontrollably.” Seonghwa says curtly.
               Maybe it is because you feel so vulnerable but his protection gives you some comfort – and also makes you cry harder. “S-sorry,” You blubber, “I c-can’t stop crying.”
               Seonghwa shoots Hongjoong daggers, who looks unapologetic. “You know how I am.” is all Hongjoong says.
               “Come on, little witch,” Seonghwa goes as Hongjoong magically moves a shelf out of the way to expose a door.
               It swings open at his touch and the next second, you are both outside in the night air. Looking over your shoulder at Hongjoong, he wiggles his fingers in a good-bye and the door vanishes into thin air.
               In the silence of the alleyway, your sobs sound louder than before. Seonghwa is looking at you as if you are a stray cat that has wandered by his house.
               “What now?” You manage to squeak out – your embarrassment at Hongjoong’s spell is making your crying worse.
               He sighs, tilting his face back to look at the night sky. Not for the first time tonight, you think he is strikingly beautiful but incredibly distant. What must it be like to have the sort of power Seonghwa has? Even if you had access to your magick, it pales in comparison next to Seonghwa’s.
               “Listen, you shouldn’t go through the city sobbing like this. It will attract too much attention. Just come to my place tonight.” Seonghwa finally says.
               “I can go b-back,” You hiccup, “It’s fine.”
               “No, it isn’t. You can’t Travel there because your magick is blocked. I could take you back to your place but I feel responsible for you since I took you to see Hongjoong and he tricked me with the drink. This is my fault and I should keep an eye on you to make sure the spell passes without issue. It is past curfew too. How are you going to sneak around blubbering on like that?”
               He is right, as much as you don’t want to admit it. Having never encountered fae magick before, you are paranoid that it won’t pass or something else might pop up from it…and the idea of trying to sneak back home while you can’t stop crying feels risky. Unable to reply as a particularly intense sob topples out of your mouth, you nod. Seonghwa holds out his hands. Great, more Traveling. With a whimper, you place your hands against his. His hands are warm, his gaze heavy on you before he closes his eyes. Shutting yours tightly, the tears still leak out from the corners, running down your cheeks. The pressure in the air grows heavy, weighing down on you, becoming unbearable –
               The distance to his place must not be as far away because the sensation doesn’t last as long. A couple seconds later, the pressure breaks, and you open your eyes with a small gasp, trying to catch your breath through hiccupping cries.
               You are in front of a nondescript apartment building. Even though it looks normal enough, your pendant jumps against your chest, pulsing with power. Seonghwa motions for you to follow him as he opens the doors.
               “H-how many people live here?” You inquire, stepping into the lobby.
               “Just me.” Seonghwa replies.
               The place is old – old enough that the style is art deco. The tiles are cracked in places, a staircase twirling upwards in the middle of the lobby, which feels desolate and foreboding. There is no sign of life in this place, and your pendant is humming with so much energy that you wonder just how powerful the wards are on this building. Did Seonghwa glamour it? It seems likely. To be in the middle of the city like this yet completely alone…
               “W-why would Hongjoong do this t-to me?” You squeak out in between cries, rubbing your hands along your arms because the building is so cold.
               “It’s just in his nature. Like I said, it’s my fault. I said nothing funny so the drink made you cry instead. He loves playing tricks like this. It isn’t personal. Come on,” He motions for you to follow him up the stairs.
               The stairs creak under each step you take. “This entire building is yours?”
               “That’s right. I like a lot of space.” Seonghwa replies, offering no further explanation as you reach the third floor.
               There is a sealed door on this floor. When Seonghwa presses his hand flat against it, it responds to his touch. Shimmering in hues of blue, you can hear the rapid unclicking of the magick locks Seonghwa has put on the door. It swings open with a groan, and Seonghwa strolls inside.
               Rubbing your cheeks free of your tears, you follow. As Seonghwa enters the space, the place can sense him. Candles illuminate themselves, soft lights flicker on, and a clock chimes somewhere in another room. You stop, taking in the sight of his living space.
               It is crowded, unorganized, with random objects of various magical ability stuffing drawers, shelves, strewn across tables. A large alter is in one corner, overflowing with spell jars, herbs, crystals and more. There are so many things that the chaotic mess goes all the way to the ceiling in places, making you feel dizzy. The room smells of magick, random assortment of herbs and many different candle scents blending together. Your hand curls around your pendant, afraid it is going to shatter from the intensity of the magick in this room. Near the large window is a TV that looks broken, a loveseat and a makeshift purple curtain tossed up on the window to try to block out some of the city light. The kitchen is near the front door, overlooking the living room, although it looks barely used.
               Seonghwa stands in the centre, his hands shoved in his pockets, not speaking as you take in the room. The candles flicker across his face, casting it in light and shadow, hollowing out his eyes and making them flash purple in the dark. Your heart constricts – it is better to stop denying to yourself that you are attracted to him. How could you not be when he looked like that?
               You don’t know much about Seonghwa, only that his power in the city is unmatched and his coven is the strongest. But as for what he likes to do, what aspects of magick he considers himself to be the strongest in, or if he the way he looked at you tonight means he is interested in you that way, you have no idea.
               “These items must have taken ages to collect,” You say in between small cries, not touching anything in case it is dangerous.
               Seonghwa goes over to the loveseat, plopping down on it and stretching out his long legs. The leather shimmers a little in the low lights. “I started stocking up when the curfew and city watch got more dangerous. Just in case. You should do the same. You said you own a shop. What will you do if they close it down?”
               You could find somewhere else to sit but opt to sit directly next to Seonghwa again. If he minds, he doesn’t say anything and instead hands you a tissue to dab your eyes with. The tears are starting to slow, and you hope whatever Hongjoong gave you is starting to wear off.
               “I guess I’d run it off the black market.”
               “Easier said than done.”
               You know that, of course, which is how the entire mess with the deity began.
               Seonghwa turns to the side to face you, leaning forward and goes, “Can I ask you something?” When you nod, he goes, “I have to ask what made you foolish enough to try to contact a deity.”
               Your fingers dig into the fabric of the loveseat. “I know things are getting bad in the city. The shop is the only thing I have. I thought if I had a deity’s blessing, it would protect me and the shop would be safe.” This isn’t technically a lie – although you are omitting the extent of the spell you attempted.
               “You did this to save your store?” Seonghwa asks incredulously.
               “That store is the only thing between me and the street. I have no coven and no family. If I don’t have a solid income from my shop, I would lose my apartment above it, and we know the city watch would take everything from me if it closed down. I don’t have to explain to you that they keep confiscating magick items. Stores are closing. We are losing our homes. You know that,” The tears are threatening to spill again and this time it wouldn’t be from Hongjoong’s drink, “So, fine. It was foolish. But if I got the deity’s blessing or their protection, the store wouldn’t be touched. You know how powerful they are.” You rub your eyes furiously, sick of crying.
               ‘What happened to your family?”
               “They’re gone.” You reply flatly, making it clear you have no desire to go into detail.
               “Nowhere to go if you lose your shop and apartment then?”
               “No.”
               Seonghwa studies your face for a few seconds. You return the gaze. Something passes between the two of you in that moment. It is emotionally charged, and weirdly sexual in its intensity. It is Seonghwa who breaks first, standing up and looking down at you.
               “Do you want a drink? A regular drink.”
               After you nod, Seonghwa goes into the kitchen. You follow him – fine, maybe you are a bit paranoid. He notices and you catch him smirking. But he makes the drinks plainly and even takes a sip of the one he gives to you.
               “See? It’s fine.”
               You gingerly take a sip and make a face, “It’s so strong.”
               “Can’t handle your liquor, little witch?” He asks, going back to the loveseat.
               “I can.” You protest although that isn’t entirely true – and then you sniffle, one small sob escaping from your lips.
               At this, Seonghwa laughs. When he does so, it changes his face from being intimidating to almost friendly. Even though he is laughing because he is poking fun at you, you like the way he looks. He takes a large sip of his drink and stretches like a cat. His shirt rides up a little, exposing tanned and toned skin. You tear your eyes away. I’m turning into a fucking cliché, you think. Maybe if you got laid more, you wouldn’t be so turned on when you had much bigger concerns to focus on.
               “Tomorrow night, we’ll go to San and Wooyoung’s. They’ll try to communicate with that deity and ask it to release you from the blockage.”
               The drink goes sour in your mouth. Communicating with a deity is dangerous but that isn’t why you are worried. It is because you haven’t even told him what deity you tried to speak with – or the extent of the spell you tried. If Seonghwa finds that out, not only will he most likely be furious, but he won’t help you.
               But what could you say? If you refused, it would raise Seonghwa’s suspicion. On top of that, this could be your chance to get your magick back. It would be a risk that you will have to take even though it gave you anxiety.
               “You can meet me here tomorrow night. That gives you the day to do whatever you need with your shop.”
               “What if they can’t help?” You wipe a stray tear off your cheek, relieved the crying is now a trickle.
               Seonghwa looks thoughtful. “Not sure. I’ll figure it out when we get to that point.”
               The two of you lapse into silence. For some reason, this silence feels different than other ones. It is as if both of you are realizing that you are alone together in his place, in the middle of the night, with hours at your feet. All the glances and lingering stares you gave each other all night seems to be flashing through both of your minds.
               “Listen,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “I didn’t take you back here to make a move on you. I just didn’t think it was wise to leave you alone under the influence of Hongjoong’s drink.”
               Maybe I want you to, you think, knowing in that moment that you hadn’t been imagining the physical connection between the two of you all night.
               “I didn’t think you took me here to try to have sex with me.” You reply honestly, and chew on your words for a moment before going, “But if you wanted to make a move on me, I wouldn’t mind.”
               Surprise crosses Seonghwa’s face briefly. “Aren’t you too concerned with everything going on to fool around?”
               “I’m a good multi-tasker.”
               At this, he laughs. This time, it’s because of something you said which makes it sound even better. “I’m not going to fuck you, little witch. But you can sit in my lap if you really want.”
               Deciding not to question the universe granting you a boon by having a super hot witch want to make out with you, you finish your drink and move into Seonghwa’s lap, straddling him. Neither one of you are questioning what you are about to do after only one night of knowing each other. The attraction is clearly there so why not give in? You aren’t known for your patience.
