#michael casts the spell 'fucking explode you'

[davy-zeppeli]

images of michael nesmith where he looks like he's trying to blow someone up with his mind

[rreskk]

Hey ! Could you make a one-night stand with Michael x Reader with a Daddy kink, please ? 👀

---A/N: Your wish is my command

Summary: One night stand with an older guy opened up new fantasies for you to explore.

TW: SMUT, daddy kink, body praise.

How did it happen? It’s all hazy. Luring a lonely man on a night out has never happened until today. His black short hair, piercing blue eyes, dominant hands that carries on exploiting your desperate skin. You couldn’t of seen yourself be attracted to such a mature and older man. Change of heart? Most definitely.

“Fuck,” You whispered as he softly abused your lower stomach, feeling him edge closer to where you were throbbing, “That feels so good.”

He’d murmur in response and allow your hands to freely roam his sweaty hair. You remembered his name from when you first met, only a couple of hours ago.

Michael.

Michael was charming despite your obnoxiousness drunkenness. He was also under the influence, but he managed to praise your desires as he’d magically cast you under his love spell. Whenever he spoke, you just wanted to shut him up and use his lips for your own, fantasizing ungodly things. Now your dreams have come true, you’ll remember this drunken night for the rest of your life.

“Open your legs.”

Obeying the dominant man’s orders, you began dealing with heat, gasping for air when he simply teased your opening with his index finger, circling and smirking at your pleads.

“Good girl.”

Unable to process the overwhelming sensation of his sudden force of entrance, you whined his name and reached for him, only to be turned down as he caressed your face, demanding you to keep quiet.

“Stay quiet for me, yeah?” Michael chanted with a groan after increasing his thrusts; deepening so you gradually took in his full length.

Your hands remained unoccupied until you’d have to grip the pillows around you, something to hold as he continued fucking your insides, praising your good behaviour like a father. You were ashamed to be so aroused by his validation.

“Harder, daddy-“ You panted.

Michael was feasting on his lips, concentrating on giving you the best few minutes of your life. The sight of your breasts completely shaking to his power, the man felt himself grow more tiresome and eager to combust and explode. You struggled to tame your climax and screamed his name as he thrusted into your orgasm, your fluids coating his length.

“Good girl, all nice for daddy, yeah?” He smiled and used his thumb to gaze your lower lip, admiring your messy and shaken appearance.

You groaned and nodded your head until he pulled out just in time to cum all over your pretty body. Michael panted heavily and leaned forward as your forehead collided gently. He weakly kissed the corner of your mouth and regained access to his breath, finally feeling something apart from agony and pain. All thanks to you.

[balillee]

my unpopular dsmp opinions, some of which genuinely should be popular

c!dream has crossed the moral event horizon and is irredeemable. once you cross that threshold, you're no longer a 'morally grey' character.

pre-recorded, heavily produced lore killed the lore. it was cool, sure, but you completely misunderstand the magic that the smp had when people watched it initially. the story is improv and that's how we like it. we can tell the cc's have lost interest in it, you can admit that to us, we'll understand, just stop lying to me.

c!dream's pov isn't necessary to understand his character or his motivations. if you've watched literally any c!primeboys stream he's basically spelled it out for you.

i don't understand how fans can dislike l'manberg or have claimed to be against it since the beginning. i honestly don't get it. what's so bad about wanting your own spot where you make your own rules and skirt accountability that has been used to technically oppress you before - and, before someone who never saw the earlier streams tries to disagree with this, the og l'manberg crew were imprisoned for shit that everyone else on the server was practically encouraged to do. also, what do you have against fun and happiness?

i think some of you forget that 'hybrids' aren't a thing, discounting c!ranboo. there's no piglin hybrids, c!techno is just a pig. there's no avian hybrids, c!phil is just a man with wings. there's no creeper hybrids, c!sam is just a creeper who's indecently exposed from the hips down. canonically there's no hybrids, and therefore no hybrid discrimination. people ran with that concept too much.

the loss and the fanon rewriting of the early lore up until pogtopia has ruined fandom perception of c!dream and the og l'manberg boys. c!tommy is more morally white than you think he is, and c!dream has always been a villain - he massacres and he kills and he destroys and he schemes and he always has broken his own rules. no wonder the boys wanted their own space after how they were treated.

i think ranboo oftentimes forgets his own lore. he brings stuff up that c!ranboo may have done, such as exploding the community house to frame c!tommy, holding onto Cat, and it goes absolutely nowhere. we've gotten all of these developments in his story but they have never been expanded on, and we're nowhere closer to figuring out his relationship to c!dream and what his other side is and honestly i see no hope that we'll be any closer to knowing even by the end of the year.

your characters don't all have to be morally grey for the story itself to be morally grey. this is fiction - some people can be nothing but evil and others can be nothing but good. being purely good or evil doesn't mean that you're one dimensional, either.

c!dream apologists have ruined c!dream for me. he's not a good person. how about you let me enjoy a villain for who he actually is, rather for than your percieved woobified ragdoll you pass off as c!dream.

the story was better when there was a central writer. it was brilliant back when wilbur wrote it to be that the environment drives the characters and the story, and it was really good in early s2 up until techno's execution day when it was more character driven. since then, the amount of autonomy people have over their characters without any central 'director', as it were, has been a detriment to the story overall. there needs to still be one overarching figure or director or writer.

not everyone is a main character. just because they have a pov, doesn't mean they're a main character. some characters have such little impact on the overall plot and describing everyone as a main character oversaturates the story and makes some characters seem more important than they are.

the egg lore had so much potential up until it didn't. all that built up threat that we were expecting and we still don't even know what the egg wants really other than just controlling people. does it hatch?

genuinely, if there's no major plot developments by the end of the year (and let's be honest, it's a very big possibility at this point), a few of the more prominent members of the server should do a podcast style stream talking about where the story would have gone, because at least then we would have gotten somewhat closer to a conclusion.

c!techno is a villain and an asshole and a bad person. he stops caring for people once their interests don't align with his or if they look at him funny. he makes meta-jokes about his own tyrannical and oppressive nature. stop taking that away from him. he's a bad person. cc!techno does a fabulous job portraying that in a comedic manner and the balancing of him being a deeply flawed person with deeply flawed morals and ideas with his comedically-portrayed stubbornness and lack of willingness to hear out opposing viewpoints is incredible. i want to like characters who are arseholes for the sake of being arseholes, and who refuse to take into account the hurt they've caused either out of self-righteousness or because they don't care, so let me. he's the anti-peacemaker, LET ME HIM ENJOY HIM FOR THAT!!!!

i think tommy and wilbur's way of doing lore is my favourite. relies heavily on improv, voice acting, sprite acting and facial expressions. really shows off the acting props and they pull off the emotional moments well for the insanity of the creative medium.

i'm not a fan of fan-music. i find songs about media i'm into difficult to listen to. coincidentally i'm also not a fan of shit like slam poetry or live music/musicals/pantomimes.

the death of l'manberg killed people's motivation to go on the server casually. i've talked about it more in depth before, but destroying what was a central, driving environment for the story killed momentum and motivation. imagine in an episode of she-ra, the princess alliance just nuke the freight zone and all of the members of the horde just have to deal with it. that would be shit.

until season 3 has some momentum, i'm counting the end of the smp as january 20th. that had a conclusion. season 3 has... whores, technoblade and tommyinnit. that's about it.

i wasn't a fan of the development of c!tubbo joining las nevadas. i preferred snowchester and the walled city conflict. give c!tubbo some backbone and some badassery. also tubbo where's the fucking nuke bro if you're shelving that plotline just tell us on like an alt stream what the plan was i beg

add like 2 or 3 new people to the server so that michael mcchill has someone to talk to and so that there's something always happening on the server. it gives the og's more motivation to return if things are happening in and out of canon and it'll help with momentum, and who knows? maybe they can write their own story/stories.

i really think that c!sam is an underrated character. he's multilayered, extremely interesting, and the dichotomy of his loyalty to his job and how far down the rabbithole that's taken him versus the genuine love he has for his friends that drives him to do what he does out of wanting to do right by them is brilliant. i don't talk about c!sam enough.

STOP HAVING FUCKING VILLAIN ARCS!!! I'M FUCKIN SICK OF IT!!!! i want to see more characters who see everyone else being absolute selfish, abhorrent cunts and go 'if nobody else is going to be a good person, i fucking will'. GIVE ME SOME MORAL WHITENESS!!! IT'S INTERESTING AND MORALLY GOOD CHARACTERS ARE FUN!!!

let tommyinnit build cobblestone towers. everyone bullied him too much for how ugly they were and the one he built outside of the prison looked genuinely really nice. it gives the boy something to do.

i'm a fan of the revive book and the canon lives system. don't ask me why, but i think it might just be the morbidity of it. it adds to c!dream's god complex persona, and i think the fragility of death itself is a really fun concept. not enough fan cc's have made connections with that and c!mumza, and it could make for cool fanfic.

ranboo your house is fucking ugly. it's an eyesore

c!niki, and to some extent now c!jack and c!fundy, are boring me and ruining my mood. i think c!jack is the closest to being an actually interesting sympathetic villain, mainly because nobody else seems to realise that c!niki is a villain. not a good one imo, but she's a villain. c!jack just has the problem of starting a new project over and over and over and over again and because of the slow in momentum for the primary cast, there hasn't been a lot of recent development for him.

not really a dream smp opinion, but if philza went full geordie accent, i would love it. i want him to, in canon, say shit like 'me n ye' instead of 'me and you' and use geordie dialect. i want him to be physically unintelligible because it's funny.

i don't really know what's up with c!foolish but i think he's a dumbass. he had a while to think about c!q's proposal and then changed his mind about joining the guy to admitted to letting him die just because. moron

i wish there was more c!eret lore. i wish he was an actual king with an actual kingdom and actual subjects and royal advisors. c!eret is far too fucking cool to be the king of nothing and nobody. fatten up the kingdom and the castle with people who work with c!eret, and don't just make it tyrannical and dictator-y to prove the point of the server's 'anarchists'. make it a healthy working environment, please - if you want moral greyness, have 'anarchists' who claim to care about the welfare of the server oppose a kingdom of happy people under a fair and just ruler because their ideologies clash.

the server needs more characters who oppose anarchy in more peaceful ways, or passively wish for systems to be a part of. i think a chaos vs order conflict ending only in mutual understanding where everyone understands that they should just leave each other alone would slot nicely into the story that's been created so far.

you need to have watched all of the previous arcs to understand the story. i've seen people argue that they don't need to know about earlier lore to understand the prison, but that's the equivalent of only watching the final season of pretty little liars and expecting to understand the context of what's going on.

some characters aren't that morally grey. some characters, take c!tommy for example, are definitely on the whiter side for the morality scale, he's just an asshole. he's abrasive and rude and a dickhead but he also doesn't agree with terrorism, he's patriotic, he strives for a better world, he's apologetic, but he's also a fucking BITCH.

you can add onto this if you want, but not if you're a c!dream apologist. nobody likes your opinions

[sweeethinny]

not that anyone asked, but here's James S.'s best moments with Mira before they dated, and when James realized he liked her. I still want to write something in Mira's vision, about the kiss that Harry witnessed, but until I do that, here it goes :)

I know that normally people don't care much about Next Gen or OC, but just give it a chance :)

----

* The first time James looked at Mira and realized things he hadn't seen before *

James soon found himself in the classroom where they had scheduled to study, seeing the blonde alone lying on the teacher's desk, concentrating on a romance book (she had been reading it for a week) and looking in another dimension, pressing her lips and squeezing her fingers while reading.

He let himself look at her once, trying to see what the boys saw.

She didn’t wear the usual jacket or any other long blouse that covered her up to the middle of her thighs, her skirt was wrinkled and the position showed more than was usually seen from her infinite legs, the black pantyhose seemed to warm her up enough, her shoes were clean, as much as she insisted that she hated them and always cast a spell to keep them that way, her shirt was crooked and seemed to cling in places that James shouldn't be staring at too much.

Yeah. He shouldn't have done that.

* The first time James told Teddy about it *

''Teddy, Did you ever think of another girl before going out with Vic? Or was it always her? We remain in the agreement to NOT tell my parents! (are they still mad?) I hope everything is fine wherever you are.

James''

‘’Jamie,

yes, i already thought of some other girls before Vic, why? And your dad is calm, but i think it's possible that your mom will explode if grandma Molly makes one more comment about you pulling her quarrelsome genes. And I’m home at least this week. 

Teddy''

''I don't know, I just wanted to know. Rosalia made a comment and left me a little confused. She commented on this girl and now I started to notice her, not that it interferes with the fact that Rosalia is beautiful, but I don't know, it's strange.

James''

''Jamie, it's normal for you to look at other girls, but tell me, this one specifically, what do you think of her?

Teddy''

* Followed by the first time he felt jealous *

What did he think of Mira?

Well, thinking that she was in front of him, talking to Scott in the Common Room and showing one of her embarrassed smiles, he thought she was stupid.

Like, he wasn't even all that! He was almost smaller than her and seemed quite introverted beside her, no matter how much in the dorm he was always talking, and what was that hand on her arm? Was he touching her hair?! Why the hell would he do that?

Hia friend wore flannel pants similar to when they were together that morning, but this time it was black and a little looser, in addition to wearing golden slippers on her feet. The gray blouse was from a muggle band that Mira was a fan, as always, bigger than her body and stopping near her thighs, but that for some reason didn't make her look sloppy.

How could he find his own friend beautiful? 

* When James thought about what he thought about Mira *

He thought Mira was incredible.

He always did.

But between finding her amazing and starting to notice how her shirt got a few creases when she leaned over, or how some of her shirts were tight in places - which he shouldn't have noticed - there was a deep chasm that James didn't know if he wanted to jump.

* How Mira was feeling before the yule ball *

It was a pity, however, that her friends, and the most faithful of them to be exact, were pure and uniquely her friend.

She wouldn't think about it, not today.

Of course, they would have a lot of fun at the ball if they went together, but she couldn't compete with Rosalia, the girl was just stunning. Mira doubted that she had any Veela relatives.

Mira secretly wanted to be as calm as she was, full and kind, who didn't get into trouble or take her friends into the middle of the Forest to feed and talk to a Phoenix - she was still blaming herself for putting everyone in detention.

She had seen it when James was around her, as he always seemed grateful for the peace she provided, looking intoxicated by her movements and the contained smiles. Rosalia was angelic, remembering the little ornaments that Mira’s grandmother had on the cupboards, of Angels so beautiful that they seemed unreal even to her, a witch.

She wished she were that angelic.

*James and his friends talking during class with an enchanted quill, after everyone realized that he had just invited Mira to a date *

'’are we all agreed to go on the frozen lake on the hogsmeade weekend? we can skate :))'' - blanca

‘’Didn't your boyfriend ask you out on a date? even james called someone'' - michael

''POTTER! IF YOU CALLED ROSALIA YOU DESERVE THE LARVA KISS!'' - blanca

''how do you know? merlin piper, you really are gossip'' - james

''no, not her. Mira! Our little girl!! and there's no use blushing, Mira, you've accepted to be seen with the handsome Gryffindor seeker, on the streets of hogsmeade now'' - michael

''I am NOT blushing, there is a fucking fireplace on my side!'' - mira

''james and hazel? didn't know you were that quick, potter'' - piper

''it's not a date, we're friends just like me and you, idiots'' - james

''I wasn't asked to go out on Valentine's Day, you, Piper?'' - michael

''no... the wizarding world always leaves me aside, unbelievable, disowned even by my best friend'' - piper

"Aren't we good enough for you Potter?!!! IS THAT?!!'' - michael ''i believe james just wants to go out with muggleborns'' - michael

''I'm Muggleborn!'' - piper

''you don't have a magic butt like Mira :)'' - blanca

[myinconnelly1]

Not the Man I Know

Square Filled: Mind Control (kink)

Square filled: Damsel in Distress Ship: Michael!Dean x Myin;  Dean x Myin; Sam x Myin (Mentioned) Rating : Explicit Warnings: 18+ NSFW,  non!con; Dub!con; rape; angel Mind control; Grace abuse; reference Cheating, canon violence, canon gore Request: Hey, Uhm for your request: Maybe Mind control with Lucifer and/or Michael? Like they walk in to the reader getting dressed or showering and they try to have fun with her and mind control her into having hard sex with them?

AN:  This was everything that I hoped for and more.  I also used @impala-dreamer​ ‘s make me feel it challenge with the song Uninvited (fucking awesome song btw) Word Count: 2,021 Created for @spnkinkbingo. @spndarkbingo​

“How did you find me?”  Myin asked staring up at Dean’s face.

The pain in Myin’s shoulder was starting to fade as cold lightheadedness started to replace it.  She could feel her blood thrumming throughout her body and spots black out some of her vision.  Her breath was coming in gasps as she ran, knowing that trying to outrun the fit hunter was not a likely outcome.  She was going to need a back-up plan, assuming she didn’t just collapse.

“Please, that pathetic waste of space that this vessel calls a brother has been tracking your location.”  Dean’s voice was stiff and hard as he talked down on Myin.  Her body froze as recognition illuminated her face.  Michael.

“Myin!”  Dean was shouting her name from somewhere behind her in the forest.  She couldn’t spot, shouldn’t stop.  But she was getting tired.  There was no way that Michael had released his hold on Dean.  She knew this in her head.  Even if she had seen the familiar look in Dean’s face when she had cast her spell on him.  “Please, stop running.”

“What do you want?”  Myin’s hand reached for blindly for her gun, concealed behind the door.

“You know what I’m here for,”  Michael sneered, the expression so wrong on Dean’s face.  Her eyes widened then her fingers tightened around the grip of her pistol.

Myin fell face first into the dirt of the woods.  Exhaustion and loss of blood were taking her over.  She didn’t have much energy left, and Michael was probably right around the corner.  The spell had been accidental.  All these years with the Winchester brothers and she had stopped practicing what her father had taught her.  She was just glad she’d had the foresight to send her kids away while she was in hiding.  They wouldn’t be safe with her, not yet.  Her eyes closed, and her head turned limply against the cool earth.

Michael slammed the front door into her chest, sending her flying across the room and the gun flung back against her shoulder going off.  Myin screamed with agony as the nine millimeter round pierced cleanly through her shoulder.  You regained her awareness as Dean’s hand’s, Michael’s hand’s, gripped her arms and moved her to a kneeling position.

“You will give me what I want,”  He growled an inch from her face.  Her body quivered in fear and shock.  “I even chose to stay in this guise for you.” 

Myin hadn’t really given it any thought, but she noted now that Michael was wearing Dean’s clothes.  His flannel and jeans, as opposed to Michael’s more dandy suit and cap.

“Did you think it would impress me?”  She all but spat in his face.

“No, sweetheart,”  He fumbled with the word as if it was unfamiliar.  “That is what this pretty face would’ve called you right?  No I wore this in the hopes that you would be more receptive to my request.”

Myin stared at him numbly.  She knew what he wanted.  And she knew that she could never give it to him.  She could never betray her friends like that.  Sam especially.  She was here in hiding to keep Sam safe.

“Never,”  She growled.

“I guess I had expected you to say that,”  Michael closed the space between them and kissed her unceremoniously.  She was so stunned that she hadn’t been ready when he bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Ow!” She cried as she pulled away as much as she could.

“Hm, I still don’t understand what these brothers see in you,”  He mused licking the blood on his lips.

“Myin?  Myin, wake up!”  Dean said as he shook her limp form gently.  She roused enough for panic to cross her face momentarily.  ‘No, no, no, no.  It’s okay, sweetheart.  I’m gonna save you.” 

Myin noted the tightness of bandaging on her shoulder where the gunshot wound was.  He had managed to stop her from bleeding out completely.  That didn’t seem like something that Michael would have done until after he had gotten what he wanted from her, unless she was going to die.  And while she felt pretty terrible, she didn’t think that she was that close to death’s door.

“Dean?  How?”  Myin muttered in confusion.

“You, I think whatever you did, send him away.  It brought me out,”  He was staring at her, concern etched his face.  “I think I did something horrible.  I think I killed Sam.”

Myin stared at Dean in disbelief.

“What?!”  Tears fell down her face as she thought about it.  It made sense that Michael would want Sam dead.  He was in the way, constantly causing issues for him using Dean.  And he stood between Michael and Myin.

“God, Myin.  What have I become?”  Dean looked down at his hands, which were shaking.

“It’s not your fault.  Michael was controlling you,”  She grabbed his hands.  “You can’t blame yourself.”

“But you do,”  Dean whispered.  “There is no way that you can prove to me otherwise.”

Myin didn’t hesitate.  She reached out and took Dean’s face in her hands, kissing him deeply.  It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but Dean’s entire demeanor changed regardless.

“Neither of them recovered after what happened when Dean came back from Hell, you know?”  

Michael sounded like he was going into a long prepared speech.

“What?” Myin asked shock registering on her face briefly.

“Sam said he understood why you went to his brother, he could never blame you.  After all he was with Ruby.  But he never did forgive you.  And as for Dean, well let’s just say that I can still feel his love for you.  It hasn’t gone away, it wasn’t a one time thing,”  Michael’s voice dripped with malice.

“You don’t know what your talking about.  You have no idea what love feels like!”  She did spit in his face this time, unable to control her rage.

Michael loosed his grip on her injured shoulder and smacked her cheek with his open hand.

“Enough, you will agree to give me what I want,”  He squeezed her arm.

A light bulb went off in her mind.  He needed her permission.  Just like any angel, he needed permission to be inside her.  Even if it wasn’t possession.

“No,”  She grimaced with resolve.

Michael’s hand moved back to her injury.  And he pressed his thumb against the wound.  Myin’s eyes rolled up in her head in pain.

“Say yes.”  He growled, his lips practically against hers.

“Never.”  She barely finished getting the word out, before Michael crushed his fist around her wound.

Myin gasped, shuddered, clenched her teeth.  She refused to scream for his pleasure.

“Give in!”  Michael shouted, the wet of his lips on hers.  She panted as he clutched her harder.

“DEAN!!”  Energy surged through her body, knocking Michael away from her and sending all the items nearby to explode away from her in a wave.  Myin stood as well as she could, and bolted for the door, running for the woods.

Dean kissed her back fiercely, with a groan.

“Michael was right,”  He pulled away from her slightly and leaned his head against hers.  “I still want you.”

A last tear trickled down Myin’s cheek, before Dean eased her onto her knees and crouched behind her.  He kissed her neck, and her uninjured shoulder, as he pulled her pants and panties down.  Two of his fingers pressed into her eagerly as she heard his other hand fiddle with his belt and zipper.

Warmth permeated her skin, it wasn’t a familiar sensation, but Myin enjoyed it nonetheless.  She breathed deeply, as his fingers stroked her damp center, then he removed his fingers and she felt his cock pressed against her cunt.

“Let me in?”  Dean asked quietly.  Myin was caught off guard by the question, normally Dean didn’t stand on so much ceremony.

“Dean I want you.”  She whispered, wiggling her hips slightly.  The pain in her shoulder had ebb significantly and she felt stronger, but also almost drunk in the way that her ears and cheeks were warm.

“I need to hear you say it.  Say you want me inside of you,”  Dean’s voice was strained, with restraint Myin was sure.  Still something about this was bothering her.  Expect she felt so good, she didn’t want to be without him.

“Yes, I want,”   She gasped at the squeeze Dean gave her hip.  “I want you inside of me.”

Dean pressed into her at an agonizingly slow pace, until she felt his hips press against her backside.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,”  Dean’s voice was definitely not right, Myin realized as her head started to clear.  “I finally win.”

Michael.

He pulled out to the tip before slamming back into her completely.  Myin almost screamed in the sudden fullness.  She was screwed, but literally and figuratively.  The warmth that had been suffusing her body focused in her mind as the blue-white glow of Michael’s grace filled her being.

Myin had never felt so full in her life.  She felt stretched past her limits and tears fell from her cheeks again.  She realized Michael had healed her body to prepare for the onslaught of thrusts that he was now giving her.  Dean’s cock in her cunt slipping in her natural juices.

How had she been such a fool.  She should have known it was a trick.  He had told her that he needed her to make a child.  She assumed it was the only way that he felt he could defeat Jack.  

All she had to do was remain abstinent until Michael was gone.

She began to pant as her orgasm built slowly.  She didn’t want to cum because of Michael, even if it was Dean’s cock.  His use of the man’s anatomy was poor in comparison to Dean, but it was still good enough.

“Dean wants you to cum on his cock,”  Michael growled at your ear.  “He wants it even though he knows he isn’t in control of his body.  You humans are disgusting with all your bodily fluids and functions,”  Michael smacked her ass, in an almost Dean like fashion.  “Needing to get this man’s body inside of you to get what I need,”  He choked like he almost enjoyed it.

“If it’s so,”  Myin gasped as his hips missed the beat.  “So horrible, why do it?”

“Want you too much,”  Myin almost surfaced.  That was Dean’s voice, not Michael.

“Dean?”  She asked, hopeful.

“I’ve got you sweetheart,”  Dean reached a hand around and started to rub her clit.  “I think I beat him.”

“You,”  She sighed in pleasure as her orgasm started to crest.  “You have to pull out.”

Myin fell over the edge in orgasm.  Dean stuttered and started to pull out, but the grip of his hand on her hips redoubled and she knew Michael took over as he sunk his cock into her deeply.

“Just needed a little help figuring this body out,”  Michael’s lip curled as he held her against him.

