#instead of getting magic runes inked on your skin

[fiercestpurpose]

I love when two people who like are mostly indifferent to each other make a promise to always be there for each other and come to love each other completely. I love the idea that love is a choice that you make.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Hey, I was the one who built on your Scar!Yuu idea, and I’ve stated to figure out parts of the fighting scenes for the housewardens.

I’ve put the most thought into Jamil and Vil’s overblot fights.

Since Jamil would be obsessed with ruling, a two-side fight between Jamil and Yuu with the others seemed reliable. It also holds with some of Jamil’s unique magic, since I headcanons that he uses his voice after he hypnotizes them to command them. They could use the ink that Kalim uses for his tattoos to draw runes on Yuu’s skin so they could command a portion of Jamil’s hypnotized crowd.

It also plays to Jamil’s fighting style, since he’s only used to fighting alone to protect Jamil that having to command and protect larger numbers of people would would foreign to him. After that comes the scarring and recovery period for Yuu.

Vil’s fight would be reminiscent of the Queen from Snow White and have the elements of chess in the fight choreography. It’ll start with Vil as the queen on the white side while Rookand the others are pawns (Yuu being a knight instead). They would convince Vil to use his unique magic to hold a set of rules for the battle, which I’ll only stop when the rules are met.

I haven’t figured them all out, but the main rule is that the queen of the winning side must have the antidote (to the poison the Vil specializes in/used before fight) for the match to finish.

Yuu’s directing the crew to the correct spots, and ends up one space in front of the king. Vil thinks he’s won, but Yuu starts to go over the complexities of the rules, specifically the rule of animation for the chess pieces.

The king, being sentient, is able to command himself (due to being king) and Yuu starts to convince him to both abandon Vil as queen and reinstate themselves as queen. This represents the Queen’s end of reign in Snow White but doesn’t end the game since Yuu doesn’t have the antidote.

Th rest of the game is spent with Yuu commanding their friends to their side, with Epel ending up at the back of enemy lines. Yuu stows back from the queen position and Epel is now queen. And more importantly, is the one with the antidote.

This is ironic since he’s based off the poison Apple from the tale.

The match ends with the crew getting the victory and Epel commanding Yuu, who’s now a knight again, to behead Vil and end the overblot.

I haven’t made a rough draft of the story yet, but I’m going for fairytale or high-stakes fight scenes where Yuu can be more reliable in fights than in the game.

Also, since you’re the only one I’ve told about this idea, I wanted your opinions on it, if you could.

Sorry for responding so late the world hates me

Anyways I think it's really cool!!!

[sagaofstardustmkg]

Crucible of Gold || Timekeeper, Perennial, Glassbreaker || The Final Hour

All Janelle’s bad luck, her whole lifetime run of it, seems compounded in this moment. She had one more chance. This was it. One more chance, and what did she do with it? Break the dam holding back a flood of hate, hunger and — worst of all — copious use of the royal we.

“Shit,” she says, voice rough. “I went and did it again. Caleb, listen, you take Addie —”

(Adelaide protests. “Take me? No. No way.” She is not letting go of her sister’s hand.)

“— and let me—”

She’s going to bring up the trade.

Until Caleb cuts her off, anyway.

"Save some of the blame for the rest of us, would you?" he huffs out at her, stepping between her, Adelaide, and that which would separate them again. Though the shock and fear shows on his face -- of course he's afraid, do you fucking see her? -- he remains resolute in his standing and firm in his speaking. "From what she says, the issue is that I didn't account for the initial attempt compounding into something traceable with each subsequent loop. That would very much make this my fault-- and I already told you I won't be letting any bad deals with evil faeries go through, thank you."

Ben is broken from his horrified staring by the words that Caleb says. This wasn’t planned? Well, no, obviously it wasn’t planned, they wouldn’t be so flustered and frazzled if it had been planned, but still--

“Wh-But! Of course it would compound, that’s how things like this work--”

He doesn’t get very far in his protestations.

“Is now really the time, Bently?”

And instead of letting the other man continue their untimely banter, Caleb gets to work, same as he always does.

The staff held in Caleb's hand since his reveal as the Timekeeper has, for the most part, been entirely inconsequential; one small nod to its existence in the context of magic amplification, and that was that. Now, faced with an imminent and unexpected threat, it is suddenly at the forefront, the sharp base of it slammed down into the chateau's floor directly in front of the still cloaked wizard as he faces her directly.

There had been a thrum of energy that buzzed through the air when the orb floating between the staff's wings made its initial appearance. Now, it's a pulse. At the same moment the circling runes grow bright and quick in their orbit, you can physically feel the wash of magic over you--

And then you feel it through you.

Every nerve in your body is alight with electricity, and as it races through you, each pinprick spark of magic inside if you ignites into a roaring flame that burns magnificent and perfect in your very center.

Magic amplification, Caleb had said. He'd meant it quite literally.

He holds the staff steady in front of him with both hands, brow furrowed as he stares at the sunset queen. As much as he'd like to dig his own metaphorical claws into her, his own magic is instead focused into the orb that currently amplifies yours. The smoky, ink-blue wisps that form his magic swirl off of him, slowly absorbed by the amplification device he's created to keep it powered and your amplification constant-- consistent.

Caleb has always been a grounding presence. He has always preferred to uplift, and to expand the surface that you walk forward on. As the empowered magic hums through you, you are sure in that you won't fall with the next step you take.

And the one who takes that first step is the one who’s always been not more than a moment behind Caleb.

Feeling his magic surging beneath his skin unlike it’s ever felt, Ben wonders if this is similar to what he should have felt his entire life. Since being made aware of his place in this dimension and its current state, he’s felt a steady pulsing that was unfamiliar. 

His magic has always felt simultaneously like the trickle of a leaky faucet and the rushing and gushing of a river during flood season; it was either so nonexistent that he forgot about it entirely or so all-consuming that there was little else for him to do but submit to its exhaustive nature and feel like he lost a fight against that very same river for the next day or so.

Now, though, it’s as though his body knows precisely where and how his magic should be channeled. It’s that innate understanding that his mother always told him about when he asked. Certainly, it’s just as likely that it was her inability to understand his plights that made her say that, but maybe, just maybe, the new form he’s been given is finally able to contain his magic suitably. 

Thus, he closes his eyes and concentrates, he feels for the very first time that gentle flowing of time. He feels the natural balance and order along with the chaos that this being, Dionaea, is sowing. However much his magic has abused them in the past couple of years, well, he can’t see them minding if he fudges them just a bit more.

So, the amplification given to you by Caleb is soon joined by a wave of that loving warmth that you can now easily identify as Ben’s magic affecting you. He’d said earlier that he only had the ability to turn things back, but, in this realm where the ambient magic holds the faintest traces of him and his magic is enhanced, you feel yourself somehow moved forward. 

Though your strength had been doubled--tripled--numbers failing to accurately account for your newfound capabilities--it is accompanied by muscle memories of what you can now do. There is no need to fear a power surge or an overly exhausting maneuver. 

You simply know you can handle anything, and you don’t need the warmth’s voice to reassure you of that. You can win. You will win.

And Janelle, long since inured to her own suffering, has no power against these waves of love — not Caleb’s love which says go, then, and dare the world to make you stop; not Ben’s love which says fall, then, and I’ll catch you.

Not her own love for Adelaide, which has kept her trudging forward over all the years apart; not the love she sees reflected in Adelaide’s eyes as the world is suffused with spells cast from tenderness instead of narcissistic rage. 

(After nine years of seeing magic used only to hurt, of cowering from the lash, Addie had all but given up on it. On the entire idea that the world contained anything wonderful that was not full of thorns.

Despite the bristling vines tunneling into the stone of Juneau’s chateau and the susurrations of that voice-that-is-not-a-voice, this is the most beautiful room she’s ever been in.

This is the most hope she’s had in almost a decade.

She wants to meet everyone who helped bring her here. She needs the chance to thank them, to know them, to ask them everything about attending the wizard school that had been the setting for so many of her childhood games.)

So.

While the men are still casting, Janelle slips a piece of warding chalk into Rya’s mouth and lets the snake slither away, quick as a whisper, dragging that chalk across the stone floor as she does. The circuit she makes of the room is swift. The warding circle she draws is absolutely geometrically perfect, with no gaps or wobbles. When she rejoins the group, she rattles with urgency. 

And Janelle doesn’t need to write the spell down to cast it. Not like this. She only needs the circle, her boot pressing down on its clean chalked line and her free hand on her focus.

She stomps once to cast it. The circle lights up golden. Her familiar runes appear around it, spelling out the terms of the ward: That your magic isn’t just stronger inside the circle. Your body is, too. Your wounds will close as quickly as they open. You’ll feel less pain. You will hit harder and be able to endure more. 

And you will not die. No more dying on Janelle’s watch. Nothing made of flesh can die inside these bounds.

Adelaide gasps with delight as the runes appear. And then her eye goes a bit funny as she reads them.

Of course she can read them.

They’re written in a language in which only two people in the world are fluent.

“You write your spells with—?” Her voice is tight.

Janelle nods. “Always. Since the very start.”

And Adelaide chooses to laugh, giddy again, instead of crying. 

Because you are all stronger inside this circle. 

Because the stolen child who was two years ago declared dead in absentia, per Arizona law, is alive and protected and finally has a chance in hell.

And the people whose sole preoccupation for five years has been guiding you — toward death, toward pain, toward self-improvement, toward answers — are stepping aside to let you finish it out.

Best for them to get out of the way at the very end.

Yes?

[padfootastic]

hello. following tonight’s theme, i wanted to crosspost a part (which can technically count for a ficlet ngl) of my postwar tattooed harry…thing. two related drabbles linked at the end.

Harry had two tattoos. (Well, three counting yesterdays). He’d originally meant to show both to Sirius but well, all of *that* had happened and it completely slipped his mind. But he wanted to do it now, needed to cut through the tension, and he knew his godfather would get a good laugh out of the whole thing, too.

So the first thing he did after freshening up was go into Sirius’ room, where he could only see a covered lump on the bed, no other trace of the man. Harry smirked wickedly, before leaping onto the bed as hard as he could, twisting slightly for maximum impact. He did make sure to land beside the lump though, not on it, because he wanted to wake his godfather, not crush him.

He knew he succeeded when he heard a muffled ‘oomph’.

“Wakey, wakey, Sirius,” he sang cheerfully, knowing that Sirius was absolutely not a morning person and probably hated him right now, late-night declarations of love notwithstanding.

“G’way,” a sleep-roughened voice growled, “M’sleep’ng.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” Harry retorted as he made himself comfortable against the headboard. He was planning to stay for a while. “Besides, I’ve got something to show you.”

One bleary grey eye peaked out from a tiny gap through the comforter, staring at him in silent question.

“You never asked me if the Grim was my only tattoo,” Harry started teasingly, knowing that would be just enough bait to properly rouse Sirius from his slumber.

He was proven right when the man yelped and kicked the thick material off him, clearly too interested to sleep any longer. He was shirtless, tattoos in stark contrast against pale skin. But, Harry didn’t dwell on those, he’d seen them quite often—instead, his eyes immediately went to the small area where his name (His. Name!!!) was etched. Looking at it now, with sunlight streaming in through the window, it seemed so obvious that it was there. How had he never noticed it before?

“Because most people focus on the runes, maybe even the antlers.” He startled at that, not expecting his godfather to have noticed his perusal and definitely not catch his unspoken question. He looked up to see Sirius shrugging ruefully at him.

“Even the Potter Crest,” he trailed loving fingers over said tattoo on his wrist, “those are usually the most eye-catching ones. A simple word gets lost in all that chaos.”

Harry knew what he was talking about. When he’d first seen the man in person, even while he was half-deranged and raving, his attention had been caught on the runes that were inked across his chest, visible through the gap of his tattered robes. He’d asked about them once, way back in fifth year, before…everything.

“Runes are magical tattoos so all of them have a different purpose,” Sirius had answered, “Protection, safety, better channelling of my magic, strengthening my core and being able to connect to it better- acting as a conduit, basically. That one really helped with the Animagus transformation, actually. James and I did a couple of these ourselves before we finished the final transformation. But,” He’d fixed Harry with a stern look (a look rarely seen on him), “I don’t want you to even think of doing something like that. You’re not nearly old enough for it. It…wasn’t a good idea when James and I did, definitely not safe. I don’t want you to risk destabilising your core like we did, Harry. We were dumb idiots who thought we knew better than everyone else, and I should hope you don’t act that way.” Harry, who didn’t know the first thing about Runes and was definitely not gonna mess around with them (he’d heard one too many safety lectures from Hermione, thank you very much), had just nodded quickly in assent. While it had grated slightly, Harry had appreciated that Sirius was honest with him. But his interest in both runes and tattoos had shot up with that conversation. Magic really was quite something, wasn’t it?

Awareness of the others came later, definitely. He’d seen the Potter Crest a few times, especially since Sirius had a habit of caressing his wrist absentmindedly, but he hadn’t known what it was at the time (and wasn’t that depressing? That his own family was so foreign to him?). The antlers, though- those were a surprise. He’d entered Sirius’ room one morning, similar to today, and had seen the beautiful ink spanning his shoulder blades. He’d stopped in his tracks, unable to do anything more than stare gobsmacked at the view. It was—entirely unexpected (though in hindsight, it shouldn’t have been. He had seen, firsthand, how devoted Sirius was to James Potter- it was impossible not to when the man still mourned his father every single day.)

It was just one thing knowing how close his father was to Sirius, but completely another seeing that—love in person.

But yeah. From experience, Harry knew that it was easier to hide tattoos that no one expects to see on you, especially since most people have poor observation skills anyway.

He looked at Sirius again, who’d managed to get cleaned up in the time it took him to get lost in his thoughts.

“So,” the man prompted when he saw Harry turned his way, “care to elaborate on your previous words now?”

Harry smiled mischievously, “Maybe I just said that to get your lazy arse out of bed?”

Sirius’ eyes narrowed suspiciously, obviously considering his words, “Hm. I don’t believe you, pup. You definitely had something specific in mind.”

Harry considered stalling, teasing him further, but he was getting a little hungry and he really wanted to show Sirius too. So he nodded and scooted back so he was on his knees on the bed. He pushed his jumper up, at the same time hooking a thumb into his pyjamas to pull them down slightly.

There, right above the hip bones, was a tattoo in memory of his parents. As was characteristic for the magical counterpart, it was constantly in motion, bringing the whole thing to life. When he’d started looking into them after Sirius had introduced him to the concept, he’d found that there were many types of magical tattoos, runes were just one of them. This was one where the ink was basically like a looped animation.

“Prongs—Lily,” Sirius breathed in wonder as he looked at the ink on Harry’s skin. Although this one wasn’t as big as the one he’d shown yesterday, it didn’t take away from the sheer beauty of the artwork. It had only two components, a majestic stag and a beautiful twine of lilies. What made it interesting was the actual movement itself. Harry got this one just after the War, and his state of mind was entirely different from when he’d gotten Padfoot- more hopeful and less desolate. So he’d gone for a slightly different vibe.

The stag was standing proudly, head held high before taking a step forward and getting entangled in the lilies. Almost falling over. A series of slow blinks. An overexaggerated look of indignation on its face. All the while with the lilies still wrapped comically around its body. Harry remembered being in awe at how well the artist had conveyed that particular emotion, and on an animal at that, without making the whole thing too silly. He was still impressed, to be honest.

Sirius suddenly let out a sharp bark of laughter at seeing the sequence of events, just as Harry had known he would.

“Oh Harry, that’s amazing!” He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners with the force of his smile, “Wherever did you get the idea from?”

“I was kind of sick of all the doom and gloom, to be honest,” Harry admitted, “So I wanted something that would—make me laugh? Help me not take everything seriously, ykno?”

“Well, I, for one, think you did an excellent job,” Sirius praised, making his heart soar (All these years, and Harry still wanted nothing more than his godfather’s approval), “And I can tell you for a fact that Lily would’ve gotten a hoot out of it. She was a fan of anything that had the potential to deflate your dad’s ego.” Sirius related with a wink.

“James, though, he would’ve taken a while to come around to it, I think,” he continued thoughtfully.

Harry blinked in surprise.

“Don’t get me wrong, he would’ve loved the tattoo itself,” Sirius hastily corrected seeing his expression, “Just—that would come after he’d finished freaking out about his baby getting something like that on his body.”

Harry was confused now (although there was a pleasant warmth forming in him as well. He’d often wondered what his parents would think of his, uh, adventures with body art), “But-I thought dad got his first tattoo when he was younger than me? Why would he freak out?”

“Well, yes. But no one ever claimed that James Potter was rational in his overprotectiveness. All he would’ve thought about was how much pain you must’ve been in through the whole thing. Remember when I said I promised your parents I’d get you your first tattoo? It was actually James who objected to that. Loudly. Kept going on about how you shouldn’t ever have to experience pain like that.”

Harry was—a little taken aback, to be honest. He hadn’t expected that. Of course, by this point he’d realised that his dad was very protective when it came to people he cared about, but somehow he never thought about what it meant for him. (He tried not to think about everything he’d faced so far- the Dursleys, the Basilisk, Cruciatus, Voldemort- and if they would’ve even happened if his parents were still alive, how his dad would’ve reacted)

Sirius clearly hadn’t clocked onto the direction of his thoughts, thankfully, because he was still talking, “—know, I got you your first ever broom-“

“That was McGonagall, Si-“

“Not that one, pup,” Sirius interrupted, shaking his head, “This one was a little toy broom, for your first birthday. Barely went higher than three or four feet, I’d say. Equipped with the most advanced protective charms of the time too.”

Harry listened in wonder, stories of the time he was with his parents still far and few between. There was—so much he didn’t know still.

“I couldn’t give it to you in person- Order mission, you know how it is. But Jamie mirror-called me as soon as they unwrapped it.” Sirius’ smile was nostalgic, remembering the tongue lashing he’d gotten.

“He was ready to chew me out, you know?” He told Harry with a chuckle, “You were zooming around happily in the background and James was following you, stressed as all hell that you’d fall or hurt yourself somehow. Lily was just sipping her wine and enjoying the show. She’d kind of given up on your dad and his antics by that point,” Sirius said the last part in a conspiratorial mock-whisper, even though it was just the two of them in the room.

“It’s so funny to think dad was so high-strung, to be honest. I would’ve never thought.” Harry commented, trying to picture the scenario in mind.

“Oh, absolutely. Most people were under the impression that Lily was the more anxious of the two, and this isn’t me saying she didn’t care or anything. But oh boy, no one could reach James’ levels of catastrophising and drama,” Sirius remarked, “He was in a league of his own.”

“Anyway, enough about that,” Sirius clapped his hands, making Harry jump at the sudden sound. “Looking at how well your tattoo artist did, it’s kind of making me want to go get one of my own now. It’s certainly been long enough, what do you think?”

Sirius directed the last bit at Harry, one eyebrow raised in question.

Without even fully thinking about it, Harry started nodding in excitement, “Yes! You’ve already got me tatted, now it’s your turn, Siri.”

“Okay, okay,” Sirius laughed, holding his hands up, “No need for the rush there, pup. We have all the time in the world.”

And they did, didn’t they? Nothing to do except fill their body with artwork like a canvas, spend time with each other, and enjoy life, Harry thought with giddiness spreading through his body. He couldn’t wait.

xxx

protective james i

protective james ii

[tumbledfreckles]

Stupid

For @flowercrownroman Prompt: Hogwarts Jily - before they were dating but while they were on good terms, maybe an interaction where James sticks up for her and she gives the "I can handle myself'' argument. 

Hope you like it!  (2.5k)

“Evans.” 

Lily kept walking, hoping she was far enough down the corridor that he’d assume she couldn’t hear him. 

“Oi, Evans!” 

Her pace increased, she was almost to the corner. Once there, she could duck into a bathroom and hide until the coast was clear. 

“Lily, I know you can hear me. Wait up.” 

Lily sighed as she came to a halt. Used the precious few seconds she had until he was upon her to wave her wand several times, feeling magic spread over her features, soothing her skin.

James was already stopped in front of her when she turned around, less than a foot away. “Finally, Evans. Where’s the fire?” 

“In the dungeons,” She did her best to smirk. Judging by the frown on James’ face, it wasn’t a great effort. “What are you doing? You’re not on rounds tonight.” 

She would know, given she was on duty.

“Kitchen raid,” James reached up to ruffle his hair, looking a bit sheepish. “Remus needed chocolate.” 

Lily’s features softened immediately, “He’s out of the Wing?” 

James nodded, “Just after dinner.” 

“How’s he doing?” 

“Bit rough,” James shrugged. “You know Remus, he won’t complain until it’s pretty much death’s door.” 

“Yeah,” Lily nodded. “Sounds like him. Give him my love, will you? And let him know I’ve got notes from Runes. Merlin knows, Peter’s probably aren’t any use to him. I’m pretty sure he fell asleep five minutes into the lecture.” 

“Sounds about right,” James said with a laugh. 