               When Seonghwa pulls you in for a kiss, it tastes like cinnamon. The kiss is tentative, as if he still thinks you are going to pull away or change your mind. Instead, you press your body against his, moving his hands down to your hips. Seonghwa, taking the hint, flattens his hands against your lower back, his tongue slipping in your mouth to touch yours.
               When the kiss breaks, Seonghwa studies your face for a moment, one hand sneaking under your shirt to touch your bare back. It’s minor but sends sparks through you. Then, he brings his lips down against your neck, leaving a soft trail of kisses on the sensitive skin there.
               “Shame your magick is blocked,” He murmurs, “The things I could do to you with it.”
               You can only imagine. “You can show me once we fix my problem.” You reply, running your hands through his hair.
               Seonghwa kisses up along your jaw before finding your lips once more. His hands flutter from your back to up along your stomach, brushing against your tits. Keeping his hands above the fabric of your shirt, he pushes your tits together, groping and squeezing them. Your breath catches at the sensation, reflexively trying to grind against him, your underwear already sticking to you.
               You can feel Seonghwa smile briefly against your lips at the movement. Dropping his hands to your waist, he adjusts your position suddenly so that you are against his leather clad knee. Understanding what Seonghwa wants, you begin to grind down against his thigh, although a frustrated whine escapes your lips from trying to do so when you are fully dressed.
               “You can make yourself cum even with your underwear and pants on,” Seonghwa remarks, one finger trailing down your back, “It’ll just take extra work, that’s all.”
               “Oh, so you’re kinda an asshole?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck for something to steady yourself.
               “Maybe a little.” Seonghwa replies, a glint in his purple eyes, “When was the last time you fucked someone?”
               “What is this, an interview?” You counter, slowly riding his thigh, trying to find the best position that will rub your clit the hardest through your clothes. “It’s been a while. What about you?”
               “Few weeks ago. I don’t really sleep around too much. It’s a distraction and I have things to do.”
               “Oh, aren’t I so lucky then.” You deadpan.
               Seonghwa’s fingers go underneath your chin, tilting your face upwards slightly to look at him. “You have a bit of mouth on you, little witch. Storming into the bar to demand my help, telling me I can fool around with you, then being fussy at having to cum this way.”
               “Yeah, what’s your point?”
               Seonghwa’s thumb brushes across your lips, “Nothing, just thinking about what you would look like with your mouth stuffed full of my cock.”
               You inhale sharply at his words, pressing down hard against his thigh. You don’t know why you are so turned on by him, this man you hardly know, who could crush you with his magick if he so desired. You think it is simply because he is so attractive, with his cheekbones, pretty eyes, smart mouth and those stupid fucking leather pants.
               Seonghwa goes on relentlessly, “You would probably still try to talk then, wouldn’t you? I can almost hear your muffled words around my cock, how you’d look up at me with those eyes of yours, your lips stretched out around me.” He runs a single finger down your neck, down your chest, stopping just before your tits.
               You’re so turned on that your head has gone light, too busy grinding down against Seonghwa’s thigh desperately to think of anything else. In the dim lights, Seonghwa’s eyes look like small purple flames, intently watching you as if he cares nothing for his own climax.
               “Where would you want me to finish, little witch? In your mouth? Or on you?” He pinches your nipple through your shirt, making you gasp, and he smirks. “I think I’d cum on your tits. Or maybe if you sucked me off well enough, I’d cum in your mouth.”
               You grab Seonghwa’s hands, press them against your tits. He obeys by groping you. The only outward sign of his arousal is the fact his cheeks are flushed with colour.
               “Don’t stop talking.” You tell him, having worked out the best angle to ride his thigh.
               “You’re so fucking bossy,” Seonghwa says, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Are you always this bossy or is it just with me?”
               “Always this bossy.” You reply curtly, too focused on trying to cum to be chatty, “Keep talking dirty.”
               “So bossy yet go along with any suggestion I come up with to fix your problem,” Seonghwa comments, moving his hands underneath your shirt to your bra. His fingers against your bare skin make you groan as you grind against him, “That’s how I know you’d take my cock like a good slut.”
               Your eyes flutter closed, not caring about anything else other than finishing against his thigh. Seonghwa tugs down your bra, pinching and tugging on your nipples just enough to make you moan.
               “You are a slut, aren’t you?” He asks.
               “Y-yes,” You manage to reply, your climax drawing close.
               “You gonna let me have my fun with you? I’ll fix what you fucked up with your magick but I think I’ll make you my personal whore in the meantime. Does that work for you, little witch?” Seonghwa’s voice is low in your ear, slinking up your spine.
               “S-Seonghwa, I’m so close,” You gasp.
               “Answer me first and then you can finish. You gonna be my personal whore?”
               “Yes, yes, whatever you want to do to me,” You whimper, “Whatever you want.”
               Seonghwa smiles in such a manner that you wonder distantly what you just stumbled into. But when he says, “Come on then, let me see you finish like a slut.” your orgasm begins immediately.
               Your head rolls back, fingers digging into Seonghwa’s shoulders as you climax, grinding down against his knee. Seonghwa’s hand is on your back, holding you steady as you ride it out. For not touching him, or even fully making out with him, the climax is intense. With a shudder, you gasp, and then your cheeks blush as reality settles in.
               I just met this guy, you think worriedly, hoping that what just happened won’t take away from the seriousness of your situation. But when you finally look at Seonghwa, your concerns he now sees you differently fades away by the lust in his eyes. Yet before you can make a move towards the buttons on his pants, he gently shifts you off his leg.
               “Time for bed, little witch.” He declares, standing up.
               Confused, you stammer, “You don’t…I mean…”
               Seonghwa leans forward, his necklaces swinging in the dim light of the candles, a soft smirk crossing his features. “No, not now. I’d rather know you were squirming to suck my cock instead of giving you it immediately.” He straightens, “Now, come on. I’ll show you to your room.”
               The room ends up being a small, organized space with a bed hastily thrown in one corner with heaps of blankets on it. Along the other wall runs a large shelf with small spice jars labelled alphabetically. A night table has a random assortment of crystals scattered across it. The window’s curtains are shut, and the only light source is a few chime candles on top of the shelf.
               “I’ll be gone in the morning. Things to do. Meet me back here right before curfew.” Seonghwa says, “You need anything?”
               “No, this is nice. Thanks.” You gingerly sit down on the edge of the bed.
               “Night, little witch.” He says softly, closing the door behind him, leaving you to try to mentally sort through all the turn of events that unfolded in one single night.
PART TWO HERE.
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queen-rowenas · 2 years
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@queen-rowenas’s follower celebration day one: candlelight / date night
The bunker is quiet and dark when Cas gets home, the clang of the door closing echoing through the war room.
He frowns at the dimmed lights, certain of the time down to the second. It’s still early evening, not late enough for the bunker’s light system to switch to its late night settings to conserve power.
Traffic had actually been light on his drive back from town, a trip to the post office for Sam and the bakery for Dean. Setting Sam’s box of some lended grimoires from a friendly coven and the pie Cas had spotted in the bakery window on the map table, the angel took extra care in handling the pie box.
At least the eery quiet has an explanation. Sam is visiting Eileen, and Jack is helping Claire with a hunt for the weekend. So it’s just Dean and Cas at the bunker. Which is nothing unusual.
So he shouldn’t be feeling the flutter of his grace as takes quick steps through the bunker to find Dean, shuffling the pie box in his hands.
Except things are different now.
It’s been twelve days, four hours, and nineteen minutes since they shared their first kiss. And they’ve shared many soft moments since then, shy and hesitant, growing accustomed to being allowed to touch, to be tender.
Dean had seemed a little…off when Cas had left for the afternoon. Antsy. Not quite looking Cas in the eye as he pressed a hasty kiss to his cheek.
A clatter from the kitchen startles the air, followed by scuffling steps, and Dean stumbles out into the hall, nearly colliding with the angel.
“Hey.” Dean smiles, voice too high and eyes too wide.“You’re home early.”
His hands wring in the stained apron wrapped around his waste, and there’s a streak of something wiped across his forehead. He’s wearing a dark blue button-up that compliments his shoulders. Cas can recall Dean wearing it exactly once. It is a carefully preserved memory.
He looks all too real and yet like something from a dream.
“The line at the post office was short,” Cas says, at a loss.
“Short.” Dean nods absently, hands on his hips. “Good. That’s…good.” His eyes dart around for a moment as the hall falls silent, thoughts flitting across his face.
Cas motions back down the hall. “Should I not be here?”
Dean’s eyes snap back into focus. “What? No! I mean, yeah—it’s just.” He rubs the back of his neck and nods, sucking in a breath. “Yes. Come on in.”
He motions for Cas to enter before faltering, hands floundering at his sides before stepping in close to press a kiss to Cas’s cheek. “Hi,” he murmurs, hovering close.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Okay, let me just—” Dean slaps the light off and whips his apron from his waist, leaving the angel at the threshold, grabbing a few plates of food from the counter and haphazardly tucking a bottle under his arm to deposit them on the table. “Didn’t really have time to clean up yet, but it’s fine.”
Cas can only stare at the scene. It’s the familiar aftermath of Dean’s cooking, an organized chaos of pots and dishes, some cleaned and some still scattered across the counter.
But there’s more.
For one, there are enough candles to constitute a fire hazard although Castiel would never allow a flame to touch Dean Winchester. They cast the room in a soft, hazy light, sharpening the line of Dean’s jaw as he circles the kitchen.
Scrambling for the only two wine glasses they own, Dean nearly knocks over the record player from the Dean Cave tucked in the corner, Taylor Swift’s Folklore vinyl crooning softly.
The side of the pie box folds in under his hold and startles Cas enough to knock him out of his reverie. He takes a few steps inside and carefully sets the box down.
“What is all of this?”
“Oh, it’s uh—” Dean goes to rub the back of his neck again before stopping himself. “It’s a date night.”
He shrugs. “I figured now that we’re…you know, together, I should actually woo you. Wine and dine you and stuff. So I got the dinner and the flowers—”
His eyes grow wide, and he curses under his breath. “Hang on.” And he turns and races out of the kitchen.