“Hey!”  Sam’s voice echoed from somewhere behind Myin, and a sob of relief and guilt escaped her mouth as Michael dropped her onto her hands and knees.

“You’re too late.  I’ve got what I came for.”  And with that Michael left in a flutter of wings.  Myin fell to her belly in the dirt sobbing for the emotional abuse she suffered at the Angel’s hand, and for the betrayal of Sam’s love.  He would never understand, and she didn’t even know if she wanted to explain it to him.

Sam’s big hand found her body and she flinched slightly.  He pulled her clothes up gently then pulled her up into his lap to console her.

“Sam,  I’m so,”  Myin trailed off, not feeling the words she knew she needed to tell him.

“It’s okay.  I know,”  Sam rubbed his beard against the top of her head.  “You don’t need to be sorry for something that was out of your control.”

Myin couldn’t manage the strength to tell him that despite the horror of the situation, she had wanted Dean anyway.

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

[brideylee]

Chateau Quarantine

                 Sophia Coppola smokes a cigarette while she waits for an omelette she has no intention of eating.  It’s a gloomy marine layered morning, you can barely see across Sunset. She’s been in lock down for three weeks and while she normally loves the moody, brooding decadence of the Chateau Marmont, its elite solitude is giving her a bit too much time to reflect. She thinks about the concept of crying as she watches a long torso-ed model skinny dip in the pool from the penthouse. There are no rules anymore, not that there were many in the first place. The hotel was shuttered to the public as of three weeks ago, and those who were already there could stay indefinitely. Sophia lives alone in the tower suite with the three bedrooms and the wrap around porch, known by some as “the Deniro”, but Robert himself couldn’t tell you why. Any legends or gossip about the Chateau were just bread crumbs to keep the public hungry and mystified. The real Chateau for the privileged few who used it, was an unceremonious respite for excessive loneliness, addiction, and often not great sex. The Chateau had a reputation: look but don’t fuck. Everyone’s genitals were rendered useless from anti-depressants.

               She thought she would be filming by now. Her cast is stranded too, with little guidance other than “we’ll wait it out.” The film she wanted to make stars Hugh Grant and Ewan McGregor as two estranged brothers coming together for their father’s funeral. Iman was set to the play the mysterious woman who shows up at the funeral who they then realize was their father’s mistress. It was going to be a slow movie about the brothers coming to terms with their father’s death and equally so falling in love with the woman he hid from them. All this would be suggested through intimate long takes, and funny, stylish, improvised montages. Always subtle and romantic without the sap, this was the tight rope Sophia liked to balance on.  At the end of the movie, both brothers are mildly changed, but not entirely. She has a sweet spot for the immovability of people’s psyches, particularly men. 

Sophia watches impartially, as the naked model floats on her back in the calm pool. It is so cold and early to swim, is she on drugs or is everyone at this place even more numb than they think? She wondered if her film was too male, too disembodied from her personally to mean anything.  Tapping into the male gaze, was an ability she was born with. Her father’s point of view was all she interacted with as a kid, and the underside of his specialties became her focus: the lost parts of men when they are too weak to hold up the heavy crown of their egos, who they were when they could let themselves feel outside of their work. But given the state of the world, and the molasses nature of time during lock down, Sophia started to question if what she always found to be her strength was just simply trauma. Was her whole profession a way to resolve some genetic creative stifling that took place in the shadow of her dad? Surely her body of work contains more than that. It’s not all a selfish attempt at repair. Is any art not selfish? "Maybe I should make a different movie, something that everyones gonna like for once.” She thinks to herself.  Thank God, her goat cheese omelette has arrived.

             Later on, the gothic lobby is empty besides the cast of her film and the elegant model behind the reception desk standing like a hollow sculpture, frightened by the chaos that lurks outside. Ewan McGregor, drunk off of five Marmont Mules, is showing Hugh Grant an app that maps the stars and constellations. Ewan has gone on and on about a camping trip he took around Scotland and how amazing the stars were, but when pressed for details about where exactly he was or what he saw or what year he did this, he can’t seem to remember anything at all.But that doesn’t dampen his excitement about the app. “See, that, there is Orion’s belt!” Ewan enthusiastically points out, his cute smirk displaying his bottom row of sweet corn kernel teeth. Ewan just recently learned about the stars. Until the age of 47, Ewan had been referring to them as “night freckles.” Many think this is why he didn’t have a fun time acting in  Star Wars, space simply befuddled him. Hugh and Ewan are dressed exactly the same: navy blue beanie, black jeans, a tight blue thermal, and desert boots- the actor man uniform they give you after you play opposite Nicole Kidman or Renee Zellweger.

“That’s brilliant,” says Hugh Grant completely perplexed by the app and confused at Ewan’s rambling. Hugh sticks a handkerchief up his nostril with his pointer finger and wiggles it around somewhat violently. Iman clocks this with a blink of disgust, her silk, gold blouse  glistens with god-like royalty in the amber glow.  “Can you turn your face away? That’s how the virus is spreading.” Her voice is deep and she rarely uses it because it changes the direction of the wind and messes with the tides.  “Aw, fuck me. That’s right, isn’t it?” Hugh Grant turns away and starting blowing his nose and coughing obnoxiously. Hugh is acting like a resentful brat because he knows he wont be able to have Iman. He decides he’s gonna pick a fight with Sandra Bullock via face time later to blow off steam. Iman is thinking she was right all along, she should never have agreed to this. She was already sick of the “beanie twins”. 

Hugh had been rattling on about how the movie needed a sex scene or at least a sexy scene and went on to say that Sophia had some sort of block. Iman felt that both Ewan and Hugh, however innocently, were exploiting their acting roles to gain real life experience, and there was no way in hell, she was going to kiss either of them.  Her kiss would make them immortal and Iman knew their souls needed more lifetimes to grow. Plus, she liked the script the way it was- underwritten and open for interpretation. Her character is symbolic of the side of their dad they didn’t get to meet-  spiritual, graceful, embodied. It was a soulful choice not to show any nudity or sex, one that could lead Americans to try to use whats left of their iPhone stolen imaginations.

                Meanwhile Michael Cain, who was supposed to play the dead father, is staring at the beautiful Victorian tapestry hanging behind her. “It’s like it’s right out of the Cloister’s.” Michael says under his breath. Michael is sweet, Iman thinks as she watches him stare at the tapestry with wonder, his mouth agape, and a lil warm milk spilling out of his left eye. Iman and him have known each other for years and he always reminded her of her husband: his fierce devotion to his craft, his rigorous intellectuality that does a bad job hiding an animalistic sexuality. Both men contained so much and no one can handle a man like that besides a mystical siren like Iman. 

Hugh and Ewan’s chatter dies as their drinks empty. “If I were to be honest with myself…” Hugh begins. “Better later than never…” Michael Cain interrupts without cracking a smile,  a dryness a la Maggie Smith. In fact, fuck, this was Maggie Smith. No one had realized. Hugh winks at Michael/ Maggie and continues. “ I don’t think were going to be filming any time soon, folks. I think we are being held hostage a bit by Miss Coppola.” Ewan stares off with a thinking face like no one has  ever had a deeper thought before. “That is interesting to think about. There is some kind of bratty assumption that all this will fade away soon enough. And we’ll be back on set. But what if it’s not for another year or so?”  Ewan is really getting worked up “What if we live here for the rest of our lives!!” His eyes are big and dazzling, it’s like he’s thinking of the most ideal outcome for the rest of his life.

               Suddenly, Sophia joins them at the table. “There they are, my little hunchbacks!” This is what Sophia affectionately calls her actors, the origin is unknown. Sophia has a strange new confidence around her. Usually, when she walked into places, she would feel like a Nat Sherman cigarette, like only some select tall New Yorkers in the back would still appreciate her. “Hello, love! Someone slept well.” Maggie Smith as Michael Caine chirped. Even when Maggie-Michael said something sweet, it still felt like someone was aggressively tickling your ribcage. 

          “I have news.” Sophia sits down, and smiled large and toothy, a stark contrast to her usual chic, despondent stare,  a look only afforded  to artists born with trust funds. “We’re not making the movie.” Hugh taps the table. “Well, I believe I won that bet.” Ewan’s jaw drops, destroyed. “You mean we cant live here together forever?” He runs his hands through his hair, petrified. Iman is quiet, which can mean many different things and all things at once, she is eternally the glory of God, a forgotten pyramid at the bottom of the ocean that if unearthed would explode us into 5D ascension. 

 “We are making a better movie! A super hero movie!!” Sophia exclaims. Sophia gets up close in the faces of her cast, pitching them on her new idea. “It’ll be a real heroes journey- good guys versus evil! Fun CGI! Sexy starlets and fun on trend jokes!” She turns to Michael Maggie, her mouth inches away from their milky eye, and says- “And much much more!” Sophia climbs up on the table now. “The adults will love it, as well as the little ones!” She does an Irish jig and starts spinning around and then poses with her arms up as though at the end of a musical.  It was not fun to watch.  Iman cuts her off-“I don’t trust what is happening.This is not reality. This is delusion. A karmic spell.” The power of Iman’s words blows the power out of the Chateau, pipes burst, the fire alarm goes off, and Joel Madden of Good Charlotte in room 304 stops jerking off for a second. Sophia is still catching her breath from her presentation, her sweating, arms stretched to the ceiling. She gulps as her eyes meet Iman’s. “Why don’t you just write from my character’s point of view?” Iman says as softly as she can without causing chaos.   Sophia freezes. Her whole body calcifies and turns to ice, then crumbles onto the table. Ewan and Hugh watch in absolute horror as Iman drops some of the ice into her water. She knows she shouldn’t have said yes to this project and looks on lovingly at Michael/ Maggie who has dozed off. 

[spaceskam]

I Put A Spell On You (a magical au)

Summary: People are going missing and Michael decides this is his problem to solve.

she’s here! long and finished! special thanks to @lire-casander who read a completely out of context scene for this becuase I was having doubts. Hope you all enjoy!

ao3

“What’s wrong?”

Liz Ortecho sniffled and looked up to Michael with eyes that screamed ‘why, are you going to explode?’, but she didn’t say it out loud because Liz Ortecho was nice. She was the only one aside from Isobel who didn’t treat him like a toddler playing with a gun instead of a ball.

“It’s my sister,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. Michael looked over to Isobel who was nose deep in a book on German Spells because ‘you never know when you’ll need it’. He sat down in front of Liz. “She… she always reaches out to me every single day, but it’s been three days and I think something bad happened.”

“Like what?” Michael asked. 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t go looking for trouble. What was the point of being the Chosen One if you didn’t help everyone you could? Yeah, he was a shitty Chosen One when it came to controlling his magic or casting spells or not accidentally murdering fantastical creatures that sneak up on him, but he could fight and Isobel was super clever with her magic. Together they could solve any problem. 

Even this super vague one involving Liz Ortecho’s sister.

“I don’t know,” she said, “She’s just gone. It’s like… It’s like she vanished.”

Michael couldn’t help himself as he spent the rest of the day thinking about it. A magician was missing. That felt like Chosen One business. A magician doesn’t just go missing, just like a magician doesn’t just give up their children. Michael wasn’t an anomaly and he didn’t think Rosa Ortecho was either.

“Are you sick? I’ve never seen you eat less than two plates of food,” Isobel said, destroying his train of thought, “Please tell me you’re not thinking of Alex again, you really need to stop being scared of him.” He looked up to her with inquisitive eyes and ignoring her statement.

“Have you ever heard of a magician just, like, disappearing?” he asked. Isobel narrowed her eyes at him.

“What did you do?”

Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “I did nothing, but I was talking to Liz and apparently her sister is missing. That’s weird, right? Have you ever heard of a magician going missing?”

Isobel shrugged, deciding not to mention that he’d said he spoke to Liz Ortecho. Her twin, Max,  had been obsessed with her since she first graced the campus and she’d never given him the time of day. That gave her a healthy distaste of the girl, though Micahel was sure it had more to do with the fact Max turned into an idiot when she was around.

“I’m sure there’s more, but the only one I can think of off the top of my head is Noya Manes because that was, like, huge mage news when it happened.”

“Like ex-headmaster Noya Manes?”

“The one and only.”

Michael furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t know that she disappeared. It wasn’t really spoken about. It probably didn’t help that he had only joined the World of Mages, like, a few years prior. He didn’t know much about the history of anything. He didn’t really pay attention in history class either.

“Okay, so a headmaster and a random young mage go missing a million years apart. Cool,” Michael sighed.

He wanted to help, he really did. He hadn’t done anything helpful in over 8 months and it was starting to weigh on him. Even then, that event had pissed a couple of people off. They were having class outside and a giant cerberus had made its way onto the grounds and was snarling with all teeth bared. A few other people did their best to send spells to make it run away, but it didn’t work.

So Michael blew it up.

Most people were at least semi-thankful he stopped it from tearing them apart, but a handful of people were very upset that he killed it and Alex Manes had made a point to tell him he was an idiot. Still, he got praise for it from The Mage which felt like a win.

Now he needed to do something REALLY good. He needed to solve a mystery and save the girl and figure everything out. He needed to know everything.

-

Alex rolled his eyes when he entered his room to find Guerin surrounded in papers and looking more intense than he should be.

“Are you actually studying for once?” Alex said, eyeing the curly-headed boy he’d been forced to share a room with for the last seven years. He didn’t think he would ever be able to overcome to grief his father gave him when he found out as if it was his fault that the crucible paired him with the defective Chosen One.

When Guerin ignored him, he just went into the bathroom.

Alex had fuzzy memories of his childhood, mostly of his father insisting that he didn’t turn into a shit mage. He’d gone on and on for longer than Alex could remember about how he and his mother only planned on one child, one child to dedicate all their magic into.

And then they had Alex instead.

He wasn’t spectacular as a child, he wasn’t like Guerin. He didn’t have natural, raw magic that seeped out of his skin like sweat. His was trained and honed and he was good. He was never the most powerful naturally, but he practiced like no other and that made him a force to be reckoned with. You’d think his father would be proud.

“I should’ve become The Mage after your mother,” his father would say, almost as if he was giving some big villain monologue at the end of a season of Buffy, “But, instead, Jim swept it out from under me. The Manes are meant for that, not Jim fucking Valenti.”

Jim fucking Valenti was actually nice, though. Alex had to give him that. He was nice in a way that he tried his best and did what he thought was good for the coven. For example, when a Normal suddenly burst full of magic 7 years ago, The Mage happily took him in as his heir and gifted him a magical heirloom in the form of his necklace.

Which was really nice of him if you didn’t talk about the part where he had a son of his own that was the same age and was gifted a shitty, store-bought wand.

Kyle‒The Mage’s actual son‒wasn’t bad. He didn’t seem to hold much jealousy of Guerin‒the Normal with magic‒even though he had every right to. It helped that Kyle didn’t really have an interest in magic in the first place. It was almost pathetic, but it made him easier to be around. He was the only person who didn’t seem to view Guerin as some sort of God.

The prophecy had stated that a mage with unparalleled power would come and be the savior of the magical word. It was vague as all hell and the fact that everyone so willingly accepted that it was Guerin felt suspicious. Alex could count a million reasons on how Guerin was so unremarkable and obviously a Normal. However, he couldn’t deny the power he radiated. That was definitely unparalleled and that had to be why people were accepting of it.

Sleeping hardly four feet away from a boy who felt like an atom bomb of magic for seven years had been… interesting to say the least. He was always buzzing if not glowing. Everything he was was under the surface of his skin, burning to get out and almost becoming unbearable to be around for any mage too sensitive to the feeling of magic. Alex had seen teachers request he be moved out of their class because the simple presence of him was too much. As annoying as Guerin was, Alex didn’t think he could ever understand that.

Feeling Guerin’s power felt like a privilege that he couldn’t get enough of.

Alex stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, fully dressed in his sleep clothes to see Guerin dead asleep. He was still surrounded in those papers, one of which was smashed against his cheek and the bed. His curls spilled over and reached over the edge of the bed in an annoyingly natural fashion. His lips were slightly parted and, for a moment, he looked peaceful. The boy never looked peaceful when he was awake because he always had this need to fulfill his duty by getting into shit he shouldn’t. Like that time Alex lured him into the woods and then Guerin “saved” him from a chimera whenever it was supposed to be attacking Guerin. He could be so spectacularly stupid sometimes.

Hating Guerin was easy. He was dense on the best of days and horrifically positive about everything. He weaseled his way into every situation under the sun and felt pride when all he could do was destroy everything in his wake. He would follow people if he had a “feeling” and he and his little lackey Isobel Evans would find themselves in genuinely horrible situations. Last year, they got kidnapped by a crew of rogue werecoyotes‒Alex still wasn’t sure how they got free. He was infuriating and instigating and powerful beyond belief. Yes, hating him was easy.

But trying not to be hopelessly in love with him was a burden Alex was still trying to fight.

-

Michael crossed the bridge out of Watford with ease.

There was a bar not too far outside of Watford that had its doors open for any magical creature that was willing to place nice. Michael liked it there better than any other place in the world. He was an oddity, but no one there treated him like that because they were too. He’d met vampires and werewolves and sea monsters with legs. He’d met people who were hundreds of years old and others who were surprisingly young for how they looked. He loved it there.

The owner of the bar was easily one of the most powerful mages he’d ever met‒Mimi DeLuca. She was the one who made it easier for him to get over the bridge in the first place. He always asked her why she chose to run a bar instead of being on the political side of the world and she said she didn’t care for it. She didn’t care for Watford and she didn’t care for the judgment that came with the title of being a magician. She just wanted to be. Michael envied that.

“Well if it isn’t Michael Guerin. Haven’t seen you in a while,” Maria, Mimi’s daughter, said when he walked through the doors. She was pretty and kind and Michael had tried so, so hard to figure out how to tell her that. He was bad at it. He was bad at a lot of things. Mimi and Maria were the only ones who didn’t seem to mind.

“I know, I’ve been busy,” he said, leaning onto the counter. She smiled at him that pretty smile and got him a drink that he was technically too young to have. Maria was a year older than him but had never actually gone to Watford. Mimi had said she never even considered sending her, but Maria had told him that she wouldn’t have been let in and so it saved her the heartache. Apparently, Maria’s father was a Normal and so, in the eyes of a lot of mages, so was she.

Michael knew that was bullshit. With the snap of her fingers, his drink poured itself. She was powerful as hell.

“Is your mom around?” he asked, still smiling at her. Maria gave him that look that she gave him often. He felt that urge to tell her she was pretty again, to reach across the counter and kiss her. He’d only kissed one person in his life and it was pretty unspectacular. Maria felt like she could be spectacular.

“Always looking for my mom and not me,” she said. Michael leaned a bit closer.

“I could look for you,” he said, “If you wanted.”

“Now I would know that hair anywhere.” Michael immediately looked towards the voice and saw Mimi walking towards him with open arms. He fell into them easily. She was his favorite person in the world aside from Isobel. She always hugged him like it was the best part of the day. It was for him.

“Hi,” he said dumbly, not letting go of the hug until a few seconds after she did. She grabbed his face in her hands and he couldn’t help but smile up at her.

“Now, why didn’t you stay around here for the summer? I told you that you’re always welcome and you didn’t even stop by for months! I haven’t seen you since June! That’s four months too long,” she doted, pushing back his hair.

“I stayed with the Evans’ for a little while,” he lied. The Mage had this policy where he wanted him to go back to group homes during the summer, saying he didn’t want him to lose his connection to the normal world. That was what made him the Chosen One. He’d gotten more than a little irritated when he found out that he’d stayed with the DeLuca’s a few summers prior. “I had a question for you, s’why I came.”

“Mm, can’t even come for the luxury of our company,” Maria teased. Mimi squeezed his cheeks between her hands lightly before letting him go and sitting beside him.

“What’s the question, love?” Mimi smiled, stealing the drink Maria had made for him.

“So, I’ve been doing some research for a project,” he said, “About Noya Manes. I can’t figure out why she could’ve possibly gone missing. I didn’t know mages could go missing. I figured you’d be the best person to ask if there was anyone else.”

Mimi went silent as she stared at him. Then she looked around the bar and then gestured for him to follow her into the back. Maria stayed to man the bar.

“What exactly did you find out?” Mimi asked him hesitantly as they slipped into the backroom. Michael shrugged, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to hear what she knew.

“Nothing much,” he said, “Just that Noya Manes disappeared on October 31st twelve years ago. And, you remember Rosa Ortecho? She went missing October 13th this year. And I was doing research and I found a couple of other people that went missing through the years, but there was nothing done about it. I figured you would know more about anyone that might’ve gone missing.” Mimi watched him with nervous eyes.

“Michael, is this for a project or are you trying to be the hero again?” she asked. He didn’t answer. “I know you think you need to search for trouble because you’re the Chosen One, but I really wish you would stop running into things. It makes me so nervous.”

“But what if this is my thing? I’m supposed to, like, save the World of Mages. What if this is it? I mean, all these mages have been going missing for years. It has to mean something,” he said. She sighed and stared at him a little bit longer.

“Is Isobel working on this with you?” Mimi accused. Michael shook his head. Because she wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. He was trying to find all the evidence he could before bringing it to Isobel and then she would just kinda piece it all together because she did that really well. “Listen, Michael, I think this is something you should keep your distance from.”

“Why?” he prodded, “What do you know?”

Her face was grim and she looked around again, like she thought someone might listen. She leaned close.

“I know at least two magicians go missing every October. They’re always powerful, powerful people,” she explained, that fearful look in her eyes again. “You need to stay away from looking into this. You don’t need to draw attention to yourself.”

“I mean, how much more attention could I possibly bring to myself?” Michael asked, “I’m already the Chosen One. If they’re gonna come after me, I might as well be prepared, right?”

Mimi stared at him for a long time before she held up a finger and went to rummage in the closet. He furrowed his eyebrows but stayed put as she’d said. The DeLuca’s were incredibly quirky and after years and years of being around them, he decided to stop questioning them.

She returned with a sword that, despite being shoved in the back of a closet, still seemed to glisten with pride.

“This is The Sword of Mages,” she said and his eyes widened. He’d heard of it before, something that had been allegedly lost to time within one of the old families. Yet, here it was in the closet of what was decidedly not an old family.

“How do you have this?” he asked, holding his hands out flat and being careful as she handed it to him.

“I stole it,” she admitted and a smile found his lips, “When I was your age, Jesse Manes told me I could never be as powerful as he was because I was a girl. So I stole this sword from his grandfather. Not sure he even knew it was there, but I did and that’s all that matters.”

Michael checked that it was okay with her before he ran his fingers over the blade. It hummed with his touch, almost like it was meant just for his touch. He looked back up at Mimi with wide eyes. She smiled wearily.

“This sword fits right into your side if it’s for you‒it appears into your hand whenever you need it,” Mimi said, “If you’re going to be chasing down some power-hungry monster, I want to know that I did my best to make sure you can protect yourself.

“But, Mimi, I‒”

“Go on, see if it fits,” she urged. Michael tried not to smile too big just in case and thought about it molding into him.

It did.

She smiled again, though it seemed to be disguising a whole bunch of fear and worry. He tried not to seem too excited. It fit. The Sword of Mages was his to have.

Not even a Manes could claim that.

-

The pile of papers on Guerin’s bed was becoming unbearable.

Alex had never allowed himself to believe that Guerin would ever be genuinely tidy, but this was becoming even worse than it had in the last few years. He’d genuinely considered casting a spell to clean it up and then thought about a spell to just make it be thrown away so it couldn’t get like that again. Instead, he settled on just picking up the papers off the floor so they wouldn’t get wet shoe-prints on them due to it being spectacularly rainy and knowing Guerin couldn’t pull off a spell to dry himself.

He was being nice today.

All the papers seemed to be neatly torn from books or were nicely cut from articles in newspapers. They were of all sorts of people‒people that Alex had never fucking heard of. He didn’t even think they were magicians and, if they were, they weren’t important enough to be spoken about in the magical world.

Well, most of them.

He landed on one paper that had almost been tucked beneath Guerin’s bed that seemed to be the only one from a mage’s newsletter. The only reason he knew that was because it had a picture of his mother on it, cradling him as a baby. There was another, bigger picture that was just of his mother, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the one with him in it. He’d never seen it before. Granted, his father had taken it upon himself to rid their house of his mother’s presence, but…

The article was about her disappearance.

It was about how she brought her son, James Alexander Tiberius Manes, to the nursery at Watford on Halloween, went into her office, and then never came back out. They’d searched the entire room and the halls and the windows and everything, but there was no sign of anything. She’d just disappeared.

Alex was overcome with sadness as he stared at the picture. He didn’t really remember her very well. He was four when she went missing and that didn’t leave much room for his memory. The few times his father had spoken about her, it’d been mainly about how she was ill and he should’ve known he was marrying into a flight risk. She was powerful and smart, but she didn’t care about her family. But, looking at the picture, she seemed to care about him. She was smiling at him in a way his dad never had. She looked like she loved him. He wondered if she would’ve been nicer than he was. She was certainly prettier.

She had long, dark hair that was slicked back into a low ponytail in both pictures. Her skin was darker than his own, though he seemed to be darker when he was a baby than he was now. He had her nose and her eyes. That irrefutable longing seeped into his veins again as he thought about her. He missed her dearly, even if he hardly remembered her in the first place. He loved her more than life itself. He had to.

However, he was then rudely thrown back to the realization that Michael fucking Guerin had an article of her on his floor.