Lily felt her cheek start to tingle and frowned internally. The glamours shouldn’t have been wearing off that quickly. She mustn’t have focused enough when she was casting. Or there were too many in quick succession. Time to go, in any case. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your mission then.” 

James didn’t move, a crease between his brows. “Everything alright, Evans? You look a bit peaky.” 

“Yeah, fine,” Lily tried her best to smile. “Tired, is all. Shift’s almost over though.” 

He still didn't leave, though she willed him too. “Have you had any trouble?” 

Lily shook her head quickly, vehemently. “Hardly seen a soul.” 

“Right,” James looked even more suspicious. “Even in the dungeons?” 

His question was too pointed. Too knowing. Lily’s heart started to beat faster. “Guess I’ve been lucky,” she said carefully. “Quiet night.” 

“Lucky’s not the word, I don’t think,” James’ hand reached forward, toward her face. Toward the spreading tingle that now covered half of it. “Evans -” 

Lily cut in before he could start his next question. “What are you doing down this way, anyway? The kitchens are on the other side of the castle.” 

“I, uh,” James ruffled his hair again. “I saw you as I crossed the main corridor, I guess. Wanted to check in.” 

“I didn’t come from the main corridor,”  Lily had used a secret passage to get to this floor. One she wasn’t even sure the Marauders knew about. 

“Really, huh,” James’ eyes darted away from her, before settling back on her face. “I could have sworn I saw you.” 

“Were you following me?” Lily knew she was onto something when James ruffled his hair for a third time. “Why were you following me?” 

“I don’t know, Evans,” James’ voice was scornful, harsh, where before it had been light. The change made her blink. But his next words stopped her in her tracks. “Why were you talking to four baby Death Eaters down in the dungeons just now?” 

Lily paled, or she would have, had she not been covered in glamours. Glamours that were fading by the second, if the tingles that had now spread across her entire face were anything to go by. She took a step back, and then another. Used the wand hidden in the folds of her robes to surreptitiously strengthen the charms. “They were out after hours. I was directing them back to their Common Room.” 

James followed her, step for step. “And they went? Just like that?” 

“You say that like they wouldn’t listen to the Head Girl,” Lily lifted her chin in challenge. 

“That lot wouldn’t listen to me, and I’m a pure-” James cut off before he finished the word. 

But Lily knew what he would have said, “Pureblood? They won’t listen to another pureblood, even one that’s Head Boy, is that what you were going to say? They won’t listen to the pureblood Head Boy, so why would they listen to the Mudblood Head Girl?” 

“Don’t say that,” James’ teeth clenched, the tick in his jaw, always a sign of barely concealed anger, jumping out at her. 

“It’s just a word, Potter,” Lily gritted her own teeth, biting the inside of her lip to prevent any tears from falling. 

She’d shed enough tears already tonight. 

“You shouldn’t let them-” 

“Let them, what? Insult me? Degrade me? Put down my family, my home, my magic?” Lily felt angry, sounded angry, even though she knew she wasn’t directing it to the right person. “They don’t exactly need permission, Potter.” 

“Evans,” James took another step toward her. “What happened down there?” 

“How do you even know they were there? That I saw them?” Lily took a step away. “Were you spying on me?  I told you not to use that bloody map to spy on me.”

“I wasn’t!” he insisted. “I was checking if Filch was about, so I could get Remus’ chocolate, and I just happened to see the impromptu meeting outside Sluggy’s room.”

“And you thought you’d glide on in, save me like the white knight you think you are?” Lily wasn’t sure why she was attacking him. He’d clearly worried about her, enough that he’d come looking. It made her heart clench inside her chest, warmth flood her chilled body. And yet she was attacking him.  

Meanwhile the tingles had started again. It really was not her night. 

James hands balled into fists at his side. “I wasn’t trying to rescue you. I just wanted to make sure they didn’t give you any grief.” 

“They didn’t,” she lied blatantly. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can,” he was quiet. “That’s not what this is about.” 

“Well, great,” Lily started to turn, knowing she had seconds left before her concealment charms faded. “Off to the kitchens with you, then. And then back to the Tower. I never saw you.” She waved listlessly, not waiting for his reply before taking several hurried steps. 

“There’s blood on your hand.”

Lily froze, facing away from him. She looked down, realised that indeed her left hand was smeared with red. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s ink,” she said with a raised voice. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” James reached out, pulling on her shoulder to turn her before she could stop him, her attention still caught by the blood on her hand. “Evans-” 

He stopped, eyes on her face, widening so comically Lily would have laughed if she hadn’t felt on the verge of tears. Tears of panic, anger and overwhelming bloody despair. It was extraordinarily clear that the glamour charms she’d cast had failed spectacularly and he could now see what she had been desperate to hide. 

“Lily, what happened?”

His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the swelling and no doubt bruising around her right eye. The blood that ran from her nose, still fresh, trailing off her lips, her chin. The painful welts of a burn that encircled her neck, in the shape of hands despite a wand having carried out the action. The rip in the front of her shirt, also smeared in blood from the large gash underneath. The blood had transferred to her hand when she’d tried to hold herself together. 

“Nothing,” Lily said. She backed up several steps, her eyes on his as he stood frozen. “Nothing happened, I’m fine. Worse than it looks, you should see the other guy. All that kind of thing. I’ve got to finish rounds, I’ll see you -” 

“Stop,” James had caught her before she could turn again. Before she could hightail it out of there, recast the charms and pretend this had never happened. “You are not fine.” 

Another step had her back against the wall. Nowhere left to run. She refused to meet his gaze, not wanting to see the concern. The pity. She focused on his left ear instead. “It’s nothing.” 

“It is not nothing.” 

“Leave it, Potter. It’s naught to do with you.” 

His expression darkened, “I’ll fucking kill them.” 

“No, you won’t,” Lily’s eyes flew to his now, as her hand reached out to grip his forearm, preventing him from following through on his words. 

“Evans, they can’t get away with this,” James looked as distressed as she felt, but for a different reason. “We have to go to Dumbledore.” 

“You can’t,” Lily’s eyes flashed, her hand held him tighter. It should have been painful by now, but James looked as if he couldn’t even feel her. “You can’t tell anyone.” 

“What are you talking about, Evans?” James shook his head. “You’re Head Girl. They can’t just do this.” 

“Exactly,” her chin lifted, her face set. “I’m Head Girl. No one can know.” 

“You’re not making sense.” 

“They bested me, Potter,” tears pricked at her eyes as she croaked the words out. They were tight in her throat, making a hoarse, rasping sound. “They bested me, and I’m the Head Girl. If they can best me, they can best anyone. No one can know.” 

“It was four on one. You can’t expect to win with four on one.” 

“That doesn’t matter.” He didn’t get it. She had to make him understand. “That part doesn’t matter. All that the students will remember, is that those cowards picked a fight with the Head Girl, the Muggleborn Head Girl, and they won. Muggleborns are going to be terrified, and everyone else isn’t going to want to cross them. Worse, they might join them, just so they aren’t next. We can’t let that happen.” She pulled on his wrist, urging him to agree. “James, no one can know.” 

He watched her for a long time. His eyes held hers, searching them. She could see the wealth of emotions flicking through his gaze as he processed what she’d said. Anger, of course, so furious, so raw it seemed like he was burning. Disbelief, reluctance, defiance. A general unwillingness to go along with her request. Sadness, as his eyes flicked over her again, concern and worry taking over his expression. 

Lily dropped her head before she could see the pity. 

Who wouldn’t pity her? She was weak, pathetic, a failure. She was meant to be a symbol of hope, a sign that the Death Eater’s were wrong. She was meant to be so strong, so powerful, so talented, that no one could ever doubt her place in this world. She was meant to be faultless, flawless, infallible. 

She had failed. 

A touch to her cheek, careful and timid, brought her back to him. James held her face gently in his palm, using his thumb to lift her chin even higher. He wasn’t looking at her face, Lily realised, as she tried to look at his. His attention was focused on her neck, his other hand bringing his wand tip to her neck. Even the lightest contact to the fragile skin made her whimper. 

“Sorry,” James muttered. “Just, hold still a sec.” Almost as soon as he’d finished speaking a coolness spread across her neck. It was a welcome relief, taking the pain away with it. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, looking up at him. He was closer than she thought he’d ever been before. It was almost possible to count his eyelashes behind his glasses, he was so close. 

“I’m not finished.” He used his thumb to move her head this way and that, prodding and casting in succession. 

Lily felt the magic wash over her again and again, and with each wave, the pain lessened. Her shoulders sagged in relief as the tension rained away with the pain. She felt his wand move to her stomach, where the biggest slicing hex had hit her, and tried not to react as he carefully pulled her shirt up, eyes flicking to hers until she nodded her permission, to see what needed to be done. His hand was warm on her skin, and despite the situation, Lily wasn’t surprised to find she didn’t mind his touch. 

Welcomed it, really. 

“Have I missed anything?” Her shirt dropped back down but his hand stayed where it was on her side. His gaze roamed over her again, finally meeting her eyes again. There was not pity there, only concern. Concern, and caring, and something else that she couldn’t quite name. She only knew it made her feel warm. 

Lily shook her head, “Think that was it. Thank you.” 

James shrugged, “You don’t need to thank me. I care about you. You know that.” 

“I do know that. And I care about you,” she attempted a smile. ”How things have changed this year.”  

“Not so far if you’re still trying to hide stuff from me.” 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she reached for his arm again, but ended up holding his hand. “I knew you wouldn’t want to keep it quiet.” 

He threaded his fingers into hers, squeezing even as he sighed heavily. “I want them to pay. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.” 

“You can’t,” Lily started. She reached up, pushing his hair back out of his eyes, off his glasses. “I don’t want people to think that I’m not every bit as deserving of magic as they are.” 

“You’re being stupid. No one will think that.” His fingers smoothing up and down her side, clenching on her hip. She tried not to shiver at the contact. He was looking at her in the way that made her feel warm again.  

Lily didn’t try to argue with him. Instead, she braced a hand on his chest, pushing up onto her tiptoes to make up the difference in their heights. With James already looking down at her, it didn’t take much to press her lips to his. The touch was soft, sweet, a balm to the terror she’d felt much earlier in the night. 

“What was that for?” James asked when she pulled back, dropping down onto her heels. He looked 

Her hand stayed on his chest, fingers curled into his robes as she smiled. “You said I was being stupid. Thought I may as well live up to it.” 

His lips twitched at both ends, “Kissing me is stupid?” 

She nodded, slowly, her grin widening. “Very.” 

James leaned down, so close their noses brushed. “Care to be stupid again? I could get on board with that kind of stupid.” 

“In for a penny, in for a -” Lily didn’t even get to finish the saying before James’ hand buried in her hair and his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her firm against him as his lips captured hers again. 

[sapphiccrypt]

The Names You Call Me

Oh boy- I don’t have an Ao3 account so I guess I’m putting this here.

Ship: Wanda x Agatha (MCU) AU: Soulmate AU Word Count: 2578 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha had been around for a while- of course she had. She was a witch from all the way back in the time of the Salem Witch Trials. However, in the roughly estimated 350 years she’d been alive (she’d lost count around the first World War), she hadn’t figured out who her soulmate was. Everyone had one, or at least, everyone was supposed to. Every little nickname or term of endearment your soulmate called you was supposed to be inked somewhere on your skin. However, she herself had been a blank canvas for centuries. It’s not like she minded, she was always more focused on acquiring more magical knowledge.

However, this didn’t stop the witch from giving little nicknames to everyone. It had become a habit over time. Was it so that she’d finally find her supposed soulmate one day? Or perhaps it was just to prove to herself that said soulmate didn’t exist and would never exist. Either way, this habit hadn’t shown any positive results, at least, that’s what she thought. 

It was one of her habits that carried over into the nosy neighbor persona she had become forced to play. 

------ 

Wanda’s parents always told them about soulmates, how those little names that appeared on your skin were supposed to be so meaningful and lovely. Oh how she wished that was the case. Of course, life always seemed to want to throw a curveball at her. 

She was in her cabin in the vast wilderness when she had decided to shower. As she stepped out, her hair was intricately braided with magic. She had decided to check said braid in the mirror when she noticed something that made her heart sink. 

Written in small lettering along her lower back were different words. Wanda knew what this meant, of course she did. Everyone was told about soulmates. There were so many rom coms and tv shows about it. Hell- in the show she’d weaved together from the town of Westview, she’d finally been able to make Vision and herself soulmates. However, the few nicknames the deceased synthezoid had called her in the past weren’t written there.

Instead, there were ones like “buttercup,” “hon,” and “toots,” among a few others. In the back of her mind, she knew where those nicknames came from- who those nicknames came from. She stared at the writing for a while. Why her of all people? The one that betrayed her and tried to take her magic? Why couldn’t it have been Vision, or anyone else for that matter? Why did it have to be Agatha?

The mirror shatters.

------ 

Agatha didn’t know how long she was trapped in the lonely and painstakingly quiet void of own mind. Mere minutes could feel like years just for the next hour to pass like milliseconds. Feeling and watching herself do and say things, think things, without it really being her was a fate worse than death. No matter how hard she would scream, no one could hear her there.

Agnes, meanwhile, was brewing herself a morning cup of coffee. She had always been a coffee person, for as long as she could remember, just like she had always been living in the quiet town of Westview. Of course, she found her hobbies. Along with being the neighborhood gossip, she would tend to her garden and watch fun movies. It was a simple life, and she liked it, despite the part of herself buried deep within the far corners of her mind that told her this wasn’t what she should be doing.

As the housewife was pouring her coffee into one of her many ornate mugs, a knock at the door echoed above the noise of the television and her own humming. She almost spilled her coffee but set the pot aside on the counter. “I’ll be there in just a moment!” Agnes called as she speed-walked over to the door and opened it to see her former neighbor. 

“Wanda! What a pleasant surprise,” Agnes began with the same neighborly smile she always put on. The one that seemed so permanent that her cheeks would often hurt after a while. “And here I thought you had forgotten about little ol’ Agnes,” she teased, stepping out of the doorway so the other could enter. “Please, come on in.”

Wanda would nod, smiling calmly over at the other. “It’s nice to see you again, Agnes,” she’d comment as she looked around the neatly decorated house. The whole place had a sickeningly sweet atmosphere, as to be expected of the role she had put upon the other. She sat down on the couch Agnes guided her over to, looking over at the sitcom playing on the television. She had been meaning to watch that one.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea, something a little more...adult?” Agnes asked with a mischievous smirk as she moved into the kitchen. “Take your pic, pumpkin.”

She looked down as the other called her a new nickname, knowing it was probably added to the list of words that were written on her back. “Tea is fine, thanks,” the Sokovian woman commented, quietly resting her hands in her lap as she prepared for what was to come. Hopefully the runes she’d placed on the house and Agatha herself would stop her from attacking or playing with her mind again.

Agnes rambled on about life in Westview and tidbits of gossip she’d picked up on since the other had left the small New Jersey town. Soon enough, the shrill noise of the teapot pierced the air and she prepared the other’s drink, walking in with both mugs after reheating her own coffee. 

Wanda talked with Agnes for a few minutes, thanking her for the tea and sipping it as they chatted and watched the television program. When the other set her mug down on the coffee table, the younger witch moved a glowing red hand to the other’s temple, bringing back the witch that she had previously locked away. 

Agatha’s eyes widened and she gasped as all her senses came back to her and she was in her own mind again. She looked over at Wanda, stumbling away from the other on the couch some before her gaze narrowed. “What do you want?” She asked. She knew deep down she couldn’t really do much besides listen to the other, as she couldn’t feel the usual buzz of magic underneath her skin.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, Agatha.” Wanda said, still keeping a calm demeanor about her as she looked over at the other. “I had to come by and see how my nosy neighbor was doing.”

The older of the two grumbled as she got up, blue eyes gazing at the other and desperately trying to figure out her motives. “You and I both know that isn’t the reason, Red.” Agatha commented. At least she was herself again, although being powerless like this was still worse than death, in her opinion.

Wanda sighed. What was with this woman and all her nicknames? She was sure her back was soon to be covered in words. “I just want to talk,” she paused, considering her next words. “Ags.” She noticed the hint of some marking on the other’s left arm, although it was mainly covered by her sleeve.

Agatha looked a bit surprised at the nickname before glaring once more. “What do you want to talk about.” She muttered, sitting down at a chair adjacent to the other. She didn’t really want to talk, but she didn’t quite want to be Agnes again either.

“Well- I have two things. First, a sort of proposal of sorts,” Wanda replied. “You said I would need you, so this is a time to make yourself needed. Teach me the secrets of the Darkhold, I know you know it well.” Some of the spells in the book were quite confusing, and at times the book itself seemed like it didn’t want to be read, and surely giving this incentive would give her the insight she needed on the book.

“The second...” she began again, “....is this,” Wanda said as red magic rolled up the left sleeve of the other’s shirt, causing Agatha to tense some. “Take a look for yourself.”

The brunette’s gaze settled on her arm, eyes widening as she read out the small, 3 letter nickname the other had just called her. She opened her mouth to speak for a moment before promptly closing it right afterwards. She was silent for what seemed like eternity before she let out a low chuckle.

“You must be covered then, huh, dearie?”

------ 

Months passed as the two resided in Wanda’s cabin. The Scarlet Witch’s training was going alright- save for a few clearings in the forest that definitely weren’t there before. Overtime, arguments and harsh words turned to cheeky and sarcastic remarks. Neither of them brought up the soulmate thing too much, as if the situation was a creature one would be advised not to poke with a stick. This didn’t stop Agatha from coming up with new nicknames just to add to the collection and tick off Wanda, however. Meanwhile her own arm was mostly bare save for a few names she was called when the other wanted to try at the game that the older witch was playing. 

It was late morning, Wanda was usually the first to wake up, whether it was from her just being an early riser or nightmares she got frequently was up for debate. She prepared a small meal, just some bacon and eggs, making her some tea. Agatha often made her own coffee, through normal or magical needs.

She had decided after a couple weeks to let Agatha use her magic, as trust had grown between the two and it was easier for the magic lessons to have someone who could actually use magic. Agatha hadn’t attacked or anything, she seemed to know it wouldn’t end well. Plus, through the passing months, both women were beginning to take a liking to one another, whether they wanted to admit it or not. 

Agatha came down from her room a few minutes after Wanda had sat down for breakfast, pushing messy brunette hair out of her face so her vision wasn’t obscured. She grabbed a mug, magically making herself some coffee before getting a portion of breakfast and sitting down across from Wanda at the small wooden dining table.

“Good morning.” Wanda commented with a soft smile. Although part of herself hated to say it, she really enjoyed Agatha’s company. She had grown to enjoy the little nicknames, the teasing remarks, the way her laugh made her feel like her heart was made of butterflies. Disregard that last part.

Agatha nodded, sipping her coffee. “Morning.” She said, taking a few bites of breakfast that the other had prepared. “This is good, buttercup.” She smirked some at the other before sipping her coffee. “Ready for today’s practice?” 

Wanda looked up from her cup of tea and over at who had become her mentor. “Of course.” She responded. Her control over her magic had been getting better, and she’d been learning all sorts of spells and runes from the other witch.

After breakfast, the two women got changed and went out into the forest, into one of the clearings that had been there before the two had started using the area for magic practices. This spot was quite peaceful, and the two spent many hours reading through the Darkhold, along with other books of magic that Agatha had acquired over the centuries of her life.

Practice went as normal, going over a few new runes and such, like one Agatha had used to block out her mind from the other’s telepathy in Westview. It was a difficult rune but Wanda had proved to be a quick and skilled learner. After a couple more runes, Agatha would switch over to spells. 

Wanda didn’t like to admit that elemental magic was really frustrating. How was chaos and creation easier than controlling water? The two had moved to a nearby creek for this spell. Agatha instructed how to control the water but each try ended in one or both of them getting splashed. 

Agatha had an idea and moved closer to Wanda. “Here.” She began, standing behind her and placing her hands on her wrists, ignoring the quickened beating of her heart. Yeah, she was falling for the other, who also happened to be her soulmate, so be it. She’d deal with that “problem” later. “You have to follow the flow of the water with your body, be fluid in your movements and calm in your emotions.” 

It was hard to be calm when Agatha was against her like this and her cheeks were tinted the same color of her magic, but Wanda was determined to get this seemingly simple spell down. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to cast the spell, moving in tandem with her mentor. Things seemed to be going quite well, opening one eye to see the water moving with them.

Until she fell, of course.

She had heard a rustling in the bushes and her concentration broke and caused her to stumble and fall forward, Agatha falling along with her into the cold shallow water. A deer ran out of their view. Wanda began to apologize before the other let out what was probably the most genuine laugh she’d ever heard, causing her already pounding heart to skip a few beats. She found herself laughing along.

Agatha stood up, helping the other to her feet as well. “Well that’s a way to become one with the water,” she teased, smiling at Wanda. “If I wasn’t already awake, I definitely am now.” She added before smirking and splashing the other.

“Hey!” The younger witch exclaimed as the cold water made her shiver, although the smile she had on never left her lips. “No fair,” she added before splashing the other in return. 