As the rapid footsteps fade down the hall, Cas shakes his head, unbearably fond and almost overwhelmed. He turns to look at the table and his grace swells in his chest.
There’s a burger for Dean on one side, but the other has an assortment. There’s a grilled cheese sandwich, a meal Cas finds comfortingly close to peanut butter and jelly but more tolerable as an angel. There’s toast topped with an absurd amount of butter with jars of honey and jam from the farmer’s market beside it. And in the center is a stack of pancakes with a fruit and whipped cream smiley face on top. Cas had been particularly fond of that breakfast when they had it a few mornings ago.
Beside the meal sits a mug of hot chocolate, whipped cream swirled expertly on top, and a glass of wine. Cas’s two preferred beverages when he’s feeling indulgent.
It’s the most absurd meal Cas has ever seen. And he loves it.
The footsteps return, and Dean stumbles into the door frame, out of breath. He straightens and holds out a bundle of sunflowers tied together with twine. “These are for you, sunshine,” he says with a smirk and a wink, something that would be a lot smoother if he wasn’t visibly sweating.
“Thank you, Dean.”
Cas shifts the flowers to one hand and reaches out for Dean’s, but Dean breezes past him, incapable of staying still.
“Okay, I fixed all of your favorites, so this is probably the weirdest meal I’ve ever made, but you can just dig in.” He spins around, startling Cas back a step. “Or not! I mean, if you’re not in the mood to eat, that’s okay too. We can just save it for later if you want. It’s just…” Dean shrugs, looking away and growing quiet. “Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” Cas moves in closer, leaning past Dean to set his flowers down on the seat.
“Yeah. It’s your night, buddy.”
“Good.”
In one motion, Cas crowds him back into the table and kisses him. Dean startles, one hand nearly landing in the toast, before melting into him. He raises both hands to Cas’s face, one carding back into his hair. Cas can taste the wine on his tongue. He presses in more before drawing back, and Dean sways with him, letting out a shuddering breath.
“You.” Cas presses another kiss to his cheek. “Are wonderful.”
Dean blinks, dazed eyes still trained on Cas’s mouth.“We should—the food’s gonna get cold.” His hands are still running idly through Cas’s hair. Hands that prepared this meal and got flowers for a date night, in their home.
“Of course.” Cas squeezes his hip before stepping back and around to sit down. He smiles as Dean takes a wobbly step to his seat, the candlelight doing nothing to hide his blush. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been on a date before.”
“Well, buckle up because this is only the start. I’m gonna date the crap outta you,” Dean says, picking up his burger.
Cas hums, smiling around a bite of pancakes. “I suppose I’ll have to do my own research. To romance you.”
“Trust me, sweetheart. You’ve already done that plenty.”
“Perhaps.” Cas reaches across the table and takes Dean’s ready hand. “But I would still like to take you somewhere. Treat you to an evening that expresses my affections for you.”
Dean’s eyes widen. “Uh, yeah. We can do that if you want.”
Watching Dean blink, the dim light flickering across his face and throat as he swallows, Cas knows that he would do anything for Dean Winchester. Because he deserves nice things, soft things like candlelit dinners and soft music and tender affection.
He smiles and runs his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand. “It’s a date.”
writing tag list pt. 1 (ask to be added or removed)
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sergeantsporks · 2 years
Text
The Babysitter’s Coven
Rating: Teen, Gen
There's a lot that goes on in the emperor's coven behind the scenes, some of which even Hunter doesn't know about.
AKA, the scouts are all secretly teaming up behind Hunter's back to parent him.
CW: Implied/referenced child abuse
Ao3
Ch 4/10 I Made a Deal with the Devil, and the Devil is a Tiny Red Bird
Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3
Where is that blasted book?
Henderson ran his finger down the row of coven library books, rubbing his eyes. It was too late for this—but he’d blown up his own potions book and needed to find a replacement before his simmering potion got out of control.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft snore, and he back-tracked out of the book row. The golden guard was passed out at one of the tables, a book in front of him. Henderson shook his head, wandering over.
“So that’s why Paul couldn’t find you,” Henderson murmured. He gingerly extracted the book his commanding officer was using as a pillow, flipping the cover forward.
A Study of Palisman and Their Habits: How to Care for Your Best Friend.
“Now, what do you need with this?”
The golden guard, predictably, didn’t answer. Henderson sighed, and picked his boss up, throwing him over one shoulder, picking up the book in his free hand.
“Okay, bedtime for you.”
He shifted and grumbled in his sleep, but didn’t wake up. Henderson shook his head, peering out the library door both ways for any other scouts before jogging through the hallways, carrying his boss up to his bedroom. He pushed against the door. Titan, it was a mess in here. Henderson dumped the golden guard on his bed and set the book down on the counter. He turned to go, and then something small and red caught his eye in the chaos, and he crossed the room to pick up a small statue of a cardinal.
A Study of Palisman and Their Habits: How to Care for Your Best Friend.
That’s wild magic.
It’s forbidden, especially for a member of the emperor’s coven.
Oh, boy, kid. What have you gotten yourself into?
Henderson shook the bird slightly. “I’m not stupid, I know you’re a palisman. Quit pretending.”
It sprang to life, pecking at his fingers. Henderson held on tighter. “Hey—quit that!” he hissed in a whisper, “I’m not going to hurt you, or him! Ow!” he glanced back at the golden guard, who snored on. “You want to wake him up?”
To his surprise, the bird settled down, chirping softly. Henderson set the bird down gently on the shelf.
“A palisman.” He shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing—bonding to the head of the emperor’s coven? Are you crazy? You’ll get killed, or you’ll get him in trouble! Is that what you want?!”
The bird warbled angrily, and flapped over to the guard, snuggling down into his hair, glaring at Henderson.
Henderson held his hand out. “Look. I’m just trying to help him. I’m sure you are, too. We can work together, okay? I’ll help him where I can, you help him where you can, deal?”
It eyed his hand suspiciously.
“I’m not planning on telling anyone he’s got a palisman up here.”
He felt a momentary flash of guilt at the idea of hiding this from Jean, but shook it away. She played by the rules, she kept to coven standards while leaning around where it was possible to help the golden guard. She’d feel obligated to report the bird, no matter how bad she felt about it—he, on the other hand, didn’t have any inclination to do so.
The bird hopped onto his hand, chirping and nodding its head.
Henderson glanced down at his boss. Still asleep—good. There’d be no end of trouble if he woke up. Don’t want to disappear like Flavius. “There we go. It’ll be our secret, just you, me, the golden guard, eh?”
The bird flew up, landing on a piece of paper, hopping up and down. Henderson crept over, and it pecked at a singular word over and over.
Hunter.
“Hunter,” Henderson muttered, “Is that your name?”
The bird shook its head, flying a circle around the golden guard.
“That’s… his name?”
It nodded, and perched on Henderson’s shoulder, warbling softly.
Henderson scooped the bird up, setting it back on the shelf. “Alright, we’re a team, now, I guess. Don’t tell him about this, okay? I could get in trouble.”
It nodded, turning back into a statue. Henderson shook his head, casting one last look at the golden guard—at Hunter. How had he managed to sleep through that?
Titan, kid.
Forget the emperor putting you in danger, you’ve got a knack for finding it yourself.
Henderson looked both ways outside of the door and slipped out, closing it behind him. Hopefully, Hunter would assume he’d wandered up to his room while half asleep and wouldn’t question how he’d gotten there.
“I don’t know how he survived the crash, but he won’t this time.”
Henderson paused at Kikimora’s voice, and sidled up close to the door she was behind, straining to hear.
“But ma’am—”
“Captain, I am almost certain that he’s the one who caused me to lose the palisman. And what does he have to show for it? Nothing. He didn’t bring back the palisman himself, so he must have been in cahoots with someone to steal them away from Belos. He’s obviously a traitor. He’s managed to lie to the emperor, but I know better.”
Based on the shape Hunter had been in when he’d returned from his mission, Henderson highly doubted that coming back without the palisman had been a choice. Traitor indeed.
Well.
There was the matter of the palisman that he likely WAS hiding.
Henderson shook the thought away.
He’s just a curious kid who found something new. He’s not a traitor.
“Belos is relying on ME to solve… internal problems. And the golden guard is starting to become one.”
Was Flavius an ‘internal problem’?
“Of course, Ma’am.”
“So I need to solve this. Quickly. Efficiently.”
“What is it you need me to do?”
“Easy enough. Swap out his staff with this one.”
“What does it… do?”
“Same thing his real one does. Except, this one is a bit… faulty. A bit finicky. Happens sometimes with magical items, especially experimental ones. It will work just fine one moment, and the next…” a finger click. “No more problem.”
“Understood, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”
Henderson backed away from the door before they left, jogging briskly down the hallways.
How do I stop them?
Switch the staff out? But then he’d have to steal the real one back from Kikimora—not an appealing thought.
Kikimora already has a track record of failing to kill him—maybe Jean’s right, maybe I just leave it, and he’ll handle himself.
Nah, who was he kidding. Jean had just suspected that Kikimora was going to kill Hunter—there hadn’t been anything she could do. He knew exactly what the emperor’s assistant was planning—he couldn’t just sit by and watch Hunter self-destruct—literally.
Besides, I made a deal with a bird.
Next
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𝓲 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓭 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓮
Sally Mckenna x Reader
Taglist: @imstacysmomtm @cordeliaswhore@winters-witch-bitch @in-cordelias-coven @loverofallthingssarah
major trigger warning for: drug overdose, mentions of drugs (specifically heroin), description of a dead body, and suicide.
I finally managed to unlock the door to our crappy motel. My hands shake from an exhilarating combination of exhaustion and drunkenness. We all have our vices; Sally and I choose to live our lives dancing on the edge of destruction. We keep each other on the cliff, a chaotic tango of danger and safety. The dim lights bathe our room in an ugly urine yellow that somehow manages to highlight the grimness and stains of hundreds of strangers. The silence and stillness of the room hits me like a punch to the gut. Normally at this time, Sally is a chaotic mess. She’s normally dancing around as the heroin spreads its joy through her veins. The bathroom door is only half closed, and the flickering of led light outside fills the tiny room with flashes of blood red.