Alex tried to keep his cool as he used a fine-tooth comb for his mother’s name in all of Guerin’s bullshit. Tons and tons of results came to him, the most damning being a notebook that had a page where literally the only thing written on it was his mother’s name, date of disappearance, and, in parentheses, Alex’s mom.

Alex sat for a moment and tried to calm down.

There had to be a rational explanation for this. Guerin had been pouring over these papers for over a week now and it seemed to be important. Of course, Guerin seemed to think everything he did was important. And, besides that, he shouldn’t have been looking into Alex’s mother. That wasn’t his business. Nothing was his business.

He had two options. He could go find him now or he could wait until Guerin got back. Logically, he knew he should wait. The threat of the anathema would help him keep his hands to himself. Possibly. He wanted to murder someone. Well, not someone, Guerin.

Another hour or two passed before Guerin returned and it left far too much time for Alex to create wild ideas for why Guerin had so much about his mother. Hell, he went through all of the papers he had. It was tons about missing persons, all in October, all for seemingly no reason.

Guerin opened the door and immediately froze when he saw Alex waiting for him like an angry father.

“You have about fifteen seconds to explain why you are researching my mother before I strangle you,” Alex demanded. Guerin just stared at him.

He did this thing when he was trying to think up an idea where he’d just stare all wide-eyed and beautiful. His curls would hang towards his eyes and his cheeks would turn all red. Alex hated it. Part of him wanted to kill him and the other wanted to kiss him senseless. Not that either of those would go well.

Alex stalked towards him, ready to threaten him with a little more animosity when a sword appeared out of nowhere and was pointed at his chest. Alex immediately jumped back, glaring at the boy who looked almost feral as he held a sword towards Alex.

“Are you stupid?! Are you trying to get thrown out of Watford?” The anathema was simple. You hurt your roommate, you get physically thrown out of the room and banned from the school. Simple as that.

Alex hadn’t actually heard of anyone breaking it since he was there, but he wouldn’t put it past Guerin to be the first.

“You said you were going to kill me!” Guerin defended, lowering the sword but still not putting it back where it came from. Wherever it came from.

Alex took a slow breath, doing his best not to fucking lose it. “It’s called a veiled threat, you idiot.”

“You’ve tried to kill me before, how was I supposed to know?!” Guerin whined. Alex pinched the bridge of his nose.

He’d never tried to kill him before. Hurt him? Yes, but never kill. Had that been a side effect, though, he wouldn’t have been too angry about it. He hated the way he felt towards the Chosen One. If he was gone, then it’d make things easier.

Not that that had any significance now.

“Just tell me why you’re researching my mother,” he demanded, “And put that sword away.”

“I know how to use it,” Guerin threatened still. Alex rolled his eyes, though he knew it was true. After a few too many times of him getting into shitty circumstances, The Mage had taught him a few different ways to fight. Alex still could picture how sweaty he’d get and how his shirt would stick to his skin and how fantastic he looked while swinging around the sword he kept beneath his bed.

Those were good days.

“Will you stop being a child?” Alex sighed, hoping to push away the stupid thoughts. “Tell me.”

The sword melded into Guerin’s side and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The act was shocking, but Alex didn’t allow himself to show his shock. Like he’d grant him that.

Guerin was quiet for a moment longer and Alex considered just killing him right then anyways. It was irritating. His question was simple and yet he was still being denied an answer.

“Guerin, I swear to‒”

“Alright!” Guerin said, taking a big breath, “I think there’s a massive conspiracy happening and everyone is too scared to do anything about it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen!” Guerin said, moving fast to grab all the papers, “All these people are mages that have gone missing over the last twelve years! It all started with your mother, but every October after that, at least two have gone missing. And they’re all-powerful, so I think someone may have found a way to steal power or something and they’re just using them. Or, or something. I don’t know. I haven’t gotten past the research part of just trying to put them all in order. I want to get a comprehensive list of every single one, you know?”

Guerin kept rambling, speaking as if they were friends for some reason. Alex could barely wrap his head around everything.

“Wait, stop,” he said, holding out his hand, “You think my mother was kidnapped?”

For years, Alex had been told his mother had just ran away. There was no sign of foul play. She had made sure he was somewhere safe and everything before she went. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes!” Guerin exclaimed, throwing his arms out and he looked excited about this revelation. Any other moment, Alex might’ve acknowledged how cute he looked. Today, he just glared.

“You are sick.”

“No, listen,” Guerin said, stepping closer. He smelled of sage and mint, courtesy of Watford provided soap and toothpaste. He exuded power. Alex felt like he was standing in front of a bonfire. “As soon as I can put all the pieces together, I’m gonna find your mother.”

“You?” Alex scoffed, shaking his head. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, Guerin could do it. As reckless as he was, he was usually successful. He always did what he set out to do. “Alone?”

“Yes,” he said, “Well, and Isobel.”

“Why do you even think my mother is involved in this? Why do you think she’s still alive? Why do you think any of this?” Alex demanded.

“She fits the pattern and I think she was just the beginning. I’m not saying she’s still alive or anything, Alex, I’m just saying I don’t think she left you because she wanted to,” Guerin said. Alex wondered if he knew how much his words felt like a punch in the face. “Don’t you want to know for sure? Don’t you want to find out if something bad happened? And, if it did, don’t you want to make them pay?”

“If you’re right,” Alex said, stepping into Guerin’s space to seem threatening. It only seemed to backfire though as it just filled Alex’s mind with inappropriate thoughts. “Why would I leave that to you to solve?”

Guerin’s eyes seemed to widen in realization. “You wanna help?”

Alex thought about saying no, but he realized that’s actually what he wanted to do. If someone had taken his mother, he wanted to be the one to get justice. He didn’t want Guerin to be the one to do that. This was his battle to fight.

“Yes.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me?” Guerin asked. Alex rolled his eyes and held out his hand.

“Truce, for the time being. I’ll be civil if you help me figure out what happened to my mother,” he said, “Because if there’s even a chance that you’re right, then I’m not going to stop you. But you can’t pull swords on me either.”

Guerin hesitantly grabbed his hand and shook. Neither of them let go as they stared at each other for a moment.

Alex could feel his body filling up with dread.

“Truce.”

-

Michael was extremely distracted as he made his way towards The Mage’s office.

He couldn’t get over the fact that he had a truce with Alex Manes. It felt weird or like a trick. He’d spent nearly seven years a few feet away from a boy who hated his guts and now they were working together. Michael was waiting for the moment Alex turned on him, even though that really wouldn’t benefit him at all. They were looking for his mother‒ he wouldn’t betray him while doing that.

Right?

Michael had always had a sneaking suspicion that Alex wanted him dead, but that was confirmed last year when he pushed him down the stairs. Well, technically he punched him in the face after Michael had accused him of stealing his necklace and they just so happened to be by the stairs‒but he still sent him down a flight of stairs. It was confirmation enough.

But now they were working together. What could possibly go wrong?

“Sir?” Michael called as he knocked on the door. This was his last stop before he bundled up his information and brought it to Isobel for her to work her magic on. Well, not literally. Or, actually, possibly literally.

When he stepped inside, he saw not one but two men in the office. The Mage was sitting behind his desk with that ever-present grim look on his face and, across from him, sat a man Michael recognized as Jesse Manes. He looked mean. He always did.

The two of them had gone to Michael together after his magical outburst when he was 10. They’d apparently done a lot of research into the Chosen One together and, when they felt him, they knew it was him. Mr. Manes always kept his distance, though, and treated him more as a science experiment than anything else. It wasn’t much of a secret that he hated him, hated his power.

Michael had asked The Mage why he disliked him so much when he was young and he’d gotten a story of how Jesse Manes had always desired of being the creator of the Chosen One if not the Chosen One himself. He was simply jealous that someone else had the pleasure of being that. That seemed like a good enough explanation.

“Yes, Michael?” The Mage asked. Michael looked between the two men and thought about the risks of asking this question in front of Jesse Manes. As mean as he looked, he never really felt like a threat.

“I need to ask you a really important question,” Michael said. If The Mage felt it was okay to say something super important in front of Jesse Manes, then he assumed it was. So, when The Mage nodded, he took that as a sign of ‘all clear’. “Did you know that Rosa Ortecho went missing?”

Both men seemed suddenly interested in what he had to say.

“What do you mean, missing?”

“I mean she disappeared. Just vanished,” Michael said, “Do you know what might’ve happened?”

The Mage slowly stood. He wore regular slacks and a button-up shirt rather than the classic Headmaster robe that everyone before him wore. It made him both more and less relatable.

“Is this your not-so-subtle way of trying to tell me that you’re going digging in something out of your depth?” The Mage asked, “What did I tell you about digging?”

“No,” he promised even though it was a lie, “Just… Liz was sad and I was wondering if you had any information.”

The two men shared a look.

“You have a crush on the Ortecho girl?” Mr. Manes asked. Michael blinked his confusion. Then oh and perfect.

He smiled as shyly as he could manage. “I just don’t like seeing her all sad, you know?”

“Rosa Ortecho was a troubled girl,” The Mage said, “I’m sure she just ran away. I wouldn’t worry too badly about it.”

Michael looked between them. They seemed honest enough, so he nodded. So much for getting any information from him. Of all people, you’d think The Mage would’ve noticed the string of mages going missing. Then again, he probably is distracted by a million other things.

“Okay, thanks,” he said.

“Michael,” The Mage called before he could leave, “Don’t go digging, okay? Just focus on school. This is your last year.”

Michael nodded, but he had no intention to listen.

-

“I need to talk to you about a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A very important thing.”

Michael ignored the look on her face as he stole a few fries off her plate. He wanted to give her the rundown of information while they were eating alone so that, whenever she came to the room later, she didn’t have to deal with Alex being in the know too. That would be a lot.

It was already a lot between

“Well, are you going to leave me hanging or what?” Isobel asked. He smiled at her.

“So, you know how Rosa Ortecho went missing?” he started. She gave him a look.

“Michael Guerin, what are we getting into this time?”

Before he could even answer, screaming started echoing through the courtyard followed by people running away. Michael took that as his cue and his sword was quickly in his hand.

“Wha‒Michael, where did you get that from?!” Isobel demanded, tone more motherly than anything else.

Michael searched the courtyard for whatever was scaring the masses and found his answer in the form of a giant flying fucking lion. The manticore swooped and growled and landed a few yards away. Its eyes were trained on Michael, both eerily human and utterly animalistic. The scorpion-like tail whipped around and it started gearing up to pounce.

magic bubbled inside Michael, seering to the top layer of his skin and begging to be released. And it didn’t really wait for his consent. His skin was glowing and the sword did too, unintentionally becoming an extended part of his skin. He was ready for a fight.

“Back off!” he shouted and… basically, nothing happened. He felt Isobel’s thin hands grip his shoulders.

“Michael!” she seethed.

“Go away, go hide,” he told her, backing up just a little as the manticore seemed to laugh at his attempt.

“Like hell,” she scoffed, drawing her wand and pointing it over his shoulder. “Stand your ground!”

As if to mock her spell, the manticore immediately flew upwards. The wings were swinging heavy enough that it was hard to stand near, pushing them back. Michael was trying his best to think of what to do, but he was confused as to what it was trying to do. He’d never seen a manticore in real life before, they are supposed to be just creatures that hate humans as a whole so they stay away. But, here it was, at fucking Watford and doing things.

Before Michael could figure out what the best course of action was, it chose for him by sending a fucking spike from its tail that only didn’t hit them because Isobel was quick enough to deter it. Michael stared, trying to block out the screaming from his classmates while simultaneously trying not to explode it like he did that cerberus last year.

“Leave me alone!” Michael yelled and Isobel clutched him harder.

“Those aren’t magic words!”

“I’m trying my best!”

Another spike flew their way which Michael slashed in half with his sword, it landing right in front of him. He was beginning to realize he had limited options. He was going to have to hurt it.

The tail whipped close and Michael swung his sword, hardly even nicking it up it was enough to keep it from doing any harm. There was a rumor that, if you got stung by the tail of a manticore, it’d paralyze you. No one had gotten close enough in recent years to confirm or deny it. Michael wasn’t about to find out.

“Hang on,” he told Isobel and then he closed his eyes.

He let the magic in his body take over, letting it have a mind of its own other than his single desire not to die or let Isobel die. Waves of it left him with ease and, when he opened his eyes again, his sword was on fire and the manticore seemed to be recovering from a hit. Isobel was holding him tight.

“Michael…” she said softly. She was shaking which was very unlike Isobel. He looked back to her and she was staring at the flaming sword in his hands. She looked awed, but it seemed to ignite something in her and that very distinct Isobel look resonated in her eyes. “Keep fighting him off.” And then she let go.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, “Stay behind me so I know where you are!”

Except Isobel started running, pointing her wand to every student who was still stupid enough to be outside and even the ones pressed to the windows inside. She was casting spells left and right, forcing them to turn away and to stop being reactant. Michael turned back to the creature and hoped she knew what was doing.

“Easy does it!” Michael shouted. It was one of the only spells he could remember off the top of his head and, with the support of his magic and desperation, it seemed to work for a moment. The manticore’s movement slowed just enough that he could cut down two spikes in a row without too much panic. Isobel whooped from somewhere in the field behind him and he was too scared to look back. He didn’t want to see her just chilling in the middle of the yard because that was just such an Isobel thing to do.

But then the manticore caught up to real-time again and crowded in on him.

Michael found himself pressed against a tree, his flames on his sword the only thing keeping the manticore at bay. And, even then, it seemed to be getting more and more comfortable with it. He really needed to explode this thing.

“Guerin!” he heard.

Both Michael and the manticore turned to see Alex fucking Manes legitimately walking on air. He’d seemed to come from the third story balcony that came off the “liquid magic” lab. Michael got scolded every time he entered and called things potions, so he stayed away. Alex clearly didn’t.

He looked straight up elegant. His black hair seemed to defy the point of the spell, staying perfectly straight and still as it hung to his shoulders. His face was utterly confident and, in the Watford uniform he wore, he looked damn near regal. Even the manticore had to stare.

Alex landed on the ground with a level of skill Michael could’ve never achieved. Hell, he didn’t even know the spell he’d just used. He just knew it was badass.

“Barking up the wrong tree!” Alex cast, his voice confident as ever as he stepped closer with suave movements that said “seduction” rather than “fighting for his life”.

The manticore backed away from Michael at the spell and Michael took a breath he didn’t know he was holding. However, again, that spell only lasted for a few seconds. Alex sent it a few more times. He walked closer and closer like he didn’t have a fear in the world. Michael was struggling to process the entire scene.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Isobel cast from somewhere and Alex’s voice amplified as he walked closer. He repeated a few spells, just enough to make the manticore stumble back for a moment. However, with each hit, it seemed to resist them a little more.

Alex firmly placed himself between Michael and the manticore. It put a lot of fear in Michael. He was the Chosen One. If he died fighting a manticore that trespassed and seemed to be targeting him, that was one thing. If Alex Manes died fighting something that was targeting Michael, that was something else entirely.

“What are you doing?!” Michael yelled, “You’re going to get killed!”

Alex looked back at him, something in his eyes that was unrecognizable. Then he smiled. Well, smirked. But, still, that was more than Michael had ever seen on his face. It fit.

“Every man has to die sometime,” he said simply.

The manticore stepped closer, snarling with sharp teeth bared in all their glory only a few steps away from Alex. Anxiety pooled in Michael as he watched the tail whip around Alex and threatened to sting him. It didn’t even want Alex, it kept looking back at Michael, but it didn’t seem to have a problem taking him out in the process.

And Alex stood fearless.

And it was beautiful.

And Alex acted.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Micahel felt his eyes widen. Far somewhere in the other, he heard Isobel casting ’nothing to see here’ and Michael almost wanted to tell her to stop. Alex was doing something incredible.

“If turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side. If “if’s” and “and’s” were pots and pans, There’d be no work for tinkers�� hands”

Michael tried to place the nursery rhyme in his head, but he only seemed to find awe for it. The manticore took a step back, staring at him almost in shock that he was able to do that. Able to force him back and stay that one step away. Michael couldn’t see Alex’s face, but he knew that smirk was there and he felt his stomach churn.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Alex began again and the manticore roared in a symphony of blaring, out-of-tune trumpets and whipped its tail too close to Alex. It hit his right leg just as Michael dove forward. Instinct won over thoughts and he grabbed Alex’s sides in the same way Isobel had been holding him. Alex’s body physically weakened by whatever the manticore had done, but Michael’s power outdid it.

“Take what you need,” he whispered. It wasn’t meant to be magic and it wasn’t even meant to be said. He just did and Alex began to glow. Just like him.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

He started from the beginning, voice louder and power-ridden. The manticore silenced its voice, taking another step away and this time it was even more apparent. Alex recited the nursery rhyme with unmatched power and Michael focused on letting him take every ounce he needed.

It felt good. There was no straining, there was no burning, there was no explosion. It felt like sharing a hug with a person you hugged every day, like the most natural and pleasant thing in the world. A wave of relief or pleasure or release overcame him as he gave Alex whatever he needed. He could feel the adrenaline leaving his body with the fear as Alex spoke the rhyme again. He bowed his head against the back of his neck.

Michael was so lost in the feeling that he didn’t notice when the manticore fled.

“Alright,” Alex said, not angry or demanding, just a quiet notion of letting Michael know it was over.

Michael blinked back to life and drew his power back as best he could, letting go of Alex. Which immediately resulted in Alex falling to the ground.

“Whoa,” Michael said, doing his best to catch him. They both ended up just laying there in the grass, fatigued and staring at each other and trying to figure out what just happened. What the hell did they just do?

“It stung me,” Alex explained calmly, breathing slow and steady, “I can’t actually feel my leg.”

“But you were standing,” Michael said dumbly. He knew why he’d been able to stand. Michael’s power had held it off.

Alex stared at him a bit longer and it was the nicest he’d ever seen him. There was no hatred or closed-off look in his eyes. He was just laying, long hair splayed around his head, and staring openly. Michael wanted to touch him again, to see if it did the same thing again. To see if it felt like he fit.

Isobel running up to them snapped Alex’s walls into place and destroyed any chance of Michael actually trying that.

“Oh my god! You just cast a nursery rhyme!” she exclaimed, standing above them. Her hair was wild and her eyes were sparkling.

“And you just held back an entire student body,” Alex responded, “Well done, Evans.”

A smile quirked onto Michael’s face. That was the nicest he’d ever sounded. Well done, Evans.

“Me well done?! You just cast a nursery rhyme!”

-

“I am so sorry. Do you need anything? Dinner? Tea? Water?”

“I’m fine, Guerin, stop mothering me.”

“But it’s my fault!”

Alex rolled his eyes as he sat on his bed. He still couldn’t feel his leg. Or, the bottom half. Somewhere below the knee, it felt like it might as well not be there. He wasn’t really allowing himself to panic. He could still walk‒it just required a splint and a crutch. And no one knew if it was permanent or not, so it hardly even mattered until it did.

“Evans, will you shut him up? I already said I’m fine and I’m considering strangling him,” Alex said, though it wasn’t as harsh as usual. He could still feel Guerin’s magic buzzing in his body, could still feel his breath on the back of his neck, could still hear how goddamn alluring his voice was when he was offering himself to Alex as a gift.

“Is anyone going to tell me what happened out there?” Isobel demanded.

Alex looked up at her. She was standing between their beds, hands on her hips and looking like she was about ten seconds away from taking away his Xbox. For a moment he questioned how she was even in here considering there was a spell that forbade girls to enter the boys’ dorms, but he didn’t put it past her to break some shit.

“Nothing,” Alex and Guerin said simultaneously. Alex’s stomach tied in knots.

“Oh, right, that was totally nothing!” she said, “I saw what happened!”

“What’d you see?” Guerin asked and he sounded genuinely curious. Isobel turned that motherly gaze on him.

“You know.” She flopped her arms down and she quickly became a pouty child. “You did something. You made him more powerful.”

“Did I?” Guerin asked. Alex furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at him. Did he really not know or was he playing dumb? It honestly could’ve been either.

“Stop it! How did you do that?” she asked. Guerin’s shoulders slumped a little and then he shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just did,” he admitted, “I just… wanted to help so I did.”

Isobel sat beside him and Alex watched them closely.

“But that’s unheard of,“ Isobel said softly, touching his arm. Alex gulped softly. God, he wanted to do it again. He’d never felt so right in his life.

But he couldn’t do that.

"And Alex of all people!” Isobel added a whole lot less softly. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you help?” Guerin asked him, “You didn’t have to.”

Because I’d rather die for you than inevitably have to kill you myself when my father asks it of me, is what Alex didn’t say. Instead, he just found the logical part of him and tried to look irritated.

“We had a truce,” Alex said, “And you’re the only one who has even suggested that my mother didn’t abandon me and that she might be out there somewhere. I’m going to at least keep you alive for a little while.”

“Wait,” Isobel said and it suddenly dawned on Alex that she had no idea about anything, “What is happening?”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel special.

-

The next few weeks went by weirdly simple.

It didn’t make sense for Alex to mold into the little dynamic that Guerin and Isobel had created, but he did. He did it nearly seamlessly, in fact. They dug all they could into the missing persons and they had come up with little to no leads. It felt like they were at a dead end.

Except it wasn’t all that frustrating. Alex hadn’t realized that he’d never had legit friends before. It was strange, but he enjoyed it.

“Alex!” Isobel shouted from across the hall. She ran over to him with wide eyes and a warm smile. Originally, they’d been sort of cold towards each other and, still, Isobel was the first to warm up. He’d been insulted by how quickly she no longer saw him as a threat, but it only took a few days for him to take it as a compliment instead. “I was thinking about it and I think we should spend Christmas break interviewing the families of those who’ve gone missing.”

“Oh, right, and they won’t find that suspicious at all,” Alex retorted. She rolled her eyes.

“Look, we can’t figure out what they all have in common rather than them all being powerful. We don’t know what else there could possibly be to make them targets, we don’t know if the days leading up to their disappearances had anything in common, we don’t know where to look. The only thing I can think of is to ask the families and Christmas break is the only time we’ll be able to,” she explained. Alex didn’t say anything, but he knew she was right.

They made their way towards the boys’ dorm building, Alex staying silent as he listened to her talk. She never seemed to have a problem with walking with him even though he knew he walked slow. It’d been a little over a month and the feeling in his right leg had never really come back. They’d tried healing spells and they’d tried giving it time, but it didn’t come back. He’d basically accepted his future of being resigned to walking with a splint and a crutch. He was fast enough when he needed to be and he was still an amazing magician, so it didn’t matter.

Alex was okay with it. Not like he had much of a choice.

They walked into the room just as Guerin was coming out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His hair was wet and matted to his forehead, curls already forming. He had the same habit of a young child in the fact that he never properly dried off and it left his shirt and shorts sticking to his body almost obscenely. Alex had to look away.

“So, what are you doing for Christmas?” Isobel asked, flopping down on Guerin’s bed. Alex sat on his own and immediately took off the splint. He understood that it helped him walk, but it was annoying as hell.

“I don’t know,” Guerin said.

“Don’t you stay with the Valentis? I mean, The Mage made you his heir instead of his own son,” Alex said even though that was common knowledge. They both looked at him. Guerin’s expression was blank, but Isobel’s said ’shut up, we don’t talk about that’.

“Nah, I usually stay here or with the DeLucas,” he admitted, sitting at the foot of his bed.

Alex could feel his power reverberating off his skin. Guerin was a match and Alex was desperate to be the wick. He’d had it once before. He hadn’t forgotten how good that felt. He wanted it.

God, how desperate could he be?

“Why don’t you stay with the Evans?” Alex asked. Isobel again gave him that look. Not like he planned to actually listen.

Guerin smiled and Alex considered melting. Then he considered ripping the smile off his face.

“Mrs. Evans doesn’t like,” he said simply.

“No, she does like you, she doesn’t like that you make Max unable to sleep,” Isobel corrected. Alex furrowed his eyebrows. “Max is super sensitive to power and if Michael has a nightmare, Max gets overwhelmed. It’s a mess.”

“I’ve never had a problem,” Alex admitted simply. Guerin smiled again, this time for him. Alex looked away. “I more so have a problem that I have to share a room with you in the first place.”

“Rude.”

“Wait, maybe Michael could stay with you over break!” Isobel suggested. They both looked toward her and she seemed overly proud of herself.

“My dad hates him.”

“Cast a be our guest on him, it’ll be fine,” she said, waving it off. He supposed that was an option. “He’ll be difficult to access here if we find out any information. I mean, this is our biggest opportunity to search into things further. He needs to be outside of Watford.”

“No, there’s no way I’m staying with him,” Guerin said and it was so matter-of-fact that it almost felt like a punch in the face. “Truce or not, there’s no anathema to keep him from killing me at his house.”

Alex didn’t argue. If he thought he was a murderous threat, then so be it. It made things easier.

“He’s got a point,” Alex agreed.

“You both suck,” Isobel groaned, “We’re going to have to investigate on our own now.”

Alex didn’t say anything.

-

Michael hated the snow.

There was nothing more isolating than being alone on school grounds and surrounded in snow. It felt like he was trapped inside.

The more he sat there, the more he regretted not going with Alex. He knew they were both solving the mystery and he was stuck. What happened if they figured it out and got attacked? He wasn’t there. They should’ve stuck together.

To combat the horrible feeling brewing in his stomach after only two days being stuck at Watford alone, he made his way off campus and to the bar owned by the DeLucas. If anyone could keep him company and calm his worries, it’d be them.