Agatha chuckled before reaching over to move some wet hair out of the other’s face. Her hand lingered on her cheek for a moment as their eyes met before she quickly looked away, going to climb out of the creek before a hand grabbed hers, and she looked back at Wanda. “What is it, darling?” She asked.

Wanda ignored how much the nickname made her face heat up. She hadn’t really been thinking as she grabbed the other’s hand, and she ended up staring into the other’s eyes for longer than most normal friends would. Her heart kept beating and she felt like if she didn’t say something to break the tension would be infinite.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Ok- anything but that.

The older witch was the one blushing now, before chuckling softly as their fingers intertwined. “And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.” She teased, smiling at the other as they moved closer to one another.

It doesn’t matter who ended up kissing who, what matters is that it happened, and neither seemed to want to pull away.

When they finally did so, Wanda found herself leaning into Agatha’s touch as the other woman caressed her cheek, and she entangled one of her hands into the other’s unruly dark hair. 

“I don’t think I mind being your soulmate, Aggie.”

Another mark appeared on Agatha’s arm, and they both leaned in for another kiss

[beetlethebug]

The Bad Kids and Their Hands

Fig: Does nail art (usually of her friends, recently it’s been gold feather details); she had a set once where each nail is modeled after a different type of yogurt and she made gilear get matching ones with her; keeps her nails short because it makes playing the bass harder; if she gets them done she gets acrylics with pointed tips; she has like? Small dainty hands and she hates it; wears lots of rings and def has some stick and pokes on her fingers; whenever she takes pictures she makes sure her wrists are visible to show off her tattoos; her fingers are stained darker because she smoked a lot freshman and sophomore year

Gorgug: Picks at his fingers as a nervous tic--has gotten better since he’s made friends; Kristen saw how messed up his hands were and offers to heal them whenever they get really bad; has started to play around with his drumsticks instead; his hands are so big and he loves holding his friends’ hands; he lets Fig and Zelda paint his nails before shows or big battles; he has so many callouses; his hands are also so warm and gentle; he’s very careful with his hands and surprisingly dexterous; whenever someone touches the spot where the leaf cut his hand in Hell he jumps; everyone makes him compare his hand with theirs and he’s always so embarrassed; he has some insecurities about his hands bc they’re strong still but the skin is tight and they’re super veiny (they look old and he’s insecure about it)(Zelda will kiss his knuckles and coo about his “little old man hands” and he gets so flustered)

Adaine: She tried to get acrylics once and the weight of them was Very Bad, so she doesn’t get them; she also doesn’t like the feeling of polish on them; Ayda taught her a spell though that uses special ink and she will paint protective runes and spells on both her nails and those of her friends; Adaine has very pretty hands; I get like pianist hand vibes? I also feel like she’d have French (Elvish?? Lol) tips maybe?; she used to be very Particular about her appearance but now her hands are rougher and always ink stained and she loves it

Riz: His mom used to make him trim and blunt his claws but he keeps them long now; Adaine paints runes and protection on his nails a lot, especially the first couple of months after sophomore year; he cares about their appearance the least so he can’t be bothered lol; he’s another spindly fingered lad, his veins are def visible; the magical tattoos from Critical Role exist for this specific headcanon and Riz has tattoos on both his hands in emerald green that increase his dexterity; he uses his hands a lot so jewelry isn’t practical but his mom gives him his dad’s wedding ring and he wears it Always; he thinks with his hands and will mimic moving the lines of his clue boards when he’s really deep in thought

Kristen: Her hands are honestly how she casts her spells so she takes really good care of them; short, stubby fingers; she used to bite them a lot as a kid and has only recently started growing them out; her hands are so freckled; she does funky little dances like Ally does; she is also a hand-holder and will reach out for her friends; she’s trying to grow her nails out a little bit to look like claws so she can match Tracker; you know the pic that’s like? a woman with acrylics except for her second and middle finger? something like that; her hands are always So Warm; wrists are part of hands so--Kristen made everyone friendship bracelets and everyone (even Fabian) wears them (there’s def a little magic in them)

Fabian: He also has nice hands; this boy has not worked a day in his life he has beautiful soft hands; still working through shit so he doesn’t paint his nails but he does like the look of it; he always has lotion and it is always expensive and ocean themed; slender fingers; Adaine’s are longer than his though; he has lots of little moles on his fingers and tops of his hands; Fabian also feels like the type to wear rings; now that he’s multiclassed he’s started tapping rhythms onto every available surface; he has a different rhythm he taps for each of the Bad Kids so you can tell who he’s thinking about by watching his hands (because he’s still working on the “tell your friends you love them out loud” bit)

[cjfritos]

In Dreams Begin (Jessa wedding story)

Obviously written by Cassandra Clare. I own no rights to this. This was included in first editions of The Lost Book of the White by her and Wesley Chu. It tells the story of Jem Carstairs and Tessa Gray’s wedding and explains why no one remembers it.

Unfortunately it does include some spoilers from LBW so if you have not read it yet, I don’t recommend reading it. Otherwise, enjoy :)

~~~

Magnus Bane was scheming.

         To an untrained observer, the High Warlock of Brooklyn wouldn’t look like he was doing much of anything at all. For one thing, he was wearing purple silk pajamas. For another thing, he was in bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows with a spell book open in his lap.

         Beside him, Alec Lightwood was stretched out on his side, deeply asleep. Earlier that day, Alec had taken their son, Max, to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. This had been at Magnus’s request—he wanted Max to have ample opportunity to tire himself out before bedtime. It worked almost too well. Max had made fast friends with a werewolf toddler named Eliza, and the two of them tore around the gardens blissfully for about three hours straight, Max crawling while Eliza ran, albeit unsteadily. Eliza’s mother had been quite surprised the first time Max levitated. Luckily, he was glamoured so only she and Alec noticed.

         Though not possessed of much vocabulary, Eliza clearly wanted Max to levitate her as well. Fortunately, Max did not yet have that sort of skill. Alec and Max returned home happy, covered in mud, and—best of all—exhausted. Magnus really wanted them all to sleep through the night.

         Magnus shifted position and peered across the room at the mantel clock atop the dresser, a hideous thing covered in putti that Ragnor had given him years ago. The room was lit only by a candle that burned with a blue flame on the table beside him, but he could make out the numbers. It was one forty-five a.m. Surely that was late enough. Surely even the Shadowhunters and Downworlders of the West Coast would be turning in. He’d given Catarina and Jem and Tessa a heads-up, after all, and as for the Blackthorns and Emma Carstairs, they were kids! And not even babies, with their bizarre and erratic relationship to sleep. Surely the would be asleep by now, worn out from running around on the beach or whatever it was that the residents of the Los Angeles Institute did all day. Yes, it was time.

         Snuggling a little farther under the blanket, Magnus looked fondly over at Alec’s sleeping form, his black hair like spilled ink across the ivory pillowcase. He closed his book and set it on the bedside table. He mentally reached within, feeling about for a particular pocket of magic folded away deep inside, a self-contained bubble. I had been two weeks since he’d been freed from the influence of the Svefnthorn, and while the markings on his skin had faded, his teeth had shrunk back to their normal size, and the overcharged magic of the artifact had left his system, this one reserve of magical energy had lingered.

         At first, Magnus had considered hanging on to it as a sort of insurance policy. A little extra magic went a long way, especially when the magic was this potent, and Magnus was quite certain that he and Alec and their friends would have plenty more dangers to face in the years to come. That was their job, after all. But clinging to the magic out of fear of imagined dangers didn’t feel good. It felt like letting demons have a small victory over him, playing right into their scaly, demonic hands. No, instead he had resolved to use the power in a decidedly un-demon-sanctioned manner—to create joy.

         Magnus shut his eyes. Oneiromancy, the study and practice of dream magic, had never been one of his specialties. But with the added kernel of power from the Sveftnthorn, he felt quite confident that he could pull of this one feat, even as complex as it was. The trickiest part, it seemed to him, was holding himself in that drowsy state between waking and sleeping, while maintaining enough awareness to cast the spell. He lay back against the pillows, letting his eyelids flutter shut for just a moment….

~~~

When Magnus opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of Blackfriars Bridge, the panorama of London spread out around him in all directions.

         He took a deep breath of river-tasting air. The sky was a dark violet, the sun only just beginning to rise. There was no traffic, which was a distinct advantage to throwing a party on a dream bridge rather than on the real thing. There was a warm breeze in the air, and the Thames danced beneath it, silvery in the dawn light. Had he ever noticed wind in a dream before? Magnus wasn’t sure. He admired the view from the bridge—it seemed just about right, though he hadn’t been here for a couple decades. Perhaps some ugly new construction had taken place since then, but who would fault him for omitting that?

         “Magnus!”

         He turned and saw two figures hurrying toward him. It was Tessa and Jem, both in what Magnus assumed was their pajamas. Tessa’s were gray with white rabbits on them. Jem’s were dark-green-and-navy-blue plaid. They were barefoot, but that wouldn’t matter on a dream bridge. He started to smile as they got closer and he could see that they were both giddy and laughing, a hint of disbelief on their faces.

         Tessa threw her arms around him, knocking him off-balance. He marveled at how solid and real she felt.

         “It’s working!” she said in wonder.

         “A magical discipline unexplored is always worth exploring,” Magnus said, stepping back. “I may be late to the game with oreiromancy, but I plan to make up for my tardiness all at once, right now. Is that what your planning to wear to your wedding?”

         “It’s not traditional, but neither was the yellow cotton shirt dress I wore for the courthouse wedding. And I do love bunnies,” said Tessa. “I’m all right with it if Jem is.”

         “I would marry you if you were wearing a barrel,” said Jem.

         “But why would I be wearing a barrel?” said Tessa.

         They were both grinning at each other stupidly. Magnus decided something needed to be done; he wasn’t sure how long his magic would hold out.

         “I won’t have it!” he said. “If I’m to throw you a dream wedding, you must be properly dressed for the occasion. It’s in my contract. I do hope you read the fine print.”

         He snapped his fingers, and Jem’s pajamas were replaced by an exquisitely cut black suit. Magnus aimed for something that suggested the style of the Shadowhunter gear Jem had worn long ago, in the first years he knew Tessa. Wedding runes were intricately embroidered on the lapels in gold thread. As Jem marveled at the excellent fit, Magnus turned his attention to Tessa.

         “I know,” he said, “a wedding dress is a highly personal choice. But as our other guests will be arriving momentarily, and time is of the essence, I’m going to take a stab at it.”

         “You have my express permission,” Tessa said.

         Magnus snapped his fingers again, and the Tessa was wearing a beautiful sleeveless gown of pale silver, with a full skirt that reminded Magnus of the first time he’d met her, at a vampire ball. A couple more flicks of his fingers, and her hair rearranged itself beautifully into an updo, with a few tendrils loose around her face. One more gesture, and Tessa’s familiar jade pendant appeared around her neck—as did the pearl bracelet she always wore, a gift from Will on their thirtieth anniversary.

         Tessa looked startled, reaching up to touch her hair, then brushing her hands over the gown. “How do I look?”

         Jem looked very young again as he gazed at her, his dark eyes full of emotion. “Ni hen piao liang,” he whispered. You are very beautiful.

         Magnus turned away to give them a moment—and felt familiar arms close around him.

         Alec kissed Magnus on his forehead—being slightly shorter than Magnus, he had to pull Magnus down a bit to do it, which Magnus didn’t mind at all—and muttered, “You’re a sentimental bastard, aren’t you?” in his ear.

         But he was grinning all over his face as he turned to greet Tessa and Jem, congratulating them. They both looked delighted to see him.

         “So let me get this straight,” Alec said. “You, me, Tessa, and Jem will all remember this with perfect recall. For the other guests, they’ll remember it at first, but then it will fade away, the way dreams do?”

         “That is correct. They won’t recall it the way we will, but their souls will be present, and glad for it. Well, mostly glad for it,” Magnus said.

         “What do you mean, ‘mostly’?” Jem said nervously.

         “I mean that I’m not sure how Church will feel about the whole thing.”

         “Church!” Alec and Jem exclaimed at the same time, and turned to see the grumpy Persian cat sauntering toward them down the center of the bridge.

         Tessa laughed. “Well, he does sleep twenty hours a day. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.”

         “I took the liberty of adding him to the guest list you gave me,” Magnus said. “I’m trying to get on his good side.”

         “Why?” Alec asked, incredulous. “He’s a cat.”

         “So he won’t hate me forever when I do this.” Magnus snapped his fingers, and a silver bow in the same fabric as Tessa’s dress appeared around Church’s neck. Church’s eyes widened for a moment. Then he sat down, and after a moment, became very focused on cleaning his front paw.

         “Now,” Magnus said, “I simply must get this bridge decorated.”

         “It’s decorated perfectly,” said a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw Clary, who was holding Max. Behind her was Jace, followed by Isabelle and Simon, who were leaning together, whispering conspiratorially. Jocelyn and Luke were there, looking slightly unkempt, and Magnus remembered that they were in the process of remodeling a barn at Luke’s farm so Jocelyn could expand her painting studio. Ragnor and Catarina had also appeared, as well as a whole gaggle of kids—the Blackthorn clan. Julian and Helen, Tiberius and Livia, Drusilla and Octavian. Emma Carstairs was with them, though she broke away from the group immediately, running to hug Clary. They were the same height now, Magnus noticed with amusement. Max had escaped from Clary and was riding on Alec’s shoulders now, babbling a story to Helen Blackthorn and her wife, Aline. They looked very amused, though it was unlikely they understood even a quarter of what he said.

         Maryse and Kadir were there too, already deep in conversation with Jocelyn and Luke. Kadir hadn’t been on the guest list Jem and Tessa had given Magnus, because they didn’t really know him, but Magnus had added him as Maryse’s plus-one. It never hurt to butter up your boyfriend’s mother, especially when she was willing to babysit for days at a time.

         A couple Silent Brothers had appeared—Enoch? Shadrach? Magnus was slightly embarrassed to admit that they all looked alike to him, now that Jem was no longer counted among their number as Brother Zachariah. Magnus hadn’t known if the Gregori would be able to attend, since they didn’t normally sleep. One of them—Enoch?—inclined his hooded head slightly at Magnus, acknowledging this mad thing he was doing as worthwhile. At least that was how Magnus chose to interpret the gesture.

         Octavian was climbing Jace like a jungle gym. Clary was talking with Julian and Emma, while Tiberius stood near his older brother, looking around at London with fierce curiosity in his gray eyes. Livia and Drusilla were perched on the railing of the bridge, Livia chatting animatedly with Simon and Isabelle, Drusilla looking around shyly. Catarina went to lean beside her, asking her a question. Magnus looked at the motley assortment of clothing on the assembled group. Mostly casual, though there were more pajamas as well. Magnus made two sweeping gestures, and all at once everyone was looking very sharp in formal attire. Even better, they barely seemed to notice the change. Magnus was impressed. Oneiromancy—who knew!

         A hand gripped his arm. It was Tessa, who looked close to tears. “Magnus. I can’t believe you’re doing this for us. I…” She trailed off, at a loss for words.

         Magnus regarded her fondle. “Tessa, most people’s idea of a dream wedding is not a literal dream wedding. But since yours is, I am happy to oblige. Shall we get this show on the road?”

         Jem and Tessa took their places on either side of Magnus, and the guests gathered around. The sun had climbed well above the horizon, casting rays of warm light between the long shadows of the wedding guests.

         “Dear friends,” Magnus said to Jem and Tessa, “we are honored to share this moment with you, and I am doubly honored to be given the chance to speak. Several hundred years ago I got very drunk and woke up as ordained minister. Today I have decided that doing so was a wise choice after all.”

         Jocelyn snorted, then looked embarrassed. Luke grinned at her.

         “Joking aside, it is impossible to stand here with you all and not feel that there is some greater plan at work, some greater force that has brought these two souls across more than a century to be joined as one.”

         Clary’s eyes were glistening. Jace reached into his pocket and offered her what looked like a handkerchief but was more likely a soft cloth for polishing blades. She gave a wry smile of recognition, and sniffled into it.

         “I debated which customs to follow in officiating this wedding,” Magnus went on. “Whether to conduct a Shadowhunter ceremony, or a warlock ceremony, or even a mundane ceremony, for many worlds have been united in the two of you. But none of these traditions seemed quite appropriate on their own. So I’ve attempted to tailor a ceremony that will honor your unique paths.”

         Magnus nodded to Jem, who reached into his pocket and produced a gold ring. Jem had requested a single word etched around the outside of it: Mizpah.

         “It has been said,” said Magnus, “that when two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze. Theresa Gray, are you at one with James Carstairs in your inmost heart?”

         Tessa’s eyes were wide, her face serious as she gazed at Jem. “I am,” she said, offering her hand to him. He slid the ring onto her finger.

         The Magnus nodded at Tessa, who produced another ring, this one from thin air. Magnus had to suppress the grin that threatened to break his calm officiant expression. It delighted him that Tessa was engaging in a small amount of oneiromancy herself, and Jem looked as pleased by it as Magnus felt. This ring was the exact match of the first, and he knew what it said as well: May the Angel watch between me and thee when we are absent from one another.

         “James Carstairs—Ke Jian Ming—are you at one with Theresa Gray in your inmost heart?”

         “I am,” Jem said, delight visible in his dark eyes. Tessa put the ring on him, and they stood for a moment, holding hands and smiling at each other like they couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

         “For I am persuaded,” said Magnus, and Jem and Tessa both looked up at him, recognizing a piece of the old Shadowhunter wedding ceremony, though he had altered the wording, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate these two.” He stretched out his arms. “Therefore I am overjoyed to declare this marriage consecrated, here in the presence of your friends and family. Tessa Gray and Jem Carstairs, you are married, and the world is better for it. You may kiss each other, not that you really need my permission.”

         The assembled crowd cheered as Jem and Tessa kissed, a kiss that had been long delayed. The kiss continued, and Magnus slowly backed away, joining the cheering audience. “Let’s give them a moment,” he said, and happy chatter swelled around him.

         Magnus noted that Alec was looking very foxy in his Armani suit, laughing with Maryse. Ragnor and Catarina were cackling over something, glad to be reunited now that Ragnor didn’t have to pretend to be dead—or at least, didn’t have to pretend with them. Clary had her arm draped over Emma’s shoulders, and Jace was arguing with Simon about how to properly tie a necktie. Tiberius and Drusilla were watching this argument as though it were a tennis match. Julian had lifted Octavian up so he could look down at the river flowing by beneath. Isabelle was joking with Livia, who was giving Max a piggyback ride. It was a miraculously good wedding.

         Here they were, his friends. They’d literally gone into Hell twice with him now. He found himself reflecting on how much had changed. At first his life had felt like Magnus against the world. Then for years and years it had been Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor against the world. Now his community was a much larger group, one that had spread wide enough that instead of Magnus and his friends against the world, it felt like Magnus and his friends, a part of the world. Probably the best part of the world.

         It was a good feeling.

         “Look!” a girl’s voice cried. It was Drusilla, pointing up into the sky, eyes wide with wonder. There was a collective gasp as the crowd saw what she had spotted. Two figures flew overhead, riding a translucent white stallion with two gold hooves and two silver. One of them was a blond boy in ragged clothes, who looked down at the Blackthorns and waved. The figure in front of him was harder to make out—a gentry faerie in clothes just as ragged, only he was as translucent as the horse. The blond boy must be Mark Blackthorn, Magnus marveled. He’d “invited” the whole family, not knowing whether those who rode with the Wild Hunt could be summoned by dream magic. He had his answer, but it came with another mystery. Who was this companion, so close to Mark that they would appear together in a dream?

         The riders made a circle overhead, while the Blackthorns shouted and waved, and Mark waved back, smiling an odd smile down at them. Then they faded away into the morning air.

         Magnus saw with relief that Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, and Alec had all move in around the Blackthorn kids, giving them an opportunity to talk about what they had just seen—their stolen brother, visiting so briefly.

         He glanced over and saw Tessa and Jem still standing by the railing. There was a shimmer beside them, at the edge of the bridge, and the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck rose.

         He knew Will Herondale had never haunted the moral world, because he had lived and died happily and had no unfinished business among the living. While Magnus didn’t subscribe to any specific set of beliefs about reincarnation or the afterlife, he had always had a strong sense that Will was waiting on the other bank of a dark river—be it Lethe, or some other border between the living and the dead. He was there among the green grass, the sky above as dark a blue as his eyes, waiting patiently for Jem and Tessa to join him, that he might lead them by the hand to whatever wonders lay beyond the veil.

         The philosophers of ancient Greece had believed dreams and sleep to be the twin of death: Morpheus and Hades, standing side by side. And here, in that space, Magnus would not have been surprised if Will stretched out his hand to those he had loved best in life—to Jem and Tessa.

         He was, after all, a Herondale, and very stubborn.

         Alec sidled up to Magnus, leaving the Blackthorns in the capable hands of his siblings and their partners. The kids seemed to have taken Mark’s appearance as a sort of wedding favor created especially for them.

         Alec twinned an arm around Magnus’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him on the temple. “It was very kind of you to use the last of your Svefnthorn magic on this,” he said.