She’s collapsed on the floor. Her gear is on the bathroom counter and from the look of things, she’s on a trip to wonderland. Throwing my bag towards the bed, I go to check on her. I’ll probably have to drag her to bed and then tend to her wounds while she complains tomorrow. As I crouch beside her; the room flashes blood red again. She’s too cold. She’s too distant. She’s an empty shell. Her pulse is long gone. My hurricane of chaos has danced too close to the edge and now she’s fallen. She’s gone. As the room rhythmically flashes, I picture the beautiful colour that used to grace her cheeks when I told my awful jokes. I picture the blood that used to flow through her veins and fill her with life. Now all I can think of is the heroin that flows through her veins like a parasite. It stole her from me. My beautiful Sally that flirted with danger and gave her life in exchange for one more trip to wonderland.
As my blurry eyes look up from her corpse, I see the solution. She left enough. I can follow behind her. We don’t have to be apart. I grab her gear with shaking hands. This is it. I can’t live without her. I won’t live without her. Gently, I unwrap the belt from her cold arm. There’s no backing out now. I always said if she died I’d follow right behind her. I don’t even feel the needle piercing my skin. I push the devil into my veins on autopilot. Laying down on the floor of this dirty and broken bathroom; I curl into the side of my dead lover. Soon I’m going to rejoin her.
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bimswritings · 3 years
Text
Armorer x (Blacksmith) Reader 1/2
Warnings:Canon Typical violence
A/n: I had so much fun writing this! If anyone has fic recs for her send them my way! The next part of the Savage series and a new chapter of Our Way will come out next week!
_______________________________
The Armorer had experienced more in her lifetime than anyone else would care to. She had watched the rise and fall of small rebellions, crushed under the foot of the Empire. Seen her people hunted and killed until their numbers weren’t even fractions of what the great tribe of warriors once was. Chaos and bloodshed, hiding and waiting, had become as normal as breathing to her. That’s not to say she missed the many good things that happened. 
The sounds of foundlings and young ones as they ran through the halls of the covert, not yet burdened by the responsibilities of adulthood, acted as a reminder that her people were still alive. And there was no greater sense of peace to be had then when they would all meet in the karyai and dine together like the family they were. 
Well, except for her forge. 
Her forge was a sacred place. Not only for her but for the others as well. It was here that the most important and private of discussions were held. Talks about individuals as well as the coven as a whole. Who would go out and hunt, what responsibilities would be given to who, and where they would go for their next supply run to get food and medicine. It was important that they never went to the same place too many times, least someone followed them back, and the amount always had to be different as to not let in on their numbers.
All these choices, all this planning, was run through her. Their Armorer. Their Alor. They trusted her with their lives, leaning on her as an elder would a walking stick. Despite the immense pressure put on her, she never let it show. Never asked for anything in return. Seeing her people happy was enough to keep her strong, and looking towards the future instead of the horrors of the past.
Besides, when she watched the bigger picture, it left the others able to focus on the smaller things. Namely the continuation of their tribe, which they were doing an outstanding job on if her current project was anything to go by.
The three pieces she was working on would fit together perfectly. Though each their own unique piece, they were all made from one base ore.
The mother would come to possess the intricate dagger currently sitting off to the side, being highly skilled in close quarter combat it would serve her well. The handle of the blade would slide smoothly in the bottom of her eagle-eyed riduur’s blaster, and make it even more dangerous than before. The weapon would have no weaknesses, each piece supporting the other, and be usable in any scenario. Of course they would still need a way to be locked in place. Something that would make the connection between the two weapons stronger. The insignia would be worn by the child until they died, and then given to their closest of kin, be it friend, lover, or child. It was of the mother’s clan, which they would all take the name of, and the metal ranicor already shone with a radiant pride as she pulled it from the blue flames, quenching it the basin of oil beside her.
It would fit at the juncture, locking the weapons in place with an unbreakable bond. 
The two adults would present each other with the weapons, a symbol of their promise to protect one another both in and out of battles. Then, together, they would tie the insignia to the child with a leather thread. The only addition would be a Mythosaur skull, which they would receive should they take up the creed of the Mandalorian. If not, they would still bear the mark of their clan and wear it with pride.
It was hard work, but the Armorer would do it all over again in a heartbeat. After all, the exchanging of vows between two Mandalorians was enough cause for a celebration, but for the same couple to have a claiming ceremony of a foundling at the same time? It had sent the enter tribe into a nest of bustling activity in preparation. The elders were particularly excited, constantly coming in to inform her of any updates or changes. 
It was one of them that she had expected when she heard footsteps enter her forge, not the young warrior she was faced with when she turned around.
“What can I help you with, child?” For a young Mandalorian such as himself to enter without invitation or a offering to the tribe, it must be of grave importance.
He remained kneeling as he spoke, head bowed in respect to his Alor.
“Alor, I have heard troubling news during my patrol. A matter I fear has to deal with the pride of the Mandalorian name.”
Underneath the helmet, her brows furrowed though he could not see it. From his tone, he seemed almost hesitant to deliver the news, and she waited silently for him to continue.
“There...there’s been word that another possess the armor of a Mandolrian a few parsecs over on the moon of Quilon.” He swallowed thickly, audible even through the modulator, before continuing. 
“Someone not of any tribe or clan, nor a foundling or anyone who claims our identity.”
The tension in the room was palpable, and the Armorer couldn’t blame the heat rising within her on the fire she had been previously toiling over for so many hours without issue. Though she concealed it well, any who knew her, who could tell by the way her helmet tilted up or how her shoulders squared slightly, knew that she was absolutely furious.
“Then we must retrieve it immediately.” 
“Of course, Alor. Which of the warriors would you like me to retrieve so they may be briefed.”
“None.” She replied, hooking her tools into her belt, moving to grab her cloak from it’s hook, where it had been previously gathering dust.
“Alor?” He questioned. She had told him that they would retrieve it, but if she wanted none of the warriors then how would they?
“It is time that people are reminded of who we were. Who we are. Though we remain hidden in our covert, we are not weak. We bide our time until we once again rise.”
She tucked an extra blaster into her belt, though she knew the weapon would come second to her hammer. If it turned into an altercation of shots rather than strength, she would be prepared.
“I will retrieve it myself, and make an example of those that thought they could tarnish our name.”
With that she was gone, stalking down the maze of corridors on a warpath. Everyone who saw her coming was quick to jump out of the way. If there was one thing more dangerous than an angry Mandalorian, it was an enraged Armorer.
__________________________________
Landing the ship just outside the town, the Armorer followed the coordinates given to her before leaving. 
Just like every other planet in their system, Quilon was nothing special. Another small rock in space abandoned by the Empire and left to be overrun by bandits. Though their presence here was even more prevalent than on Nevarro. 
She paid no mind to the eyes that followed her from the shadows, hidden under masks and hats and behind drinks as she made a direct line to the center bar.
The man behind the counter was an aged Weequay, his already wrinkled skin dull but still showing the strength that lay in the muscle underneath. Though old, he was clearly someone who could still hold his own against any patron who had too many glasses of brandy.
He had no hesitance in walking up to her, despite clearly knowing who she was a part of.
“What can I do for you?”
She placed a stack of credits on the counter, gently sliding the pile over to him.
“I’ve heard that someone here has the armor of a Mandalorian. I wish to know where to find them so that we may...talk.”
The Weequay picked up the pile,clinking the metal as he tested the weight before looking back towards the Armorer.
“A matter of great importance for you, I’m sure. However, the person you seek is also of great importance.”
Silently, she reached into her pouch and retrieved a few more credits, the clinking sound they made as they were deposited with the others into his waiting hand causing a smile to stretch his face, revealing a number of missing teeth.
“You’ll find your person on the far west side of town. The shop will be located just a bit out. Had to relocate it with all the noise bothering the townsfolk.” He laughed, turning back to his other patrons as he deposited the money. “Just follow the cursing.”
Twenty minutes and another exchange of information later, the Armorer found herself in front of a shop reading ‘Galactic Metalworks’.
If she had been angry before, she was positively fuming now. For someone who was supposed to have an understanding and appreciation for all things forged, the fact that they would have Mandalorian beskar, undoubtedly knowing its importance and what is signified, was the ultimate insult.
She could only hope that they would have enough sense not to have tempered with the armor, else she would have to hold herself back from killing them too quickly.
She walked through the door, pulling the fabric flap aside as she stepped inside. Instantly she was greeted with the sight of a surprisingly organized space, with weapons of all kinds lining the walls and a case displaying more decorative items sitting just behind what she assumed was the front counter.
There was no one in sight, prompting her to move further into the shop. As she passed, she couldn’t help but admire the works as she went. Though more elegant than what she would have done with some, there was no doubt about the quality of each item. Every blade, trigger, and handle was carefully shaped and sharpened, each having a softness that one would not expect of such weapons. It seemed to be the artist's signature stamp, present in everything she saw.
He attention was drawn away from the shining metals as a loud, and rather brash, string of curses flowed from the back of the shop. Once again reminded of her reason for coming here. The Armorer walked past the counter and its items, following the sounds of metal being hammered around the corner to reveal an open aired forge. 
There you stood, in all your soot stained and sweaty glory, cursing like a Trandoshian pirate as you inspected the item before you. A crude imitation of a helmet, she realized, though the eyes were horrendously off center and uneven, and being far too long for any but a Kaminoan to wear without hitting their shoulders. 
Were you really the same person who had made all the items out front?
No. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She was here for business.
The intention was for her to take you by the element of surprise, leaving no room for a fight with the point of her hammer pressed into the vulnerable skin above your carotid. That was thrown out the window before she could even reach for the weapon as you quickly turned around, eyes locking onto her and going wide before frantically backpedaling. 
As luck would have it, the hammer you had been previously using was knocked from its stand and clattered to the floor, being stepped on and causing you to tumble.
Narrowly missing falling into the forge itself, your head still cracked painfully against its stand and your vision went black. By the time it cleared enough for you to stop seeing stars and your brain to process what had just happened, you found the very person who had startled you into such a state standing above you, feet on either side of your hips as a hammer was pointed dangerously at your face.
“H-hey!” You managed to stutter out, still dizzy and most likely concussed. “No need for that!”
Holding your hands up in an act of surrender and defense, should they still decide to attack, you balanced your weight onto your elbows despite the way it sent your head spinning.