Their research was at a spectacularly frustrating dead end. They had so many names that it seemed impossible that they would’ve all run into the same person to take them. Hell, if not for the coincidence of them all going missing during October, Micahel would’ve thought that maybe he was wrong. Maybe Rosa Ortecho and Noya Manes and a ton of other people all just ran away because magic was too much.

But that couldn’t possibly be the case. It was just fishy enough.

When he walked into the bar, it was eerily silent and the only person in there was Maria. He only knew it was her because her hair was unmistakable. Otherwise, her back was to him and nearly all the lights were off as she sat, counting money.

“We’re closed,” she said.

“Even for me?” he asked. She didn’t turn around. His heart began to thud in his chest as he put together that something was really wrong. Forget the missing persons problem, fix this. Fix her. “Maria?”

“You can stay if you don’t talk,” she said sharply.

He did as she said, sitting beside her.

Michael stared at her. She was beautiful as ever, her face wiped clean of makeup and her hair pulled back into a tiny puff of curls. She was staring down at a stack of fives and she looked almost completely out of it. Usually, when he saw her, he thought about asking her out. She had always seemed like a good happy ending. Lately, that thought hadn’t been on his mind.

Now, however, that didn’t seem to matter. Where she fit in his future didn’t matter as long as she was okay enough to be there at all.

“Maybe I can help,” he offered softly, carefully eyeing her so he didn’t push any buttons. She sniffled.

“You can’t. You can’t Chosen One your way into everything, Michael,” she said, her lips quivering until she broke and fat tears started pouring down her cheeks. He quickly put his arms around her, holding her close.

His mind was reeling. He needed to know what was wrong with her and how to fix it. He hated seeing her so upset. Then, the longer he held her, he wondered where Mimi was. She was usually the first one to know if something was wrong with Maria.

“Where’s Mimi?” he asked. Then she cried harder. His heart sped up and he could feel his magic pulsing under his skin as he began to panic. She squeezed his arm.

“Please,” she sniffled, “Please don’t go off. Please.”

“I’m trying,” he promised, closing his eyes as he focused on reeling it back in, “Just… what happened?”

“She… she didn’t come home last night,” Maria whispered, sniffling as she wiped her eyes and lifted her head off his chest. He still held onto her. “I haven’t heard from her and I don’t know what to do. It’s like she just disappeared.”

Michael’s world got impossibly small at that word. He started digging and now more people are going. It wasn’t even October. That either meant this was completely unrelated or whatever it was building up to was happening soon.

He didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Did you call The Mage?” he asked. She rolled her eyes, but nodded.

“He said not to worry, that she’d probably show up,” Maria sniffled, “But I think I’m going to go to the Normal police soon. She wouldn’t just… she wouldn’t do this to me. I know it.”

Michael sat on his thoughts for a moment. He thought about what he could do at this point. Now it was more crucial than ever. Not only was he trying to find Liz’s sister and Alex’s mom, but this was his… his Mimi. This was the closest he got to a parent ever. This was his only person.

“Are you okay to be on your own?” Michael asked, combing a few stray strands of her hair back. Maria looked at him through glassy eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to save her. I promise.”

She sniffled and nodded. “I’ll be okay then.”

He gave her a kiss on the head and ran out the door. He ran and ran and ran until he got to a train station and started making his way towards the Manes Manor. He didn’t stay still the entire ride.

It didn’t occur to him until the train was almost at the station he was getting off at that he could’ve called first.

-

“Alex, a friend of yours is here.”

Alex looked up from his book to see the maid his father insisted on getting when his mother was alive. Julie was a short and thin woman with four children of her own and she still found time to dote on Alex more than his father did. In fact, once it became a known fact that he was queer, she baked him a cake.

“Friend?” Alex echoed. Kyle wasn’t due to come over until Christmas day and there’s no way either of the Evans twins would come all the way to his house. That didn’t actually leave anyone else. “Who?”

“I’m not sure,” Julie responded, though the telling smile on her lips told him it must be someone important, “He’s just wearing one of your school uniforms.”

“Okay,” he agreed and, with the help from his crutch, stood to his feet.

The walk to the front door seemed to drag on longer than it should’ve and it had everything to do with the ambiguous identity of the person at his door. When he got there, he realized he shouldn’t have been confused at all.

Guerin stood there on the mat, clothes and hair stuck to him with muddy snow. He looked not too unlike a wet rat. Alex wanted to stab himself when he realized that, even like this, all disgusting and wide-eyed, he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to dry him off and he wanted to strip him bare. None of those were options, so he sighed.

“Look what the cat dragged in, I suppose,” he noted, fishing for his wand. He pointed it at Guerin’s, well, everything and cast a simple clean as a whistle. He knew Guerin wouldn’t‒couldn’t‒do one on himself.

“Thanks,” Guerin said, looking around before settling his eyes on Alex himself, “Mimi DeLuca is missing. Whatever’s happening‒it’s getting worse. I think it’s happening soon. I can feel it.”

Alex sighed again and, this time, it was a little sadder than he anticipated. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted this search to continue. He liked hanging around with Guerin and Isobel. He wasn’t really looking forward to when they solved the puzzle and the truce was over and he was legally resigned to hating them both again.

“Come in,” he said moving out of the way so Guerin knew he was welcome. He rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his jacket and Alex even found that endearing.

Maybe it was a good thing that this quest was almost over.

-

“Will you stop fidgeting?”

Michael grunted in response as he tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the clothes he’d borrowed from Alex. They had all been tailored to fit him, so they didn’t quite fit. The shoulders were tight and the legs were too long and he felt like he was cosplaying as a member of One Direction with the fucking blazer.

“These pants are itchy.”

“Merlin help me,” Alex sighed. He, on the other hand, looked fantastic in non-Watford clothing. They fit him so perfectly and were snug in all the right places. He looked like he existed with a purpose. Michael look like he stole from him. “Listen, when we get to the Ortechos, you can’t be fidgeting like that. They’re going to think you’re on drugs or something.”

“I’m trying!” Michael whined. Alex just smirked and pressed on the gas pedal of his sleek car.

The night prior had gone… somewhat decent, he supposed. He’d never really stayed in a house that large and he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d slept in a room alone. The guest bedroom Alex had put him up in was big and admittedly terrifying. Every creek of the house or weird noise had him jumping and, by 11 PM, he’d had his sword drawn and almost killed his own shadow.

At that point, he’d gone to Alex’s room and, childishly, asked to sleep in there with him. Alex had smiled‒legitimately, sweetly smiled‒and gave him a blanket to sleep on the couch in his room. He’d slept better in a room with a man he knew wanted to kill him than he ever would’ve alone in the other room.

“Just focus on the fact that we’re a few steps closer to figuring shit out instead of the itchy clothes. We’re gonna figure it all out,” Alex said.

It was weird. He was so warm and comforting on the few times he wasn’t legitimately overwhelming and threatening. Michael didn’t know how to rationalize it in his mind. But he figured he could save that for after he found Mimi and Rosa and Mrs. Manes.

“Boys! Hi!”

Mr. Ortecho was a man that was too nice for his own good sometimes. He’d met them both possibly twice at magic shows during first and third year and that was about it. Yet, he still greeted them with hugs. Michael accepted it warmly and Alex accepted it in the most awkward way Michael had ever seen him. He almost laughed.

“What brings you here?” he asked, letting them inside the small, homey space. Liz was sitting on the couch and she almost immediately shot up at the sight of them.

“Actually,” Alex said before Michael could open his mouth, “We wanted to speak a little about Rosa if that’d be alright.” It was probably best that he took over. He was suave in a way Michael could never be.

Mr. Ortecho’s face faltered a little bit, but he excused himself to go make tea before their chat.

“What are you guys doing here?” Liz asked as soon as her father was out of earshot.

“We’re putting stuff together,” Michael said, “So we’re looking into everyone and seeing what else we can find out. Maybe we’ll be able to find out what else they have in common.”

Liz eyed them both, but she nodded. “How many are missing?”

“As of yesterday, twenty-nine,” Alex said. She gulped visibly and nodded, going to sit back on the couch. Alex smoothly sat on side of her and Michael sat on the other.

He did his best not to be fidgety as Mr. Ortecho brought them tea and answered all the questions Alex seemed to have neatly mapped out. However, the more he spoke of Rosa’s tendency to feel a little extra irritable on some days and forgetful on others, the more he found himself anxious. Mimi used to do that. Or, at least, he’d been told. Maria had once told him that she used to be an alcoholic, but she’d gotten sober within the last decade. It was good for her.

But how easy it would’ve been for someone to blame her disappearance on a bender.

“I’m just hoping she’ll come home once she… clears up her mind,” Mr. Ortecho said. Alex nodded and smiled a comforting little smile.

“I’m sure she will.”

They stayed a few minutes longer to not be rude, but eventually excused themselves from the Ortecho residence. Michael felt like it was an important stop. It seemed like whoever was taking these people were taking them under the knowledge that their disappearance could easily be excused away. How fucking smart.

However, the moment they got into the car and Michael explained that, Alex’s little mask went away and he was glaring and heavy breathing and clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. Michael stared at him for a solid five minutes.

“You okay?” he asked.

Then Alex swerved onto the side of the road, got out of the car without turning it off, and stalked into the woods with the crutch in hand. Michael blinked a few times in a failed attempt to process what the hell just happened before carefully turning off the car and following him. It took him approximately five seconds to find him pacing around back and forth between two trees with the crutch, gripping at his long hair with his free hand, and growling each breath.

“Alex?” Michael said carefully.

Michael had never actually seen him lose his cool before, but he wasn’t really eager too. They’d fought and they’d been cruel and they’d sent spells each other’s way, but Alex always had his mask on tight. He never let it slip. Right now it was gone entirely. Michael didn’t have the slightest idea how to help.

“It has just occurred to me,” he said, laughing almost, “That I shouldn’t be fucking looking for my mother.”

Michael blinked a few times and took a step closer. “Why not?”

“Because for my entire life, I thought my dad was a fucking liar,” Alex said, hands emitting flames that Michael questioned if they were on purpose or not. If it were him, it wouldn’t have been. Alex had more control usually. “I thought he was lying when he said that she lost it when I was born! I thought he was fucking lying when he said I made her a flight risk!”

Michael watched him as it got worse and he watched him as trees started catching on fire.

“This whole time I thought she didn’t leave me!” Alex said, tears forming in his eyes and wasting no time before they started pouring down his cheeks, “And now I’m hearing that, even if she didn’t, she probably would’ve! And it’s my fault!”

“Alex, this isn’t your fault,” Michael tried, eyeing the fire, “Someone took her.”

“I made her a target!”

“Alex, c’mon, put out the fire,” he said, taking a step closer. Alex was sobbing and pacing and making a big ass forest fire. It was approximately the opposite of a situation Michael wanted to be inside.

“No!”

“So you wanna die before you find her again?” Michael asked, raising his voice as he tried desperately to figure out how to fix this, “When we find her, she can tell you herself that she didn’t want to leave you!”

“I don’t deserve her!”

“Yes, you do!” Michael screamed, “She didn’t want to leave you, Alex! No one wants to leave you!”

“Everyone wants to leave me! No one wants me!”

And then suddenly Michael, in the middle of a burning forest, decided to kiss him.

-

Kissing Michael Guerin could possibly be the farthest from what he assumed would happen over Christmas break.

Alex pulled away within a few seconds and just stared at the boy who was still holding his face. A smile slipped onto Guerin’s face and, for a moment, he looked the way Alex felt whenever he was being powered by him like a generator. He looked like yes, like this is it, like I’ve been waiting for that feeling.

“Make a wish,” Guerin cast with a newfound focus, gripping the back of Alex’s neck in a way he’d never felt before. Then again, he’d never actually kissed anyone before. He never had a chance. He never thought he was going.

Now he was crying and the boy he was stupidly in love with was looking at him like he was home and he could hardly think.

The fire extinguished around them, but Alex was just staring at Guerin. He wanted to kiss him again. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d even gotten kissed in the first place other than to shut up. However, he’d already embarrassed himself enough, what harm could going in for another kiss do? So he dropped the crutch from his hand

Except for some reason, as he went in for another one, Guerin moved forward too.

Alex wasn’t too sure how long it all lasted, but the fire seemed to die out in system the longer the kisses went on. Somewhere along the way, they ended up on the ground and against a tree. Guerin was holding onto his hips, squeezing every once in a while and pulling him closer and closer. They were basically morphed together and Alex had no thought process left for it.

They kissed and they kissed and they kissed. Closed-lipped, open-mouthed, tongue-full, bite-leaving kisses. Any kiss he could’ve imagined, he got. And they were all with Michael Guerin.

This was a luxury he hadn’t anticipated. Staring at him for seven years had originally felt like the most self-indulgent he’d ever allow himself, but now…

“It’s getting dark,” Guerin whispered between kisses, twirling Alex’s hair between his fingers and sliding his tongue into his mouth because apparently that’s how you tell someone you want to leave. Alex felt like putty in his hands. Guerin may have sucked at controlling his magic, but he was a goddamn connoisseur at kissing. “Maybe we should head back?”

Alex was scared to agree. What if this was it? What if they had to go back and pretend this never happened? He didn’t want that. He wanted to do this again and again and again. He ran his thumb over Guerin’s slightly stubbly jaw and looked at him, savoring the moment.

“Let’s go,” he agreed.

Guerin helped him to his feet and then pulled him into another kiss. Somehow, Alex was shocked. Guerin squeezed his hips and gave him his crutch.

“By the way, Alex,” Guerin said as he started up the car, “People do want you.”

-

There was actually nothing in the world that could prepare Alex for the night he had.

He had gone into this Christmas break as a boring time stuck with his father and researching empty leads to find his mother, and instead he was laying on his bed with Michael fucking Guerin on top of him. Guerin was smirking and staring at him like he wasn’t even nervous or confused. He just looked like he planned it. Alex wondered if maybe he had.

Alex could feel the muscles on his bare shoulder flex and move as he came down, kissing him senselessly. It was jarring. Guerin had the entire car ride to take back the kissing, to say he regretted it, to say he did it just to keep him from burning down the woods, but instead he just wanted to do it more.

They didn’t sleep that night.

“You know, we should practice,” Guerin whispered. They were huddled under the blankets of his ridiculously massive bed, pressed close together in the middle. They were both shirtless and had just hit a two-hour mark of making out. It felt like they set a record for longest time two teenagers could make out in bed without having sex.

“Practice what?” Alex asked. Guerin just smiled at him, tracing idly over Alex’s chest.

“The magic sharing thing,” Guerin said, moving an inch closer so their noses were bumping, “If something happens… You have better control over my magic than I do.”

“So, if shit hits the fan, you want me to take your magic?” Alex clarified. Guerin breathed slow, dragging his hands down Alex’s chest and very quickly making his mind lose its train of thought.

“If you can do what you did on the manticore, then yes,” Guerin whispered. Alex took a heavy breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, “Let’s try.”

Guerin nodded and closed his eyes, murmuring so softly that Alex couldn’t even hear him. But he felt the rush of power enter him just like the last time, filling him like a custom fit glove. It was warm and overwhelming and perfect. It felt like it was his.

“Cast something,” Guerin whispered, “Use it, but, like, control it. Don’t let it get big like I do. Don’t, like, explode.”

Alex stared at him and, powered by his magic and his kisses, cast, “Caution to the wind.”

“That’s a truth spell,” Guerin said, eyes going wide and playful, “That’s not fair.”

“I disagree,” Alex said, giggling. He giggled. He was starting to feel high on the magic in him. “Why have you kissed me all night?”

“I wanted to,” Guerin said, “You look beautiful and I want to.” Alex knew it was the truth spell working as intended and he felt like he was floating on air.

“Have you thought about it before?” Alex asked. Guerin’s eyes narrowed accusingly, but his mouth spoke because it didn’t have a choice.

“I don’t know,” he said. Which was a strange answer. Still, Guerin’s eyes fluttered closed and he seemed drowsy all of the sudden. Alex wondered if sharing magic drained him.

“Do you want to do it again?” he asked instead.

“I never want to stop,” Guerin said and his nostrils flared, “I will be very annoyed if you use my magic to put a truth spell on me again.”

“Mmm, I bet,” Alex chuckled, moving forward for a kiss all over again.

As he distracted him, Alex could feel the magic leaving his system.

He wasn’t upset.

-

“You look nice today, Isobel.”

Isobel smiled blankly at Kyle as she let her eyes follow his father instead. The Mage and his son came over yearly on the night before Christmas Eve because that was how he kept tabs on the old families. Or, that’s how Isobel saw it. She couldn’t think of another reason he would be doing that.

Ever since she got word from Alex that Michael had shown up and said that Mimi DeLuca had gone missing, her mind had been reeling. She’d tried to think of all the possible people who could want power and could take whoever they wanted. Then she thought of who benefited the most from the disappearance of Noya Manes.

What a coincidence that that person also happened to be the one who went to find Michael, the most powerful mage alive.

“Thanks,” Isobel said to Kyle, ignoring the smiles he sent her way as she followed his father towards the dining area.

Dinner went by with way too much small talk for her liking. That was the best part about being friends with Michael‒he didn’t even know how to make small talk. However, that seemed to be the only thing her parents and The Mage could do. It was exhausting and frustrating when she was 99% sure that she was sitting across from literal evil.

The only thing more frustrating was that she had to keep it to herself because she had no actual proof.

“Max, you should go show Kyle that new game system you got,” her mother said once dinner was over and her father and The Mage excused themselves, “And, Isobel, why don’t you go do the dishes.” She opened her mouth, ready to say how sexist it was that she was the one being singled out whenever there were plenty of men who were capable of doing their own dishes, but she stopped when she remembered the kitchen was right next to her father’s study.

“Okay,” she agreed, grabbing a few plates before heading to go obey her. Her mother looked more than slightly shocked that she agreed so easily, but smiled nonetheless.

Isobel scrunched her nose up at the pile of dishes stacked up beside the sink as she turned the water on. She let it run for a second and then looked around the kitchen to make sure no one was around. When she was sure that her mother was busy doing whatever mothers do when they get alone time and the boys were probably spewing insults to people in different countries also playing their game, she went to press her ear to the door that led into her father’s study.

“Just… keep it quiet, Evans,” The Mage said, “That’s all I ask.”

“I agreed whenever you told me it for research and that they went willingly!” her father argued, “But now a nineteen-year-old girl goes missing and you expect me to believe that? I’m sorry, Jim, but I don’t.”

“I’m looking into it!”

“You don’t even know what’s happening? You don’t know‒”

“Uh, Isobel?”

Isobel snapped her head to the voice, shushing the figure of Kyle Valenti immediately. He blinked with wide, compliant eyes as he gestured to the slightly overflowing sink. She rushed to turn it off before shushing him again. He held his hands up in surrender.

She went back to listening at the door.

Kyle appeared beside her, facing her as he pressed his ear to the door too. When she furrowed her eyebrows, he smiled and then put his finger to his lips. She scrunched her nose up.

“Listen, I have a lead,” The Mage said, “Just, please. I don’t want to draw attention. If he knows that I’m onto him, then he’ll do something drastic.”

“Him? Who’s him?” her father snapped.

“Just… give me a few more days.”

“That’s it and then I’m going to the coven. This has gone on for far too long.”

“You’re right. I’m going to bring an end to it.”

Isobel and Kyle listened for a little longer, but they changed the subject to something a whole lot less interesting. Something about teaching methods, nothing about missing persons. Isobel itched with the need to tell Michael what she knew. Especially when The Mage had seemed totally oblivious to it before. He either was the culprit or he knew who was.

“So, uh, you eavesdrop a lot?” Kyle asked, rolling up his sleeves.

“Excuse you, you’re the one who came in here and eavesdropped with me, so I don’t think I should be the one asking questions,” Isobel said, using that stern tone of voice that always made Max and Michael obey even if she wasn’t making sense. Kyle just smiled.

“I was coming in here to ask if you wanted help with the dishes because your brother is boring,” he said, “But you were clearly doing something a lot more interesting.”

Isobel chewed on her lip as she stared at him and then took a step towards him. He smiled wider. She tried not to think about that.

“Do you have a car?” she asked. He nodded slowly. “If you drive me to Alex Manes’ house, I’ll tell you why I was eavesdropping.”

“I didn’t even say I wanted to know,” Kyle said, but he was grinning wildly, “But, you’re right, my interest is piqued. You know what my dad has a lead for?”

“Yes,” Isobel said slowly. She didn’t want to outright accuse his father of something. No way he’d drive her then. “Can you meet me outside my house at, like, 10:30? I have to sneak out or my mom will question me.”

Kyle chewed on his bottom lip and for a moment, a short one, she understood why most of the girls thought he was cute. She’d always thought they liked him because his dad was powerful. That’s why most of them liked Michael. You know, until they met Michael and understood he was a handful and a half.

“You want to go to Alex Manes’ house at 10:30 at night?” he asked. She nodded simply. “Okay then. I’ll see you then.”

“Good.”

-

“I would be a bad boyfriend.”

Alex looked over to Guerin and nodded. Rejection makes sense. He always expected it. He’d just expected it to come instead of spending roughly 24 hours memorizing the way he tastes. That made it a little harder, but no less expected.

“Me too,” Alex agreed, lifting his numb leg up to tie his shoe. Isobel had just texted that she was coming over because she had information and he didn’t want to look as kissed senseless as he’d allowed himself to be around Guerin.

Guerin nudged his shoulder with his own. His nose dragged along Alex’s jaw and that was really hard to resonate with the rejection he was giving. Alex tried not to let his eyes close and give in to the hot breath against his neck.

“I’m impulsive,” he said, “I’m constantly getting myself into dangerous situations. And I have no idea if I’m gay or straight or… Alex-sexual.”

“Okay,” Alex said. Why was he dragging this out? He didn’t need a list of all the reasons they couldn’t be together. It was already painful enough.

“But,” Guerin whispered, pressing a kiss to his clothed shoulder, “I really like you.”

“You admitted you didn’t even think about it until yesterday,” Alex pointed out. Guerin shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said, “Or maybe I just didn’t realize that’s what I was thinking. ‘Cause now that I have a name for it, I think I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“Okay,” Alex said again. He didn’t want to keep digging this hole. It was annoying enough to know that, while Alex had been falling in love with someone he was supposed to hate, Guerin had just focused on the hate part.

“I want to…” Guerin said, “I don’t know.”

Alex stared at him. He took in his beautiful hair and his sweet lips and the light red coloring his cheeks. He absorbed the feeling of his power that was hot and burning and ever so present, the power that Alex could still feel throbbing in his own body from when they’d played around with it for hours the night before and the entire morning. He admired the way his own shirt fit snug on Guerin’s shoulder and how the v-neck was already stretched out from him fiddling with it.

“We’re trying to solve a mystery and you want to have this conversation?”

Guerin gave that dopey smile. “I just wanna be able to kiss you a lot.”

Alex snorted a laugh and shook his head. Guerin leaned forward and captured his lips in a very over-exaggerated kiss that had a little too much saliva. Alex laughed and tried to lean away, but Guerin leaned with him and continued his slobbery kisses with pride.

“Alex?” Julie called from the other side of the door, knocking three times before opening it. It gave them just enough time to act normal. Julie was still smiling like she knew. “Your friends are here.”

“Okay, thank you,” he said and she left before he could ask ’friends plural?’.

“Thought it was just Izzy,” Guerin said, standing up and handing Alex the crutch. He took it with a nod.

“Yeah, me too.”

When they got down into the dining room, they found both Isobel and Kyle Valenti. Alex was immediately lost and, when he looked to Guerin, he saw that he was too. He didn’t actually know that they even knew each other.

“Hello, my favorite human and his enemy,” Isobel said, giving a delightfully sinister smile that only belonged to Isobel. He felt his heart thud a little harder and his mind screamed ’she knows, she knows, she knows’, but she didn’t know. There was actually no way she could know.

“You brought Kyle?” Guerin asked, pointing directly at him. Alex and Isobel both swatted his hand down, mumbling about how it was rude to point. He just rolled his eyes.

“I needed a car and Max is a stick in the mud,” Isobel explained.

“Yeah, also, you think my dad is kidnapping people, so I feel like my presence is valid,” he said simply, smirking in a way that was uncannily similar to Isobel’s. He could feel Guerin’s magic building and burning beneath his skin and he gave him a look that said ‘cool it’.

“Kyle, they haven’t heard that part yet!”

Which led to where they did hear that part.

They spent the next few hours discussing everything they’d learned and putting things together and, weirdly, including Kyle into the mix. Isobel had a point that The Mage might have something to do with it, but, if he did, he wasn’t sure that they should be trusting Kyle with all of their findings. What if he knew and was just going to go right to his father and tell him everything that they knew? That would suck. Sure, he was friends with Kyle, but not that good of friends. Hell, he knew Isobel better than he knew Kyle.

“Michael,” Isobel said once they were done relaying the information, “Are you okay with us looking into The Mage?”

Guerin was quiet and, for a moment, Alex wondered if Kyle was the one he should’ve been worried about.

“I don’t think he’d do this,” Guerin said softly. Alex wanted to touch him, but he didn’t. They hadn’t discussed that part. All he knew was that they were possibly boyfriends who could share power who also had a lengthy past of torturing each other.

“Okay, but if he is behind this or if he knows who is and is covering for them,” Kyle said, looking at Guerin directly, “Then he deserves to be brought to justice.”