         Magnus leaned into Alec. “Well, it wasn’t enough magic to send us to the moon, or get us into the front row at the Alexander McQueen runway. So I figured, next best thing.”

         Alec smiled at him pointedly. “Actually, I happen to know that you did it because you are an incredibly kind person, and that is one of the many things I love about you.”

         “Oh dear,” Magnus said, turning to face him. “You know all my secrets.”

         Then they were kissing, and kissing in a magical dream turned out to be just as perfect as kissing in the waking world.

[furblrwurblr]

Moppet!Douxie x GN!Reader, Soulmate AU | Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Fire/Explosion, lots of crying, self esteem issues, misunderstandings cause a lot of emotional turmoil

Note: This is my first fic! I know fics have it worse than art, but if you'd consider leaving tips in the comments, I'd be super grateful! Thanks for taking a look!

It was springtime in Camelot, near the turn of the season. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and you... were late. As a magic user, your life was in constant jeopardy regardless of your employment as the Crowmaster, Crowlord Corbin’s apprentice, penning and sending letters for the kingdom. And in this kingdom, tardiness was not appreciated. Racing through the castle halls with the king’s letters in hand, you noticed movement on your forearms.

“I wonder what color their eyes are. I bet they’re lovely.”

Your lips curled in a tender smile at the curling words that appeared on your skin. Similar musings crossed your soulmate’s mind daily, not leaving your body free of the enigmatic “ink” for years.

No one, not even the renowned Merlin Ambrosius, knew the precise nature of the words that would mark people’s skin, only that they were your soulmate’s thoughts about you. Soulmates were a fickle thing, their connections varying with different cultural beliefs and changing as countries developed. In England, the written words made finding your soulmate a tad difficult as one couldn’t know if their other half was paying any mind when they tried to share personal details. It was said that once you know them wholly, you’re complete in all things. Whatever that means.

You’d once been impatient to meet your own, to know what it means to be complete, but after years of black markings coming and going, covering your body in kind words of admiration, you deemed them worth the wait.

You were shocked from your reverie in a flutter of parchment. You’d bumped into someone, the king’s letters falling to the ground right into… was that slorr juice? You didn’t even apologize to the raven-haired young man whose spell material you’d just gotten all over the floor. You were far too panicked.  Knowing your animal magic was of no help here, you scrambled to salvage what you could.

Hisirdoux was in trouble. Merlin would have his head when he told him he lost the slorr juice to another bout of soulmate pondering, and have it again when he discovered that said juice is the reason the king didn’t receive his news regarding the upcoming royal summit. Douxie leaned forward to help but instead opted to frantically search his brace for anything that could help the poor apprentice in front of him.

When he’d finally found the rune, the Crowmaster had just finished shaking off what liquid they could from the sensitive documents. He quickly dried them hoping to save the ink on them as best he could, long fingers flitting over each. In a hurried frenzy of apologies and farewells, the hallway was emptied.

Merlin was less than pleased, and frankly, a little concerned. Douxie usually gets so cautious after a mistake that even Merlin feels his stress, but this was the third time this week. Why was he so focused on his soulmate? After a right scolding, Douxie retired to his room to study. Merlin nearly did a double-take at what was written on his young apprentice’s neck.

“He was quite kind.”

So they’d met. Did his soulmate know? Did Douxie know?

Over the next few weeks, you two kept running into one another. A passing here, an acknowledgment there. After about a month you’d come to look forward to seeing the boy trip over himself en route to Merlin’s study. You helped him carry supplies when the Crowlord was away and talked when he dropped off Merlin’s letters to the court magicians across England. For some reason, you found yourself hanging on his every word and smiling whenever you caught a glimpse of his adorable manbun weaving through the streets.

He felt the same. It was never enough to speak to you in passing and he even left long conversations with you feeling wanting. He doesn’t quite remember how he started, but it’d become a habit to watch you work through the large western tower window. He’d admire your tenderness with the crows and was warmed by your bond with your hawk familiar. 

As you left the tower to retire for the night, he always thought you might be cold, but never gathered the courage to walk you to your chambers.

Douxie was concerned. The day was halfway through, winter clouds covering the high sun, and you were nowhere to be seen. He’d watched you enter the western tower at dawn and the candlelight hadn’t been extinguished once. He was principally done with Merlin’s tasks for the day, perhaps he could pop his head in? “just for a minute,” he decided. 

He exited his chambers (Merlin’s storage closet) and rapped a knuckle on his master’s desk, pulling his attention from some blueprints. Merlin didn’t speak, just gave an expectant look.

Douxie ran a near-trembling hand through his tied black hair before cautiously speaking up. “Master, may I have the rest of the day off?”

“Whatever brought this on? After the way you’ve been acting these past months?”

Douxie averted his gaze, suddenly finding his shoes far more interesting. “I’d… I’d like to see someone today.”

After a beat, the master wizard quickly scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy.

“Finish these and I’ll consider your time served for the day,” Merlin sighed.

Douxie had been sure he would shut down. He quickly snatched the list and ran to the door, uttering a rushed ‘thank you master’ before it shut behind him. Merlin watched him leave, fondness in his eyes.

The sun was just dipping past the high kingdom walls, turning the town a vibrant orange. Douxie hung the herbs he’d just gathered, heaving a sigh of great relief when the last one was in place. He raced across the west side, eager to visit his… friend? Is that who you were to him? He banished the thought as he came upon the west tower, dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Citizens, a lot of them, stood in a line from the tower out down the hallway. 

“What’s going on?” he asked a young woman.

“I’m here with my children, the Crowmaster is penning wishlists for Saint Nick. Just a shilling each!” 

Douxie nodded and thanked her, then made his way to the tower. He gently pushed past the mob gathered in the doorway, stammering apologies. At last, he reached the Crowlord’s desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen and you were alone, writing away at the whim of an excited child. He caught a glimpse of your face, you looked tired. Had you really been doing this all day?

Exhausted wasn’t a big enough word to describe how you felt. The only thing keeping you going was reading the various forms of concern written on your skin. By now, you knew you’d met them, but you couldn’t place who it could be. However, thinking was only making you more fatigued as your aching wrist swept across the parchment.

Douxie said nothing, just pulled out the Crowlord’s chair, and sat down. You looked at him, eyes wide, but the only explanation offered was a kind smile. He picked up a quill and called out for the next person to step forward. You turned back to the young girl asking for a sword, your smile wide and heart swelling.

By the time you two finished, the sun was half past the horizon. The last patron left the tower and you both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I can’t than-” 

“Um, do you think-” 

You looked at one another and laughed, waiting for the other to speak. Douxie hesitated, then took a deep breath. 

“Uhm, do you think you’ve some time? I’d like to show you something,” he asked, lifting his eyes to your face.

“Sure,” you replied, smiling and holding out your elbow.

He beamed, quickly grabbing two pieces of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. You raised a brow but let him be as he threaded your arm through his and started walking.

The young wizard’s apprentice couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was far too nervous. Thankfully, you found the silence comfortable as he led you up a winding staircase at the corner of the castle. Once you both reached the top, he gestured to the sea. It was breathtaking. The salty breeze floated through your hair as you admired the sun’s glow over the water and the colors of twilight.

Douxie broke the quiet. “I thought you’d like this. Hmm, it isn’t enough light to write by though.” He waved his hand, sending blue wisps to swirl around you both. You watched them float about, eyes finally landing on Douxie who was making himself comfortable in a crenel, placing the supplies he’d brought with him on the merlon in front of him. You settled across from him, reaching for the quill.

His slender hand caught yours and laid in on the stone, gently massaging your wrist. “You’ll injure yourself at this rate. Let someone else write for you today.” His gaze caught yours, hazel eyes full of concern, and… something else you couldn’t place.

A gentle smile spread across your face as you reveled in the sun on your skin and the breeze on your lips. Douxie shuffled his papers around and spoke up again a moment later.

“So! What’s your wish?” Douxie asked, smiling wide.

“What?” you said, puzzled.

Douxie rose a brow, pointing out “All today, has anyone penned you a wishlist?”

“I suppose not,” you said, the smile settling back onto your face.

He beamed and set the quill to the parchment again. “Fantastic. Not that I think it’s fantastic no one’s offered, I’m just glad I get to- oh, I never even asked. I should have asked first, I’m so sorry-,” His shoulders tensed, but he stopped abruptly when he felt your hand on his.

“Hisirdoux, thank you. I’d love it if you did, there’s no need to worry.”

You started telling him things you wanted for Christmas and conversation flowed from there. Teasing banter and loud laughter filled the sky as it turned to night, blue magic floating around you both excitedly in time with your synchronized heartbeats as he finally walked you to your chambers, even offering you his hood. What could he do? He thought you looked cold.

It was just past noon on Christmas day. The ground sparkled a bright white and children’s laughter rang through the air. You took a deep breath of the crisp air and let it out in a contented sigh, taking a sip of the warm cider your master bought you before he left to celebrate with his family. He invited you to join them, but you opted to celebrate it yourself. You placed the cider on the table next to the window you were sitting in and picked up the small wood block you were fashioning into a present for Douxie. The small wooden cat-dragon only needed his hind leg to be freed from its timber prison. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s the thought that counts. As you worked, sentences curled up your arms and swirling letters kissed the base of your fingers. You paused your whittling with a frown. The only feeling behind this gift was love. You’d accepted you loved Douxie after that night bathed in twilight and lonely smiles, but you felt so incredibly twisted about it. You’d already met your soulmate and they thought about you often. Did your soulmate also worry they’d fallen in love with the wrong person? You shook your head, clearing your mind at the sound of wingbeats. Your hawk familiar landed on your raised knee and began to preen themself, looking at you smugly through pristine feathers.

“I can feel you overthinking things from across the castle,” they spoke, masking concern under teasing.

You scoffed, knowing they were right. “What am I meant to do? I can’t go on like this when I’ve got a soulmate out there. I can’t even try, it’s against the law! They know we’re bonded, what if they see me with him? I don’t want to hurt them like that. Not to mention, what if he’s not perfect for me? I want the soulbond to experience all of another person, but should I give that up for love?”

Your familiar shook their head and flew away, leaving you with your question hanging in the air. Watching them leave, you noticed someone walking towards the slorr’s stable. The manbun was too recognizable for there to be a shred of doubt: Douxie was being put to work on Christmas Day. You turned the wooden Archie in your hand and pushed off the windowsill. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you can’t stay friends.

Douxie was in flux. Archie saw the boy’s neutral expression turn sour as he read what he could of his soulmate’s thoughts. They loved someone else? Would they give him up for someone they’d already met? He couldn’t exactly criticize, he was in the same boat. Y/N was so important to him, but if he found his soulmate, could he quell the confusing little thing they had together for someone he barely knew? He decided he’d understand if his soulmate didn’t love him, he’d want them to do the same. He loved Y/N too much to let them go.

He looked up from his arm and startled. You were waiting for him, leaning against the slorr’s gate, your hawk familiar preening themself. While you laughed at his absentmindedness, he frantically rolled his ¾ sleeves down over the words that betrayed his true heart. 

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you- um, aren’t you meant to be celebrating?” Douxie stammered out as his heart rate slowed. 

You pushed off the gate and grabbed the pail he was holding in his hands that were still light with adrenaline. “I am! I opted not to celebrate with Master Corbin and his family, take the day for myself and see where it leads,” you said, a hopeful grin rising to your lips.

Douxie broke into a giddy smile, his heart afloat. They had all of Christmas to enjoy the town and they were here with him? He couldn’t believe his fortune. “Then I’m glad it led you here!” he exclaimed. 

Archie curled himself around your leg, butting his dark head into your calf. “Are you here to enjoy the show?” he asked with a purr. 

Your laugh was the only thing keeping Douxie from strangling his bespectacled familiar, so he settled for a pout you internally cooed at. 

Both of you paused in front of the gate, reluctant to enter. He swung it open with a bow. “Ladies first.”

“Cheeky,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Archie and your familiar started playing with one another as you two prepared to take on the slorr together.

Hm. This was a mess. The slorr seemed to enjoy the happy atmosphere you’d both created so she was a tad more cooperative, but it took longer for her to calm down. You and Douxie were covered head to toe in the glowing blue liquid, trying to remove what you could into the pail Merlin gave him. Your shared laughter slowed to silence as you noticed him staring at you, eyes slowly roving over your face. Did he look… sad? No, that wasn’t it. Before you could scrutinize him further, you felt it. Gentle fingers caressing your cheek, going up, up… Your breath hitched as he laid his palm to your cheek, thumb slowly moving across your face. You let out a shaky breath and he jolted, noticing your wide eyes fixed on his and quickly withdrawing his hand.

He shook some juice from his hand and gesticulated wildly, stammering through an apology. “You- you had some juice on your cheek, I’m so sorry, Merlin’s tower, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“It’s okay, really. Thanks for getting it for me,” you interrupted. You wanted to say more, but his sleeve had risen in his fervor, swirling lines reminding you he wasn’t yours to comfort. Hisirdoux was such an emotional and empathetic being, he wouldn’t leave his soulmate. Especially since his soulmate would have to be an absolute saint, it’s no less than he deserved. Taking a deep breath in, you looked back at him. “Don’t bite your lips, you’ll chap them. Was that your last task for the day?”

Douxie released his lip, fighting the urge to continue chewing it. “It was, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to use the rest of the afternoon,” he said, watching as his familiar and yours playfully wrestled for a mouse.

Your heart leaped, this was your chance! “How would you like to spend it together? There are tons of things to do in town and I’ve saved up my pay for a while so I’ve some wiggle room. Not to mention, I’ve made you something.”

The nervous cloud around you both dissolved as Douxie eagerly agreed and begged you to reveal what you had for him. You denied him with a laugh, smile widening with his every impatient groan. Your familiars ran ahead of you both, swirling in a frenzy of playful fighting and laughter as you walked out of the castle, arm-in-arm.

The town was a sight to behold. Holly curled around door frames, red berries nestled among twisted wreaths. Mistletoe hung from building corners, tracks disrupted the perfect layers of fresh snow, and children weaved and ducked through throngs of people gathered around street musicians. Snowballs were flying at the end of every street, laughter and song floating in the air with the excited chatter of families buying wares for their families, and lines of crushed berries stained the ground. It was an English tradition to wish to meet your soulmate sooner by spreading holly berries in a line on Christmas as a nod to the Chinese legends of the soulstring, a red string that connected soulmates there. Sure, it made a mess of your shoes but you always found it cute.

The first few minutes were unsure, both of you fishing for ideas on what to do first. Archie and your familiar were already deep in conversation, but you and Douxie were struggling. That is, until, the smell of sweet buns reached him. His stomach let out a mighty grumble, a testament to how he’d been working for longer than you and likely hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He covered his pale face with his free hand, too embarrassed to bear seeing you fight a rising smile. You slid your hand down his forearm and grasped his cold fingers, pulling him towards the source of the heavenly aroma. A fiery blush rose to his ears when he registered your fingers lacing with his while you waited in line. Reaching the front, Douxie’s protests fell on deaf ears as you swatted his hands away, insisting you’d pay. The baker gave a soft smile and handed you two of the high coveted baked goods, bidding you both a happy Christmas. Just two apprentices walking hand in hand, browsing stalls, eating together, and enjoying one another's company.

Douxie heard something on the wind and perked up. Lively music came from the town square and Douxie wasn’t about to miss the chance to dance with you. He pulled you from the daggers you were eyeing, making a note of which you lingered on before pulling you close and weaving through the other partygoers. Soon enough, you made it to the musicians, seeing the space before them where a group was dispersing as the song ended. The vocalist started up again, solo for a few lines until the band swelled. Douxie bounced on his heels, recognizing the tune as The Bear and the Maiden Fair. His excitement sent a wave of courage through him and he slipped his fingers from yours, instead grabbing you by the wrist to drag you to the open space.  Others joined, forming a circle. Claps and stomps interrupted the smooth movement of the ring. Laughter mixed with the joyful notes of the flute. Hisirdoux couldn’t stop looking at your joined hands, sometimes lifting his gaze to your eyes closed in a laugh. When the vocalist reached the line “lifted her high into the air”, Douxie broke his hand away from the person opposite you, lifted you by the waist, and spun. Your clothes fluttered and for a moment, you were weightless. Douxie’s laughter rang in your ears, lingering just like the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. His hands were warm and firm on your midsection, the heat replaced with a chill as he set you down. You absently continued the dance, happiness clouding the passage of time. Douxie kept your hand in his, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. You looked at each other, breathless smiles lingering on your faces as the song changed once more. You both walked on, catching your breath and coming down from the high.

A few hours later, you’d both had more interaction with each other than you’d had with anyone else all year. It was a welcome break from the same hallways, the same people, and the same routines. You’d bought each other dinner, talked about everything under the sun, and danced through seemingly all of Camelot, only separating for maybe an hour to buy gifts that may or may not have been for one another.

The day was coming to a close, the sun once again a deep vermillion, the snow reflecting it like gems. As you were heading back to the castle, you passed a holly berry stall. Douxie saw you looking at it, sobered by the reminder you were both promised to complete strangers. Just today, he’d fallen so much more in love with you than he thought possible, and if you wanted your soulmate, who was he to deny you? He tugged on your arm, wordlessly offering a pound to the vendor. The woman raised a brow at your intertwined fingers but offered the small basket of berries without a question. You looked at him quizzically when he drew his hand from yours, pouring a good amount into his hand and giving you the remainder. Enjoying the bittersweet silence, you two took turns placing the berries in a line. Archie swatted your familiar’s eager beak from the line of red that was stark against the slow-melting snow. Once you’d finished, Douxie sent you a sad smile and asked if you’d like to exchange gifts in his chambers. You agreed, once again arm-in-arm, streets quiet except for the soft crunching of snow beneath your heavy feet and the pound of heavy hearts.

Hisirdoux lit all his candles as the sun peeked just over the horizon. Archie made himself comfortable on his wizard’s pillow, curling around a tired hawk familiar. Your own wizard associate preened themselves while you and Doux sat on the bed, eventually opting to preen Archie when they were satisfied. Archie let out a yelp when she preened the edge of his ear, earning a look from you. Douxie pulled out a handful of items from his satchel with a flourish and showed you all the things he’d found one by one. Polish for Lancelot’s sword, a garlic braid for one of Galahad’s more ambitious brews, cooked salmon for Archie, and other things spread out in front of him.

He gave a nervous smile. “Close your eyes,” he breathed.

You smiled as your eyes slid shut. His slim, cold fingers touched your hand, causing goosebumps to rise on your arm as he pressed something small into your palm.

“And… open!” He slid his hands from yours and into his lap, an expectant look on his long face. Looking down, you gasped. There laid a ring that looked to be made of vines, weaving around each other and wrapping around the base of a tiny white flower.

“I found a curltrap in the forest on my last herb run and thought you might like it, so I made it into a ring. It won’t wilt. Um… do you? Like it, I mean,” he asked, brows pinching.

You slipped it on and looked at him in awe. Leaning forward, you softly put your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Douxie, it’s beautiful. No one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift, thank you for making it.” He laid his hands on your back and laid his face in the crook of your neck to return the gesture, hand trailing after when you pulled away.

“Your turn!” You reached into your bag and paused. “Close your eyes.”

Douxie pouted but held his hand out after doing as he was told. He felt something hard and contoured, slowly curling his long fingers around it. He opened his eyes and stared at it in awe. It was wood whittled in Archie’s likeness, complete with small green gems for eyes and tiny glasses frames made of wire. His wings were unfurled, his posture inquisitive. Archie looked at it, speechless.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I played it safe. When I told the carpenter it was for you he offered to inlay the gems for free. You’re more appreciated than you think!” you exclaimed with a smile. He whispered a “thank you” as he turned it over in his hands, admiring the details. In all honesty, he’d already committed every dip and groove to memory, he was just replaying your words in his mind. “You’re more appreciated than you think!” He never thought about the impact he had on others, he was too busy being concerned with Merlin’s opinion of him. That’d be something he’d have to work on if it made you smile like that.

The rest of the evening flew by, laughter and the sound of a lute seeping through Douxie’s chamber door and into Merlin’s study. By now you’d fallen asleep on his bed having drifted off while Douxie softly sang a folk lullaby you’d requested. He lifted the blanket over you and laid down, the blanket layered between you two. He stared at you while you slept, soaking you in. The shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Your chest rising and falling in tandem with his. The black lines swirling to your collarbone- wait. Douxie watched as a thought appeared on your skin, hidden under your shirt. Archie moved in circles at the foot of the bed and stopped abruptly feeling Douxie’s sudden fear. He was so tempted to look but he couldn’t risk you hating him… it’s just to see what they think of you. To see if they deserve you. Yeah, that was a viable excuse. Archie hissed quietly at his friend, watching Douxie’s trembling fingers gingerly expose the skin towards your shoulder. He looked at the two words, puzzled. “They’re breathtaking.” Did they see you in the square? Had it been when you’d separated? Douxie was torn from his own thoughts when you made a noise, your brow furrowing for a moment and relaxing. His hand still had your collarbone exposed, and he watched in equal parts elation and horror as his own thought scrawled itself onto your skin.