They said nothing, only staring down through their owl-shaped visor as the golden shine of the helmet cast rays of brilliant light around the forge. Despite the situation, you could help but admire the stunning craftsmanship of the piece with envy. Each spike, every curve, was so beautifully done.
“I know you’re here for the armor, and I can get it for you! It’s right here!”
The Mandalorian remained still for a moment, contemplating, before moving back enough to let you get up, exchanging their hammer for a blaster, keeping it trained on your figure as you slowly rose and moved to the far wall.
Producing a key from beneath your apron, you moved one of the many boxes and unlocked a hatch hidden beneath. From there, you produced a chest that had yet another lock on it, setting it on your workbench and placing the key beside it. Backing away with your hands held up one again, the Mandalorian moved closer to the chest.
Hidden under the helmet, you couldn't see the way her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, laced with a hint of curiosity. You had gone through quite the effort of hiding it. Without your guide she might not have found the hatch, which had blended so well into the floor that when you had first moved the box she hadn’t seen it even with the filters of her visor. Why give it up so easily when you could have easily denied even having it in the first place, and no evidence to say otherwise?
Unlocking the box, she was even more surprised by what she found inside. While keeping a watch on where your figure had backed into the corner, she began shuffling through each item, peeling back layer after layer of fabric until she had constructed a full suit of beskar.  Not only was it stored with such care, the metal skillfully wrapped to prevent one item from damaging another if jostled around, but it appeared to have been freshly cleaned by a polish well known and used almost exclusively by smiths. It was meant to bring out the best shine and remove any scuff to increase the appeal and chances of someone buying the item.
“Where did you get this.” She put the items back in their case, closing it before turning back to where you were, blaster now lowered to her hip but ready to raise and fire in an instant.
“Bought it from some pirates who stopped by here to refuel.” You squeaked out. Despite knowing that all Mandalorians were warriors, you were still surprised to hear a woman's voice come from the helmet. The way she carried herself with such confidence and strength, you could only imagine the prestige and skill she had to back it up.
“I would have returned it sooner, but you guys are kind of hard to find.” You attempted to joke, letting out a nervous laugh as you shakily smiled. “I tried to keep it on the down low as much as I could to keep others from trying to come and take it. Paid a kid to let it slip when he saw one of you at a cantina you’re known to frequent.” 
The Armorer tilted her head slightly, still not believing you completely.
“Why not sell it, or melt it down for your own use?” She gestured to the space around you, at all the projects currently displayed or were waiting to be finished.
Your own brows knitted in confusion, as if you couldn’t believe why she was asking you that, and in reality you couldn’t.
“Well, I respect you too much.” Your shoulders shrugged lightly. “Growing up, my father told me all the stories of your culture, your people and what the armor meant to you. How it was more than just a piece of equipment, that it was like an extension of your own body and identity. Rather poetically, he would always put it.”
A small laugh made its way past your lips, taking the Armorer by surprise.
“If he could have met one of you and studied the armor he would have died of happiness. Probably would have even sworn an oath and donned the armor himself if he had the chance, no hesitation.”
Any thoughts of ill intention from before were reduced to nothing in the Armorer’s mind. The way you had spoken so fondly when describing your admiration for her culture, the same way you had when speaking of your father, was so gentle and sincere. Even if you had a helmet like hers she would have been able to tell just by your voice.
“You have my thanks for keeping it in such good condition until we were able to collect it. I know my people would share my sentiment if they were here.” She dipped her head in thanks, missing the blush that spread across your face at the action.
“It was no trouble at all, really! I hope you don’t mind but I did study it before hiding it away.” You nodded to the crude helmet she had found you swearing at when she had first entered. “As you can see, my attempts were less than successful. It’s like my father always said; If I could make armor the way I could make everything else, I would be far too dangerous.”
The Armorer silently agreed. If the display in the front of the shop was anything to go by, if you were able to make armor then you could potentially even give her a run for her credits.
“You are quite skilled in your craft. It would be a sight to see how you would interpret your own armor.”
“Rather poorly.” You laughed once again, and the Armorer found herself straining to hear its cheerful air, much to her own embarrassment.
It was time she left. She had gotten what she had come for, so there was no reason for her to stick around any longer. The more time she was away from the covert the more worried she became, mentally berating herself for being so ill-tempered and short sighted to have stormed here right away without thinking much of how the others would fare without her presence. Paz should keep a good handle on things, but it was still best not to be gone much longer.
Before she could excuse herself though, you had dropped the helmet you had previously been sourly glaring at and focused back on her, excitement evident as a bright gleam shone in your eyes. 
“You must have come quite a way to get here! Please, allow me to compensate you for having to come out to such a place.”
The Armorer tried to argue, to explain that it hadn't been a problem and that the beskar being back where it belonged was enough, but you wouldn’t listen, pushing her to the front of the store and practically demanding that she choose at least one of the items to take with her.
“They are all so well crafted. I could not even begin to know where to choose.”
Humming, you closed your eyes in thought before bounding back towards the forge, yelling over your shoulder for her to keep browsing while you went looking for something.
So she did, walking up and down and displays, taking in all the weapons and items as she duly noted that your leather work seemed to be just as good as your smithing if the wrapped handles and weapons holsters were anything to go by. Any choice that she made would make a fine addition to their armory, and Paz would be overjoyed with each item, though she made a mental note not to let him learn of your shop. The last thing she needed was him coming here and spending all the tribe’s money on your works, undoubtedly scarring you with his sheer size and gruffness as well.
It was in the middle of her browsing that a flash of color caught her eye. Many of the metals you worked with were the same shades of grey and black, even the occasional gold. But there, amongst the sea of cold steel in the display case, was the warmth of bronze. She moved closer despite knowing that nothing she would find there would be beneficial for the tribe. It was as if it were a magnet though, pulling her closer by the metal covering nearly every part of her.
The item was less flashy than those surrounding it, simple and to the point, if jewelry could be described that way. The charm was a small rectangle, no longer than an inch and less than a quarter of which thick. In elegant and delicately etched letters was the word ‘loyalty’. Nothing else.
“I never took you for someone to appreciate jewelry.”
She started, helmet looking up to see you coming back from your forge. In your hands was a cloth, wrapped around what could be anything.
“I was admiring the work. The detail is remarkably clean despite its size.”
“It's been here a while. Not many people come here looking for something other than weapons, and those who do usually want something a bit more eye catching. One of my favorite works though.”
Putting the item down, her attention turns to the bundle you’ve placed on the table. Carefully, you unwrap the fabric to reveal the blade underneath. The blade itself is silver, coming to a spearpoint tip without so much as a chip. It’s longer than a normal throwing knife but shorter than one would typically consider a dagger to be. 
“My own take on a vibroblade. Easier to throw but still small enough to be easily concealed.” You hold it out, prompting her to take it.
The handle fit in her palm like a glove, as if it were molded specifically for her. The weight was perfectly balanced, allowing her to switch into a reverse grip and back with ease. At just a glance she could tell that the ridge was perfectly straight, ensuring a smooth flight through the air to its target.
“From my own collection. I figured if a Mandalorian was going to use it, then nothing but my best work would suffice.” You took the blade back, wrapping and binding it before placing it in the chest alongside the armor.
“Your hospitality knows no bounds. I am glad our meeting can end on such terms.” 
Waving your hand, you brush away the compliment despite the burning of your cheeks. Something you blamed on the heat of the forge.
“It was the least I could do. If you’re ever out here again, don’t hesitate to stop by. It can get rather lonely out here.” The forlorn expression you took on despite your ever present smile pulled at something inside the Mandalorian. Something she had not felt in a long time.
“Though don’t expect another free weapon if you do. I have a business to run after all.”
“Of course.” She said, allowing you to lead her to the door, holding the fabric as she passed through.
The whole walk back, her mind was on you. Even after she had boarded her ship and set course for home, arriving much quicker than she expected, she was thinking of you. The fact that there were still those out there that thought of and revered her people as you had, it gave her hope that not all creatures in the universe were against them.
The others were eagerly waiting for her arrival when she returned, following as she made her way back to the forge where she would store the beskar until it was decided what to do with it.
“Did you kill them and take their weapon as well?” Paz questioned when she handed him the blade, immediately pulling it out to admire the item.
She didn’t answer, focused on putting away her haul and moving to clean up her space. Leaving so quickly had resulted in a cluttered mess for her to come back to, and she once again found herself cursing her temper. Traveling far distances was something she didn’t often do, and the experience had left her tired, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and rest. She had to make sure everything was in order before she did so though.
“What’s this?” 
She turned, facing Paz as he held something in between his large fingers. She walked closer, eyes locking on to the item with laser focus.
Its familiar bronze sheen shone with a new brightness in the dim light, the etched words now hardly visible. She didn’t know when you had snuck it in, nor how you had when she had been right there the entire time.
So, for the first time in years, the Armorer took something for herself.
Plucking the small charm from his hand, she dismissed him, pulling the shutters of her shop down and leaving her mind to wander back to you as she caressed the cool metal, which did nothing to dampen the sparking embers in her kar’ta beskar.
__________________________________________________
In all honesty, you hadn’t been expecting the golden helmed Mandalorian to return to your shop. After nearly a month and a half of seeing not even the faintest glimpse of beskar you had given up hope of ever seeing her again. Sure, you were still hopeful, but when you entered your shop for some late night smithing and found the silent warrior leaning against the outside wall you nearly screamed. If it hadn’t been for the light of the flames reflecting off her helmet you wouldn’t have even realized she was there.
“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise. I don’t get visitors this late.’’
She tilted her head, gesturing for you to continue her work and decline the offer for a seat. Nothing more was said as you got to work, soon shedding your long sleeves in favor of the cool night air that flowed in from the open wall, exposing your toned arms to the Mandalorian. It was something you had always been proud of, the muscle earned from years of bending and forming metal with precise blows from your hammer.
After a few minutes of watching, the woman began moving about the shop, taking her time to inspect every inch of the workspace. Your previous encounter hadn’t left much time for her to admire it. Even though it was far less sophisticated and more worn than her own, she still felt a sense of familiarity within its heat, finding herself wondering if you would have a familiar feeling in hers. 