For a moment, Alex had insane admiration for him. It takes a big man to see your father in that light. Alex himself still struggled to do that with his own father despite the fact that he regularly wanted nothing to do with him. And, when he did bother back before Alex had sealed himself away into the opposite wing of the house, it was never kind. He didn’t like to think about it.

“Okay,” Guerin said, nodding his head, “Okay, we can look into The Mage. Just to cover our bases.”

“Awesome! Come on then, Kyle can drive us home and we can keep an eye on The Mage. They live, like, right down the street, we can look through the windows,” Isobel said. Alex didn’t miss the way Kyle smiled up at her like she said something literally anything other than stalking his father.

“Huh?” Guerin said, looking up from where he was sitting at the head of the table. Isobel blinked innocently at him.

“I know you don’t want to be staying alone with Alex,” she said, “And my mom won’t mind. I’ll tell her you got lost in the woods or something.”

Alex looked past them and tried to act like he didn’t care. He really, really tried hard to be the person who hated Guerin and not the one who craved the feeling of his skin on his. And he really tried not to feel disappointment when Guerin nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “Okay.”

Alex watched as he stood and took a step towards Isobel before he stopped.

“Wait,” Guerin whispered, “Don’t you guys come over here on Christmas?”

Kyle looked shocked that he knew that and nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

“Then wouldn’t it be better if I stay here? You two can keep an eye on him there, we can watch him here,” Guerin said. Isobel eyed him oddly and then looked over to Alex who was focusing on keeping his face blank.

“I mean…” Isobel trailed off and she looked between them again, “I guess.”

“He’s got a point, Isobel,” Kyle said. She looked at him with a face that said ’literally who even brought you here’ and he gave her a smile and a small head tilt that said ’you did’. Isobel rolled her eyes.

“Are you going to return him back in one piece?” she asked Alex. He raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said, though they both knew he would. The truce was still in effect.

“Okay,” Isobel said, “Then we have a plan. Watch The Mage and see what he knows but won’t tell us.”

“Lovely.”

Isobel and Kyle left with about as much pizzazz as their arrival. It left Guerin and Alex alone once again, this time in the open space of the dining room. Guerin walked around the table, his lips pursed in a way that was making an irritating squeaking noise as he dragged his fingers across the tabletop. He was slowly making his way towards Alex.

“Do you actually want to stay here or do you want to go stay with Isobel?” Alex asked. Guerin stopped the irritating squeaking and looked to where he was sitting through his hair.

“Why?” he whispered. It was not quite the answer he wanted. Rather than act upset or disappointed, Alex chose to act like he couldn’t care less.

“Look, just go if you want. You’re not stuck here,” he said, smiling like he did when he hated him. Guerin just blinked all wide-eyed and innocent at him. It made it harder to rationalize why he was pushing him away. “Go.”

Guerin shrugged with one shoulder, sighing with his lips closed so that they buzzed together. He took a slow, hesitant step towards Alex as he tapped on the table.

“I dunno,” he whispered, “I just… I wanted to…”

“What? Roll around and play boyfriends?”

Guerin stopped tapping. “Is that an option?”

Alex let out a disbelieving laugh.

Neither of them were surprised when they ended up shirtless in Alex’s bed for the second night in a row.

-

“So, you haven’t noticed anything about your dad?”

“Not really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Isobel,” Kyle laughed, looking over to her. She was damn near vibrating in her seat. He didn’t really see how she planned on getting any sleep. “If I knew, I would tell you.”

“Would you? Because we aren’t friends,” Isobel said, then paused for a moment and added, “Or, like, are we?”

“I’d like to think so,” Kyle hummed. Isobel huffed in her seat, still squirming as she murmured to herself. She still had her hair all done up from dinner and she’d tucked the dress she’d been wearing into a pair of jeans to make it a shirt. He found it endlessly charming.

“I just can’t figure it out,” Isobel groaned, “He’s already The Mage. What would he really get out of stealing power? He’s at the top. I feel like I’m missing a piece, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Well,” Kyle sighed dramatically, “We could go to the smartest person I know.”

Isobel eyed him. “I’m right here.” He smiled at her.

“Okay, second smartest,” he said, “Liz Ortecho is incredible at putting shit together.”

“Okay, but she already knows people are missing,” Isobel pointed out, turning in her seat to face him instead of the window. He suddenly felt like he was under a microscope. “She hasn’t said anything.”

“We haven’t given her all the information,” Kyle said. Isobel nodded slowly. “Tomorrow we can go see her and see what she knows if you want.” Isobel groaned and threw herself into the seat.

“Tomorrow? Can’t we go tonight? I don’t think I can wait that long,” she whined. Kyle bit down on his lips, trying not to be too amused by her.

“Well, Mr. Ortecho is nice, but not so nice that he won’t be annoyed by us knocking at his door at two in the morning.” Isobel whined a little louder.

“Fine, you have a point.”

By the time they got back to the Evans’ house, he felt just as eager as she did. She must’ve rubbed off on him. Still, he watched her climb back through her window and made sure she locked it just in case before driving the few houses down to his own house.

He never really gave a shit about magic before and he wasn’t exactly powerful either. He had enough, but he didn’t really care for it. He was perfectly fine doing normal things and, if he had a choice, he wouldn’t even be at Watford. Alas, he didn’t have that choice because his father ran the show there, so he was there too. He did well enough to pass, but he’d had many teachers pull him aside and tell him that they felt he wasn’t living up to his potential.

What they meant is that they expected more from him when his father was The Mage and his brother by proxy was literally the most powerful being in the World of Mages. Which was fine. He didn’t care.

But he did care about justice and if his father was being shitty, then he wanted to help. It was just a bonus that Isobel cared too.

He woke up the next morning to Isobel standing disturbingly at the foot of his bed.

“Why are you here?” he grumbled instead of screaming. It helped that he had dreams of her more than a few times a month. “It’s, like, seven in the‒”

“It’s almost noon and you said we were going to the Ortechos, so I came to bother you,” she said with a smile, plopping down on the foot of his bed. It was decidedly the last on a long list of reasons for why she would be on his bed.

And on his bed she stayed as he excused himself to get dressed and brushed his teeth. He tried not to think about it when she laid her head on his pillow while waiting for him to choose his socks.

They both got into his car for the third time in roughly twelve hours and headed towards the Ortechos. Kyle really didn’t have much time to think about what exactly he was going to say to her about this, but, by the way Isobel was rambling, he assumed she did.

Liz stepped outside before they could even reach the door.

“Hi,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey,” Kyle said, looking over to Isobel for a moment, “Uh, can we talk to you about something?”

“Is there someone stealing magic?” she asked, her voice hushed as she looked around to see if people were listening. Kyle blinked in shock. “Because that’s all I can think of.”

“I’ve been thinking that too,” Isobel said without even hesitating, “But, with my main suspect, I don’t know why he would need it. He’s already power hungry. And then he hasn’t taken Michael.”

“Okay, but people would question Michael’s disappearance,” Liz pointed out, “But maybe they wouldn’t after he graduates.”

“Whoever is taking people is speeding up,” Isobel said, “I don’t think they’re waiting.”

“Girls, I’m glad we’re on the same page and all, but maybe we should go somewhere a little less out in the open? Anyone could listen,” Kyle said carefully. They both stared at him for a minute before nodding. And then they both went to his car like that made sense. “Alright.”

Kyle listened for over an hour to the two girls going back and forth with information, both clearly more intelligent than he was. Or, at least in a different way. It seemed like they were built to solve mysteries.

By the time they were done, they decided that Michael could possibly be the next target if whoever was doing it planned to take care of it all while they were on break.

“We need you to get me an invite for dinner at the Manes’ tomorrow,” Isobel said sternly. Liz scoffed before looking at him with just as much sass.

“Me too.”

“Okay,” Kyle agreed, primarily because he was scared to disagree, “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Sometime during night three of being in bed with Alex Manes, Michael actually got some sleep.

Actual sleep too. Like, he passed out at 9pm type of sleep. The last thing he remembered was laying on Alex and feeling his fingers in his hair which was easily the most comforting thing in the world. It’s what made him fall asleep so fast.

That being said, when he woke up in the middle of the night, he wasn’t pleased to find Alex no longer holding him.

“‘Lex?” he groaned haphazardly, feeling around for him. They’d been touching for almost three days straight and he’d be lying if he said he was okay with being separated. He had no idea what was going to happen when they went back to school, but he was eager to bask in it now.

When he couldn’t find Alex, he opened his eyes. He forced himself to sit up and look around the comically massive room for any sign of him. There wasn’t one.

“Alex?” he called once again, nerves spiking in him. What if they took Alex?

He quickly scrambled out of bed and went to the door. As he threw it open, he found Alex about to open it. He immediately shoved him into the room, locking the door behind him.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Michael asked, looking over Alex to make sure there was nothing wrong with him. Alex pressed his hand over his mouth and Michael’s eyes widened.

“Don’t freak out, don’t worry,” he said, but the look on his face did absolutely nothing to calm his fears, “But I don’t think we’re going to have a good day.”

Michael’s eyebrows pulled together and he reached to grab Alex’s sides. He was anxious and his magic was pulsating under his skin, preparing to burst. He wanted more information. He focused on breathing and then pressed a kiss to Alex’s palm that was still over his mouth.

“I heard my dad arguing on the phone with someone,” Alex whispered, looking over his shoulder like he thought someone was behind him instead of the door behind locked. Michael held him tighter. “He said it was happening. And, while I’m not sure what it is, I think I can put it together.”

Michael blinked a few times as he tried to follow Alex’s thought process. “Maybe we should ask him.”

Alex smiled a sad little smile and shook his head, grabbing Michael’s cheeks and pulling him down enough for him to press a kiss to his forehead. Then he pressed a kiss to his lips and it felt like a goodbye. Michael’s heartbeat sped up.

“Let me go check it out,” Michael insisted. If he figured it out before it happened, he could keep everyone safe and he could blow up the problem and could go back to bed with Alex.

“No,” Alex said sternly, gripping his arm.

“Alex, let m‒”

“No.”

 Michael wriggled out of Alex’s grip and pushed past him, unlocking the door.

“Guerin, will you listen for once in your‒”

“No,” Michael said simply, heading down the corridor and trying not to be too scared when he heard Alex’s crutch following closely behind him.

-

Kyle rubbed his eyes as he yawned for the 6th time in the last twenty minutes.

He’d resigned to being in a ball of blankets on the couch that night, his face illuminated by the Christmas tree he put up himself and the light of his phone. Liz and Isobel had put him into a group chat, but hadn’t added Michael or Alex for some reason. He liked to think it was to annoy them, but really it was just preventing him from sleeping. His phone would buzz every few seconds, but he was too scared to go to sleep in case something bad happened to one of them. They were investigating his fucking father for god’s sake.

And, speaking of his father, he woke Kyle up from dozing off with a loud slam of his bedroom door.

Kyle watched as he hurried around the living room, searching for his car keys presumably.

“Dad?” Kyle asked, “What’s going on?”

The Mage stopped for a moment to look at him with a look he didn’t recognize.

“It’s Manes.”

And then he was out the door. Kyle stared for a moment before fumbling to call Isobel.

“Kyle?” Isobel said hesitantly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the doorway.

“My dad just ran out and left,” Kyle said, “He said ‘it’s Manes’. What are the chances that has something to do with the disappearance?”

Isobel was quiet for a moment before she said, “High. I’ll call Liz, come get me.”

Kyle didn’t really like speeding, but he did that night. He raced to get Isobel and he raced to get Liz and then he raced to get to Alex’s. Alex annoying lived the farthest away and, even with the speeding, it was 30 minutes of agonizing stress.

When they pulled up into the driveway, his dad’s car was left on and the front door was open. Kyle looked to the girls in his car and wondered if they should go inside.

“Give it a minute,” Isobel whispered, “If Michael goes off and we’re inside, then it’ll hit us and he’ll feel really bad.”

So they waited.

-

Alex did his best to keep calm as he following Guerin down the winding path towards the basement.

He had no idea how Guerin knew where to go, but he chalked it up to him being super fucking powerful and just doing things on accident. He was genuinely terrified for what they were about to walk into. He wanted to call Guerin back and force him to go back to bed for a couple more hours. Just to savor it. He felt like he was wasting their time.

He wasn’t ready for this.

“Guerin,” Alex tried one last time as he reached the door. Guerin looked over his shoulder.

“Take what you need, Alex” he cast softly as if it was a spell and he supposed it was. But it was just his.

Alex slowly but surely felt that familiar swell in the pit of his stomach that spread across his body. It was warm and comforting and he wanted to use it to cast little spells on Guerin while they laid in bed. He didn’t want to use it to do whatever they were about to do.

God, what the hell were they about to do?

Guerin opened the door and walked inside, sword drawn at his side. Alex didn’t remember seeing it before, but, if he knew Guerin, then he knew it’d been there since the moment he realized Alex wasn’t in bed. Alex took a deep breath and resonated the magic in his system before following.

“Alex…” he whispered from somewhere in the darkness of the basement. He couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Let there be light,” Alex cast, deciding that it’d be a fair fight if he could fucking see.

Except he very quickly realized that he didn’t want to see.

The entire basement was full of people. Not just any people, but the people that’d gone missing. Alex felt his skin start to burn as he breathed heavier, taking in each face that he’d been researching for two months now that had been in his fucking basement the entire time. He’d been so close and didn’t even know it.

They were all standing and frozen, eyes open but empty. None of them seemed to have any life left in them. It was confusing as best, terrifying at worst. He looked for Michael amongst them and found him looking more than a little overwhelmed. Alex was about to go to him, but was stopped once he spotted a face towards the back.

“Mom?” he said carefully. She didn’t respond because of course she didn’t. Alex ran to her anyway.

He hadn’t seen her since he was five, but she didn’t look any different. It was as if she’d been frozen in time, still in her Watford robes. He was taller than her now and it was jarring to him. He didn’t know what to do. He grabbed her face in his hands, disregarding the crutch that fell to the floor.

“Mama? Are you in there?” he asked softly, trying to keep hold of all the magic inside of him rather than giving in to the panic he was feeling.

Was this was Guerin felt like all the time?

“Alex,” Guerin called to him and he found him right beside him. His warm hand touched the small of his back.

The door slammed open again.

The two of them swiftly turned to face the person at the door, Guerin’s sword ready and Alex’s wand pointed. It was The Mage. His face was red and he was breathing heavily, his hands held up in defense.

“It’s your father.”

Before Alex could even mock him for stating the obvious, hands grabbed either side of his head.

“I put a spell on you,” Jesse Manes’ identifiable voice cast, “And now you’re mine.”

-

“They need our help, let go of me!”

Isobel had gone from waiting to give Michael a chance to feeling like something was very, very wrong within a few seconds. Kyle was holding onto her and his annoying tight grip was the only thing keeping her from running inside.

“Do they?!” Kyle asked, looking almost as desperate to keep her in the car as she was to get out of it, “Michael’s the Chosen One! What if this is his moment?! I’m not letting you get caught in the middle of that!”

“He needs me!” Isobel said, tears of sheer frustration brimming her eyes as she stopped fighting him.

She knew Michael better than anyone. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have the knowledge to have his big, final boss battle yet. He was still preparing‒she was still preparing. Maybe Kyle was right in the sense that she would definitely get caught in the middle of it, but it felt downright wrong to leave Michael alone in this.

He was gunpowder.  There was no aim, there was no skill. There was an explosion.

Isobel had to be there to ground him. She had to be there to add some skill to the mess. She had to be there to save him when he didn’t think to do it himself. They’d been in scary situations before and they’d always only gotten out of it because they had each other with the small exception of that one time that Alex helped.

Michael was going to die and she would have to live knowing she didn’t do a damn thing.

-

“Guerin,” Alex said slowly, “Get behind me.”

Alex seemed to get it faster than Michael did. He was frozen, blinking and desperately trying to piece it together as he watched Alex’s father cast a spell he’d never heard on The Mage. Then The Mage seemed to go limp for a moment. Then he was another lifeless statue, staring blankly alongside the rest of the people. Alongside Mimi. Michael tried not to look at her.

Alex didn’t even seem shocked. He just seemed cynical. Michael didn’t fucking get it.

“Guerin, please,” Alex said, his voice controlled.

Michael slowly moved behind Alex but pressed his back into his instead. Alex reached behind him with his free hand, squeezing his hip slightly. Jesse Manes laughed for some reason.

“How cute,” he said coldly.

Michael couldn’t see him, but he felt something happen and it seemed like all the bodies powered on. Alex squeezed him again.

Oh. Oh, he wanted control. Jesse Manes wanted to be in control.

“Remember,” Alex said as the bodies started coming towards them, surrounding them with their magical pieces and murmuring spells under their breath, “They’re still people. They’re still in there, I think. Don’t kill them.”

Michael nodded and he reached down quickly to grab Alex’s hand and squeeze before he let go.

Sharing magic was hard on Michael’s mental state. It made him want to sink into it and just go to sleep into the feeling of being surrounded by warmth and safety and love. However, he couldn’t give in to that as spelled hurdled toward him and he had to somehow fight it off with his sword. He got tired faster than he should’ve.

Alex kept pulling out spells Michael hadn’t heard, causing each one of them that came close to at least stumble. Some fell, some seemed to turn off. They stayed back to back just in case.

“Nonsense!” Michael and Alex cast at the same time, watching it work a little better than it did when they did something alone. Hell, Michael saw Rosa Ortecho blink. “Nonsense!”

Michael used his sword to knock magical pieces out of their hands, rendering them slightly less powerful. He kept shouting alongside Alex, though, casting what he could in the magic that they shared. It knocked them back, sent them into a daze. It worked.

Once all 30-plus of them had resigned to the floor on different levels of useless, he let himself fall to his knees. He would’ve leaned into Alex, but he knew Alex didn’t have his crutch and the only thing keeping him mobile was adrenaline that pushed through the pain the split caused him.

And, God, Michael was so fucking tired.

“Alex,” he whispered as he bowed his head. He wasn’t going to be much help, not like this. He couldn’t fight with that feeling. “Take it all.”

“Okay.”

-

“What if Michael isn’t the Chosen One?”

Kyle and Isobel both looked towards Liz was sitting in the back seat. She was leaning forward, eyes trying on the front door and her eyebrows pulled together. She looked like she was working through an epiphany.

“What do you mean?” Isobel sniffled, “His power is unparalleled. He fits the prophecy.”

“Exactly,” Liz said, a smile slowly forming on her face, “And what’s more unparalleled than using the power of another person? I mean, it’s unheard of.”

“I don’t understand,” Kyle whispered.

Isobel gulped and focused in on the literal castle. She could feel the power within growing, strengthening. It wasn’t like Michael’s explosions, it was stronger and controlled. It felt like something had just clicked.

“So, that day in the courtyard,” Kyle said carefully, “That was just practice?”

Liz hummed in a way that neither confirmed nor denied his statement.

“God, you better be right,” Isobel said and took that moment of them being distracted to run out of the car and straight into the house.

-

Alex felt Guerin’s power well inside him in a way stronger than it had ever been before.

He closed his eyes for just a second, almost forgetting what was happening and reveling in how goddamn right it felt. However, in that stupid moment of his, one of the bodies grabbed him. Well, not just one of the bodies. It was the body of his mother, the first one Jesse had claimed and therefore the strongest.

Nerves built in him as he weakly tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but he couldn’t manage it. He didn’t want to hurt her. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt her.

“Stand your ground!” he yelled to his father, hoping it would at least buy him a little time to get out of his mother’s grip. He was high on Guerin’s power and he could have done anything, but he didn’t. He was scared shitless.

And that meant his spell didn’t fucking work.

His father laughed and shook his head, stepping closer. Alex’s eyes went to where Guerin was all but slumped against the wall while sweat beaded his forehead and he took slow, ragged breaths. His eyes were closed. His sword was a few feet away. He was defenseless.

And Alex was terrified.

He watched as Jesse Manes grabbed Guerin’s face. He watched Guerin’s hazy eyes drag open, not even aware enough to be scared. He supposed that was good. Still, Alex wriggled harder in his mother’s grip.

“I put a spell on you and now you’re mine.”

“Michael!” Alex screamed, fighting harder. Michael just slumped back down, this time landing on the floor.

He needed to do something, he needed to do something.

Alex closed his eyes and let himself become overwhelmed like Michael did. He let himself become that bomb. Still, it wasn’t as reckless as Michael always had been, but it was enough. When he opened his eyes again, he was glowing just like Michael would.

And his mother let go.

Jesse stared at him in something akin to pride. It was nothing short of revolting. Leave it to him to only be proud by something Alex stole. This wasn’t his. This was never meant to be his.

In that same moment, Alex watched Isobel pad into the room on the tips of her toes. He chose not to look at her anymore after that, deciding to keep his eyes on his father to make sure he didn’t notice. His father just continue to marvel at him.

“I knew it,” he said, “I knew I created something better than you.”

Alex sneered, “You didn’t create this.”

Before anything else could be said, Isobel threw him Michael’s sword which he caught with impressive accuracy. Jesse laughed. Alex looked down to see Isobel holding Michael and whispering a barrier spell. Thank God.

“Give it up, son,” Jesse said, letting Alex circle him, “You and your little friends can’t do anything. They’re all under my control. You can do what you want, but I still win. I will always win.”

Alex was buzzing, glowing. He suddenly couldn’t think of any spells. He didn’t need any spells. All he had to do was believe something, need something, and it happened. He needed his father to stop moving, he froze to the ground. He needed everyone to stop being in his control, they all collapsed.

Is this what it was like to be Michael? Is this what he felt all the time? Was this how powerful he was? Was this the control he had?

Alex pressed the sword beneath his father’s chin, watching the man scowl as he tried to move and couldn’t.

“I should’ve known,” Alex whispered, “I should’ve known that the only person who would’ve thought they could benefit off my mother disappearing was you. I should’ve put it together.”

“You aren’t smart enough for that,” Jesse said, huffing as he shook his head, “You’re just a coward. You always have been.”

It shouldn’t hurt like it did. His words shouldn’t feel like a knife, not after everything. They do. Alex lets the magic become him entirely. He lets go.

“You’re done hurting and controlling me,” he said firmly, his voice seeming somewhere other than his body, “And you’re done hurting and controlling them.”

And just like before, it happened.

Jesse’s eyes went wide and his body started to react like it was choking. Alex took a step back as he watched his father convulse a few times and dropped to his knees. And he watched as he collapsed to the floor.

And then it was silent.

After a few moments of silence, Alex let go of the power and let it go home. He assumed that’s when Isobel let the barrier around him go. Alex watched her crawl over to Jesse Manes and check his pulse. Her eyes shifted to Alex, not scared and not pitiful. Just… Isobel.

“He’s dead.”

And Alex couldn’t find it in him to feel remorse.

-

Kyle and Liz followed Isobel back into the basement after everything had finished.

They walked around to all the people who had been asleep for however long and tried their best to talk to them and see if they were able to reorient. The people who had been taken more recently seemed to snap back into being normal if only a little drowsy, like Rosa and Mimi and The Mage. The people who had been taken years ago, however, were completely unhinged. The Mage explained that it had sort of been like they’d been in solitary confinement for however many years; they would need rehabilitation.

Kyle looked over to see Rosa and Liz hugging so tightly he was surprised either of them could breathe. Mimi and Isobel were speaking in hushed voices, probably about Michael and about the sword. His dad was on the phone, calling someone to tell them what had gone down and to send a car to take the people who weren’t able to reorient themselves quick enough.

And then, in the corner, Alex was holding Michael. Or maybe Michael was holding Alex. It was hard to tell which limb belonged to which boy. He couldn’t tell which one was more upset which was jarring. Alex was the one who had just lost his father. Then again, Michael had just gotten the power back that had been used to kill said father. So, he supposed that made enough sense.

He turned away when Alex ran a hand through Michael’s hair and whispered something like, “It’s alright, love, we’ve solved it.”

It was no longer his business.

-

“So, I’m the Chosen One?”

Alex kept his voice soft as the five of them stayed huddled up in their tiny dorm room back at Watford. Michael was asleep on his bed. He still hadn’t seemed to catch up on the fatigue that came with surrendering yourself over. Alex stayed beside him, though, not really carrying who saw anymore.

“I mean, you did save everyone,” Liz pointed out. Alex raised an eyebrow at her.

“I also woke people up, some of whom have massive trauma from being locked in their own brains for years,” he said. He doesn’t add how one of them was his own mother and how she had at least six months in a psychiatric ward to go.

It was the only reason he even decided to go back to Watford. He couldn’t do anything for her outside of visiting her whenever he could and staying at his house felt eerie. He hated that it was stained with the memories of everything his father had done.

“Did we ever figure out why he chose October?” Kyle asked whenever the conversation stilled and Alex smiled when both women slapped his arms. “I’m just asking!”

“It was the time of year,” Alex said, “It’s when that phrase was used the most. It made it stronger.”

All that strength had made the coven realize that they probably shouldn’t have one main person in charge. Jim Valenti seemed to be perfectly alright with that, staying at the headmaster at Watford and only that. It made their lives just a little easier.

“Are you two gonna be okay?” Isobel asked sometime after Kyle and Liz had left. Alex looked down to Michael.

He hadn’t taken the news that he was powerful enough to kill with a thought very well. In fact, it led to about an hour-long breakdown of him thinking he was bred to be a killer. Why else would he be so powerful unless he was designed to murder? Alex took him to therapy with him after that. It’d only been about a week since he started, but it already seemed to do him some good.