“I don’t know if I can let you go.”

His blood ran cold, breath hitching and mind flailing. 

You were his. You were fated to be his. But you loved someone else.

Spring had returned to Camelot, plants thriving in the sun’s warmth. The flowers were happy, fluttering in the sea breeze. You furrowed your brow when your heart clenched at the thought of such beautiful blossoms mocking you. A shadow passed over your face as you looked to the flower that still curled itself around your finger. It’d been three months since the best Christmas you’d ever had, but the memory was now stained. Douxie and you still talked, but for some reason, he made excuses to avoid you and felt distant when you were able to cajole him into a short walk. At first, it seemed like he was busy with the amulet, but then he was absent even when Merlin said he was stuck and didn’t require his apprentice’s help. You were disappointed and confused, feeling hurt every time he blew you off with some excuse of running errands for Merlin.

Hisirdoux wasn’t feeling any better. He missed you greatly and seeing what you thought of his excuses only deepened his guilt. But wasn’t this what you wanted? Why would you be so disappointed he wouldn’t spend as much time with you if you loved someone else? He chalked it up to the soulmate bond, ignoring Archie’s concern and attempts at advice. His eyes were sunken in and puffy, due in part to crying himself to sleep watching your pain at his sudden distance write itself on his skin. He’d go to bed with swirling lines of magical ink torturing his dreams and awake a blank slate, ready for it to start all over again. 

Archie couldn’t take this. For the past week, he’d been pushing his magic through their psychic bond, pouring parts of a sleep spell into his charge, but that would only work for so long. Douxie was destroying himself from the inside out, all because he couldn’t be selfish for once and speak up. The shifter waited for Douxie to leave for the day, telling him he’d find him at noon. Archie stayed in front of the door until the young man’s voice faded. He sighed, whispering an apology. Douxie wouldn’t want anyone to know, but the boy needed an intervention.

“Merlin? We need to talk.”

Merlin had noticed Douxie’s exhaustion and had purposefully lightened his load, but the boy kept working regardless. Merlin thought less work could allow him to spend more time with the Crowmaster (who at this point couldn’t be anyone BUT Douxie’s soulmate considering how quickly they bonded and how much time they spent together), but he’d come back to his study to see the books sorted a different way every week, the suits of armor impossibly polished, and the herb rack overflowing with all kinds of magical flora. As Archie relayed the events of the past few months, Merlin felt his chest constrict tighter and tighter. His heart bled for the boy, growing angry at just how oblivious you both were. And then, an idea. Not one of his best or subtlest, but it’d get the job done fast and serve as a bit of punishment for confusing his apprentice’s heart.

It was that time of year again. The yearly royal summit had you and the Crowlord running circles around one another, both of you rapidly penning and sending letters and the occasional need to coerce the grumpiest crow, Corvus, to carry just one more letter for the day. Between your familiar’s regular several-day flights to Spain, your scurrying around the castle, and the magic you were giving the crows for some extra juice, you were exhausted. Your eyes were sunken, you weren’t sleeping properly, and you missed Douxie. You didn’t know why, but his absence made your heart hurt. Every time you collected letters from Merlin, your throat closed at seeing his apprentice’s chamber door. Catching a glimpse of him through doorways and windows made your mouth dry. Both Master Corbin and Galahad had noticed your change in attitude, asking you to rest and why Douxie wasn’t with you, confused why you were no longer attached by the hip. You were tired. Everything fell by the wayside as you rushed from official to official. The king himself was concerned for you. Well, as concerned as he was willing to be towards a mage. 

Finally, there was a lull. You were able to rest for a while but didn’t dare leave the tower, knowing something would pop up eventually. Sitting down for what felt like the first time in weeks, you let everything go. The “mother hen” of the tower crows, Corinth, coaxed it out of you bit by bit until the dam burst. She preened your scalp while you cried, hot tears rolling down your twisted features. The feeling was comforting, helping to ease your upset. Finally, you were able to speak. 

“...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?”  you whimpered, drawing your knees to your chest.

“Perhaps he’s blind,” she said sagely.

“He can see perfectly well,” you whispered with an insincere chuckle, still not trusting your ability to speak without breaking down again.

Her eyes glinted in the noontime sun. “Stupid, then.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling and forcing tears that were left on your lashes to fall. “Douxie may well be stupid, but he isn’t simple. It’s one of his many charms.” A soft smile lingered on your face, heart lighter than before. “Thank you Corinth, you listen well.”

She shook out her plumage and settled on your knees, cuddling into your bosom. You stroked her gently, the silence pushing in on your curled form.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Poor Hisirdoux was in flux again. He sat on his bed turning the wooden Archie over in his hands. Merlin had left not too long ago and given him the day. Douxie’s hands felt light without a task. Come to think of it, his head felt light too. He couldn’t sleep yet, but he desperately needed a pick-me-up. A sigh escaped him when he realized his basin was nearly empty. He’d wanted something to do so he might as well refill it. Upon picking up the basin he dropped it immediately, water splashing violently across the floor along with the clatter of wood on stone. Archie yowled, shifting into his dragon form. The boy’s eyes were wide in horror as he recalled his reflection in the water. You see, in England, not only are the words of a soulmate tie important, but their placing on the skin holds equal meaning. Douxie had only ever gotten them on his limbs and the base of his skull when he was younger, but ever since he met Y/N, they began showing on his torso and the left side of his chest. But this… this couldn’t mean anything good. Scrawled black lines, no longer smooth and flourished, curled around his throat. They began from seemingly nowhere and writhed downwards in a creeping spiral, the end reaching for his heart. 

“Arch!” he cried. “What’s happening? Why are they like this? What do they say? Arch, Arch, please I need to know what’s wrong!” Tears welled in his hazel eyes as he dragged his hands down his throat, futilely trying to smudge the twisted lines.

Archie felt his fear so strongly his back arched on its own accord, but he found his way to Douxie quickly. He scampered to the boy just as he fell to his knees, his mind nothing but questions. Archie shifted, paws pulling Douxie’s frantic hands into his lap as he curled his wings around the boy’s shoulders. He sniffed and shuddered to a halt, shaky breaths drawing in and out as he lifted his head for Archie to read the swirling text.

Archie’s reaction to your thoughts was well hidden. He knew you two loved each other, but this hurt him just as much as it did Douxie. “...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” The next bit made him breathe a laugh, but he realized that while it wouldn’t be easy to tell Douxie just how much you were both hurt by each other’s assumptions, it was just the proof he needed. Archie tugged the reluctant apprentice out into Merlin’s study.

Hisirdoux approached the mirror, looking back at Archie before he confronted the letters snaking down his collarbone. He twisted this way and that, heart falling to pieces over and over with every word.

He shifted his hood back into place, fluffing the collar to cast the letters in shadow. One look at Archie’s concerned face was all it took. He sank against the wall, gathering Archie into his arms and burying his face into his familiar’s side. Glistening tears wet Archie’s fur as the cat dragon purred loudly to offer comfort. 

Hisirdoux’s breathing evened out. “Arch, what have I done? What can I do?” he whispered, clutching the familiar ever closer.

Archie placed a large paw on the boy’s chest, near his heart. “You can go after them. Tell them what you know.” 

Douxie nodded after a beat and gathered himself, quickly walking out of Merlin’s tower and towards the western wing of the castle.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

The king and his court mages piled into a carriage in preparation for the trip to the port where they’d depart to Spain for the royal summit. Merlin and Morgana sat next to each other and shared a look when the carriage lurched forward. Of course Merlin enlisted Morgana’s help, she’s a trusted source of chaos. He felt for the Crowlord’s aura in the tower and nodded to her once he confirmed Corbin was away. While Arthur was distracted, they sent their magic out. Tendrils of light bobbed, weaved, and merged to form two fluorescent lime balls. They floated around as if to get their bearings, then flew at the west tower. Nestled just below the ridge leading from the doorway was a sack of Dworkstone, its contents belonging to various trolls imprisoned in the castle dungeons. One ball started to vibrate just before it pushed to the center of the sack, starting the movement needed for a mother of an explosion The other flattened into a shield, curling itself around the sack. And they waited.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

You were still curled on the floor, Corinth in your lap when the crows began to beat their wings against their cages. Corinth was panicked but managed to push what coherent thought she could into your mind.

“The door… danger... hurry…” She struggled, taking off out the window in a flutter of black. 

You felt the disturbance, dread rising in the pit of your stomach. Scrambling to your feet, you barely managed to stand before a loud boom shook the tower. The shield swelled, Trollfire stretching the ward into the room. Your frantic hands undid locks and bonds as quickly as they could, ushering the crows to safety through the large window. The ward began to thin, crackles of green sparks coming undone as the fire fought against Merlin’s magic. You barely managed to throw the last crow out the window before the ward burst into a violent, moving wall of green flames.

You were pushed into the far wall, falling and splitting your brow on the cobblestone. All you could hear was ringing as your vision went white, slowly fading back to normal. You were trapped under the desk and a few chairs, too weak to lift them off. The screech of a hawk sounded far off as your hearing faded in and out. Fire blazed all around you, easily spreading along the hay bedding in the open cages. You coughed, smoke already in the air. Wait. It shouldn’t be this low yet, it’s only been a few moments since the explosion. You quickly sobered into a panic when you realized the wood piled on top of you was burning. Great. Now you were scared and disoriented. A perfect mix for getting out of sticky situations. The only thing to do now was wait.

Douxie could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was on his way to tell you-- well, everything. You were his everything. He felt it before he heard it. The tingle of troll and human magic filled the air before a loud explosion shook the western tower. The western tower? Fuzzbuckets, you were on duty today! Crows flew from the open window, a whole murder blackening the sky for a few moments. They’d dispersed by the time he made it to the tower entrance. There was a small crowd a few paces back, Lancelot and another knight inspecting the swelling ward full of fire. Douxie pushed through the crowd just in time to see Lancelot raising his sword. 

“No! Everyone run!” he screamed. 

Lance was already going full swing when he heard it, looking back at Douxie in fear. Douxie grabbed the knight and made the best ward he could on short notice before the shield burst. They were all blasted backward, a few serfs’ tunics setting on fire. His dark hair was thoroughly windswept, his entire body frozen in shock on the ground. Lancelot might have been screaming, but Douxie couldn’t hear it. Blood dripped down his pale face, but Douxie couldn’t feel it. He could have been floating, his head was so light. Sure, his ears rang, his hands trembled, his chest heaved, but all he could feel was you. Your confusion, your panic. You were definitely inside. Douxie struggled to his feet and stumbled forward into the tower, ignoring Galahad’s voice yelling for him to stop.

If he wasn’t suffocating before, he sure was now. Douxie brought his hood to his mouth to filter some of the air and began searching for you. It wasn’t a very big room, but between the fire, smoke, and items strewn throughout, it was proving more difficult than he’d hoped. 

You let out a groan, the table pushing splinters into your leg.

He whipped his head towards the source of the sound, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. “Y/N?! Y/N, where are you?” he cried.

Weakly, you spoke through a great cough. “...Douxie? Is that you?” 

He hurried to the large pile of wood and began tearing it apart. “It’s me, it’s me, love. Please be alright, please, please, please, you can’t die. You’re not going to die, love.”

Hisirdoux heaved the table off you just as you slumped to the floor. He lifted you by the arms with a mighty roar, dragging you towards the open doorway. Galahad and the knight from earlier ran to catch you both as Douxie slipped into unconsciousness. 

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Two days. You hadn’t stirred for two days. The sun shone softly through the long linen curtains. Your familiar was perched on the headboard, asleep. Douxie was sat up by your bedside, bandaged hands gingerly holding one of yours while Archie slept on your legs. The boy had gotten burned pulling the debris off of you. He hadn’t left your side, save when the castle nurses forced him to eat, bathe, and sleep. They knew him well, uncoordinated as he was, and it broke their hearts to see him look so tired although the past couple of days were the most rested he’d ever been. He was scared. Everything had gone downhill when he found out you were soulmates and he blamed himself. 

“None of this would have happened if I’d just told you. You could have been away from the tower, safe with me. I was too afraid of losing you. All I knew was you loved someone else and I couldn’t let you guilt yourself into abandoning ‘him’ because we’re bonded. I was on my way to tell you, you know. I saw what you were thinking to Corinth and Archie convinced me to go after you. I-” his voice cracked, fresh tears coming to his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I have long before I knew about the bond. I hurt you. I hurt us both. If only I wasn’t such a coward…” He was weeping now, head hung low and shoulders shaking. “I love you so much, and I still let this happen,” he stammered between quiet sobs. He brought your hand to his forehead, cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you were.

He jumped when your hand slowly withdrew from his. His head snapped up, and there you were. Sun shining behind you like a halo, your eyes glinting in a tearful smile. You wiped the tears from his cheek, just like he’d done to you with the unruly slorr all those months ago, and let out a yelp of surprise. Douxie had thrown his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

“Doux! Your hair tickles,” you croaked, bringing your arms around him. He was crying again, just a little. His chest felt light. You were here. You were okay. Archie had woken when you jumped and was padding up to your face, pushing himself against your cheek. You sat up slowly when Douxie released you and patted the space next to you on the cot. He settled and looked up at you, eyes still sad.

“So, uh. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” You cupped his face. “Douxie. I didn’t fall in love with a coward. I fell in love with the bravest, most selfless wizard in Camelot. Not to mention his adorable manbun. I love you too, Hisirdoux Casperan. Soul bond or not, I want to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He brought his hand to yours, feeling the tiny curl trap blossom on the ring he made you. Gently, he took their hand in his, admiring the accessory. “Even after all I did, you kept it on.”

“And I don’t plan on ever taking it off,” you smiled. 

He slowly removed the ring, taking hold of your left hand. His eyes were hopeful and a little scared when he looked up at you, fingers pausing. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Promise?”

“With my whole heart, love.”

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss as he slipped the promise ring onto your finger.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Lance had lost his arm in the explosion but was rather excited about his new prosthetic. You two had healed as well, soon going back to work. Every time you passed one another, fingers brushed, kisses were stolen, and smiles were shared. The entire castle ended up hearing about how you two became so close, and soon enough, you were somewhat of a folk tale amongst the townsfolk. Now, every Christmas, soulmates exchange handmade gifts while sharing sweetbuns, now deemed a good omen for true love.

Even now, 900 years later, you’d hide your smiles as Arcadian couples surprised one another with things they’d made while ordering an eclair at Benoit’s. It’d been so long, but it seems some things stay the same, you and Hisirdoux included. Sure, you’d both grown in character, but around you, he was still the same lovesick fool he had been all those years ago. You still had your ring, which he’d embellished a bit on your wedding day. Douxie still thought about you as much as he did then. Today, while you were at your job at HexTech, you smiled adoringly at the words on your wrist.

“Your eyes are such a lovely color. Oh, how far we’ve come from clumsy accidents and runny ink. I love you, darling. More than you can ever know.”

[cherrywoes]

— 𝖙𝖜𝖔.

— 𝓪𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓻𝓪.

FOUR YEARS HAD GONE by since you had vanished. To Oikawa Tooru, that had been a lifetime; he had gone through a lifetime's worth of misery, at the very least, in those handful of years that you were probably off with an adoptive family.

He had tried to find you, of course. But once his true devil powers had embedded themselves into his body, unrestrained from the age caveat that God had set upon him, he had become a monster in more ways than one. And that wasn't something he wanted to subject you to.

His human form was nice, of course, he'd give it that. It was almost worth the trouble of dealing with mortal girls; after all, his needs weren't exactly being fulfilled when he was wandering the human world. It didn't stop him from destroying the girls he was with, however—they refused second rounds and were downright terrified to sleep with him once they'd had a taste of him.

Oikawa Tooru didn't do gentle.

"Another one running for the hills?" Iwaizumi Hajime watched as his latest fling slowly picked up her cheap lingerie from the floor, the scraps torn and ripped at the seams. Her flesh was littered with bruises and scrapes and bites, the imprint of Oikawa's fingers upon her throat livid and purple and painful. "You can't just do that to every girl you come across that doesn't know who you are."

Oikawa shrugged loosely from his place at the foot of his bed. He'd tossed on a pair of sweats when he'd finished with the girl, Maya or something, and healed her just enough to send her walking out the door. Iwaizumi was lucky he'd even decided to put pants on at all.

"They haven't stopped coming yet." He smiled wickedly and reached for his vape on the nightstand. Oddly enough he couldn't stand straight nicotine. "They'll just keep getting worse."

Iwaizumi grunted and took a seat on his couch. He was aware of Oikawa's issue with his temperamental devil side, had known about it since they were children. It had been almost like a switch had been flipped one day, out of the blue. He'd never spoken about what exactly had happened, but he seemed to mull over it often when he thought no one was looking or between rounds of beating his opponents into the ground.

Looking more closely as his friend blew smoke out through his nostrils, a combination of diluted nicotine and the unholy brimstone in his lungs, he could see dark rings underneath his eyes.

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Mm?" Oikawa raised his eyebrows and reached up to ruffle his disheveled hair. "Not lately. The bad guy's acting up again."

The 'bad guy' was, in a sense, Oikawa's true form. Or, at least, the truest version he could be refined down to. The only time Iwaizumi had been privy to seeing it was during a particularly bad time in Oikawa's life, over two years after the incident that turned him into the beast he was now. He would never forget the terrible monstrosity his friend had become.

And it was only getting worse. Iwaizumi watched as his friend got up and fumbled for his seal kit, haphazardly putting together the rune brush and witch blade. After his first outburst, he'd taken to sealing his devil down as far as he could get it without forsaking it completely. So far the seals had held and kept him docile, if not slightly high at all times, but lately he'd noticed Oikawa seemed more alert and fine tuned to everyone around him.

"Here." Oikawa handed him the blade and motioned to the only unmarked section of his body: his left pectoral. He had drowned the rest in intricate scrolling linework dotted with the occasional decorative snake and panther, scarred to be permanent and inked over to hold the seal. "Do it."

It was the first time he'd ever asked him to do it before.

Iwaizumi accepted the blade with a narrowed gaze. "Why do you want me to do it? Don't you usually do it?"

"Yes. And I would have." Oikawa's eyes were unusually bright in the darkness as he regarded his friend. "But lately they've become immune to my magic, so I figured you would be a good buffer to set me right for a bit."

Iwaizumi could see the devil lurking in his aura. With a sigh, he got up and waved Oikawa to lay down on the couch. "You know, Shittykawa, we've been friends forever and I still don't know why you're like this."

"And if I have my way, you never will," he replied with a hard edge to his voice. "Get to carving."

He sighed and lifted the blade to his skin. Oikawa seemed oblivious to the pain he should be in from his heavy hand. He stared at the ceiling and drummed his fingers to a beat only he could hear, oddly mimicking the pattern of a heart, and vanished into a world of his own creation. Iwaizumi could see him zone out and relax. Whatever he was imagining it had also calmed the devil down to the point he had a hard time sensing it.

Interesting.

When he was finished and had followed the pattern with an ink seal, Oikawa snapped out of it and his devil was present again like a third entity in the room.

"Thanks, Iwa." He rolled his shoulder and got up off the couch. Blood ran down his chest and he didn't seem to care, just swiped at it with a stray shirt and tossed it into a laundry basket. He then reached for a bottle of whiskey he had on his desk, uncorking it and taking a deep swig. "So what were you here for? Other than to make remarks about my sexual proclivities of course."

"Right." Iwaizumi had almost forgotten. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, scrolling to a text message and tossing it to Oikawa. He caught it effortlessly, the devil's reflexes more accurate than usual. "There's a match tomorrow night, midnight. The betting pool is pretty high. I figured you would be interested."

"You'd be right." They both listened to his hookup slam the door down in the stairwell; Iwaizumi with a grimace and Oikawa with a dark smirk. "She didn't do the job so a fight would do me some good."

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Sex didn't do anything for your temper? That's new."

"Yeah." His brows furrowed in thought and suddenly he was far away again, somewhere Iwa couldn't reach him. "A lot of things are new lately."

"Tooru, what's really got you wound up like this?"

Oikawa blinked at the sound of his first name. He almost seemed offended but thought better of the first thing he wanted to say and regarded Iwaizumi with a long stare.

He almost thought he would give in and tell him.

And then the devil made him close up, his eyes hardening like chips of ice. He took another swig of his whiskey.

Iwa: 0. Devil: 1.

"Guess not." He patted his thighs and Oikawa tossed him his phone back. "Well, I'm gone. Let me know if you need anything."

Again, he seemed on the verge of asking; but every time the devil stopped him.

"I will," Oikawa said, instead, a fake smile erupting across his face. Iwaizumi hated it. "Have a good night, Iwa."

He gave him a two fingered salute and headed for the door, locking it behind him.

Oikawa tapped his fingers against the glass bottle and drained the rest of it in one go, slamming it down on the desk with a frustrated sigh.

The devil didn't want just any random girl.

It wanted [Name].