The thought was banished almost as quickly as it appeared. After all, an outsider not only entering the covert, but the armory as well? One of the most pivotal places of their people? Preposterous. She didn’t even know why she was here in the first place. One moment she was relaxing in a rare moment of peace she was allowed, and the next she was aboard her ship, coordinates for your shop already typed in.
From the corner of your vision, you watched as she approached your latest project; the same armor you had been working on for weeks. A warmth rose to your cheeks when you saw her inspecting it, picking up the helmet and rotating it between her hands. 
The visor had been fixed a significant amount, she noted, but it was still shaky at best. Both sides were still uneven as they dipped down into a point at the chin, and anyone who wore it would have the top of their heads pinched by the too shallow curve of the top.
“Your work has improved.” She noted, voicing it more to herself than anything.
“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I know it's not very good.”
“Not good no.” She admitted, setting the heavy helmet down and moving closer to where you were and setting every nerve on edge. “But there has been improvement, which shows that you’re learning.’’
Watching as you bent a thin metal pipe into shape, sparks flying everywhere as you didn’t even flinch when they landed on bare skin, then quenching it before moving over to your workbench and beginning to assemble it with an array of other items. She admired the speed and confidence with which you worked. Leaning against the wall, she watched as the weapon began to take shape under your hands.
Hours later, you were finished, a new blaster sitting before you. Just as beautiful and dangerous as the ones out front, with intricate vines crawling up the hilt and along the barrel, soldered on by your skillful hands before her very eyes.
“So, what can I help you with?” Turning towards the Armorer, you were surprised at how close she had gotten since you started, now almost touching and forcing you to crane your neck back to look her in the face.
“As much as I enjoy the company, I doubt you would come here without a reason.”
She remains silent for a moment, simply staring back at your smiling face before reaching around you to pick up the newly constructed blaster. The soft leather of her arm brushed your skin, and your nose picked up the familiar scent of forge iron from her gloves, causing your breath to catch in your throat as she turned the weapon in her hands.
“I have a proposition for you.” Her visor locked onto you, and despite the slight shiver of fear you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.
“You will make weapons for my people and repair any that need it. Should we need it, we will park our ships in your space and you will pick up anything we can not.”
Your brows rose as she rattled off the list. Though you would be glad to do anything involving the warriors, just for the simple fact of being able to see them up and close, you still had to question why she would choose you. There was no reason for them to trust you, even if you had returned the armor.
The Armorer took it a different way, thinking you were expecting a form of payment for your work, which only made sense.
“Of course, your efforts will be compensated. Should you ever need passage or protection, we would be more than willing to offer aid.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving a small device that she held out. Upon taking it, you discovered there were only two buttons on the disk. It might look like random scrap metal to someone else, but your trained mind recognized it as an old communications device. 
“Press the blue when items are done or you request a meeting. The green is for emergencies only. Life or death situations.” You nodded, turning to tuck the device on a higher shelf where it would be within reach but not have the risk of being accidentally pressed, and somewhat hidden should any unwelcome guest find their way back here.
“And,” she hesitated a moment, unsure of her next words. With just one visit, you had managed to lower the carefully raised walls she had constructed, penetrating its defenses in a way not even her own people had. But now, here with you in the peace of the forge, her tongue was loose and brain foggy, as if the heat was melting away every shred of common sense and survival instinct she had carefully honed.
“I will teach you how to make armor. One that will protect you. Under my guide as the Armorer of my tribe it will be nothing less than perfect. Though you must swear to never trade or sell it.”
Your eyes widened a fraction at her words, hardly believing what she had just said. Not only had you just learned a new fact about the stoic woman, that she was a smith just as yourself, but she was offering to teach you how to make some of the best armor in the galaxy. No, the universe.
“It...it would be an honor.” You tilted your head down in respect, only to have her leather clad gloves grab your chin, the worn material forcing your gaze up to meet hers. Though there was no way for you to truly see her eyes, you could almost feel the flames burning within them.
“Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.” 
__________________________________________________
If you had thought that your father had been harsh when he was first teaching you how to smith, then he had graced you with a mother’s love in comparison to the Armorer, a name she had given you to call her after multiple visits.
“It just feels kind of cold to keep calling you Mandalorian, especially with all the time we spend together.” You had told her when she questioned why you asked. There were other reasons too, namely being that she had her own name for you. Instead of calling you by the name you had given her, she had taken to calling you ‘goron’ or ‘tracinya’, in that unknown language of hers. You could only hope they weren’t insults.
She visited once a month, always arriving just before dusk and leaving at dawn, two to three weapons heavier and the occasional small trinket you had made between meetings. All night you would be bent over your forge under her watchful gaze, correcting your technique and giving the occasional tip when you were struggling more than normal.
At the end of the night you would offer your work to be inspected, glowing at any praise only to deflate with every critique, and she was nothing if not someone who was unafraid to express her opinion.
The entire time you talked with one another. Well, you did most of the talking, but it still felt nice to have someone other than the stray loth cat listen to your ramblings.
Every once in a while she would answer one question or another, though she never divulged too much information on her own tribe, apart from mentioning another Mandalorian in passing or treating you with one of her occasional stories from the covert. You respected her wishes nonetheless, and as much as you wanted to ask her about everything you resigned yourself to the fact that she would only tell you what she wanted you to know. Mandalorians were still very much sought after prizes, and the secrecy would only make sense, as it ensured their survival.
She also never picked up a tool, as much as you wanted to see her work. Her instructions were always verbal, with the occasional instance where she would place her hands over yours, moving them the correct way and never failing to send your cheeks ablaze. Thankfully you could blame the color on the heat of the flames and not your own growing feelings. Those were a different issue entirely.
You don’t know when it started, almost like it had always been there, building until they attacked with a snap. The fact of the matter was that you harbored feelings for the armored woman, and you couldn’t deny them, no matter how much you tried to push them down. Alone for the most part, she was the only person to regularly visit your empty residence. Ever since your father had died and left you the successor of his forge, both the shop itself and the small living quarters behind it had felt empty, haunted by his memories that couldn’t be chased away with any amount of plants you bought or how much time you spent working. 
The first time she had accepted your invitation for a drink after much begging was the first time the space felt complete in ages, though she simply sat on one of the only two chairs in the living room, drink remaining untouched in her hand.
You were content hiding your feelings. As long as it meant that she would come around, you would do anything. Though you feared your meetings may soon come to an end. While you were overjoyed with the progress you had made over the months, constructing enough armor for a single arm and leg, as well as a chest plate. Not much longer and you would have your armor complete, and her reason for coming around would be gone. No longer would she need to teach you, and there was no reason she couldn’t send someone else from the covert to collect weapons and drop off items for repair once a month. You remember her mentioning how their top heavy infantry warrior had asked to meet you, and as interested as you were in meeting other Mandalorians you didn’t want it to be at the expense of seeing her.
“What’s got you so distracted tonight, tracinya’ika?” she asked after you dropped your current project, a shoulder pauldron, for the third time that night.
“Nothing!” You managed to squeak out, only to feel her familiar presence behind you, growing closer until you felt her brush against your back, making you spin around only to be pinned against your forge. The heat burned your back, hardly noticed by your brain as you processed how close she was standing now, arms on either side of your body and helmet tilted to look you in the eye. 
“Tell me.” Her voice crooned, smooth even through the modulators and nearly causing your knees to give out.
Swallowing thickly, you struggled to get the words out.
“When...when you're done teaching me, will I ever see you again?” It sounded stupid to say it out loud. Needy, like a child wanting their mother. It made you feel foolish, believing she surely thought you weak and helpless now.
You were prepared for her to laugh or scoff, to chastise you for how foolish you were being about such emotional connections. 
She did none of those.
“Ni tracinya, as long as you still desire my presence, I will come. Until you give the word, and even after, our destiny will be intertwined.”
You didn’t, couldn’t, say anything after that. It was as if she had stolen every thought from your head, every word from your mouth, leaving you nothing but a gaping fool, staring at the powerful warrior before you as the sound of the spotted owls filtered in through the open wall from the cool night air beyond.
It was the Armorer who finally broke the trance, stepping back and pausing for a moment before collecting the prepackaged weapons from the table. She said nothing as she left, heading back hours before the sun had even begun to rise and leaving you with nothing to do but stare after her, wondering what you had done wrong.
Unbeknownst to you, the cause of the Armorers swift exit had not been your fault, but her own. The entire way back to the covert she berated herself for how foolishly she had acted, allowing her body to move before her mind yet again, putting you in a compromising position. Even while berating herself, the memory of being so close to you stuck in her mind. The way your hair stuck to your damp skin, practically glowing in the light of the flames as you stared up with large, innocent eyes.
She had wanted to take you into her arms then and there. Her kind hearted little smith. So gentle and warm despite the rough profession and living conditions in which you found yourself in. It made her feel all the more guilty about having allowed herself to grow so attached to you, bringing along all the dangers that came with being associated with a Mandalorian as well as the knowledge she provided.
With each visit the feeling only grew, and by this point her draw to protect you as she would one of her tribe was just as strong. You were a weakness. A chink in her armor that she would allow none to exploit. 
Unfortunately, she was just one Mandalorian, and there was a limit to her strength, as she would soon find out.
_______________________________
It had been a week since your last meeting with the Armorer. The way she had practically sprinted out played on repeat in your head, reviewing every second leading up until then in search of what you could have possibly done. Yet no matter what angle you looked at it from, you always drew a blank.
Well, what else were you expecting from a Mandalorian. As skilled as they were apt to run off without an explanation. On to whatever adventure was next. You could only hope that she would have some explanation the next time.
‘Or at least the decency to apologize for being rude.’ you huffed, slamming the door to the cupboard after retrieving a cup. You settled down with a mug of warm bantha milk and honey, still fuming. Hopeful a bit of reading would calm your nerves for now, ignited every time you thought back on the encounter. Hopefully you would be calm enough not to give her an earful when you saw her.
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only source of sound as you skimmed through the pages of the novel you had picked up. A cheesy romance that you wouldn’t be caught dead reading in public, highlighting a lowly dancer attracting the attention of a bounty hunter who bought them for their own operations, only for the two to inevitably fall in love.