“I think so,” Alex sighed, rubbing his eyes. Isobel nodded and kissed both of their heads before leaving them completely alone.

Alex laid back on Michael’s bed, curling up behind him and falling asleep a little too quickly.

When he woke up, Micahel was staring at him. He smiled lazily and nudged his nose against his, breathing him in with a soft inhale. Michael didn’t reciprocate.

“I’m a coward, I think,” Michael whispered, not caring that it was far too early to be having a conversation of this caliber, “I just gave up when I should’ve protected you. I should’ve fought longer.”

“You were drained,” Alex said, combing his fingers through his hair, “You made the right choice. You giving me full control saved both of us.”

They laid there for a moment longer in silence, Micahel relaxing just a bit more than he had previously. Alex liked when he relaxed.

“I guess I’m really useless, aren’t I? I wasn’t even good at being the fake Chosen One. That’s the only thing that’s made sense my entire life,” he grumbled. Alex rolled his eyes and pulled Michael closer.

“Will you stop? You were perfect. You fought and that’s all I could’ve asked for.”

“So you don’t think I’m useless?”

“Never.”

Michael moved in for a kiss.

[speedcr]

have you ever noticed that TOMMY SHEPHERD from the MARVEL UNIVERSE looks a lot like MICHAEL CIMINO? but HE also goes by SPEED. having the ability of SUPERHUMAN SPEED, MOLECULAR ACCELERATION, INTANGIBILITY, AND ACCELERATED PERCEPTION sure makes them a force to be reckoned with. rumour has it they are 18 and is working as a COLLEGE STUDENT.

my relations with the man above lately.  indecisions have been breaking my sanity. contamination of a twisted society. retaliation when I'm full of anxiety. and i was born to be anything i wanted to be. raised to be fucking mean. i'm a masterpiece.

basics —

NAMES:  thomas jakob ‘tommy’ shepherd / thomas jakob ‘tommy’ maximoff ALIAS: speed SPECIES: mutant AFFILIATIONS: young avengers, x-men, the brotherhood HEIGHT: 5’8” / 1.73 m WEIGHT: 155 lbs / 70.31 kg AGE: eighteen HAIR COLOR: white EYE COLOR: green SEXUALITY: bisexual / biromantic PARENTS: frank shepherd (father), mary shepherd (mother), wanda maximoff (mother), vision (father) GRANDPARENTS: erik lehnsherr (grandpa), charles xavier (grandpa), ultron (grandpa), clint barton (grandpa), tony stark (great-grandpa) SIBLINGS: william kaplan (twin brother), vivian (half-sister), vin (half-brother), talia wagner (alternate reality half-sister) OTHER RELATIVES: luna maximoff (cousin), simon williams (uncle), pietro maximoff (uncle), lorna dane (aunt), victor mancha (uncle), morgan stark (grandaunt)

history —

your mother used her chaos magic one day to give birth to twin boys in leonia, new jersey. she used slivers of mephisto’s life essence to give you and your brother souls. you’re born first, making you older by a few minutes. your mother wanda maximoff and father vision couldn’t be happier to have you and your twin in their lives. everyone shared in the excitement, even steve rogers gave your mother blankets with an america flag design on them. she tried telling him that you were too young to use it still, but you eventually grew into it.

you were given the name thomas maximoff.

your twin would be named william maximoff.

you had a happy life, surrounded by nothing except love from everyone in your family. agatha herkness would watch you when your parents had to leave for duties with the avengers.  one of your last memories would be your mother wrapping you and your brother up in her cape while you slept at the avengers headquarters.

mephisto comes back to reclaim the slivers of his soul that was used to give you life. you’re only a few years old, not much older than five when you cease to exist. agatha cast a spell so your mother would forget all about you and your brother thinking it would ease her pain. she would eventually recall the loss, but suppresses those memories.

you and your twin are reincarnated, but would be born into separate families.

you’re the only child frank and mary shepherd would have. you would still be raised in new jersey, but you’re in springfield now. your name is thomas shepherd, but you call yourself tommy.

your parents love you for the first few years of your life, but when you’re still young they get a divorce. everything changes after that and you never felt love from them again. since you were still a toddler when they separated you don’t remember what it's like to feel that warmth from either of them. they don’t pay attention to you and treat you like a burden.

you start acting out in hopes that will get them to listen, but it doesn’t since they don’t even notice when you’re gone. you’ll end up sending your entire childhood in and out of juvenile halls.

when you happen to not be in a detention center you’re sent to high school so they stop bothering your parents about all the classes you’ve missed. one of those days you discover that you’re a mutant! however when your mutant abilities appear this causes you to accidentally vaporize your entire school.

they imprison you under a court order. you think your mother and father are happy to have you taken out of their hands. you’re sent to a high-powered prison which was equipped with advanced offensive and defensive technology. you’re placed in a power dampening cell. when necessary they would even put you in an inhibitor collar. you were locked up for a long time and there was scientists at the prison who ran tests on you and did experiments too. this makes you angry. you want revenge.

you’re freed by the young avengers because they want you to join the team. this is the moment you’re reunited with your twin brother, william. you finally found your way back to each other. you join the team and take on the alias speed.

the present —

your team has been hopping between various alternate universes for the missions you go on together. something goes wrong with the last portal you step through and you’re the only one who comes out on the other side. you’re separated from the universe you were born in. now you’re stuck in this new world with no belongings except your speed suit that you’re wearing. you have to settle into a world that looks similar to yours, but also very different. you weren’t even a thought yet here, but now your existence is part of this universe too. it’s time to make the best out of a situation and so you steal backpack and some civilian clothes. your speed suit is kept in the backpack for when you need it. you’re homeless right now, but you’ve lived in worse conditions.

powers —

SUPERHUMAN SPEED:  can run, move and react at speeds far greater than the average human. his top running speed is unrecorded, but it is demonstrated that he can at least achieve MACH 4.

MOLECULAR ACCELERATION: can also generate hyper-kinetic vibrations that accelerate the molecules in matter, causing any solid object he directs his vibrations at to explode.

INTANGIBILITY: He also can use molecular destabilization to walk through solid objects.

SUPERHUMAN STAMINA: his physiology grants him greater stamina when compared to an ordinary human, allowing him to operate at peak capacity for at least several hours before he begins to grow tired.

SUPERHUMAN REFLEXES: capable of reacting fast, because he's moving at superhuman speeds everything moves slower for him.

SUPERHUMAN AGILITY: his physiology grants him superhuman agility being more flexible and having greater balance.

SUPERHUMAN DURABILITY: also provides him with limited protection against impact forces and the high levels of friction that are produced when he moves at superhuman speed.

SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH: possesses a limited degree of superhuman strength, allowing him to lift about 800 lbs with his arms and 1 ton with his legs.

ACCELERATED PERCEPTION: his brain processes information at an accelerated rate to match his bodily speed, enabling him to perceive his surroundings while traveling at high velocities. to him, this makes it seems as if the world is going in slow motion.

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite The Final: From the Ashes a New World

Warning: Dark themes, blood, torture, death and just...carnage 

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya touched the stone around her neck, fingers tickling with a need to destroy it and release the energy within but a thought stirred amidst the need of that. A thoughtful expression formed on her face, heart thumping in her chest and breath strained. It was a risk, she knew that, but it was one that was carefully considered and most importantly, one that would most certainly work. Oya turned to the mantle above the fireplace, taking the knife that had been previously placed there, before turning around to a perplexed expression on Michael's face. She placed the knife in his hands, once more entrusting him with her life.

“They won’t see me as a threat,” she explained. Michael turned fully to her, one hand brushing her cheek in a loving caress. There was something feral in his eyes, a spark of wild that made her heart beat harder as adrenaline was released.

“Show me,” Michael drawled, closing in on her. Oya to the hand in which he held the knife, slowly guiding it to where it would do minimal damage but cause quite the sight. The tip of the knife traced over the fabric. His hand felt burning in her own smaller hand. Their eyes remained at one another, hers filled with anticipation of the pain and his with something she couldn’t describe. The look on his face was one she had never seen before, not fully.

Oya licked her lips and took a breathed out. Michael kissed her, his mouth latched onto hers so quickly it made her head spin and then the pain came, it cut through her and caused her to hitch her breath ready to scream when Michael swallowed up her pained wail with his fiery mouth. Her hands fisted in his jacket, clutching the fabric for life while her knees threatened to cave in. A tear rolled down her cheek, wiped away by Michaels' thumb as he continued to kiss her until she had steadied herself.

Michael pulled apart from her, his breath tickling over her ashen face, his eyes fierce with adoration. Her action, the very plan she had come up with, one that he hadn’t even thought off was only showing how right she was. She was the sun, the moon, the stars. She was life and death, beginning and end. She was a goddess and he was willing to worship at her alter. “I love you more than you could possibly fathom.”

“Oh, I can fathom it,” she whispered, hand strengthening around his. With bated breath she pulled the knife out, small whines escaping her as she watched the crimson blade leave her body and the blood that followed turning the purple fabric a strange abugine. One shaking hand came to put pressure on the wound, the blood rising between her thin pale fingers.

She hissed at the pain and then swallowed it, moving on unsteady legs away from Michael’s warmth that she wanted to wrap herself in. “Give me a few moments before coming out.”

“Oya,” Michael said and brought back the attention on him. “Don’t underestimate them, you’ll know when the time comes to break the spell.”

Oya nodded in agreement and moved past Mrs. Mead who went to help take the bloody jacket off of her boy.

“Because you’re special, Mallory, and we need you,” A voice said, travelling along the stone walls to where Oya was. Her steps sounded, alerting the group ahead of her that someone was coming. There were hushed words said before silence. Oya let out a strangled sob, tears pouring from her dark eyes while her lips quivered. Each step sent a jabbing pain through her body threatening to bring her to her knees. How feeble human bodies were.

“Please, someone,” she cried coming around the corner to be met by 5 pairs of eyes all looking over her weak from. The wall was cold to the touch, her hand sticking to the surface as she leaned against it in an attempt to keep standing, sweat pearling at her temples. “She-she stabbed me...I-I” Her voice cracked. Oya tried to cross the room to them, legs unsteady underneath her.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” A blond cursed at her, bobbing her hip out and placing a hand on it. Obviously, she didn’t find Oya’s presence a threat, all of them must know she had no magic, they could feel it and still the older blond woman, whom Oya recognized as Cordelia, was still suspicious.

“Oya,” Mallory said, arms reaching out to welcome the wounded woman. “What happened?”

“You weren’t with the others,” Cordelia said with evident skepticism.

“I wasn’t feeling well and went to my room and-and Mrs. Mead found me when I headed back to the party, she-she stabbed me!” Oya stammered, looking down at the bloody evergrowing spot on her dress, removing her hand to show it’s crimson covered palm before weakly covering the wound once more. She looked up with swimming pained eyes, lips quivering as she tried to hold back sobs. “She said everyone was dead, you were all dead, how are you here?”

“Are we really trusting this bitch?”

“Oya, look at me,” Cordelia commanded hand taking hold on Oya’s arm. “I know you’re hurt and confused but it's important that you listen.” The seriousness in her voice cut through the pain and demanded attention. If the situation was different Oya would have found the Supreme before her interesting enough befriend, there would have been a lot to learn from one another. But as the situation was, Oya knew that the biggest threat came from both the Supreme and the girl whose arms were currently wrapped around her to hold her up. “You need to stay with Mallory, make sure she survives so that the rest of us can survive. It is important, without her we’re all doomed, do you understand?”

“I-,”

“It’s a yes or no answer,” the bitchy blond cut in, stepping threateningly close. This witch she would have obliterated on sight, she reminded her of Coco somehow. Oya nodded rapidly, stammering ‘yes’ over and over.

“Good, because we need all of you,” Cordelia voiced sternly with the aura of a true Supreme.

“You’re on your own with that shit!” Dinah spat at the witches. “I made a billion dollars in TV and all I ever did was struggle the fence. I sure as hell not dumpin’ that strategy here, sisters. I haven’t promised anything, I haven’t signed anything and I’m not here to defeat anyone.” Dinah walked with sure steps towards them, eyes fixed on the Supreme. This was the first show of her character, a woman willing to do whatever it takes to survive and come out on top. It was admirable, a trait Michael would see fit for the new world. If she had revealed this side of her before Oya would have liked her so much more than she already did, there was something strong about it. But the act she had chosen would have worked, just like her own did, if it weren’t for Michael’s involvement. Venable would never have seen this coming.

“Who cares! As if you could defeat anyone with that backwards voodoo shit,” the youngest blond said, arms crossed and eyes rolling with disrespect. What kind of witch was she? Voodoo was among some of the most powerful magic, it was old and ancient. Magic was given by the gods and some of the oldest gods were those of Voodoo. The thought of slapping the dye blond out of her hair crossed Oya’s mind. It’s one thing to be rude and disrespectful, it’s another to be it towards gods.

“How can any of you defeat me when I’ve already won?” Everyone jumped, taken aback by Michael’s sudden entrance, not a single step heard. Oya clung to the grey, shaking in her arms, while her eyes travelled from Michael’s godly look to Mrs. Mead standing protectively at his side.

“You haven’t won!” Cordelia disagreed stepping forth to face him. The two sides bantered back and forth, neither bending the knee to the other. Hell, Michael offered them a place at his side, a chance to live but the witches were adamant on their plan, whatever it was. What came as the greatest surprise was, however, The Voodoo Queen herself Marie Laveau. The false voodoo queen fell to her knees with blood pouring from her neck in a thick crimson stream. And then the Supreme uttered a curse under her breath, the words out of ears reach. The effect of it was soon to be found as Mrs. Mead began shaking in a way that could only be mechanical, limbs stiff as her head twisted to one side and then the other, each time quickening.

Terror brewed in her chest, the air electric with knitting energy that clashed between the two sides so much so that even a human could feel it. Her stomach turned in knots, worry making its way to the surface and through the pain… Pain that was beginning to be forgotten with each new shot of adrenaline.

“Mrs. Mead?” Michael barely spoke before the woman exploded in anything but flesh and blood. It was like a bomb went off, skin and white matter flung in every direction, steel and iron shards falling like awful rain. Michael went flying through the air, backside hitting the bannister and tumbling over the side of the stairs. He landed with a dreadful trump, the air knocked right out of his lungs. The group of witches, along with Oya herself, were hunched together, Oya letting out a gruntled groan over the way her body was forced together. Mallory dung her fingers into her arms, breath hitched in her ear. She had the Supremes arm around her protectively, while she also held the wounded feeble human, that cried out a strangled sound.

Oya shifted, both frightened by the explosion and the sight of her loved one lying flat on the ground, bits and pieces of the woman he considered his mother cast in various directions around him. Neither of them had seen it coming, neither of the had been prepared. It was too late to change her role, she had to stay with Mallory, at least until Michael was back on top until she knew what plan the Supreme had in mind.

Michael shook with anger, his power coiling around him invisibly. His rage made the air taste of ash and smoke.

The young blond crawled over the floor despite the Supremes voice calling her back. Madison clawed her way towards Mrs. Mead’s arm, one of the few pieces still together along with her decapitated head. She pushed herself to her feet, holding the arm like a weapon and for a moment Oya thought she’d try and knock Michael over the head with it. The result was much different.

“Sorry about your little toy, bitch” Madison remarked with contempt and opened fire. Bullets sliced through the air the moment Michael turned towards them, eyes filled with fire and lightning. The bullets tore through fabric and flesh alike, the air painted in a spray of red. Coco wrapped her hands around Oya’s other arm, the one Mallory wasn’t holding, her nails digging into her flesh. Oya cursed in Korean at the sight of her lover being filled with spray after spray of pullets, Madison screaming like a warrior. Step by step Michael was forced back until his back collided with the wall, knees buckling underneath him.

The witch with the strange red hair was the first among them to stand, walking in quick paces over to Michael’s now dead body. He stared into the room, through the room with cold dead eyes.

Coco and Mallory helped Oya stand, cries leaving her as she stretched out. “What is happening?! Y-you just killed them!” She asked the Supreme trying to get her to reveal her plan. Now that Michael was dead at the moment, she had to stay with them and make sure they didn't win this fucking fight.

“I know it’s confusing but this is all for the best. We’re going to make sure all of this never happened,” she answered, eyes never leaving the enemy. When Oya looked back over at Michael she watched as the redhead ripped strands of Michaels' hair out by the roots. Her stomach turned. Then she walked over to the group still gathered and held out the bloodied strands for Mallory to take.

“A personal item. Remember, dear? Focus on it, locate a time and place with it  in Michael.”

“Shed the ego. Disengage from this realm, place myself there and say the words. Tempus infinitum,” Mallory said, her voice filled with remembrance. The witches all smiled at her, relieved that she remembered the spell. Oya, however, frowned in confusion. Tempus infinitum? Time travel? So they couldn’t defeat Michael before the apocalypse and couldn’t defeat him after and so now they choose to change the past? It was cheating, it was forcing the pieces back in place in an attempt to rewrite history. Time travel, how utterly reckless.

“That’s our girl,” The redhead said with a smile.

“Bullets alone won't kill him. He’s become too powerful, we have to find a place to cast this spell before he wakes up,” Cordelia breathed unsteady, walking closer to Madison and Michael.

“I’ll hold him off as long as I can,” Madison said stepping up the occasion. As long as she could wouldn’t be long though. Michael will kill her with the snap of his fingers as soon as he could.

The group moved, Coco now taking hold of Oya to relieve Mallory of the duty, helping her up the stairs. Mallory ran ahead while Cordelia paused to look at Michael, whos dead eyes stared right through her. The moment they reached the top of the stairs Coco was waved off, the adrenaline smothered the pain and her legs had become more steady. Barely a second after they heard a gruntled angry voice hiss ‘I should have been on that plane!’, the sound coming seconds before the visual of a talk black dressed man stabbing Mallory in the gut.

Cordelia ran forth to get to Mallory, blood already pouring from the girl's mouth. By the look of it, she had been stabbed in the stomach. It wouldn’t take long before she bleeds out and the pain would be more than Oya felt. The man burst into flames and was sent flying over the railing to fall to his death. The witches attempted to heal their fallen soldier but failed.

“He’s coming!” Marie Laveau yelled.

“Take her arm!” Cordelia waved at the redhead and grabbed an arm herself. “Oya look out for Michael and follow.”

The four of them hurried down the halls. In truth there was a tiny piece of her that worried for Mallory, the girl had been nice to her and other than being on the wrong side, she really didn’t deserve to suffer a wound to the stomach. Mallory’s eyes rolled back and forth, fluttering shut every once in a while. They managed to manoeuvre her into a room with an odd round tub of water. There Oya grabbed the girls feet and helped lifting her up into the water. Her knees buckled beside Cordelia, hands gripping the side of the tub to hold her up. The obsidian necklace dangled from her chest, tempting with its raw power. She could destroy it now, could flick her wrist and kill the three of them, but a part of her was curious of this spell, despite the fact that a spell like that should never be cast. And Michael wouldn’t favour her if she killed all of them without him. He didn’t kill her enemies and so she shouldn’t kill the ones he had searched so long for. They were his to kill.

“Come on, Mallory, please,” the Supreme sobbed, holding the injured witch’s face in her hands. Tears streamed down her face, eyes swimming in them, in worry. “Come on, come on, come on! Look at me -look at me! You can do it! You can do this!” In despair, the witch looked to her friend for help, breath shaking. “It’s not working! It’s not working! She’s not strong enough!”

Mallory looked strangely at peace, the pain shutting down her system as blood poured into the water. “I’m sorry, Cordelia.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! Look at me, no, no, no.” Cordelia was panicking, she was frightened to the bone. With all those Supreme powers of hers and nothing, she had done was working. The Supreme was fading but she was enough to stand in the way between Mallory and life. As in the redheads' own words, ‘they were fucked’. And Oya was finding a twisted form of delight in it.

“I love you.” Slowly, with a sad and almost serene look upon her face, the woman that had been crying and begging the younger to stay strong, now rose from her position and walked into the hall where she’d meet the devil himself, Michael Langdon. Oya stared after her, fingers brushing against the cool but electrifying stone until it were fitted into her balled fist. She waited with bated breath, the other hand clutching the side of the tub and let its rough edge bite into her palm. The redheaded witch looked after the supreme, tears staining her impossibly pale skin, reddening the tip of her nose and eyes to match the fiery hair of hers.

Now, out of the view of the redhead, Oya tugged harshly at the stone, feeling the fine chain brake against the back of her neck and undoubtedly leaving a long bruise. The stone seemed to pulse along with her heartbeat. No longer were her eyes that of a scared fragile human that didn’t know what was going on but instead filled with intention, with calculation and anticipation. Cordelia's voice travelled around stone and wood, crept along by the walls and floors, and echoing off to the other end but still were her words out of Oya’s reach. She’d have to rely on her sight and gut feeling.  

“Cordelia!” The witch screamed in agony, crying for her supreme with the intensity one does for family. And that’s when Oya strook. With a hard swing of her arm, the stone broke into pieces on the edge of the tub, the black shards falling to the tiles with the sound of broken glass. The shards gleamed in the candlelight, falling black as obsidian against the sandy tiles, then turning colourless as the power drained from the stone and into her body.

Her heart stopped as time stopped. And then it constrained only to burst the moment after. Energy in its purest form travelled through her veins with a push of adrenaline, every cell and fiber of her being electrified enough to cause goosebumps to rise over her soft skin. It burned deliciously just as it was cooled with delightful touches. Crimson bleed into the white of her eyes as it always did when feeling powerful enough to have the world in her palm. She felt herself long and ache for Michael, but knew that she had a task at hand.

In one swoop she jumped from a crouch and into the black and bubbling water, her dress drenching in seconds making it all the more heavy. Her eyes connected with Mallory’s and then heard her worlds. “Tempus infinitum.” Oya replied the same, grasping Mallory's hand that clutched Michael’s hair in a locked grip. As the girl sank below the surface, Oya followed sinking into the blackness and kept sinking.

There was nothing but black water surrounding her, pressing in on her, asking to be swallowed and breathed -asking to be let in. There was serenity, a calm rarely found, begging embraced and held to eternity and beyond. All past pains, all future thoughts, every memory good or bad, were gone. There was nothing but the black watery abyss.

But there was something in the distance above her. A thought or memory she needed to get to. A task that needed to be performed. Someone she loved. But she was tired, so so tired. Maybe this was where she was supposed to be, this was the only peace she’d ever get. For a moment she thought about letting go, letting the water into her lungs and let her mind get lost in the nothing. But then she heard him, the drawl that made her knees weak and her heart flutter. ‘I love you,’ he said.

Blue gleamed behind her eyelids, the memory of those Angelite orbs tickling at her mind.

Her eyes opened and focused on the light now coming from above. An air bubble danced from her nose and rushed to the surface, promising fresh air above the waterline. With hard strokes of her arms and her legs kicking at the water, she fought to the surface, feeling the pressure rise the closer she got. The need to scream scratched at her throat and strained her lungs.

One hand broke through the surface, then the other until her face shot up with open mouth gasping for breath. The moment she broke through the surface, her surroundings became bright and warm. A breeze danced along her skin and whirled around her hair.

The first sense that returned was the sense of smell. The air smelled warm, with blooming trees and grass, and a faint touch of the sea. But most prominent was the smell of roses, with every breeze the scent was renewed. Next was the sense of hearing. Sprinklers going off in the distance, car doors slamming and then the engine. Somewhere in the distance, a radio was on, playing some obnoxious American song. She kept blinking until her sight returned, mind reeling from the difference and knees weak and wobbly.

Oya found herself standing on a sidewalk, her feet bare against the stone and felt the heat rise from it. Cars filled the driveways, some bigger than others. The same could be said about the houses, but most of them were bigger than they should be. She circled around herself looking for anything that could tell her where she was. America, by the look of it.

She closed her eyes and let her energy wander, crows and ravens above answering to her presence by croaking out the stories that they’ve gathered. One specifically spoke about a boy, blond and blue and beautiful. A boy with a destiny. A boy with bad blood. A boy like none other, born of life and death.

It led her to a grand house which aura was dull with death. It stood beautiful to the human eye but to hers, she could see the darkness emanating off of it in pulses. The red brings were lined with death and the stained windows filled with sorrow. There were so many souls within, more than she had ever heard off or experienced. The history of it was soaked through with blood, with life. This was where it had all begun.

There was a tug at her mind, eyes turning towards the house beside it. That house was filled with just as much dismay, but it was entirely different. It was dismay of the living, a woman cursed with a horrid mind filled with grandeur. The house was cold, it reminded her of the same cold her own house had been filled with.

On the rooftops and in the trees crows and ravens gathered, for every passing minute, another came to be by her side, called by her powers. She stood on the other side of the road, waiting for something to happen, for Mallory to arrive. In that time waiting, she looked down herself and found that she was no longer wearing a purple dress with puffy sleeves stained by her blood but instead a black dress with a neck so deep and exposing it showed the side of her breasts and the shadow of her muscles while still hiding her bellybutton. The fabric was airy and whirled in the wind behind her, along with the additional fabric that was as close to a cape as it could be without going over her shoulders. The fabric was ordained with silver flakes, embroidered to look like snakes, feathers and crows.

Over her head, a crow croaked and alerted Oya of the boy walking with long strides out from the house that felt like cold and dismay. He looked so thin, with the mouth clasp together to hold in sobs and whimpers. Nose, eyes, cheeks red with crying, tears spilling over the edge of his eyes. Devastated, that was how he looked. Like someone who lost everything and everyone, someone who had no future ahead of them. He looked lost and all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and tell him he was going to be okay. Fuck, he didn’t even have shoes on.