He had tried to put her out of his head and had succeeded for the most part. He didn't deserve her, even if she had left like he didn't matter. He would drown his sorrows in whiskey or the most potent vodka he could find. And if that didn't work, he went to taking his frustrations out on the women he took to bed. But not even that was riding over the devil now.

The devil plagued him with dreams of [Name] in that field as if it had just been hours ago and not five years. It was just as obsessive over her as he was and time had not changed that. It just made it worse.

Oikawa almost pitied himself. He was pining over a girl he wasn't even sure wanted anything to do with him anymore.

With a hard rub of his eyes, he headed to the bathroom to clean up his seal and, hopefully, manage to deal with the devil for another day.

But things, unfortunately, were never always that simple.

MASTERLIST.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER >

taglist:

@dancing-in-the-rain54 • n/a

( let me know if anyone wants to be added to the taglist. 💕)

[dantexlykos]

Tagging: Dante, Daphne, Saint, Maven, Enzo, and Valkyrie

Timeline: Early September 2021

Location: Temple of Apollo

Notes: Summoning Daddy

Trigger Warning: Blood and sacrifice

@daphneonassis @mavenlockwood @saintcorvin @vclkyric @enzoxcorsetti

Dante

Everything was set. The moon was in the right position and the witching hour was upon them. At the temple of Apollo where the veil was at its thinnest the genasi accompanied by Valkyrie gathered. With painstaking dedication the runes had been etched into the very earth, checked over by any who saw fit, the ritual was set to begin shortly. Their power was charged by blood and sacrifice and to reach Thanatos it would take an offering from each of them, a bit of their own essence would be shed in order for the call to succeed. The ritual was an invitation, designed initially for any spirit or creature on the other side of the veil, the purpose was to create a window so that they six may peer through to their guest without obstruction. Each had their own reasons for this undertaking, some wanted power, others sought redemption, but Dante’s own query was attuned to the preservation of the veil. His heart’s desire burned even deeper, but such a thing would not be possible if he had no magic to speak of. Dante’s runes were etched upon his split of the circle, an old Greek incantation fell from his lips as his power moved to meld with the other’s. Genasi were not known for cooperation, their personalities were the embodiment of their magic and too often there was conflict between them. Earth clashed with air but in this they had to work in synergy while also melding the temperamental power of fire and languid motions of water and shadow. A blade of silver reflected the light of the moon as Dante drew it across his palm and outstretched his hand over the circle, blood dribbled down and pooled through the crevices they’d made in the earth towards the epicenter. “Hear us Thanatos, daimon of peaceful death.”

Daphne

As one of the youngest genasi, Daphne felt great relief in the proximity to the sea and how easy she could harness the power from it. Just far enough in the distance to resemble a blue hue, but close enough to give her peace of mind. It wasn’t necessarily out of fear that she had concerns for it, but just having that added boost would help her greatly in the summoning. Necromancy hadn’t ended up being as natural to the water genasi as she had hoped, though many sleepless nights and advice from the fellow genasi, she managed to find comfort in her version of the spellwork. She held that very version in her left hand as the horizon of the meeting place came into her peripherals, the sea winds causing the corners to crinkle and make it harder to read. At this point, it was overkill to keep reading it and instead she shoved it into the same pocket as her ingredients. Veils of tonics and dried poppies clinked together as Daphne reached the temple, uncloaking herself from the darkness and into the dim street light.[3:28 PM]Boots crunched against loose gravel before emerging onto the familiar sight, noticing Dante had already begun to get things in order. It was fitting that the earth genasi had arrived early to the location and if it wasn’t for the sheer amount of focus, Daphne might actually be a little envious that it hadn’t been herself. Though now wasn’t the time for pettiness, which revealed itself in the water genasi’s expression as she got within the limits of the circle.  “I brought— ,” she began to state after giving a soft wave, then proceeded to pull the jar full of dried red petals and seed pods. There was more within the bag, but the moonlight only showed highlights of the items. A  spare butterfly, just in case, and had been one in which she raised herself. Along with a few swigs of bitter wine, some mandrake root, homemade incense, and snake skins Daphne found while out at the Onassis farmland. But before she could continue, the fellow genasi emerged in her sights and that meant the starting of the ritual. Soon she was repeating after the others, hazel eyes focused on the power surging within each of them as her own blood mixed in, “We are here to offer praise, Lord of Death, and seek your wisdom.”

Saint

It was no idle task, to summon a god. Saint arrived at the temple, guided by the draw of power beginning to swell under the fullness of the moon. The time had come, and it had required preparation on the spirit genasi’s behalf. Clothed in the colour of ink, he was a formidable presence as he stepped onto the dais. While the others were mostly strangers to him, as were their intentions, Saint recognized Dante from across from him, already mouthing the words of the incantation. He stood at full height now, and his pockets were empty of trinkets— a purposeful notion that caused his upper lip lifted in a sneer as he saw the doe-eyed water genasi place her flowers and animal parts as her offering. He saw such things as an insult, curving into his segment of the circle with ease, drawing runes in shadow before bringing forth his own offering. Blood was required, but for his part, he would also gift their god something more. It would be twin witches, one of the element fire and the other water stood behind him, gripped at the scruff of the neck by a scowling werewolf; who stood as dark and sharp as the shadows that bound their arms and covered their mouths. “My offering,” he announced, his voice lifting through the dark, gravelled and commanding. He lead the witches to the edge of the circle, and he murmured the incantation as he drew a long, slender blade along their throats. Pale skin drenched crimson, staining down the front of starched white nightgowns before it pooled at their feet, making its way down to the centre of the circle. Saint tossed them forward, before bringing the tip of the knife along his own palm, squeezing to add his own blood to the garish swirl. “We bring you these offerings, this sacrifice— to beckon you to hear our call.”

Maven

There's still a part of Maven that kind of thinks this idea is batshit insane, trying to reach out to the god that gave them this power without knowing what will happen. But at the same time, Dante had made it clear her magic would be necessary to make it work, and she cannot deny the fact of being curious; of wanting to speak to Thanatos herself. She's one of the last to arrive at the temple, it seems, eyes scanning over the other genasi already around warily. Dante and Daphne are familiar, even if only by acquaintance, but the other is entirely a stranger, and she cannot help but look for Toni. Maven reaches inside the small bag around her waist, pulling out the deep blue enchanted candles she's brought, before setting them around the marked runes and lighting them with her magic. "For communication," she says, in answer to a question no one asked. This magic is still a bit new to her, but hopefully, it'll make the line of communication clearer to reach between the genasi and Thanatos. Blood and candles and runes, just like the night she became a genasi. The thought is of small amusement, as Maven pulls out a blade and cuts along the edge of her palm, allowing her blood to mix with the others. "We your loyal servants, your chosen followers, make this offering and ask for your guidance."

Enzo

Enzo reminded himself why he was doing this. A shot at meeting Thanatos, on his back, over an alter – the air genasi wasn't picky. Brushing off the idea that he would come face to face with a god, he made his way to the temple alongside Dante. The newest genasi was present; the fire witch who'd survived a hell of an ordeal. He'd yet to meet her, though this seemed to be a good time as any. He didn't say much, waiting until Maven was finished before he was rounding out the ritual. It was dangerous and presumptive to call upon a god. Whether or not he would answer would be one thing, and Enzo wasn't exactly confident. It'd get the god's attention, and the spirit witch's offering was a little violent for his own taste, and he wasn't sure what kind of attention that would bring. His own offering was less than, it seemed, as he placed the wood carving down. It acted as a channeler, and he remained silent as he used a knife to cut along the palm of his hand, mixing in his abilities with the other's. The air genasi was unsure of his own goal. Was it immortality to protect a failing heart like his? Perhaps, but there were many problems within the world, and he had little to give. "In you, the end of nature’s works is known, in you, all judgment is absolved alone. No vows revoke the purpose of our souls. Thanatos, regard our ardent prayer."

Freya

Freya was uncertain if this ritual would go over well, or whether it would be successful — a God’s moods were wispy like the wind, and did not so easily bend. But she would be damned if she let the genasi do this on their own. If something went wrong, she could save them. And even if half of them weren’t exactly fond of her, she was ready to do that for any of them. And so she stood still as she watched Dante start the ritual with the earth full of whispers as it reacted to his magic. Then she watched fondly as Daphne continued, with the strength of the sea in her back. The spirit genasi who had come to the stables was next, earning a slight frown from her side, but she did not even bat her lashes as his voice filled the air. A young woman stood in the circle she had not seen before, the fire genasi who looked as if she would go up in flames should anyone come too close. Last was the air genasi, offering his blood to Thanatos. As they worked, Freya’s magic washed over theirs like a blanket, knitting it together, and balancing it out where it was needed. They were strong, and she was the one to bring it all together. She protruded a slim dagger to pull it along her palm, balling her hand into a fist as she turned it around to let her blood drop onto the carved runes. It was the last puzzle piece, and her voice carried on the air as the ritual ended. “Thanatos, I stand here vouching for those worthy of your power. Hear their prayer, and be their guide.”

[demisewrites]

Leshen/Reader Part Two

(cw: size difference, large insertions, stomach bulge, teratophilia, nonbinary monster, gender neutral reader insert, magic usage, blowjobs, fingering, onahole reader basically, consensual smut)

Months after your... interesting and private encounter with the Leshen, you looked into expanding your magic --and your body, for that matter, for the next time you run into the Leshen. It’s not like you want to run into them again during a heat, or like you think about their hard dick stretching and filling you up so much that recreating that feeling has been on your mind since that night. Absolutely not.

BUT.

If you did happen to hear that the Leshen was gone for a time, and you did happen to hear that the council would try to assassinate the Queen, again, you would graciously accept the task once more to search for the Leshen instead. Just to make sure they were ok. You would not jump at the thought and immediately volunteer yourself as tribute. Obviously. You had dignity to uphold.

You set off once more, skip in your step as you wander the palace again, trying to find that bleak hallway once more. Whether it’s because you had a set destination in mind this time or not, you quickly find yourself in that space once more. You walk up to the double doors once more, taking a deep breath to steady yourself and enter.

Like before, the Leshen is already stirring, growling growing softer when their gaze meets yours. They seem... both surprised and amused to see you again. You make a noncommittal shrug, before reaching for your supplies in your robes. You raise a hand to the Leshen, who grows stiff and growls louder when you reach into your robes, as if showing you mean no harm. Ever the keen watcher, they watch cautiously, which then turns into a curious look as you pull out some ink and a brush.

You glance towards them, noticing their stiff dick poking out. Perfect. You give them a smirk as you make a teasing remark about being ready for a round two this time. They let out a loud huff, whether in disbelief or sheer amusement, you can’t tell. Regardless, they begin towering over you as you pull off the robes, this time, taking off your underwear as well. You uncork the ink bottle and dip the brush in it, muttering arcane words as you write runes on your hips and torso. The Leshen stops a few inches away like before, watching, waiting.

The runes light a bright blue before fading into your skin. You don’t feel any different, yet you’re confident in your magic abilities. You put down the brush and strut closer to the Leshen. Their hot breath hits your face with an air of mock impatience, and you stick your tongue out at them. Your face grows red when a low chuckle rumbles out. You take a firm hold of their dick with both hands in retaliation, and their chuckle turns into a low groan.

It’s so big, you’re impressed with yourself for being able to take in most of them the first time. Sure you were sore and walked funny for the next few days, but this beast was huge. Your hands can’t close around it completely, so you settle for stroking the shaft as you take as much as the tip in your mouth. You bop your head up and down, feeling your lips stretch and wrap around the tip as much as possible.

After a few deep bops, you pull back slightly with a pop and flick the underside with your tongue. They growl, dick growing harder and leaking more as you repeat the motions.

The Leshen hunches over, a hand moving to prepare you for them. Your moan vibrates around the tip as you feel a thick finger enter you. It moves in and out with ease, and you push your ass against their hand, daring them to add more fingers. They growl a snicker, before you feel another thick finger slip in. You take a moment to moan and revel in the full feeling before returning to your task at hand.

You shudder as their fingers curl and press into a sweet spot inside you, losing your tempo. At this rate, you’ll get off from riding their fingers, but you wanted more. You pull back, still stroking their cock with a hungry look on your face. They look down on you, growling lowly as if irritated that you stopped. With a smug grin, you hoist yourself and climb up onto their large lap. Using their thick fur to cling onto and position yourself over their dick, you give them a coy grin before lowering yourself down.

Your eyes roll close, letting out a strangled moan as their cock pushes into you. The Leshen growls louder, maw falls slack, long tongue dangling out. The tips of their claws press into your thighs with great control and restraint. Some rational part of your mind that hasn’t been reverted to animalistic lust reminds you that they could kill you with a gash, and somehow it makes you clench around them sweetly. The claw dig just a bit deeper, and you’re sure it’ll leave some crescent shaped marks.

You feel your physical limits approaching, then a faint blue glow causes you to open your eyes. Growing confident, you push down further, breath hitching as you see yourself fully sheathing their length. You think you see them twitch inside of you through the prominent bulge their cock created. You feel so full, so good, and the look on the Leshen’s face when seeing you take them completely makes your months of preparation worth it. Your smugness grows, rolling your hips best you can, showing that you came prepared this time.

Your eyes widen and you let out a loud wail as they snap their hip sharply into yours. You try to retort with a “fuck you” when the Leshen barks out a smug laugh, but each powerful thrust of their hips steals your breath away. The noises you make are ones you never thought you could make; animalistic groans and wails that echo throughout their chambers. You barely even register the Leshen’s low hushed words, and you barely have time to ask if they said anything before the thrusts become faster and rougher.

Like the first time, overstimulated tears of ecstasy fill the corner of your eyes as you fall limp, limbs feeling like liquid jelly. The Leshen is more than strong enough to keep you upright. You loudly whine as they let out a low chuckle at your thoroughly fucked-daze state. Not that they let up though.

Your mind snaps back into reality as you feel their position shift, somewhat surprised to see the Leshen laying back, reclined and holding you upright in a lazy one-handed grip. You didn't even know they could lay back with their shell on their back, but you notice a familiar pink shade underneath. You feel silly for not noticing what seems to be a large cushion underneath them, most likely courtesy of the Queen. She would have gone through great lengths to ensure the comfort of her own personal guard, just as she did with her subjects.

Your musings get shoved back by lust as the Leshen’s grip tightens around you and restarts their rough pace. You hardly have time to let out a shout as you feel your orgasm hit you hard, white stars filling your vision. The way their maw is snapping and how low their growls are becoming, you think theirs is quickly approaching too.

An impish grin grows on your face, and using the last bit of energy you have left, you do your best to roll your hips and clench around their cock. They give you a hazy glare and you return with the best innocent wink you can muster, though you don’t need a mirror to know that you looked absolutely wrecked. Their pace grows faster, wilder, and you feel that tight coil beginning to wind back up, still oversensitive from your previous orgasm.

The wild, obscene pace causes you to start moaning and babbling incoherently, unable to catch your breath and feel so charged and full and so good. You think you even hear yourself begging for release, for more, for them. Your dignity will admonish you later, but your mind is so far gone, you can’t muster up an inkling of caring. Their steely black eyes seem to be completely locked onto you, and you can’t look away.

The next few thrusts makes you swear that your soul has ascended to the Celestial Realm. They thrust with such power, such fervor and vigor, you cry out and sob, trembling and shaking with your second orgasm hitting you even harder than the last one. You’d arch your back if you could, but their strong paws and rigidly hard cock is keeping you from moving.

With a powerful snarl, they slam their hips into you so hard, your entire body rattles from the force. You make a rather salacious sound that you’ll groan from embarrassment later, and have a mini orgasm from that alone. You shudder out a moan as you feel their dick twitch inside of you, a hot warmth beginning to fill you. You don’t remember this part from the last time, being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind and sheer spite keeping you from blacking out from pleasure again. You glance down and watch in awe as they release inside of you, not only feeling but seeing your stomach bulge grow in size with hot cum. How much cum is inside of you now, you wonder hazily.

They pull out of you, or rather, pull you off like a sleeve. You tremble as their cock pops out of you, feeling empty and overflowing. They chuckle deeply at how positively fucked silly you are, and you’re too tired to give a shit. You think you hear them mention a next time before weariness overtakes you.

Next time, you mumble.

[dcnatural]

Ghost

Word Count: 2934

Pairing: Zatanna Zatara x John Constantine

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: John Constantine is in Gotham and Zatanna decides to pay him a visit

A yellow taxi pulled up in the motel’s deserted parking lot. The driver glanced outside, scanning the dilapidated building, and frowned. 

“Are you sure you have the right address?” he asked the passenger in the backseat.

“Yes, thank you,” Zatanna replied, handing the man a fifty dollar bill that more than covered the cost of the trip before exiting the cab. She wrapped the long black coat tightly around her body, shielding herself from the cold breeze, and waited until the car disappeared out of sight before heading inside. The door opened and she was engulfed with the warm air of the reception.

A skinny boy sat behind the wooden counter, eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of him. Zatanna cleared her throat, hoping to catch the boy’s attention but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Excuse me,” she tried again. He lifted his gaze, checking her out with half lidded eyes. Then, in a startled movement, he straightened his back and removed his earbuds. A low moaning noise escaped through the device, and the boy blushed.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” Even though he tried to convey authority, his voice was high pitched and Zee could tell he had barely hit puberty.

“I’m looking for a friend. His name is John Constantine. Could you ring his room and let him know I’m here?” she asked with a smile, flashing her pearly white teeth.

The boy bit his bottom lip, looking expectantly at her. “Well… I can’t give confidential information on our guests.”

Zatanna sighed. She didn’t want to use magic, it would give away her identity and she knew her PR would kill her if she got associated with this type of establishment. “Listen here,” she squinted to read the boy’s name tag, “Kenny, it’s really important that I see him.” She took off her wallet and placed a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Please, just tell me his room.”

Kenny took the money. “I don’t know of any John Constantine , but we have a new guest who rented a room for three days staying in room 93.”

Zee cheered. “Thank you!”

“It’s the dark blue door on the fourth floor,'' Kenny yelled as Zatanna rushed upstairs, the heels of her leather boots clicking against the hardwood floor.

She stopped in front of the room, suddenly less sure of whether her idea had been a good one. She should have thought this through. She rocked on her feet, sweat forming in the back of her neck, dampening her long black hair. 

She could hear water running from the inside, a faint whistle accompanying it. She took a deep breath and, deciding that she had come a long way to back off now, tugged at the door handle, trying to pry the door open, but it didn’t budge. A frustrated groan left her lips and, after a quick glance to check if she was alone in the hallway, she whispered a spell under her breath.

“ Nepo .” As soon as the words formed, the lock clicked and the door cracked open, revealing the room on the other side.

She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Two small table lamps lit up the otherwise dark room, letting her see the mess in which it was: clothes thrown all over the drawers and chairs; the table was covered with piles of opened books and yellowed paper; cigarette butts littered the floor and an empty whiskey bottle laid fallen on the nightstand. 

Zatanna tiptoed to avoid stepping on anything, as careful as if she was navigating a minefield instead of a motel room. She sat on the edge of the bed, fondling with the sheets while she waited for him. A pair of pink sunglasses laid forgotten under the wardrobe, the colorful plastic of it’s lenses reflecting the light with a warm color.

The shower was turned off and the bathroom door clicked open, a cloud of steam coming out through it. Constantine stood in the doorway, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. His skin was sprinkled with droplets of water which shone in the faint lighting. His blond hair was sopping with water and clung to his scalp. Air seemed to escape his lungs when his blue eyes fell to her face. She looked at him with a mix of anger and desire, the sculpted form of his chest distracting her from what she had planned to say.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he stepped completely out of the mist.

His voice, slightly hoarse after all those years smoking, snapped her out of her thoughts and she rose to her feet, staring at him defiantly. “Did you plan on telling me you were in Gotham?” Despite her best efforts, her tone wasn’t as harsh as she had intended it to be. 

He shrugged, moving past her to reach for the pile of clothes. “This really isn't a good time, love.”

“You can’t just come into my town without warning!” she shouted in response.

The towel fell to the floor, discarded as Constantine began to get dressed. Zatanna watched as he slipped on white briefs and her fingers, as if possessed with a will of their own, reached out to caress the pine tree tattoo on his right buttock, the ink still shiny black. His muscles tightened under her touch, but he didn’t move away.

“That’s new,” she said, this time softly.

He huffed. “A gift from an old friend.”

She traced the design, the simple figure a sharp contrast to the pentagrams and runes on his back. “Well, I like it.”

He turned to face her, and she pulled her hand, suddenly ashamed of the intimate gesture. His eyes sparkled with mischief, gaze locked with hers even as he buttoned his white t-shirt. This close, she could see the blond stubble that covered his face. She wasn’t used to seeing him unshaved and she wondered how it would feel rubbing against her soft skin. She blushed and looked away.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

He smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes and reached for his pants. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So… How long have you been in America?” She asked as she watched him tie his tie around his neck.

 “A couple days. But I was in Louisiana. I just got to Gotham.”

Zatanna frowned. “Louisiana? Has something happened to Swamp Thing?”