The rough and brash nature of the bounty hunter in the story reminded you of your own Armored crush, and you found yourself daydreaming more than reading as you finished off your drink. 
If only real life could be like that. You were all too aware of how unlikely it was though. Such a warrior could never have feelings for a simple smith like yourself, no matter how much she admired your works. 
Still, there was no harm in dreaming, right?
That’s exactly what you allowed yourself to do, curled up on the seat with the book drooping just as low as your eyes. The warmth of the fire and a stomach full of warm bantha milk only helped the progression of sleep along, lulling you into a sense of security as the light humming outside grew.
That’s how the first shock wave found you, knocking you from content to the floor as it rattled the entire shop.
You scrambled to your knees, dazed and confused, unable to make sense of what had just happened before the next hit. This was much closer, rattling the windows and knocking items from the walls. Even from here you could hear the sound of metal clanging as weapons and trinkets were thrown from their shelves.
Above the ringing, just barely, you processed the sound of fighters as they blazed overhead.
The Empire, you realized with a chill. You had heard rumors of them doing this, decimating entire towns and villages in the dead of night while everyone slept. That was only for those who were suspected of housing rebels or acting as supply lines though! The most you ever got out here was the occasional ship stopping to refuel or gather supplies, which was done so quickly and infrequently you wouldn’t even know they had been here.
Now wasn’t the time to question why you had been targeted. Now was the time to act.
Stumbling to your feet, you ran to the only option of help you had. The shock wave of each sending another small tremor through the ground and causing you to stumble as dust rained down from the ceiling. Dimly, you could hear the shouts of the village as those still alive realized what was happening.
The transmission disk sat in the same place it always was, thankfully not knocked to the floor and hidden in one of the many small crevices of your now disastrous shop. Tools and metals of all types lay scattered about, creating a minefield across the floor for you to navigate and attempt to not trip.
She was the only one that could help you. There were no friends, no family. No one who visited outside of her. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting her to do. Take you to another planet that the Empire hadn’t marked for destruction? But what would you do once you got there. Your skills were that of a blacksmith. Even if she helped you to escape for now and come back, who would be left for you to sell to? As much as the thought of abandoning the forge you had grown up in hurt, there would be no profit in staying. If there was any place to stay at that is.
Still, you ripped the item from its shelf, frantically pressing the ill-fated green button and watching as a loading signal popped up. It jumped in small increments at an agonizingly slow pace, leaving you to watch helplessly as the distress signal transmitted.
Amidst the chaos and adrenaline, a flash caught your eye.
The armor you had been working on for the past few months sat openly displayed on the worktable, left over from when you had been tinkering with it earlier. It wasn’t yet finished, but there was no time better than now to test it out. They might have tie fighters in the sky, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any troops on the ground to ensure there were no survivors, and there was no way in hell you were going out without a fight.
So, while the message continued loading, you stumbled over and yanked on the equipment, cursing each time your hands fumbled with a strap or you dropped a piece. By the time you managed to get all of what you had finished on, as well as the half-worked pauldron and grabbing the closest weapon, the bar had only reached seventy two percent.
You watched with bated breath as it continued to climb, praying to the maker for it to finish already. You didn’t know how far away the Armorer was, but hopefully she would get here in time. To give your body a proper burial and out of the reach of scavengers if nothing else.
You never got to see it finish.
The agonizingly loud and now familiar scream of fighters your only warning before they unload their ammunition onto your home. It fell apart like paper, no match against the green energy beams as they took out whole sections of the ceiling and walls.
A flash of light, stars from the night sky now peering down from the open ceiling, before you were buried under the rubble. It pressed down with seemingly the weight of a moon, forcing every ounce of air from your lungs and preventing nearly any oxygen from entering as you desperately tried to pull in more air, only to choke on the thick dust that permeated and covered everything. Every movement brought a fresh wave of agony tearing through your body, and you could taste iron in the back of your throat. A sign of internal bleeding, if the stabbing pain in your side wasn’t enough. Your unarmored arm also hung limp and uselessly. Broken.
The chunk of rock that currently pinned and left you defenseless  was far too heavy to move with both arms, let alone one, leaving you scrambling nowhere to get out. The very building that had protected and provided you shelter, a place to work and thrive, had turned into your own personal death trap.
It was getting harder and harder to breath. Your movements became slower and weaker with every move until, finally, they slowed to a stop, left weakly grasping at the rubble around you. Everything had now gone silent. Not even the sound of fighter jets could be heard.
You were completely, utterly, alone. That’s how you were going to die.
Alone.
No tears escaped as you set your jaw, accepting your grim fate. You had no regrets in life. None that could be rectified by living any longer anyways. You had created a great deal of beautiful and skillful items. Whoever happened to stumble upon your shop's ruins would surely have themselves a treasure trove. 
The one thing you found yourself wishing was that there would be someone to mourn you when you were gone. To look upon memories and smile with fondness as you had with your own father’s passing.
Alas, it was not meant to be. Your name would fade into nothing, just as insignificant and unknown as a shout into the empty space of the stars above. Stars that you would never be able to see.
It became darker, black spots dancing across the edges of your vision and growing. With one last shuddering breath, your body gave out, succumbing to its injuries as your consciousness faded.
Mere feet away from your impromptu crypt, the cracked yet unbroken transmitter blinked weakly. Two words flash and flicker across its screen. 
‘Message Sent’
___________
Mandoa translations (Roughly. I did my best)
Baskar-armor
goron-blacksmith/metalworker
Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.- “I know you will not disappoint me, my blacksmith.”
kar’ta beskar.- Iron heart, center of their chest armor
Karyai- gathering place for relaxation/eating, center of the home
Tracinya-flame
Ika-little
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evilzoldyck · 4 years
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Hell is Other People
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Admiring the heavy rock that was tailored perfectly to match your finger in silent awe you gleamed almost as brightly as the diamond which glittered underneath the moonlight. 
You could hear the murmurs of your guests and the faint music of the orchestra playing in the background from afar as you stood in your private balcony to revere the ring that symbolised an emblem of eternal faith and affection. To be quite honest with yourself you hadn’t seen it coming, just earlier in the day you’re mulling over which dress to wear for the evening party that your partner scrupulously planned for since months, now that he had proposed to you in front of all your highly esteemed company it all made sense.
This was your engagement party. 
Pleading with a resolute ‘yes’ for an answer, the colossal baroque hall erupted into an applause at the sight of the new happily engaged couple. Wiping a few tears of joy and sharing quick loving kisses from your partner he proudly showed you around where his parents eagerly took you in as part of the family. His Mother held you tight as if you were her very own and his Father kissed the back of your hand cordially in response. You’ve never felt so welcomed before, the warmth of having a real family was one that was foreign but comforting for you.
Taking a break from meeting all the guests he had personally invited to witness his ardent declaration of love, you stood alone in the cool breeze to process all the adrenaline in blissfully. To think, engaged during a peaceful warm season, you couldn’t believe you’re going to celebrate your anniversary every year on such a beautiful weather, making a special connotation to the word summer now. 
Suddenly feeling an unwanted presence behind you, your face that was once graced with a contented smile had turned into a sour frown. You knew exactly who would turn the most happiest night of your life upside down, trailing after a bloody carpet and reigning chaos until the dawn rises. 
The harbinger of death itself, Chrollo Lucilfer.
“So he’s finally proposed,” his dark timbre voice reverberated through the quiet night, startling such a tranquil silence. “I’d congratulate you on your engagement, but I can’t say I’m quite pleased.” There were hundreds of guards your partner employed on duty at the whole premise, guarding every entrance and exit making sure to keep trespassers at bay to keep this party perfect. Though with all the security money could by at your disposal, you weren’t completely surprised someone like him could get through easily, he is the head of the spider after all, capable of going in and out wherever he pleases.
“Chrollo,” you acknowdleged him with an air of indifference, turning around to the slightly to see him dressed in a fine black suit and tie, oddly appropriate for the occasion. “Where are the rest of the troupe? Couldn’t imagine you pulling off a heist on your own.” It was true, there were many treasures such as valuable paintings and ornaments all held in a considerable amount of monetary value scattered along the place, and even then, there were hidden assets stored deep underground that even you had just learned about, or perhaps he’s come for the family’s precious heirloom?
“No need to be so tense, it’s just me tonight.” He suddenly appeared before you, holding the hand in which the engagement ring was secured onto. Smiling bitterly at the glistening jewellery, he showed no movement or even an ounce of intention to take it away from you, rather he looked to be quite pensive as he studied it with a forlorn expression. “I don’t necessarily like to intrude, but it seems that I was uninvited by your charming fiancé.” 
Taking your hand away from his cold hands without ever leaving your skeptical eyes off of his lackadaisical form, he reluctantly lets it go. “The feeling still stands.” Glaring at him with a scathing passion. “There is nothing for you to take here, nothing that you have not already seen before. Leave this people alone, they have nothing worthy of you to steal from.”
“You seem to be quite fond of them,” Chrollo commented motionlessly, closing the space even closer. “Perhaps even more than me.” A distasteful tone from him had you nearly shivering in your heels, however you needed to stand your ground you couldn’t let him ruin everything you worked so hard for. 
“I’ve let you had your fun, released you from your ties, gave you time for yourself and now what do you do? Run into the arms of another man.” He trapped you in between his body and the stone carved balustrades. “Don’t tell me I’ve been replaced,” he whispered in bitter disbelief before placating himself quickly and placed a gentle hand upon your cheek. “My dearest friend, do I really stand no chance with you? Didn’t you once held me high in the standing of your heart?”
Your throat went completely dry as he bared his unbridled affections for you. “Once,” you answered truthfully. Years before in Meteor City you both shared the same vision, the same utopian perspective of your future filled with comfort through grim determination. However as time progressed he began to stray further away from what you both shared. You watched his avarice grow beyond expectancy, stepping over bodies to get what he desired without a vestige of remorse or empathy. Time turned him to be such a monster, an unrecognisable stranger who’s oddly keeping you alive by his side. “A long time ago, but now I barely remember the traces of where I held you in such position.”
Chrollo smiled sullenly at your response, as if he was expecting the daggers of your tongue into his heart. “You’re too cruel,” he detached the palm of his hand from your soft skin. 