The sound of tires screeching and a roaring engine reached her ears. Her eyes shot towards the sound and watched as the black car headed directly towards an unsuspecting Michael. The second he stepped out in front of the car, Oya pushed out her hands towards him and breathed out air.

The boy was forced back and away from the car, his back colliding with the sidewalk in a breathless tumble. Even with the speed, the two women connected their eyes and then Oya tilted her head and smiled.

In a loud chorus of chirps and croaks, all the birds took wind beneath their winds, gathering in a massive mass of black feathers and claws. It was a murder of crows, an extension of herself, every beak and every set of wings. The feeling rushed beneath her while she took assured steps out into the middle of the road to watch her attack unfold.

One after the other, the birds swooped down and smacked themselves into the windshield of the car, glass shattering in a web. The tires screeched over the road, leaving angry black marks in their wake. There was the faintest whirling screaming coming from within the car, the sound swallowed up by the birds coming at the windshield. Bones and flesh and glass cracked alike. It was brutal and disgusting. Blood poured over the shiny front and dripped to the asphalt. And then the last of them broke through and into the car with their wings basking and their sharp beaks and talons.

The blond witch threw herself through the door screaming, her knees scraping over the road as she tumbled out. Oya couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. How her hair was covered in broken pieces of glass, droplets of blood and feathers. Her pale skin marked by scrapes. Then the new supreme clenched together her hands and let out a pulse that killed every bird still alive, whether it was rolling confused around in the car, crying out in pain on the front of it or actively attacking her. A mass of blood and feathers laid atop of the front, pouring down over the side to the asphalt.

Mallory stumbled to her feet, fingers brushing over the car for support as she got up, hair thrown over her shoulder. She wore a golden crown of growing roses.

Michael looked at the display from his place on the ground, understanding that the girl with the crown had tried to run him over, while the woman with black eyes had helped him somehow. He stayed silent disregarding the sting of the superficial cuts he had gotten on the way down.

Oya felt his eyes on her but remained steadfast, unwavering. Mallory shot him a pointed glare before returning her eyes towards the more pressing enemy.

“How did you-.”

“You’re not the only ‘special’ one,” Oya cut off.

“Why are you standing between me and him? Do you know what he's done? What he's going to do?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” She exclaimed with anger and frustration.

“Quite possibly,” Oya answered with an indifferent shrug. “I won’t let you harm him.”

“Then you give me no choice,” Mallory bit harshly. It was strange to see the woman like this, how she had hardened -her skin now steel and iron. This woman who was small and good and pure were now filled with rage and bitter anger that’d only be washed away with Michael’s blood. It seemed entirely out of character for her to want to murder a boy rather than take his hand and offer help.

Mallory waved her hand by her hip, letting the fingers dance through the air until they stilled. All the other windows in the car smashed into pieces, the glass breaking into small bits only for them to be gathered in the air around her, the glass merging together into more massive shards, all pointed to her.

Oya’s heart drummed in her ears, excluding the sound of glass slashing through the air towards her. She could protect herself, shielding her with her powers and redirect the impending shards but she didn’t. Her energy was focused elsewhere. Quickly, her arms shot up, childing her face and upper body as the glass cut into her. She felt the white-hot pain as the glass cut over her forearms. When the attack was over and there was no more glass in front of her she looked down. Three pieces of glass pointed out from her stomach, one bigger than the other. With shaking fingers she took hold of the shard, groaning at the contact and then pulled. The tip was about 6 centimetres long and covered in blood. She did the same with the others and found one 4 centimetres long and the other 7. Blood poured from the wound and poured down her body. The glass pieces broke as they hit the asphalt, all but one that remained in her palm.

Oya looked up at Mallory, eyes stern and unyielding.

“I’m the supreme, you can’t possibly think you can stop this,” Mallory said.

“Miss Supreme,” Oya mocked and took slow deliberate steps towards the girl, who moved restlessly from one leg to the other. Behind Mallory through the flesh, bones, feathers and blood were a movement. It slithered from the bubbling mess, curled and formed until it was entirely visible. Feathers had turned to scales and beak to fangs. The snake was bigger than any other she had seen, the skull was as big as her chest, if not bigger. It looked like the mix of an anaconda and a python if it were not for the black scales dipped in red. Its eyes were as black as her own and gleamed in the sunlight with murderous intent. It coiled behind the unsuspecting Mallory. “You think you’re the all-powerful because ascended the throne?” Oya wiggled a bloody finger in the air and tsked. She approached the younger girl like a predator and watched as she began to draw in her power for the final blow. “You’re the supreme, the all-powerful witch.” Mallory frowned at the mocking tone, jaws locked together and eyes burning with hatred and anger. “But where do you think your powers came from?”

Mallory shook her head confused and stepped back, her heels breaking the glass beneath. It was true that the girl was powerful. More so than any other witch. It hung in the air around her, it was of light as bright as the sun. It was golden and white and good. It flowed around her, tugged at her edges and seams. It reminded Oya of her sister.

The young witch drew in a breath and lifted her hands in the air, ready to strike another blow but she didn’t get that far. No, for the snake shot forth, its sharp fangs piercing the flesh of her thigh as it’s strong jaw clamped down around her. The force made femur snap in two. Mallory screamed out and stumbled to her knees. The venom in Oya’s snake inhibited Mallory’s magic and left her defenceless. This was what she had focused on, what had drawn her energy.

The snake twisted around Mallory, its strong body squeezing so terribly that there was a constant sound of breaking bones. She cried as her body was wrapped up by the snake, its body twisted around her hips, waist and torso.

Oya was now standing before the fallen supreme and looked at her with pitiful eyes.

A gurgling sound came from Mallory's pale lips that soon turned into wheezing. The snake pressed further. It was clear that her ribcage had broken and one of the ribs had pierced through her lung filling it with blood. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of her lip.

“W-what h-have you d-done?” Mallory stuttered out, with each word wheezing followed. “You’d l-let him destroy the w-world?”

“The world was going to destroy itself sooner or later,” Oya answered with indifference. “I don’t care much for this one but the next… the next will be made with my touch as well as his.”

“You’ll destroy h-humanity to p-play g-god?” Mallory gasped at the pain, her torso incredibly small now. Her body sank together, the bones no longer able to hold her up. Life was slowly being squeezed out of her and her insides turned to mush.

Oya smiled. “Oh, little Miss Supreme, I already am a god.” The smile faded into something more serious and cynical. Mallory’s eyes were reddening with the pressure, blood falling like tears. Oya crouched down on her level before continuing to speak. “Cordelia thought that she was clever hiding you.” Soft and almost sweet were her touch as she brushed a piece of hair out of Mallory's face. “Michael expected her to come, but you were quite the surprise. It’s sad how much you underestimated him, sad how you underestimated me. You see, your plan would have worked were it not for me. Time travel… It is quite the move. Cheating, but impressive.” Oya wiped a crimson tear from Mallory’s cheek. “No one, not even the gods should have that power. When you die I’ll make sure Michael wins. When you die, you won’t be going to heaven nor hell.” Confusion wrote itself across the young supremes face. “It would most likely have been hell, you did, after all, try and kill a kid. No, you’ll be going to the underworld, my underworld, and I will make sure you relive you most feared scenario, the thing you dread the most, the thing which hurts you the most, over and over again until you go mad.”

“W-who are you?”

Her answer rang clear. She said it with such simplicity it was almost baffling. “I’m Oya but you may also know me as Ereshkigal, goddess of the underworld. Goodbye, Mallory.” The hand in which she held the longest glass shard were lifted to the young supremes neck, the veins popping with pressure and ready to explode. When the sharp edge ran over the fragile pale skin blood burst out in a heavy flow, running down her neck, over the curled body of the snake and dripped to the ground where it pooled. The snake released its fangs from her thigh and began twisting again.

Oya rose from her spot, brows twitching as she felt her body react to the wounds, to the excess use of her power. A single breath was drawn in behind her, pulling her attention towards the much younger Michael, with those big blue eyes filled with wonder and worry all the same. He was still lying on the pavement, hitched up on one elbow to look at the scene. With small simple steps she approached him, bloody hands held up in front of her in submission.

“You-you saved me!” He stuttered confused with a shaking childish voice. Oya sank to her knees at his side, groaning at the pain that shot through her body. Blood was pouring out more frequently now. The pain was nothing though, it didn’t cross her mind as she thought about the boy before her. He was older in body, but his soul was one of a child's. His eyes held the same confused innocence, one that was growing up without guidance, one that begged to be loved. Without a second thought, she reached for him, thumb brushing over his cheek reddened by crying and left a trace of crimson. The motion was gentle, not like the way she had done it to Mallory. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to tell him and warn him about.

“You’re hurt,” he said breaking her thoughts. She smiled at him.

“I’m fine,” she simply said.

“How did you… I don’t understand.”

“I know, I know it’s hard to understand but I need you to listen to me,” she began as she felt cold fingers of the abyss ghost over her. “Mallory was sent from the future to kill you. The witches wanted you dead because you pose a threat to them, to the entire world.” At the fear written across his face she paused. Within her chest, her heart stopped and strained. If she told him all of this, if she changed anything in the past, it would ripple throughout time to the future. Telling the boy before her would change the man that she loved. Any little thing would change the future. Pain bloomed in her chest, not like a physical one but rather… emotional. It made her throat strain with unvoiced cries. With a gentle touch, she took his face in her hands and looked at him with importance and seriousness, while he, in turn, looked at her with bewilderment and uncertainty.

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you know all of this, it’ll change too much, you might change too much.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, just… just, listen to me. You’re going to have a tough life filled with betrayal, Jagi. You’re going to feel so alone, so abandoned.” Oya began focusing her powers, letting the electricity run through her and into her fingers, letting them warm on his skin. Her fingertips brushed against his right temple as she began to withdraw his memory. Silver began to shine where their skin touched. “Never trust the witches, no matter what… and -and when you’re ready come find me. I won’t understand either but I will in time. I will always be there.” A silver flower bloomed when she withdrew her fingertips from his temple. The silver flower bloomed and then returned to a bud that hardened into a pearl. Behind Oya the snake had dislocated its jaws as it swallowed Mallory’s broken body whole. The glass than laid scattered in pieces collected and set themselves in place, the windows of the car shining in the sun as if it had never been shattered. Oya looked over her shoulder at the snake and breathed out just as its jaws set in place. Like parchment in flames the snake burned, ashes and small pieces of ember whirling in the wind to there was nothing left. No blood, no glass, no snake. The only strange thing left behind was Oya herself, still bleeding on the pavement.

“Oh dear god!” A woman gasped. Oya looked towards the voice and narrowed her eyes at the older woman. “What did you do?!” At first, Oya thought she had hissed at her but when the woman’s eyes shifted to Michael she knew. With one clenched hand, she took hold of the woman immobilizing her completely.

“Go inside, Michael,” she said softly and let him get up before rising herself. With deliberate steps she approached Michael’s grandma, fist still curled around the pearl and holding her in place.

“Who are you? What are you?” Mrs. Langdon hissed through clenched teeth.

“I’m the woman who loves your son,” Oya answered with a hard tone. Mrs. Langdons eyes widened. “I want you to know this so listen closely. You’re going to forget that you saw me, you’re going to forget whatever happened before that made your grandson run out of the house in tears and with no shoes. You’re going to forget all of it. But I want you to know that there’ll be a little voice inside of you, one that’ll never leave you and one that you’ll never be able to confess to any other soul on this earth. It’s going gnaw at your sanity for eternity.” Frightful tears welled up in Mrs. Langdons eyes.

“You know you’re a terrible mother. You’re a narcissist who thinks they have any business raising children. You’re a failure.”

“No, no! I did everything I could! I did everything right!” Mrs. Langdon defended with a wavering voice.

“You did not love him!” Oya spat, stepping so close she could smell the fear coming off of her. “And you will suffer because of it. You cannot hurt him so the only way out is to take your own life, and you will. You were never meant to be a mother.”

Something inside the woman snapped. Her matriarch mask breaking to reveal the rotten decaying soul of the woman inside. She reminded Oya of her mother. In a way, she fated her the same way. Parents who cannot love their children should not have them. Mrs. Langdon was a woman who thought herself perfect and true, it was written in the way her eyes were, the way she wore clothes from another time, the way she pinned up her hair. She was a woman who wanted to last forever, a woman who wanted the perfect family, a woman who was the cause of her own ruin. The silver pearl formed at her fingertips once more, this one cold and with the gleam of rot.

Oya let Mrs. Langdon go, the woman staggering inside her house in a trance that’d relieve itself once Oya had gone to her own time. She stared at the house filled with cold and dismay before letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The pearl with Mrs. Langdons memory caught the light as she held it up in her palm and then let it roll off into the bushes. It would remain there until the end.

The corners of her sight became fussy, black dots forming and distorting her vision. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let herself fall forward, the pavement rising to meet her with a hard embrace. Instead, she found that she fell through it, into darkness and water. Before her were her reflection, with her big black eyes looking back at her. She was naked once more, the dress ripped from her body and gone the moment she entered the darkness.

When she reached to touch her reflection it reached to touch her. The tip of their fingers met and suddenly she was thrown forward, water pressing in on her, forcing its way down her throat as she plummeted through the surface of the water. Her body ached and shot with burning hot pain. The dress wrapped around her tightly and weighed her down. Beside her were the contorted body of Mallory, with eyes shot open and red, bloody tears running down her face while her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her arms, legs, hips and torso were broken, a twisted lump wrapped in grey. And from her open neck had warm blood once flown.

Oya crawled weakly over the side of the tub, water and blood pouring from her. The moment she hit the floor she heard the last witch alive scream a blood-curdling scream that send her flying over the floor and into the wall with teeth clattering force. Pain bloomed at the back of her head, distorting her vision even more.

“You broot, you absolute monster! You’ve doomed us all!” Oya didn’t see what happened afterwards, not until later. Instead, she was engulfed by the scent of allspice followed closely by the feeling of scorching hands pressing against her cheeks and then her stomach. With her mind scattered in the past, the in between and the present, she couldn’t connect a proper sentence. Instead, she cried out jumbled words and sounds trying to tell him the pieces of her mind.

“I’m here! Don't worry, I’m right here,” he told her over and over, trying to soothe her. Slowly, her wounds began to heal with the touch of Michael, her own energy drained from her body. His blond hair was smeared in blood, so was his face and hands. The suit he wore ripped apart by bullets and drenched in blood and other fluids, with white pieces of what once was Mrs. Mead hanging on to it. And yet somehow he remained the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Her eyes caught his.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I was afraid and-and I didn’t… I was afraid,” she cried out between mumbled words and sounds, trying to connect with her body again.

“Shh,” Michael hushed her and caressed the side of her head, eyes filled affection and tenderness. “You did so well, love. You did it.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Oya spoke more clearly, pushing herself further up the wall to relieve the pain in her hips. Her bottom lip quivered, eyes filled to the brim with tears while her body shook. What if he’d never understand? The thought made her shudder. “I had the chance to change it all, to save you. I could have warned you, given you a better life, made sure you were never betrayed. But I was afraid! I was afraid that if I changed that I’d change the future. If I told you, you might not have come to me.”

Michael looked at her in bewilderment but still held the same love as before. He brushed wet locks out of her face and inched closer in an effort to calm her. In the middle of her palm that had once been closed in a tight fist, were the memory she had taken. She held it up for his eyes to catch, the silver shining through blue. In one shaky breath, the pearl bloomed into a flower and then withered until there was nothing left. Silver caught onto Michaels' eyes and she watched as the memory played in his head, eyes flickering back and forth as if in a dream. The silver ran out and blue poured back in.

“I’m so sorry, I could have changed it all but I was too afraid,” she coked out through a strained throat.

Michaels brows knitted together and his thumbs brushed away her tears. “Shh,” he cooed. “You did the right thing. You did the right thing. You did so well, I could never have imagined what you did for me but you did so well. You were right, my love.”

“Yeah?” she whispered and reached for him.

“Yeah,” Michael answered and kissed her forehead.

Walking through the carnage that had occurred Oya observed the different bodies she came across on her way to her room. She trailed a wet and bloody path over the grimly painted stones, dripping from her wet clothes. There was the redheaded witch whose head was twisted to an unimaginable point that was only matched by Coco’s broken neck. There was Mallory floating in the tub with her body crushed in a way that couldn’t be described. There was Marie Laveau whose heart laid beside her body, ribcage open with bones sticking out revealing the empty chest. And then there was the blond witch, Madison or so she guessed, with her head blown clean off.

That was the carnage she observed on her way to her room.

Oya dried her hair, the white towel drawing a hint of pink from the bloody water she had once been in. Then she changed out of her ruined dress for an airy pair of pants and a black see-through top that had one single line through the fabric that covered her nipples. It was what she had brought with her, what she was not allowed to wear, and now her chosen outfit.

“Where is it?” She questioned herself, digging through the chest at the foot of the bed. The glass was cool against her fingers, as she fished the small bottle out from under books and fabrics. The tiny bottle was slipped into her pockets before she walked out of the room for the last time.

She found him standing over Cordelia's body. He too had changed outfit, from ruined rags into fine silk and velvet. His skin was now clean and hair perfect as always. Oya came up behind him, hand slipping over his shoulder before her lips kissed it softly.

Cordelia was staring into the vast nothing, blood in a morbid halo around her body, hands held out like the usual statue of Virgin Mary. The only difference was that she wasn’t so innocent and she certainly wasn’t going to ‘heaven’.

Michael was looking at the fallen supreme with contemplation hinted with disappointment. This was what he wanted but now that it had arrived, was it what he wanted? Was it enough?

“You should never have underestimated me,” he mused quietly before continuing with a harder tone. “You were wrong and you failed, if only you were here to witness it.”

“You could bring her back or simply visit her in hell,” Oya commented. “I’m sure she’s there.”

Michael smiled back at her and let out a sigh. “She is and she’ll rot there for eternity but she… Managed to take away the pleasure of watching her fail… And she took so much more.”

Sympathy knitted her brows together, her hand travelling to cub his cheek forcing his eyes from Cordelia’s body to her. “You destroyed the witches. Every single one of them. They’re rotting in hell and if they’re aware they’re there, they’ll know they failed miserably. You’re the one who did that, you’re the one who won. You, Michael, are the victor, the king of a new world made in his image.”

She was right, of course. He had won the war. There was no longer anyone to oppose him, to threaten his rule or legacy. The world had been burned to ash and from that, a new world would rise. The price had been steep but it had been paid, and if it came down to it, he’d pay it all over again. His only regret was that he couldn’t change the price and bring back Mrs. Mead. Her loss would nibble at his edges.

Michael flashed a gentle smile at his counterpart, taking her hand and kissing her wrist before walking out of the round room.

Oya looked after him. He had won but his shoulders were heavy with a new burden. In one quick turn, she knelt down beside the pool of blood and let her jewelled hand dance in the air over it. Faint whispers of enchantment slipping through her red lips, the words dangling in the air and then twirling down with her magic to the Crimson. At first, nothing happened but then one single droplet raised from the surface and into the air quickly followed by more droplets. They merged together into one floating ball of blood right in front of her face. The blood then seeped into the now opened glass bottle fished forth from her pocket, filling it up the brim before being closed off and slipped into her pocket once more.

Then a spiteful vengeful streak settled in her soul and she gripped Cordelia's fine blond hair in a handful before ripping it from her head, just like that wicked redhead. The strands of hair were shoved into her pocket as well. Then she rose and joined Michael in the grand hall, walking around the round fireplace to find him staring at yet another dead body, this time Dinah’s.

“She didn’t exactly meet the requirements for the sanctuary but I suppose I should reward for her loyalty.”

Oya mused, lips pursed as she examined the body. Dinah’s neck was gaping open and arteries emptied of blood making her skin look dull and ashy. Her dark eyes were still open in shock as was her mouth. “She’s with Papa Legba now.” Michael looked down at her from the steps, waiting patiently for her to continue. He might know a lot about hell but that didn’t mean he’d know of the figures in it, nor the demigods and various demons that belonged there. His teachers would never have taught him this, they were too busy forming him into something they could use for their own advantage.

“I would recommend not making a new enemy when you’ve just gotten rid of the last. Making an enemy of Papa Legba would not be wise. If anything you should make a deal with him, trade a soul for a soul if you believe she’s worth it.”

“Hmm,” he sounded and stepped down to Oya’s level again. “Such a wise woman I have by my side.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and forced her body flush against his, lips dipping to meet hers in a fiery but light kiss. “Are you ready to leave this place?”

“More than ready,” she replied, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. Michael snapped his fingers and fire began to climb from the fireplaces with destructive tongues and tendrils, making their way over stone and wood alike.

In one breath and with one step the two disappeared from Outpost 3 and into the sanctuary.

The sanctuary was built underneath a mountain, a marvellous mix of old and new. The halls were of concrete, a simple and cold look, while the section in which Oya and Michael lived were much like the house they had stayed in, with floor to ceiling windows showing hardened lines and edges in stone. Their section was off limits to the few that lived there or so Oya had made it. Only the servant robots were permitted. Michael’s office was just before their section, furnished nice and simple, with a rounded rosebush that had been growing slowly in the middle of the room, shielding the view of the door from his desk. Nevertheless, he would always know with precision who came through the door before he ever laid eyes on them. That always seemed to chill the few humans there to the bone.

Oya and spend the first while getting accustomed to the servant robots there, their presence feeling strangely void with the lack of a soul. She didn’t trust them and was wary towards them, maybe because she didn’t trust the two crackheads who created them. How Mutt and Jeff survived the interviews remained a mystery despite Michael’s insistence that though they were not to be trusted they remained usable.

However, the one she seemingly clashed with the most was the Japanese Yuu Masaru whose eyes were always cold and calculative, with a stern mouth always in a straight line and high edging cheekbones. She could see why Michael wanted him there, he was everything he wished for the new world. But he was ambitious beyond his stance and ruthless in his ways, she could see it in him.

Michael stood for the politics of this place and Oya buried herself in nature.

Michael had constructed a marvellous arboretum. The room was as big as half the sanctuary in its own, the walls made of fine coloured glass to the top that arched as a true masterpiece of a greenhouse. One side held long lines of pots from floor to roof, ready for plants, with a system that could make it go around so that no stairs were necessary.

And with time and Oya’s fine collection of seeds, the brownfields became green with life. She had marked an area for her herbs and plants, while the rest were to provide fresh food for the sanctuary. The women that were, who didn’t have tasks anywhere else helped her with the maintaining of the food, though they were not allowed to touch her flowers or herbs. And if they weren’t there, the robots took over work. She hated seeing them through the green, something without a soul, without a living cell touch that which was living.

For two year she read through the collection of magic books and legends Michael had gathered in their private library. For two years she had tried different spells and hexes, made different potions and remedies and worked towards making her own spell. It had been a project of hers, when she wasn’t required to play doctor or queen, to find a way to make the impossible possible. She had been cautious, uncertain.

Now was the time, however. It couldn’t wait any longer.

Which was why she was now carrying a bucket with fresh blood through the concrete walls towards the arboretum. The thick red liquid waved back and forth, threatening to spill. Her big white dress vulnerable to the task at hand.

Minseo, her own personal robot made almost in her image, or rather out of her imagination, was carrying her heavy medicine chest like it was a box of feathers. Unlike the more human robots Mutt and Jeff had created, Minseo was made as a servant, with fine gentle features and a soft brow. She rarely showed any strain unless Oya had told her to switch on her humanity mode. Now she was a blank page following orders without question. She usually kept her like that, unsure what to feel when she seemed almost human.

In the distance she heard the voices of men talking, walking through the halls with some unknown purpose.

Oya and Minseo turned to the door standing between them and the smell of nature. Every time she stood there she felt a flutter in her stomach, happy to once again be with nature and to make things grow. It was incredible to let her bare feet sink into the soil of the arboretum.

The doors swished open, the delightful smell of flowers and soil hitting her nostrils in an instance. The pair made their way inside, locking the door behind them. She had ordered no one to come in and as far as she could see there wasn’t a soul or robot in sight.

Oya paved the way to her small garden of herbs as the spot left untouched by her nimble hands and seeds. The soil was bare there. She planted the heavy bucket there and ordered Minseo to put the chest beside it.

“Minseo, please stand aside,” she asked of the robot no taller than her. Sometimes she forgot she wasn’t real or maybe it was because she was raised that way, or maybe it was because she was the only one who didn’t have any ambition or life to fear for.

Swiftly Oya bound a piece of cloth around Minseo’s eyes in an assurance that Mutt and Jeff weren’t spying on her. They weren’t to be trusted and if Michael hadn’t explicitly asked her not to kill them, they would have been dead long ago. Especially because of their first interaction with where we're less than tactful given that they had implied she was an exotic pussy just there for Michael to fuck. Michael's hand held Oya back only to turn to them himself and let his tendrils of magic tear inside their heads. They had cried blood that day.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she repeated to herself as she drew a big circle in the soil and then divide it in two, with a single much smaller circle in the middle. The next half an hour was spend setting up candles in the circle, stones were scattered in the ridge of the circle, as well as her herbs.

When all that was placed Oya took the bucket of blood and poured it in an oval shape inside one of the chambers of the circle. Above her, her crows croaked with curiosity, their shadows following the circle around and around. She had let them free, used them to look after the garden and surveil the ones that came and went. And every once in a while she let them turn to shadows and travel beyond the stained glass and green to the halls on concrete to keep an eye on the inhabitants.