He laced his shoes in silence, trying to figure out what to tell her. “He ’s fine. Got himself a happy little family even,” Constantine replied bitterly.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He donned his signature trench coat. “No time to explain that.” 

He placed a hand on the small of her back, causing waves of electricity to run through her body, and rushed out of the room, dragging her along. The door slammed shut behind them.

“Wait-” She barely had time to open her mouth before he leaned down and kissed her, shutting her up. It only lasted a moment, but she found herself too shocked to react when he pulled away.

“Goodbye, love,” he said before pivoting on his heels and racing down the hall.

“Seriously, John? I’m trying to have an actual conversation here”, she called after him as he disappeared down the stairway.

She groaned in frustration and made her way downstairs, the taste of whiskey lingering in her mouth. 

* * *

She had almost dozed off when he returned, the screeching sound of the rusted door hinges waking her up. She shifted in the armchair she had nestled in and yawned, stretching the sore muscles of her back.

Soot covered his hands and streaked his cheek. Sweat covered his brow and pooled under his armpits and ran down his back, the fabric of his t-shirt damp and sticking to his torso. His hair was disheveled and the edges of his coat were singed. Blood covered his left cheek, flowing from an open cut over his eye, and, although she couldn’t see then, she knew there were other injuries. Overall, he looked exhausted.

“John!”, Zatanna shouted, jumping to her feet and rushing to his side.

Before she could offer support, he waved her away. “I’m pretty sure I said ‘goodbye’. ”

He stumbled through the reception and she followed behind, ready to catch him if his feet faltered. They reached the fourth floor and he turned to her.

“Can you just leave me alone?” he slurred.

“You are bleeding! Stop being a prick and let me help you.”

“When will you understand that I can’t be helped? You and your goddamn savior complex, trying to fix everyone. Why don’t you go fix your own problems?”

“I fucking hate you!”, she shouted in response.

Constantine flashed her a crooked grin. “Good,” he said before turning away and walking down the hallway.

She gritted her teeth, wobbling from one foot to the other as she watched him go. Then she sighed and chased after him. 

“Wait,” she exclaimed, tugging at the sleeve of his coat to catch his attention.

“What now, love?”

Zatanna didn’t answer. Instead, she tiptoed and pressed her mouth to his. His lips parted to welcome her tongue and she delved deep into his mouth, tasting the remnants of alcohol and nicotine that clung to his breath.His fingers tangled in her hair, keeping her close, chests pressed together. She moaned into his mouth as he slid a hand under her blouse, cupping her breasts over the bra. 

They didn’t let go of each other, moving as a single mess of limbs towards room 93. It took Constantine five attempts to insert the key in the lock and open the door. Coats were tossed aside and shoes were kicked off in a passionate rush as the door slammed shut behind the couple. 

When she finally broke the kiss, it was only so she could gasp for air. Her eyes were dark with lust and she took him into her arms once more, undoing the bottoms of his shirt one by one before removing her own blouse. Zatanna reached behind her back to unhook her bra, letting it fall to the floor and he took the opportunity to close his lips around a nipple, sucking gently and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. As he moved to give the same treatment to the other breast, she unbuckled his belt, pulling it free through the loops of his trousers, which were then quickly unzipped, pooling around his ankles along with his briefs. He stepped out of his pants and tugged down her skirt, before pulling her up. Her legs kicked in the air for a moment before wrapping around his waist, and he carried her towards the bed as she giggled.

Constantine laid her on the mattress and gently opened her legs, his fingers hooking into the hem of her lacy panties and she raised her hips into the air to aid him as he pulled those away. His own underwear met the same fate and he climbed on top of her, pinning her down with his weight and capturing her mouth with another kiss.

Her hands roamed all over his body, tracing the defined muscles with her fingertips and stopping at the junction of his legs. Her small fist closed around him as she gently guided him inside. He nuzzled his face in the hollow of her neck, inhaling the sweet floral perfume she always wore and sucking bruises into her pale skin.

Moans and gasps filled the barely lit room, accompanied by the soft whisper of skin brushing against skin and the loud thudding of their hearts. With every thrust of his hips, she felt a bit of her worries fade away and tension leave her body. Being with him set her free of her day to day life, from the pressure that came with her father’s legacy. When she was with John, she could let herself come undone.

Her eyes lit up and twin beams of light flared through the room, sparkling like lightning while Zatanna screamed in pleasure, nails digging into Constantine’s skin with enough strength to draw blood.

His movements came to a sudden stop as he glanced upwards, where the bolts had struck. Fern-like patterns had been scorched to the ceiling like ugly black scars.

“Ow,” the sound left his half open lips in awe. His gaze fluttered between the burn marks and her eyes, which still had the hint of a glow to them.. “I didn’t know you could do that…”

She blushed, red creeping into her cheeks. “It’s the first time, I swear,” she said with a shy giggle.

“Let’s make sure it’s not your last one, then,” he answered before kissing her. “It’s hella hot.”

* * *

One of his arms was draped protectively over her waist, while the other was pinned under her slender back and their legs were tangled together, making it impossible for her to move without waking him up. Constantine snoozed peacefully by her side, but sleep refused to come for Zatanna. Her head was spinning, the beginning of a headache starting to creep in, and she felt so tired that she could barely keep her eyelids open.

She had no idea for how long they had been locked in this room, shielded from the outside world. Her phone had long died and Constantine didn’t even know where his was. Time had lost its meaning for them. When they got hungry, they nibbled at the half melted chocolate bars that he had previously bought; thirst was solved either by whiskey or by tea made in the small electric kettle and any other needs had become superfluous.

But she knew that it couldn’t go one forever. The room had been booked for the weekend, and eventually Kenny, or another clerk, would come to kick them out. Even if they didn’t, she knew she couldn’t stay. That was the problem between her and John: it never lasted. It was intense like a forest fire, burning everything on its path until there was nothing else to consume, and then it died.

He could never give her the kind of relationship she wanted: something stable, someone who she could return to every night, someone who would listen to her problems and comfort her during her darkest moments. He wasn’t that kind of person, but at least he had always been honest about it. And, like a fool, she never listened.

Glancing at his sleeping form, Zatanna wondered about what they could have been in another life. One without demons or magic. One in which they weren’t constantly having to save the world by sacrificing a piece of themselves.

She sighed and closed her eyes once more, hoping that, this time, she would finally be taken to the land of dreams.

* * *

“Fuck,” she panted, her breath hitched unevenly and her body still trembled.

The hand she had been using to keep his head close fell to the side and Constantine pulled himself from where he had been nestled between her legs and kissed her with still glistening lips.

“I fucking love you,” she said, her mind too dizzy in a sea of lust to truly understand what she was saying.

He was caught off guard. During their multiple break-ups and make-ups, neither of them had ever said those three little words. And he knew she probably didn’t mean it, but hearing it stirred something in him. It brought the urge to tell her what he had known for a long time: that he loved her.

Except that it would be unfair to her. He would never be good enough, he would never be worthy of her love. And so he had always stayed silent, burying his feelings deep in his heart and pushing her away every time he felt close to spilling the truth. She deserved the kind of happiness he couldn’t give her and so it was better that she never learned the truth. Or she would be tempted to stay with him, which would only bring her death and misery. That was the destiny of everyone who had ever loved him.

And so, he did what he knew best and pretended to not have heard her. He laid by her side, kissed her and then closed his eyes, pretending to fall asleep.

* * *

The words hung heavy in the air, but his lack of acknowledgment was even heavier. Zatanna waited until she knew for sure he was unconscious before slipping out of the bed. She glanced around the room, considering if it was worthy trying to find her clothes or if it would be easier to just conjure something new. A quick assessment told her that her belongings were most likely hidden by layers of trash and that it would take too much time and effort to find them.

“ Lausac sehtolc ,” she murmured and her naked body was immediately clad in jeans, a white sweater and shoes. She took her phone from the nightstand and brushed off the ashes that had fallen on the screen before shoving it in her pocket, where her wallet had already magically appeared.

She hesitated at the door, turning to look at him one last time, hoping that he would wake up and tell her something that would make her stay. It was a futile hope. He was sound asleep, seemingly not even noticing the sudden shift of weight in the mattress.

A sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she exited the room, promising herself this would be the last time she gave him another chance.

[fanyiyimdzs]

Mo Dao Zu Shi: Chapter 1

Masterpost

Previous chapter

Wei Wuxian had barely opened his eyes before a foot flew at him and slammed into his ribcage.

A voice thundered in his ear. “You think you can play dead?!”

Whoever it was kicked him and kicked him again until he was nearly bleeding. Flat on his back, his head lolling on the ground, a hazy thought came to him: they’ve got some nerve to kick me, an Old Master.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard the voice of a single living soul for who knows how many years, much less a voice so loud and angry it sounded like the wail of a dying hen. Though the room swam and stars danced in front of his eyes, he could vaguely make out the voice’s owner: a young man, who went back to assaulting Wei Wuxian’s ringing ears with his grating cries. 

“Why don’t you think about whose house you’re living in? Whose rice you’re eating? Whose money you’re shitting away? Who cares if I take some of your things? They’re all mine anyway!”

Around Wei Wuxian echoed the crashes and bangs of people ransacking every corner and hidey-hole of...wherever he was. Some moments later, his sight slowly began to clear—there was a shadowy grey roof floating above him, and angry brows atop a face tinged with green, from which furious spittle flew.

“You wanna report me? You think I’m scared? You think there’s a single person in this household who’ll have your back?”

Two burly men, probably servants, stepped around Wei Wuxian. “Master, we’ve smashed everything!”

“Already?” The young man squawked.

“This lousy room barely had anything in it in the first place,” one of them said.

The squawking youth was mostly satisfied with this, so he turned and jabbed his finger so aggressively at Wei Wuxian it nearly went up his nose. “Report me if you have the spine! Who are you playing dead for? As if anyone gives fuck about your scrap metal and bits of paper. I’ll smash it all—let’s see what you can drag out to report me with then! You think you’re hot shit because you spent a few years in a cultivation clan? You’re more like a mangy cur who’s been chased away with its tail between its legs!”

Fatigue cast a pall over Wei Wuxian’s thoughts.

He had been dead for so many years. He truly hadn’t been faking it.

Who was this?

Where was he?

Since when had he ever done any body-snatching?!

That dying hen had kicked him, wrecked the room, and showered him with his fury, and now the youth took his servants and swaggered outside. He shouted an order as he slammed the door. “Keep your eyes pinned on him! Don’t let him get out and humiliate us!”

The pair accepted the command in unison. Wei Wuxian waited for all the noise to die down and then tried to get up. But his body refused to obey him, forcing him back down. His only option was to roll onto his stomach and look around the animal den that this Mo person lived in, all while his head was still spinning and his vision was still a blurry mess.

On one side of him, a bronze mirror had been tossed to the ground. Wei Wuxian reached his hand out and dragged it over. A strange and snow white face appeared in the mirror, cheeks unevenly smeared with red. If he only stuck out a long crimson tongue, he’d look like a living hanged ghost.*

Not quite able to accept his appearance, he flung the mirror away and rubbed his face, accidentally crusting his hands with white powder.

Fortunately, it seemed the body he now occupied wasn’t born with this grotesque appearance, and he could blame the products its previous owner piled atop his skin instead. Not only had this fully-grown man painted his whole face with rouge, he had done it in this absurdly hideous manner!

After recovering from the shock, Wei Wuxian found he had recovered a little strength and could finally sit up. Only then did he notice the crimson circle drawn beneath him. It was a magic circle, hand drawn, seemingly with blood, still damp and giving off a coppery stench. In the middle, a wild, shaking finger had scrawled a spell. Though Wei Wuxian had unknowingly smudged the runes, the ghastly energy surrounding it was unmistakeable.

For better or worse, people had treated him as the world’s supreme evil for many years now, giving him titles like “Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation.” Of course he knew these types of nasty things like the back of his hand.

He hadn’t stolen someone else’s body—someone had sacrificed theirs to him!

In essence, the bodily sacrifice spell was a kind of curse. The caster slashed their own skin with a deadly weapon, used their own blood to sketch the circle and paint the runes, and sat in the center, offering their body to an evil spirit. They paid the earth the price of their soul to summon a being of irredeemable wickedness, and then begged this spirit to take over their flesh and make their dreams reality—the exact opposite of body snatching. Both were notorious and forbidden, but the former had not been met with the same warm reception as the latter. After all, rarely did anyone long for anything so much that they were willing to give up everything for it. Thus, people had done it were few and far between; in the past century, even the stories had died out. There had been only three or four confirmed cases in the past hundred thousand years according to the ancient records.

 Each one of these three or four people’s wishes had been the same: revenge. The vicious ghosts they had summoned realized those dreams with cruel and bloody perfection.

Wei Wuxian’s heart was uneasy.

How was he a “being of irredeemable wickedness?”

Sure, his reputation wasn’t great, and the circumstances of his death were tragic and miserable. But first of all, he hadn’t turned into an evil spirit, and second, he hadn’t sought revenge! You could search all of earth and heaven without finding a single more peaceful, more good-natured ghost. Promise!

But the trouble was, bodily sacrifice followed the wishes of the caster. It didn’t matter how uneasy Wei Wuxian was...he had already taken over the pro-offered body, and therefore tacitly consented to the contract. He had to fulfill the caster’s wishes, or else the curse would backfire and annihilate his soul, damning him to eternal oblivion.

Wei Wuxian undid the sash of his robes and scrutinized his arm. Indeed, both of his wrists were streaked with angry, bloody gashes, scowling and glowering at him like ragged mouths. Though they had already scabbed over, he had no doubts that these weren’t ordinary cuts. They would never heal if he didn’t fulfill the wishes of his body’s original owner. Moreover, the longer he waited, the worse they would become, and if he pushed the task past due, both his body and his soul would be shredded alive.

After repeatedly confirming that he had made no mistake, Wei Wuxian mentally cursed the situation’s absurdity, and, clinging to the wall, finally forced himself onto his feet.

Though the room he found himself in was indeed large, it was sparse and squalid. The cotton blanket covering the bed hadn’t been washed or changed in who knew how many weeks and stunk of mildew. Someone had kicked over the bamboo trash bin lying in the corner, spilling the waste and scrap paper inside all over the dusty floor. Wei Wuxian noticed that some of the paper seemed to be covered in ink marks, so he picked one up, examined it, and found that, indeed, words were crammed into every corner of the page. He busied himself with collecting all the paper he could find.

On these sheets, his body’s first owner must have vented his misery and dejection. Some of what he had written could only be described as the incoherent cries of a man whose torment so twisted his words that they seeped out of the paper and assaulted the senses. As Wei Wuxian read patiently page by page, he began to feel more and more unsettled.

Though his attempts at organizing what he had read felt akin to groping through darkness, he was able to clear up a few basic facts. First, his body’s original owner was named Mo Xuanyu, and this are was called Mo Manor.

Mo Xuanyu’s grandfather had been the local area’s big landlord, but he had had few kinsmen and no sons. Though he worked diligently for many years to produce male progeny, his efforts had resulted only in two daughters. The second daughter’s name need not be mentioned, as it was the first who became the house’s mistress, her husband moving in with the Mo family after they were married. Though second daughter was remarkably beautiful, her birth mother was a household servant, and thus the family put little thought into marrying her off—anyone would have been fine. Who knew that when she was sixteen, she would randomly meet a passing leader of some great house and catch his eye? The two turned Mo Manor into their private love nest. A year later, the second Mo daughter gave birth to Mo Xuanyu.

Originally, the Mo household had held her and the entire affair in general in great contempt. But in the eyes of ordinary people, the fact that such a grand cultivator had found his way to the Mo family’s doorstep and into their home meant that the Mo’s must have been heaven-blessed. Nobly and somewhat unusually, that chief even supported and assisted the Mo family, even though they were not his own. The winds of opinion in the household thus took a sharp turn. Not only had the family prospered through the connection, those around them also envied them to the highest degree.

But not long after, that cultivator’s unbounded desire longed for fresher meat. Gradually, his visits dwindled. He had eaten at the Mo Manor for less than two years before growing bored. Once Mo Xuanyu was four, the Mo family saw him no more.

Within the next few years, the winds of opinion in Mo Manor changed once again. The contempt and ridicule returned, this time accompanied by sneering pity. However, the second Mo daughter was by no means resigned to her fate—her belief that her great lord would not forget his own child was unshakeable. Sure enough, when Mo Xuanyu turned fourteen, that house leader ordered a band of men to solemnly retrieve him.

The second Mo daughter could once again hold her head high. Though she could not accompany her son, she could sweep away her previous misery and replace it with pride and elation. Haughtily, she announced to everyone that her son would rise like a bird and become a renown cultivator, bringing honor to all his forebearers. Consequently, opinion at Mo Manor changed for a third time.

However, before Mo Xuanyu’s cultivation training had borne results, and before he had inherited his father’s family treasures, he was chased out.

His expulsion, moreover, was not some tidy, quiet affair, but an unseemly, unsightly ordeal. Mo Xuanyu was not only gay, but also had the audacity to harass his fellow disciples—thus, the ugly matter had been publicly exposed. On top of all that, he was at best an average talent, with no notable achievements. He had no excuse to remain.

Battered by the blizzard only to be bitten by frost, Mo Xuanyu did not suffer only this disaster. After returning home, he became entirely, completely insane. Some days were better, some days were worse, but one way or another, his brains seemed to have been scared right out of his ears.

Wei Wuxian’s brow wrinkled.

If Mo Xuanyu were only gay, that would have been one thing, but he was also a lunatic. No wonder his face was caked in so much powder that it looked like he’d been hanged. No wonder no one had batted an eye at the giant array on the ground, still wet with fresh blood. If he had painted the entire room with blood, from the floor, to the walls, to the roof over his head, it wouldn’t have startled anyone who happened to see it. Everybody knew that there was something wrong with his head!

Once Mo Xuanyu had returned home, the sneers, the mockery, the ridicule grew so thick and wide that they seemed to blanket the earth and cover the skies. But this time, there was no more hope for a change in fortune.

The second Mo daughter was unable to bear this kind of blow. She had held so much hatred inside her lungs, and now, there was no hope of letting it go. It suffocated her, and soon, she was dead.

By this time Mo Xuanyu’s grandfather was also dead, so the elder Mo daughter now reigned over Mo Manor. This Lady Mo had been unable to bear the sight of her sister since they were young. At her sister’s bastard, she could only levy thousands of scornful glares. She had a single son, Mo Ziyuan, the youth who had sacked the room. When Mo Xuanyu had been whisked away to his father’s, the elder Mo daughter thought she could also exploit the family connection. She hoped that the cultivators who had fetched her nephew would also happen to pick up Mo Ziyuan and turn him into a cultivator too. Of course, she was refused—or rather, ignored.

She had wasted her breath. It wasn’t as though she were haggling over cabbages—buy one son and get one free!

It was a mystery where this family had gotten their self confidence. They all had a bizarre, unshakeable belief that Mo Ziyuan possessed the blood and the talent to earn himself the respect and recognition of these cultivators, had he been the one taken. He could never have ended up like his cousin and failed to make even a decent showing. Mo Ziyuan was still little when his cousin had been taken away, but, unendingly deluged with utter nonsense, his faith in his own abilities was unwavering. Every day for quite some time, he humiliated Mo Xuanyu, hollering that his cousin had robbed him of his chance. The possessions Mo Xuanyu had brought home—the talismans, the medicines, the little cultivator’s tools—he coveted so much that his hands itched, and he treated them as though they were entirely his own. If he wanted to take them, he’d take them. If he wanted to break them, he’d break them.

Though Mo Xuanyu suffered frequent bouts of insanity, he still knew that he was being abused. He tried to endure it, but Mo Ziyuan only got worse. Eventually, his entire room practically cleaned out by his envious cousin, his endurance finally wore out. He went to his aunt and uncle and forced himself to stutter out a complaint. Thus, Mo Ziyuan had shown up at his door today and raised a ruckus.

The papers’ tiny, densely packed words made Wei Wuxian’s eyes hurt and by then he had no doubts about what kind of shitty, wretched life Mo Xuanyu had lived. No wonder he had no qualms about sacrificing his body to an evil spirit for the sake of revenge.

Once Wei Wuxian’s eyes stopped aching, his head started aching instead. In principle, as the evil spirit that Mo Xuanyu summoned, he should have been able to hear the exact wishes the miserable man had buried in his heart. But this forbidden technique that Mo Xuanyu had secretly stolen from somewhere might have had incomplete instructions. He might have skipped a step. Wei Wuxian could easily guess that he wanted some sort of revenge on the Mo family, but exactly what kind of revenge? How severe? Did he only want his things back? Did he want them beaten?

Or...exterminated?

Most likely, he wanted them exterminated. After all, Mo Xuanyu had done his time in the world of cultivation, and thus should have been aware of how Wei Wuxian was most often described: ungrateful, deranged, was there anyone Mo Xuanyu could have chosen more likely to be called a “vicious fiend”?  If he had the nerve to pick Wei Wuxian, he could not possibly have a dream so tame and mild.