“I can’t help but ask after all this time.” He placed a hand against the railing, thoroughly interrogating you closely. “Was it fun, making me chase after you? Did you enjoy the idea of me grovelling for your attention, for you to spare me a simple kiss? I’ve circled the world for your heart and yet it never seems to be enough.” 
He kept the bitter quirk on his lips as he continued, “like I’m never enough.”
Gripping onto the hard stone you willed yourself not to let your knees give out. Though he didn’t show it, you could see the raging storm of emotions in his eyes, the pain and betrayal he felt when you left and the sliver of intention to hurt you. You wanted to calm him down, pacify his anger like you did before when you were both younger. However you couldn’t reward his behaviour anymore, you couldn’t be on the same side where history would echo the time in which evil was left untamed
“What is it he has that I couldn’t give you?” He spoke so softly you could feel the sincerity in his words. 
“It’s not something you could give me,” your tone as careful and gentle as ever around the capricious being. Unfortunately that set every fibre of his being on fire. 
“Do you even love him?” 
You took his challenging words as a personal affront to your integrity. “I find it hard to see if that is any of your concern.” 
“He’s nearly twice your age.” Chrollo staunchly dismissed. “I see the way you look at me, you look at me with such anger in your eyes, like I’m the lowest being to walk on earth; a vermin with no moral compass.” The warm night air suddenly turned frigid at the sound of his strained voice that was holding back such malice. “And you’re right, but what differentiates me from you is that at least I don’t lie to myself.” 
“And the worst thing is that you don’t even seem to realise it do you? You willingly use others for your own interests and discard them once you no longer had use of them. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself, you and I both know your true nature. You’re exactly like me- in fact you might even be worse than me, robbing people blind. I do my work in the dark but you do yours in broad daylight,” Chrollo stated. “I’m not the only monster here.”
“Don’t talk to me of hypocrisy when you value those philosophical books so much,” you angrily countered, noting how much time he spent on the ideas and theories discussed in heavy literatures such as the Leviathan. “Never have I met someone so ridiculously obsessed with Western perspectives on rules and regulations and yet completely disregards them in practice.” 
“But isn’t that what’s so appealing about it? Of course I don’t take these words as gospel when there’s so many critiques to each theory. It’s too nuanced and complex to ever rightfully regulate civil society that who could determine what I’m doing is immoral? For Hobbes I’m merely exercising my right of nature as it is ‘the liberty each man hath, to use his own power, as he will for himself, for the preservation of his own nature,’ you remember right?” He quipped, reminding you of the times he shared his esoteric books with you, engaging in meaningful and intellectual thoughts until the candle burned out. 
“I have not consented to the laws of nature and therefore I have yet to surrender my natural rights. Thus the sovereign is illegitimate to me and I’m under no obligation of the state as I have not entered in any form of contract bound by the will and rule of the sovereign. I’m not bound to any laws of this land for I do not conform to the will of others but myself. Plato’s Crito would further support his argument on the laws of consent.”
Scoffing at his misconstrued interpretation you vacantly refuted. “Hobbes also said that if there is reasonable hope in preserving peace to seek and follow it.”
“However I may think it not necessary or the best for my life to be best preserved then I may seek and use all helps and advantages of war.”
“Nevertheless all that is futile for his argument remains that the design of men is the willingness to put restraint upon themselves for a more contented life thereby. We should ultimately consent for the second law of nature requires that we should covenant for peace if others are willing.”
“If others are willing.” He repeated and stressed out the first word. “Do you remember where we lived? No person there would opt for peace, it’s every man for themselves. It is what he hypothetically calls the state of nature, a horrible nasty, brutish and short life, except it’s real. Meteor City is a lawless land and as he states that no contract could be formed in the state of nature. Thus this paradox leaves us in a perpetual natural state of mankind; war.”
“You know there’s more to philosophy than just the Leviathan, Rousseau’s Social Contract and Locke’s Second Treatise of Civil Government has a lot to say on your so called ‘freedom’. There is no advantage to stay in the state of nature, the natural progress of humanity is the establishment of a common political authority for the sake of improving our way of life.”
“Actually Locke and Hobbes states that the state diminishes our sense of freedom but is justified in doing so, by no means did they implied our freedom would be retained, and that, is what I don’t find an improvement.”
“Rousseau would disagree with you, the state is a necessary condition of our freedom for the sovereign is the construction of all through the general will and so is directly exercised by the citizenry. Therefore, this eliminates the tension between political authority and individual freedom.” You sighed, “Chrollo even if you wanted to retain individual autonomy over yourself you’d surely remember Mill’s first sentence on the harm principle, ‘the only freedom which deserves the name is that of pursuing our own good in our own way, so long as we do not attempt to deprive others of theirs, or impede their efforts to attain it.’ In other words, as long as you don’t harm others you can do whatever the fuck you like, but you seem to struggle with that concept of freedom don’t you?”
He suddenly chuckled lightly at your remark. “How are you so quick to mark me wrong as if I had forgotten your favourite book?” You suddenly shifted uncomfortably on your feet as he smirked amusingly at your cornered form. “I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the revered Mary Wollstonecraft, we would often read her passages for hours didn’t we? A Vindication of the Rights of a Woman, well, I guess we’re both hypocrites here.” 
“What was her argument? That women were rendered weak, lacked the use of reason, had no special moral value?” He droned on and looked afar as if he was in deep thought before returning his sharp gaze to yours. “You had a lot to say about the sexist social arrangements in today’s society, you argued that women are deprived of their natural rights to acquire virtue through the use reason. How Wollstonecraft would be so disappointed if she could see you right now, the most passionate proponent of her work devoting her energies in pleasing and making herself attractive to men.”
“Stop it.” You hissed as he jabbed at your pride, mocking your own words of the past to further humiliate your contradicting present.
“What were the words you used to quote to me? ‘Have women so little in ambition as to be satisfied with such a condition? Can they supinely dream life away in the lap of pleasure and render themselves conspicuous by practicing the virtues which signify mankind? Surely she has not an immortal soul who can loiter life away merely employed to adorn her person, that she may amuse the languid hours, and soften the carress of a fellow-creature who is willing to be enlivened by her smiles and tricks, when the serious business of life is over.’ Aren’t you becoming the women she is scathing about?” 
“What’s so wrong with pleasure? Wanting to be taken care of? The want and human need for companionship and love is not one to be jeered at. Might it just even cross your mind that I chose this life instead of ‘building my faculty.’ Those texts described the social conditioning of women back in the eighteen hundreds, women have more options now and are more than capable to choose. Times have changed.” 
“Have they?” Chrollo hummed. “Is the pleasure that you insist on promoting for you, or for him?” He rubbed the silky garment of your dress impassively. “Don’t you wish to be more than a pretty ornament? To have purpose and participate in the natural rights of mankind? ‘Virtue, says reason, must be acquired by rough toils, and useful struggles with worldly cares.’ Sure you are provided with goods and raiment but liberty and virtue are given in exchange. You could build your character by the sense of struggle of living-“
“How can you call that living?!” You exploded abruptly, pausing for a moment to realise that you were shaking all over as you stood in your designer heels before him with glassy eyes. “What we did- to those people, those families, it was never enough for you. I may be what I despised in my youth but I’m better off being an indulgence for others rather than taking account for mass genocide; for what I lack in virtue I make up for my own compassion.”
“How kindly of you,” he nodded absently. “Then perhaps we should test it. Referring back on your comment on Mill’s harm principle, you must know then that the cause of evil not only takes account of a person’s action but also their inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable for the injury.”
“What are you saying?”
“Let’s hypothesise that I would come back on your white wedding day and that I would kill everyone present during the reception, by learning this information, you then would be held responsible for each of their death.” You griped your hand so hard you’re sure that you’ve left specks of bloody crescent moon marks on the palm of your hands. 
“I have no obligation of duty towards you, therefore the harm principle does not apply to me for I am not responsible or related for your actions.” You countered at his allusion to the other-regarding actions where a special role of obligation is placed within the liberty principle.
“No unfortunately you’re not,” he agreed. “But him, would you not protect him at all costs? Surely as your soon to be life long partner you would do whatever it takes to promote his health and well-being. If you would simply come back to me before the day of wedding, denounce your engagement and reinstate your affiliation and loyalty towards the troupe everybody gets their happily ever after.” He finally took a step back. “In failing to meet our obligations to others we are actually harming them.” 
“I’m tired of your philosophical rhapsodies, if you were to kill others or even yourself I would not hold myself accountable so I suggest you’d best return to whatever matters you currently have and leave us alone.” You’ve grown anxious and wary of the dangerous connotation of his words and with the way he was impishly grinning at you suggested that he saw right through your bluff. 
“Its getting late, you should return to your awaiting fiancé before he realises you’ve been gone for too long,” looking back down at the sight of pretty swirls of dresses on the ballroom quietly dwindling down as the night grew longer. “It’s reassuring to see that you haven’t changed at all, I missed our philosophical prattle.” 
“I can hardly say the same, discussing Western philosophers on an engagement party is certainly not in the least enlightening, I suggest you turn to the East for matters such as these.” 
Chrollo gave a half-suppressed laugh and an amused smile, one that was rare and sincere in which held no trace of malice or cruelty. “Before I forget to tell you, you look beautiful.” You didn’t let your hardened expression change when his comment took you by surprise as he slowly backed away from you and into the shadows.
You heard your name being called out by Thomas where he sighed in relief and ran towards you in a light jog before taking you into his arms. “So this is where you’ve been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he playfully chastised with a turn on his lips. He led you back inside the bright chandelier lit hall to bid your guests farewell for the night, however, you couldn’t help but glance back from your shoulders to see that Chrollo had disappeared. 
Though his presence was now absent, his words still rang loudly inside your head. His confrontation of your nature, how the spotlight is too blinding for someone like you and how it’s just a matter of time you would run into the dark once more with your back up against the wall and tangled up in his web seem to be conveyed as a confident prediction rather than insults to your moral character.
Chrollo wasn’t here to steal anything, not even you, he wanted you to come to him on your own accord even if he had to force pieces to make you submit to his will. However, his appearance tonight also wasn’t meant for mere formalities, in fact he made his purpose and intention clear when he first spoke of the day you would finally be wed. 
It was a warning.
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