Thus, Wei Wuxian had no choice but to sigh. “You found the wrong guy...”

________________________________

Translation notes:

* A hanged ghost (吊死鬼) is, unsurprisingly, the ghost of a person who died by hanging. In Chinese folklore, they are typically depicted with long red tongues hanging out of their mouths.

Next chapter

Masterpost

[thorcat]

LF RP Contact | WoW | Bhaal

(Art by spectr00m, https://www.deviantart.com/spectr00m/art/Bhaal-482238903)

ᛃ THE BASICS ––– –– –

Occupation: Inscription, mercenary for hire

Hobbies: Fishing, drawing, handling animals

Race: Human | Deathknight

Sexuality: Pansexual, Poly

Relationship Status: Single

Languages: Common and a little thalassian

Alignment: Chaotic good

Color-Wheel: Silver-Blue-Black

ᛃ PERSONAL ––– –– –

Residence: Mostly dwelling in her own garrison because of the quiet woods, sometimes in stormwind

Place of Work: Currently looking for work | At her own place

Birthplace: Tirisfal Glades

Fears: Rejection by other beings because of her cursed life

ᛃ APPEARANCE ––– –– –

Height: 5′4ft.

Build: Slightly toned

Age: 35

Gender: Female

Skin tone: Pale

Eye color: Ice Blue

Hair color: Silver

Body Mods: Piercings

Distinguishing Marks: Scar on her back, the killing blow she had recieved from the lich king before turning deathknight

Common Accessories: Ink and feather with a bunch of scrolls, weapons, treats for animals

(Art by Schlafmuetze, https://www.deviantart.com/schl4fmuetzesartcave/art/comission-run-forest-477850643)

ᛃ BODY LANGUAGE ––– –– –

Walk: Confident

Voice: Stern when with people, Gentle when with animals/dragons

Tics or Mannerisms: scribblings things she sees, trying to pet any animal..no matter how dangerous or massive it is

Smell: Fresh fallen snow, animal treats

Posture: Stiff and weary

Disabilities: None

ᛃ RELATIONSHIPS ––– –– –

Partner: None

Parents: Dead

Siblings: None

Children: None

Pets: Falcosaur hatchling and an emerald whelping she decided to keep as ysera died

ᛃ PERSONALITY TRAITS ––– –– –

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Addictive / In Between / Nonaddictive

ᛃ RP HOOKS ––– –– –

Runes/scrolls: If you need any, she will gladly make them to support in battle against foes or tries teaches some basics

Battle: She is able to hold a sword but horrible in fights. The woman would be thankfully to get a swordmaster (maybe a ebon blade companion) as teacher,

Drinks: Bhaal would never refuse a drink or two, to at least grand herself the little illusion of being alive

Animals: Nothing makes the woman crawl faster out of her little ice shell. For her, animals are honest and not judging.

Dragons: She never dared speaking to one of the aspects, but got a high respect for them and their brood. Meeting a dragon would be some sort of fresh encounter

(Art by Clover-Teapot, https://www.deviantart.com/clover-teapot/art/Bhaal-Chibi-Commission-509599029)

ᛃ About the Woman ––– –– –

Bhaal, born in the tirisfal glades, had always a great talent to draw and mimic the old art of runes like the kirin tor used in their spell books. During the lack of knowledge of those, a mage took the woman in to teach writing and basics about those spells..which were almost impossible to weave, but at least easy to recreate in form on scrolls.

Said talent was swiftly noticed by the prince of lodareon back there. The prince, known as arthas, was hunting down some sort of demon..a demon who had caused massive destruction and horrible outcomes around his and her own home. With a well picked expedition, sh was allowed to travel to nothrend and create those supporting scrolls who were used by the local mages to increase the defenses, heal the soldiers and cause some serious fire damages to those undead foes they had to face every day.

Soon though the prince disappeared and left the camp alone, to search something she wouldn't be able to understand. Instead she kept on creating and practiced handling a sword on the side..just in case of defense, as runes alone might not be enough in those harsh wilds. With the man's return, everyone thought that either their journey would finally find it's end and everyone able to travel home, but none of that was the case. Instead the by now twisted price slaughtered down the camp and burned the ships to ensure that no one would be able to return and give message of the horrible act. Sadly those runes sure turned out to be useless as defense and the amateur like act of holding a sword alone made the crazy driven prince only gifting her a tired smile. She was forced to share the exact same fate as the rest and the bodies got dragged to one of those cursed undead places, to wait for the most godless act ever seen.

Together with a bunch of capable soldiers, they got revived as deathknights to serve under the lich kings heavy leading tone.

While everyone went out to play it's role as pawn of the undead leader, the woman was hold back and dragged to the forges, to do what she had done best in her living times. Forcing and engraving runes...just not on paper, but on those very cursed swords, to allow the knight drawing out power of ice, corrupting plague and inner strength.

The solider fell in battle, as it turned out to be just a farce..a chess game to lure out a simple god damn person. Said person was able to beat the lich king in battle, forcing him to withdraw and allowing those under his grasp to regain their old will and eventually parts of their old memory.

It was eventually the most bitter part of the woman to wake up from a nightmare to stumble right into the next one with realization, that she would never be the same person as before. Still..till this day, she simply tries to support with her rune and little magic skills, while avoiding the living as good as she can..ashamed of her own appearance.

OOC: She is a woman, who had simply seen too much bad things in her life with a mix of betrayal and abuse of her skills and body. Bhaal is overall a gentle being, but it's hard to crack that ice shell and find and warm part. Animals are mostly the key to see a little gentle and not fake smile.

ᛃ LOOKING FOR ––– –– –

All sort of RP and people: Getting into the lore, meeting up, learning and understanding all the things are my main goal! From little chatters, to small plots, everything is possible!

ᛃ ABOUT THE MUN ––– –– –

Who I am: A pink Gecko, to licks monitors and eats steaks (35 years old mun, who shitposts alot and makes memes, to try making some ppl smile :p)

Server: Outland EU, main char (Argent dawn, alt char)

Time Zone: CEST European time Zone (Germany)

Availability: When i am online, since i work in shifts

Writing Style: Varies. I am trying to adapt to people and overwhelm them with too much text

Platforms: In Game and In Discord. On tumblr it’s more -what if- situations

(Art by Ashaton, https://www.deviantart.com/ashaton/art/Bhaal-546551901)

ᛃ Restrictions ––– –– –

Generally not up to gore/maiming/killing, especially so when not brought up beforehand.

As much as i love writing smut, i want to know the muse a little more, before engaging in any nsfw content

No Erotic or Romantic themes if you or your character are under-age or just SEEM immature.

Even less Erotic themes if you are a gome. It’s a no.

Contact: Direct Messages on Tumblr or discord Thorcatte#6253

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

here is the second request!

love at first...body swap?

- in which a clueless magnus wakes up in the body of a tall, dark, and very handsome Shadowhunter, and a mystified alec wakes up in the body of a very, very glittery Warlock. who also happens to be very attractive.

[disclaimer: this describes show!malec, as alec has hazel eyes, but you can still read it as a book fan and imagine blue is there instead!]

requested by @ilostmymojo !

➰➰➰➰➰

Magnus had been on holiday in London for a week now. Well, it wasn’t exactly a holiday so much as he had some business to deal with, but he was enjoying the time anyway. He opened his eyes as he woke up-

To a black wall?

Magnus was confused. His hotel room was definitely not this dark. Then a string of dread ran through him. Had he gotten too drunk? Had he went home with someone and forgotten? He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, and almost did a double take.

There was black ink on his arms. Ink in the shape of Shadowhunter runes. Now, this really wasn’t funny. These runes were incredibly toxic to him- they should’ve killed him by now. There were so many. He rolled up the shirt he’d slept in.

A Parabatai rune on his left side.

He flicked the lights on and had possibly his third heart attack of the morning.

Now, Magnus was Indonesian. He was born there, to an Indonesian mother. His father was a goddamn Prince of Hell. So to put it simply, he was...not white. At all. But apparently he was now. The feeling suddenly hit him.

He’d been body swapped. And, god forgive him, he didn’t mind it one bit so far. Whoever this was? His body was...well, it was incredible. Magnus smirked to himself- was it himself?- and gave in to his desperate want to look in the mirror. Oddly though, there was only a very small bathroom mirror that looked like it was forced there. He must be kinda insecure, Magnus thought. He couldn’t understand why though. The face he was met with was beautiful. Soft brown hair, fluffing out across his forehead. A gorgeous sharp jawline. The most beautiful hazel eyes. There was a bolt of almost recognition sent through him. Had he seen this person before? He couldn’t get their name though.

Magnus got dressed- he was very upset with this Shadowhunter’s lack of fashion. His wardrobe was mostly black. And old sweaters. He decided to leave the room and see if he could figure out his name, or find even one person he recognised. He knew he was in the New York Institute, so he was hoping he’d see Clary.

“Hey big bro!”

Magnus spun around, terrified. He’d been caught by this man’s sister.

“Hey, sis!” he said, awkwardly but not without a smile.

“Mom wants you. She wanted to see how you’d settled in to your new position as Head!”

Oh god.

It was getting worse.

“Uh, sure. Where is she?”

“The library. I’m off to get breakfast first though, wanna come?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. He was starving. “One question- where’s Clary?”

The girl he was with raised an eyebrow. “What do you need her for?”

“I have to tell her something.”

“Why can’t you tell it to your sister, huh?”

“It’s...private,” he said. He must’ve blushed, because she had a sudden look of realisation on her face.

“Is it about her friend? That warlock? The one you totally have a massive crush on now even though you only saw him once for a split second at that party?”

Then it dawned on him why he recognised the person whose body he was in. A few weeks ago, Clary and her friends had come to one of his parties. As far as he remembered, this was Alec Lightwood, and the girl in front of him was Isabelle, his sister. He had no idea where the Herondale boy was though.

Isabelle’s statement was convenient enough. He now knew that not only was Alec gay, but he apparently had a little bit of a crush on him.

This was very pleasing information.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late, I slept in. Are you guys going to get breakfast?”

A short ginger girl had appeared. Clary.

“Bisc- I mean, uh, Clary? Can I talk to you in private for a second? It’s urgent,” he whispered. Clary looked slightly shocked- to be fair, he had almost called her Biscuit, and as far as she was concerned Alec didn’t know that.

“Sure,” she said with a questioning look on her face. He dragged her away before Isabelle could follow or make any more jokes.

“Hey, biscuit.”

“Why are you calling me that? Only Magnus calls me that. And you shouldn’t even know-“

“No wait! Clary. It is me. Magnus Bane. I don’t know what the hell happened. I was in London, and I woke up here in I think Alec Lightwood’s body?”

“Yes,” she replied slowly. “Yes, you’re Alec.”

“So from my understanding, the Head of your Institute is currently stranded in London in the body of an admittingly gorgeous and incredible Warlock with absolutely no idea how to use magic or how to get back?”

Clary put a hand to her forehead. “By the Angel Magnus. It’s nine am. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I don’t know, and I have to apparently go and talk to Alec’s mom in a minute and probably do other things too.”

“Okay. Look. I’ll help you out, okay? Do you know the number of the hotel you were staying at? The sooner we let Alec know what’s going on the better.”

“No- but my phone isn’t with me. I only have Alec’s. I know my own number- I could call it on his phone?”

Clary smiled. “Perfect. I imagine Alec won’t quite be as calm as you seem to be, though.”

“Honestly, being in this body? I wouldn’t be upset if I was permanently stuck this way. Alec is gorgeous.”

She giggled. “Oh my god. You know, everyone around here knows Alec has a huge crush on you. Everyone except him. He blushes any time we mention you, and when he starts talking about you he doesn’t stop. Like verbal diarrhoea, but cute.”

“Please never say ‘diarrhoea’ and ‘cute’ in the same sentence ever again.”

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec Lightwood woke to his phone ringing. He rubbed his eyes and grabbed for it. When he reached out for it, he noticed that his arm was incredibly tan- like the shade of gold, but slightly darker. Weird. He was white as hell. It had been quite warm yesterday though- maybe he’d tanned.

He noticed something odd about the number calling him. It was his. Confused, he answered it anyway.

“Hello?”

He got another shock- his voice didn’t at all sound like his own.

“Hi Alec. It’s Clary. I have someone who needs to talk to you.”

“Oh- okay.” Then, a man’s voice spoke. The man sounded exactly like him.

“Hello, Alexander. It’s- it’s Magnus Bane. You were at my party a few weeks ago?”

Alec felt himself blush immediately. He’d only saw Magnus briefly there, but he was insanely attractive. He’d been trying to figure out how to talk to him. “Yes, I was.”

“Well- I need you to go to the bathroom for me. Or wherever the nearest mirror is. And please don’t freak out.”

Confused, Alec got out of the bed. Weirdly enough, this was not his Institute room at all. The bed had pure white sheets, and the wall was gold. Then he found a mirror.

“What the hell?! I’m- am I you? I- what is this?!”

Alec stared at the mirror. He was reminded of just how attractive Magnus was. His spiked black hair, his lean and muscular body. The smooth skin on his face, and his beautiful slit cat eyes.

“We wanted to let you know that. And...you’re in London.”

“LONDON?! But I have an Institute to run! I can’t be stuck as a Warlock all day- no offense. But what am I going to do? Could I draw a Portal rune?”

Clary took the phone back for a second. “No- you’ve got to remember you’re Magnus right now. And I’m not entirely sure yet if other people can use my runes. Magnus says that, if you want, he could tell you over the phone how to do a Portal? Your only other option is to get a plane.”

Alec ran a frustrated hand through his- Magnus’s- hair. “I don’t know. I need to be back there ASAP though.”

Magnus took over again. “Hey, don’t panic. A Portal uses a lot of magic, but I don’t mind. Our priority is getting you back safe and quick. If you focus, you can do it. But it is very important that you imagine somewhere other than the Institute. We need to make this as discreet as possible. Put the phone in your pocket.”

Alec did so, taking a deep breath. He had no idea what he was going, but he could try.

“Now, focus. What you need to do will come to you- you shouldn’t have to try too hard to imagine it. Then get an image in your mind of somewhere in New York.”

He pictured Central Park. A sudden jolt went through his mind, and as if propelled to do so he snapped his arms and his fingers and was able to create a Portal.

“I did it! Should I go through now?”

“Yes! Well done! Go through, then once you’re through tell us where you are so Clary and I can get there.”

Alec stepped through the Portal. He’d done this many a time before. It should be easy.

Or not.

“Oh!-“

Of course, he’d Portaled himself in the middle of the lake. He grabbed the phone.

“I’m sorry! I’m in Central Park! I landed in a lake-“ and then the phone died. Water damage. Hopefully Magnus wouldn’t be too pissed- he remembered when he’d been angry at two of the men at Pandemonium and, well, it had been scary. And another word beginning with s and ending in y.

“Magnus?! What the hell are you doing?!”

Alec turned. A woman in a nurse uniform was staring at him with the most incredulous look on her face. “Uh. I just dropped my phone in the water.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. She was a pretty woman, a Warlock woman. He could tell because she’d been glamoured, but in her surprise the glamour disappeared to reveal her true skin colour- a beautiful sky blue. Her hair, mad curls, was a darker shade of blue too. “You’re insane, my friend. I freaking love you, but I would kill you if I could,” she said, smiling to herself whilst walking away. Alec waded out of the water. The phone wasn’t working, so he decided he’d be best off walking towards the entrance to the park.

In the distance Alec could see a bright crown of red hair bobbing towards him, alongside- well, Magnus, but technically himself. He met them in a more secluded corner- they were glamoured, but the more security the better.

Clary looked mystified when she saw him. “You know the weirdest thing about this? Even in Magnus’s body, I can still tell you’re Alec.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Clary shrugged and snickered. “Anyways. You guys don’t really need me anymore, do you? Bye!”

She dashed off quite quickly, and as she did so Alec noticed she took out her phone and called someone. She was laughing, and kept looking back at them.

“Well. So, uh, I know how to reverse this. But not on myself.”

Alec stopped for a moment. “Well then what can we do?”

“I’ll have to call a friend. Are you okay with that?”

“As long as they can get this fixed then sure.”

Magnus faked hurt. “Why are you so desperate to get out of my body? Am I truly that detestable?”

This made Alec worried, which was hilarious. “No! I just need to be back at work. You’re perfect!”

Magnus put two and two together. “Clary left us because she knows how we feel about each other, doesn’t she? Damn, smart kid.”

“How do we feel about each other?”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously that blind? Well for starters, you’re gorgeous as hell. I’ve known many Lightwoods over time, but you just, hit so different. I suppose I don’t know you that well, but I can tell you’re sweet too. You’re a family guy. I don’t know what that’s like. I mean, I have no blood relatives. I wish I did. But I respect that. You’re cool,” he finished, with a smile. There was a rose tint to the top of his cheeks, like a blush. It looked beautiful. When he blushed, it looked like a ghost had actually applied blusher to his face. When Alec blushed, he looked like a tomato.

“Well, thank you. I really like you. You’re one of the only people I know that isn’t in some way related to me. And you’re pretty as hell. Like, just so...breathtaking. Also by the way your skin is SO smooth.”

Magnus pretended to fan himself. “I try.”

“But yeah. You’re really genuine. You’re super friendly, but you also seem so sad sometimes. I don’t know what you went through, but all I know is that you have tonnes of new friends here for you.”

“Thanks,” was all Magnus replied with. If Alec knew any better, he’d say his eyes were slacked with tears. But he wasn’t crying, nor was he going to show it. He rang his friend instead.

“Hey, Cat! So. Bit of an awkward situation. Yes, this isn’t my phone. I broke it. I need you to come to Central Park ASAP. Thank you!”

Shortly after, a Portal opened up. The same woman stepped through as the one from earlier- the blue lady.

“Why is there a Shadowhunter here? Magnus, what on earth have you done?”

“You see, that’s just the thing. So. I’m Magnus. And this,” he said, gesturing to Alec, “ is Alec Lightwood. Current Head of the NY Institute.”

Catarina’s jaw dropped. “Did you body swap with a goddamn SHADOWHUNTER??”

“At least he’s sexy?”

“Jesus Magnus. You are certifiably insane.”

“In fairness, it would’ve been more awkward if I body swapped with a Shadowhunter woman. You know, boobs and stuff. I mean, not that I wouldn’t want them, and I would probably be a sexy ass woman, but I would hate to wear a bra. They seem so uncomfortable.”

“Magnus, if you don’t shut up, I will summon your dad.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I can threaten to though.”

Alec, who had been watching the conversation with extreme confusion, butted in. “Sorry to disturb but isn’t there, you know, a more pressing matter at hand than what Magnus thinks he would look like with boobs and summoning his dad?”

Catarina smiled weakly at Alec. “I’m sorry honey. I’ve dealt with this hot mess for over 300 years. I don’t know what you see in him. But in the event that you actually do see something in him, be aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“Of me. I don’t let any of my friends get hurt.”

“I can assure you we have the same intentions then.”

Catarina nodded at him. “Right. Okay. Let’s do this.”

She stood in between the two men, and jutted her arms straight out either side. Both felt a sudden change, like an out-of-body experience. Then they blacked out and collapsed.

Magnus stood first. He was back in his body, and seemed happy enough to be so. Alec got up next, rubbing his temple. “Thank you, Catarina.”

“No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, ya girl here has work. You know, saving lives and stuff.” And with that she too was gone. Leaving both Magnus and Alec, now rightfully in their own bodies.

“Well I think it’s high time we properly introduced ourselves to each other. Magnus Bane,” he said, sticking out a hand. “Alexander Lightwood. But everyone calls me Alec.” They shook hands.

“Can I ask what your middle name is?”

“It’s Gideon. I think it’s kinda weird and old. Why?”

Magnus smiled, like he was recalling a memory. “It is an old name. I remember him. Gideon. He was a lot like you in some ways. You want to know how he met his wife, Sophie? She made scones and brought some up to him. When she brought them up, they’d talk. So of course, rather than just telling her he thought she was pretty, he ordered about fifty scones up to his room. He didn’t eat a single one. Just so he could talk to her.”

Alec laughed. It was nice, he supposed, to hear about his old relatives. They seemed cool. “Wow. She was called Sophie? Isabelle’s middle name is Sophia. That must be why.”

“It very well could be.”

The two stood in silence after that. It took a while for Alec to realise that they hadn’t dropped hands. Nervously, he wondered. He slowly let go of Magnus’s hand, and let his hand slide to his waist. Magnus cupped his head with his hands. He leaned over slightly and kissed Alec’s forehead; a soft and sweet gesture that completely melted his heart.

“You should call me sometime. Maybe we could get some drinks?”

“Or we could just chill at your apartment? I mean, not that I don’t like drinks, but I just-“

“You’re a lightweight, aren’t you?” said Magnus, interrupting him.

“I am not!”

“God. First Lightworm, now Lightweight. Joking. Look, we can do whatever you want.”

“I’d really love that.”

“Now, don’t you have a meeting with your mom to get to?”

➰➰➰➰➰

i hope u like it ! sorry it took so long. i have one left to do!!