The blood seeped into the soil as if it was greedy for it.

She then went to her medicine box and opened the various drawers, pulling out vials and dried herbs alike. First, she crushed herbs in the mortar, pouting the powter into a deep bowl, followed by snake oil and two drops of belladonna essence. Other oils and essences were also added, among them being Daffodil oil and water hemlock essence. And for good measures mistletoe.

The concoction was fatal, to say the least, if it had not been for Oya’s keen potion making and alchemical abilities.

Then she crushed the bone of crow into dusty clumps, stuck a feather into the mix, poured the blood of a deer and added dried chicken feet as well as sparrow claws.

To be perfectly honest the concoction looked as revolting as it sounded and it smelled even worse.

“This better fucking work,” she muttered in her native tongue, cutting a tiny wound into the palm of her hand and let a few drops fall into the potion. The wound healed up immediately.

Oya rolled her neck and started murmuring forgotten words as the heavy smell of burned herbs began to fill the area. Her hands waved over the bowl, blessing it as well as hexing it. There was a faint feeling of her snake move beneath her skin, reacting to the words that fell from her lips.

At last she added the final ingredient, the sparse few drops of Cordelia’s blood that was left, the hair she had ripped out long gone, burned with the herbs.

The hardest part was swallowing it all down without throwing up. The taste was unimaginable and stuck to her tongue as well as nose. It clawed at her throat and threatened to spill into her lungs. Her stomach turned. Quickly and with stubbornness she swallowed the last of it, crawling over the soil to lie down in the other compartment of the circle, the one not touched by blood.

She closed her eyes and emptied her head, letting the soil swallow her up and the darkness wash over her. As she sank into the soil she raised above the surface of the Inbewteen. Her stomach turned again and a cold shill went through her body.

A gasp escaped her when she pushed herself up from the water, finding herself dry despite having gone through it. She was naked now, as she usually was in the Inbetween. There was nothing, a void so easily recognized by how often she had been there over the years.

Two doors revealed themselves, one shining black that caught the light that wasn't present and one a screaming red against the black vastness of everything. One felt familiar to her soul, begged her to open it, while the other was the one she needed to go through.

Her body felt weak and shaking, a sweat working its way up on her brow while she felt cold. Her stomach felt like a storm threatening to spill over at any moment. She strode to the red door with quick steps, twisting the knob and stepping into the black walls of hell. The red had turned to black as she closed the door behind her, hand resting on it while she sank forward, mouth pouring with saliva. She spat the excess onto the ground and heard her stomach growl in dismay while her insides convulsed.

What began as a waterfall of saliva turned into a strangled gag and then she felt her stomach purge, felt it rise throughout her oesophagus and upwards. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, made her eyes burn with tears and neck strain enough to pop every vein. It slithered up and she opened her mouth ready to spill the contents.

The white snake slithered forth and landed in a pool of her saliva. As soon as the head was out, the rest of the snake quickly followed and when she was finally free of it, she drew in deep breaths and strained gasps until she caught enough air in her lungs to stretch out.

At her feet the snake slithered around, waiting to be told what to do. She wiped her mouth and brushed her air out of her face, already feeling better. “Find her.”

The snake slithered forth, leaving a trail of wet behind it until it eventually disappeared. Oya followed with bare feet, her strides long and filled with purpose. The white dress swung around her, no longer dirty from soil, spilled blood and concoction. Guess hell made her clean.

At one point she passed a corridor and paused, looking down an opposite hall the mirror image of the one she was in. The black door opened and a man dark as midnight stepped out wearing a silver lined suit. He was beautiful, with high cheekbones and thick lips only a man as dark as him could have. What caught her attention the most was the aura around him, humming with as much glee as it did pain. There was a silver circle around his dark eyes only matched by the silver on his eyelids.

When he caught sight of her, he bowed. She automatically returned the bow, brows slightly furrowed in bewilderment. The demon then turned and walked away. It was the first true demon she had seen.

The snake hissed, the sound distant. With quick steps, she returned to the snake while it slithered forth until it coiled at a door. The doorknob was cold to the touch and when she entered there was the same cold crisp to the air. Everything was cast in blue light, haunting and strangely beautiful. One step ago she was outside in hell, now she was standing at the Robichaux Academy.

The floor didn’t creak when she walked through the room. The sound of a sob echoed through the dead silent halls, the only thing filling the empty void in the air. It felt just as it had done when she visited the real Academy. The lack of magic, the hollowness of the house as if its bones had been edged out and left empty. The snake slithered into the dining hall and waited patiently there.

She already knew what she’d see but she still she felt the gratification rise within her when her eyes fell upon the bodies of the witches, each scattered around a broken and crying Cordelia. The woman clutched one of the dead witches to her chest, one Oya didn’t know the name of. Her body rocked back and forth, eyes swollen and thick with tears.

“So this is what your personal hell looks like,” Oya mused. Her voice cut through the daze in Cordelia's mind, the loop she was in broken by her presence. The woman’s brows furrowed as she cast a fierce and biting look towards Oya. “Surrounded by those you love without any possibility of bringing them back.”

“No,” Cordelia murmur faintly.

“You lost, if you couldn’t tell,” Oya mocked with venomous glee. “Not that you didn’t try, I have to give you that. Mallory did her part and did it well but alas she was nothing against a goddess.”

“No,” Cordelia repeated, loosening her grip on the dead girl. Her eyes blinked, tears no longer filling them through the pain was still there. The fallen supreme gathered her strength and let go of the girl entirely, turning to Oya and staggering to her knees. “Why are you here?”

“You have something I want.”

Cordelia was about to question what it was but her mind clicked and a flicker of pure and adulterated spite settled in her eyes. “I will give you nothing.”

“Not to sound like a total villain but I was kind of hoping you’d say that,” Oya stepped closer, her steps deliberate and strong. “I could try and bargain with you if it weren’t because I can take what I want. Tell you about how Mallory died and where she is now.” Cordelia’s eyes narrowed in contempt. The flicker of light in the witches eyes told Oya everything she needed to know. That Mallory had been a soft spot and that her death would affect her. “Every bone in her body was crushed and her insides turned liquid with the amount of pressure on her. You should have seen it, blood pouring from her eyes that were ready to burst out of her skull, I wonder…. What she thought about when I cut her throat.”

“You can give me every single gruesome detail but it won’t change anything,” Cordelia spat, her hands clutching the wrinkled gown she wore so hard her knuckles were white. Oya’s eyes trailed towards Mallory’s body and noted that she merely looked asleep. Her eyes closed and she rolled her head back and forth drawing in a deep breath only to let it out again and with it her magic. It wrapped around Mallory’s body and within the blink of an eye, the serene looking witch turned to the horrific body Oya had left behind floating in the tub.

A strangled whine escaped Cordelia who clawed at the floor as she shook at the sight. The crying chorus of ‘no’ filled the air and with each word edged in the broken pain of the fallen supreme before her.

“S-she wasn’t meant to… She was good!”

“Not that good, she did try and kill a child. Not exactly the actions of a good-.”

“He was the antichrist! He was going to destroy the world and you let him!” Cordelia screamed, tears and snot running down her face all the same.

Oya waved her hand in the air as if she were waving off flies. “Yes yes, I’ve had this conversation before. I’d much rather tell you about where she is.” Cordelia's eyes snapped up at her, pleading and still spiteful. “She’s not in hell but the underworld. The principals are the same, torment for eternity. Her world shifts between emotional torment like this,” her hand motioned to the scenario surrounding them. “And a much more physical kind of misery.”

“Stop, just stop,” Cordelia trembled out, using her hand to shield her reddened face from Oya’s prying and cruel eyes. It didn’t help of course. There was no shielding her shame. “You said you’d take what you wanted from me so just do it and get it over with.”

The white snake slithered forth, curling between Oya’s feet and towards Cordelia, tongue snapping out every once in a while to taste the agony in the air. Oya let out a mocking sigh. “Only because I respect who you were and your stubbornness.”

White scales caught the blue light as the snake slithered to Cordelia who wrung away. In one swift movement, the witch was nailed to the spot muscles straining against invisible tethers. It climbed her body, twisted around her neck and waited patiently for Oya to force Cordelia’s locked jaws open and then slithered inside. Cordelia choked and sputtered, fingers jittering at her side while her eyes widened in horror. She gagged at the intrusion and Oya couldn’t blame her. The snake was big and far longer than a cock… When it had slithered inside Oya let got of her grasp and released her from the bindings. The snake would come out by itself and Cordelia was certain not to resist getting it out.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, trust me but you did have it coming.” It wasn’t like her to mock so much, to banter back and forth this way with cruel intentions and venomous words but the image of Michael’s heavy shoulders and the hidden hurt Cordelia had inflicted upon him wouldn't go away. He missed her. He wished for his mother figure, the woman who’d stand by his side and never betray him. Of course, he had her, the woman who’d do anything for him. But he was going to need a person to take part in the politics and while Oya would remain his other half, he was going to need someone less prone to curse her opponents.

In one convulsive move, Cordelia lunged forward, her nails raking over the floor audibly while her beath strained and body broke into shudders. Oya made a disgusted face at the sound of wet gagging, a shudder of her own running through her body with the memory of how it was for her.  

When the snake returned from the inside of a human it was silver grey, the tips of its scales dark green. It fell to the floor among other fluids where it coiled and slithered towards the door now enlightened with the knowledge it was meant to obtain.

“Your hell, Cordelia, is going to be a lot more painful from now on,” Oya said and turned to follow the snake out. The click of the door closing shut out the sounds of broken sobs.

Oya followed the snake through the halls, seemingly walking forever with no change of decor or any roaming souls. There were no demons either and she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Either way, she continued on.

Then the snake finally curled in front of a door. Before entering she picked up the snake and let it twist around her wrist, its heavy body weighing more than you’d expect. It remained there, silent and tasting the air. The door creaked as she entered the building finding that the insides were darkened wood, carved out in a 1920-is style with dark wallpaper where there weren't panelling. The moment she set foot inside she knew where she was, the old haunted house beside the one Michael grew up in. There were the cold touch of spirits in the air and the lining of the house held dark energy drawn from the corridors of hell.

“Hello?” She sounded out hoping that this would be it for now. That Mrs. Mead would just appear and they could take their leave. But that wasn’t meant to be, she already knew that. She’d have to look for something out of place.

“Who are you?” A man asked after appearing around the corner followed by two women, one with strawberry blond hair and the other older with burned red hair. At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Langdon appeared, smoke in her hand and an annoyed expression upon her face.

“She is the one I told you about,” Mrs. Langdon answered. The strawberry blond crossed her arms over her chest and guarded her expression. She was the one who was the weariest.

“I’m Oya,” she introduced and stepped further in, eyes running over the surroundings trying to pinpoint something that didn’t belong. “I’m looking for something.”

“What?” The older redhead asked at the same time the strawberry blond said; “We’re not going to help you. You’re with him, Michael.” The name caused the house to groan, a shudder going through the air and rippling through the souls. What was guarded and weary became more so. Oya disregarded this and continued to look through the house, eyes catching a glimpse of the desolate land outside of the windows.

“I’m looking for something that doesn't belong, something new or out of place.”

“Why should we help you?” The man asked.

Oya inhaled in thought. Why should they help her? They didn’t have to. She’d eventually find what she needed but it’d go faster with their help. Each soul had a different aura, some told of their innocence while others told of the decay. Each had been judged but sentenced all the same. But who exactly judged them? “Because it’d get me out of here faster.”

“Can you help us?” The older redhead asked, soul, radiating innocence and eyes longing for peace.

“Moira!” The strawberry blond hissed.

“If this is my chance of getting out of here I’m taking it! Don’t you take that away from me, Vivien,” Moira hissed back, stepping forward with hands pressed together in a prayer and eyes pleading. Oya simply smiled at her and would have taken her hands between her own if it weren't for the snake residing in one of them. Instead, she pushed the paying hands down and away from her. Prayer didn’t help either of them.

“I can get you out if I wanted to, give you peace or send you on your merry way to heaven or whatever, it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is finding this object.” Her eyes looked past Moira to the couple wrapping their arms around one another protectively and then up at the woman on top of the staircase. There were more ghosts, she could feel their eyes on her, hidden from sight but very much there. They whispered amongst each other, some in scorn while others in hope.

“Is that a possibility for all of us?” A woman asked body and face burned to a crisp.

“Most of you,” Oya answered, eyeing Michael’s grandma and the strawberry blond who was without a doubt Michael’s birth mother. “I’ll release you to wherever is next for you, that being hell or the beyond.”

“This is hell,” Mrs. Langdon spat taking a few steps down the stair followed by a boy with blond curly hair and dark eyes.  Born of life and death, human and spirit. This was the father. The vessel in which Satan used to spawn the antichrist. Oya could see it, the touch of the same kind of darkness Michael had emanating around his father.

“Hell could be far worse, trust me on this,” Oya replied. “And if it were up to me you’d feel the flames of hell along with the others that hurt Michael but he left you here to rot. I trust this hell is sufficient.”

“You’re just as bad as him,” Vivien commented, held back by whom Oya believed was her husband. Vivien was a strange soul with a strange aura. She was meant for heaven or eternal bliss but was trapped here with the rest of them and somehow she remained pure like Moira and the burned woman, untainted by the house and its deeds. Untainted by her attempt to kill Michael.

Her husband was another story.

“I won’t argue with you.” The indifference in her voice was staggering but honestly, she was tired and she wanted to get out of hell. “Most of us in this room as done shitty things-.”

“Like ending the world?” Michael’s father said from the stairs, voice as hard as his eyes. Oya shrugged and looked at Moira.

“Where is it?”

“Moira don’t,” Vivien begged but found that Moira had been swayed. There were no hard feelings between them though, both women understanding the other. Oya followed the redhead into the living room and pointed over the fireplace at a goat's head. It was black and its eyes seemed afire.

“It just appeared.”

Oya walked past the maid, hand squeezing her arm in thanks before continuing towards the mantlepiece. Why a goat's head she’d never have the answer for but she knew why it was here. This was the place Michael would have gone to last. The place in which he’d never set foot in. And she couldn’t blame him. With the many ghosts, most of which were calling his existence an abomination, most of which betrayed and disappointed him. It was no wonder Cordelia had chosen to hide her soul in this place. It was a stroke of genius, the intent calculated and malicious. If he were to come here it’d come with a great personal cost.

Too bad they hadn’t foreseen her.

The fur was coarse and stiff under her fingers, the head itself heavy as she took it down and walked towards the main room needing space for the next thing. Horrified eyes followed her as well as curious eyes. Moira followed her quickly behind tethering on the edge to ask for her price. She didn’t however.

Oya produced a knife from beneath her dress, once tied flatly against her thigh, but now catching the eyes of various spirits. The head had been placed on the floor with Oya standing over it, raising her arm with the snake in it, letting it hang limb as her hand was wrapped around its head. The blade cut through scales and flesh, blood gushing down onto the goat. Lights flickered in the house and a wind picked up. The snake was discarded to the floor followed by the blade.

The blood seared through the goat, smoke and steam rising from it and forming into a familiar shape. There was a chorus of gasps.

Mrs. Mead blinked at her, blue eyes framed by black eyelashes and pale skin. She wore a white ragged dress that looked more like a potato bag than a dress. Confused, her brows knitted together, eyes running from one face to another.

“Mrs. Mead,” Oya spoke politely. “I know it’s confusing-.”

“Where am I? H-how did I get here? Is this hell?”

“This is hell alright,” Mrs. Langdon muttered and drew in a breath through the cigarette.

“I will explain it all to you but first I have a promise to uphold.” Oya turned to Moira, then felt around for the souls that needed be here, the ones she deemed innocent enough and felt sympathy for. She might be fucking and loving the antichrist be she wasn’t without empathy. Each soul was judged and sentenced, her tendrils latching onto the ones that earned freedom and peace.

“Thank you,” Moira said moments before she disappeared, slowly dissolving out of existence like fading smoke.

“It was nice to meet you all but I have a world to build and you have an eternity to think over what you’ve done.” There were words thrown at her, one among them being ‘the devil's whore’ but she shut them out and lead Mrs. Mead to the corridors of hell.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Oya. I would say that Michael send me but that’d be twisting the truth,” she confessed. Mrs. Mead stopped and looked at her, eyes uncertain and examining. She wasn’t sure to believe her. Wasn't really sure of anything. “Michael told me about you. When he lost you he lost a piece of himself and he’s been missing it ever since. He would have come for you, he would, but he didn’t know how or where to find you. The witches hid you.”

“But you found me.”

“I did. I’ve spent over a year searching and then perfecting the spell to find you. Now is the time though,” Oya spoke and began to walk. There was a heaviness to Meads' eyes. A searching. Of course, she’d be wary. Anyone would be in her shoes. A stranger coming and freeing you, then walking down the corridors of hell with said woman, entrusting her to lead you to the boy saw as your child. “He needs someone at his side, someone he trusts.”

“If you’re doing this he already has one he trusts. Michael wouldn’t open up like that to just anyone.”

“Yes, he has me but he also needs you.” Mead would be his right hand and Oya his left. She’d be the woman he loved, his queen, and Mead his trusted advisor. “He doesn’t know I’ve found you, it’s quite possible he’d faint in surprise…” Of course, he wouldn’t but the mental picture of it was quite something. “There’s a lot that has happened since you’ve died. A lot has changed and I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I do but I’m hoping Michael will clarify,” Mrs. Mead spoke softly, even more so when speaking his name. “I somehow imagined hell to be much… warmer,” Mrs. Mead commented eyes running over the black decor.

“Yes, well I suppose they decided to modernize,” Oya chuckled.

“But how do we get out of here?”

Oya stopped at the door she had once entered through and looked at Mead with worry and warmth. “It’s not going to be pleasant. Quite frankly it’s properly going to be utmost unpleasant like you’ve been buried alive and every cell in your body screaming for air… Or so I imagine. You’ll have to claw your way out and you’re going to be disoriented.”

Mead nodded and drew in a breath. “I suppose it’s how it is when returning from the dead without a body to return to. For Michael, I’d do anything.”

“Good,” Oya smiled and opened the door. “Don’t get lost.”

Together they walked into the Inbetween, the door closing with a heavy sound behind them. Mead looked mildly distressed and if she had known what this place meant, what it could do, she’d have an entirely different look on her face. The water rippled with each step they took, the small waves catching none existent light. And then the fell forward.

Oya plummeted from the ground, stomach-turning the content within and forcing it up her throat with a burning touch. She clawed at the earth, forcing herself to her knees and hunched forward spilling every drop of the concoction in a heavy stream. It felt as it took all the energy from her, the water pouring all the way from her toes to her head and into the ground. Tears spilled over her eyes, burning. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tumbling around to watch the other side of the circle.

At first, nothing happened and panic fluttered in her heart, but then the ground started to move. Fingers sprouted from the ground, pale and covered in blood. The earth drew a breath and moved. Slowly, the woman fought her way through the surface, her entire body covered in dirt and blood, eyes wide and disoriented. Ragged breath was drawn in between tight lips, body quaking and shaking with stiff muscles.

Oya crawled to the chest and took the rough blanket that had been laid atop of it. She then stumbled on her knees to Mead and wrapped her naked body in the fabric, speaking soft words of reassurance to the panicked woman. It’d take a moment to return to reality. While Mead’s mind reeled Oya continued to soothe her, running her hand in circles on her back to comfort her.

“Y-you weren’t wrong,” Mead choked out raspy and breathless.

“Welcome to back,” Oya greeted and settled back on her feet. “Are you ready to stand?” Mead nodded and grasped Oya’s held out hands, helping herself up from the ground. They stood for a moment, waiting to gain stronger legs that weren't threatening to cave under them.

“When can I see Michael?”

Oya lifted her brows, a smile playing on her lips even though she felt dead tired. “Don’t you want to be cleaned up first?”

“You’re right, I can’t face him like this, covered in dirt and blood with only a blanket to cover me,” Mead agreed. She didn’t let go of Oya’s hand, instead tightening her grip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Oya spoke, a little flushed before ordering Minseo to take the bindings off of her eyes and help the three of them to the empty quarters closest to Michael’s office. There Oya bid goodbye to Mead for the time being and projected herself into her own bathroom to clean up and get re-dressed, the white dress ruined.

They met by the door where they had bid each other goodbye and together ventured towards Michael’s office. By now he’d sit in front of the fire, reading over the plans on his tablet, though Oya suspected that sometimes the words on the screen weren’t reports or plans but rather a book or something entertaining. He couldn’t possibly be spending the entire time working, especially when there were years until most of the plans could be carried out.

The corridors were empty and desolate. Only the two of them walked through them, never pausing when faint voices were heard. They walked towards the dark wooden doors that were the only of its kind in the entire bunker, though it swooshed to the sides as all of the others.

They entered and immediately Michael’s scent hit her nostrils, soothing her tense shoulders and tired body. His mere presence eased her, lulled her into comfort and satisfaction. The energy emitted trailed along her skin and roused up goosebumps. Already she felt her heart drum faster than expected, butterflies fluttering in her empty stomach and warmth spreading through her cold body. Oya stepped around the well-grown rosebush that covered the rest of the office, eyes falling upon Michael sitting by the fire as she expected, tablet in hand and legs crossed, the silver tips of his pointed shoes catching the light of the fire. He looked so good and if it weren’t for Mead she’d have straddled him right then and there.

“What have you been up to?” Michael drawled, turning off the tablet and rising from the comfortable armchair. Oya walked to him, a smile on her red lips and a gleam in the eye. Michael narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. Her ritual and spell would have drawn his attention, that was expected, so much so it would overshadow Mead’s presence for the time being, but not much longer.

“A bit of everything,” Oya answered and stopped before Michael. “There’s someone I’d like for you to meet, or rather there’s someone you should introduce me to.”

A shadow fell between his furrowed brows, eyes curious but cautious. Then the blue snapped to the presence behind her and she heard his breath being pulled in. Michael stiffened and remained a statue, eyes following Mead as she approached. When she was right before him, the breath that he held was let out into a whisper. “Mrs. Mead.”

“Michael,” she spoke and cupped his cheek. Like a child that had missed his mother, he melted into her touch, tears brought to his eyes and a tremble to his bottom lip. Oya could feel the emotions, felt the swirl in the air and engulf them. Her heart strained against her chest at the display.

“H-how? They hid you.”

“This lovely young woman here found me and brought me back to you.” Mead took Oya’s hand and squeezed it before she let go again. Michael looked at her in a way he had never done before, filled with love and adoration, with surprise and worship. There was gratitude flowing in his tears.

“There’s a lot for the two of you to catch up on and I’m awfully tired,” Oya spoke, caressing Michael’s cheek. “Come see me when you’re done.” She turned to Mead. “It was nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Respectfully she bowed her head at them, a habit from the past, and then left the room. Already she could hear them speaking, the muttered voices muffled into silence by the door. Somehow the corridors were far colder than they had been moments before.

The fire crackled peacefully in the background, its long flames licking at the air and casting an orange hue into the room. In her lap laid a journal, the ink dried long ago, while the tip of the pen remained wet and ready for use. She had written down details of the spell, drawn sketches and made prints for it all. Of course, she wrote in Korean, if the book were to fall in supposed wrong hands they’d have a hard time figuring it out.

She had been sitting there for hours, the warmth of the fire pressed on her skin with a loving embrace, while her eyes looked into the dancing flames with a musing expression. Her body felt weak and tired but she couldn’t find rest, instead she bundled up in a soft velvet chair, feet tugged in beneath her and away from the cold nibbling at the floor. If there had been no crackling from the fire she might have turned mad at the silence.

Lost in thought, Oya didn’t hear him come in, didn’t notice his warm tendrils of magic close in around her. Instead, she remained a statue in the glow of the fire.

“You found her,” Michael spoke, his voice cutting through her thoughts and pulled her attention towards him. Like this, in this light and within their own walls his demeanour softened considerably. He truly looked like a benevolent god.

Gently she smiled at him. “Yes. I thought you’d need someone as your right hand.” The book closed, her fingers nimbly putting the cap back on the pen and then tugged into the corner of the chair. “And you missed her. I couldn’t let them take more from you.”

Michael kneeled down at her knees, his hands caressing the bare skin of her calves. “There’s more. I can feel it. The air around you is different.” Blue was swallowed up by black, his pupils dilated to the fullest. Electricity tingled between his fingers and her skin. The warmth he held within him was fiercer than the one emitted from the fire.

She paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in what seemed like worry. Then she took his hand and folded out before him, her feet meeting the ground as she sat more properly. Like this she lead his hand to her belly and pressed it in against the bump that was growing, a flutter forming beneath her skin, deep within. At first, there was confusion towards her action, then with another flutter a realisation. His brows went up and mouth opened with no words tumbling out.

“I’m with child,” her voice carried to him the words that brought the world to a halt. “I’m not sure how. I’ve taken precautions and medicine but…”

His hand moved beneath hers, pressing further into her as to feel more. His knees were now on the floor, his body pulled towards her as a reaction. There was wonder on his face, eyes flickering abortion. Her free hand cupped his face, drawing his eyes from her belly towards hers.

“You should say something before I take it the wrong way,” she spoke, a curl to her lips.

“I’m going to be a father?” His voice was haunting, that velvet touch.

“Well yes, I certainly haven't been fucking anyone else,” she chuckled at his big eyes.

A huge smile formed on his lips, one that could outshine the sun and brought her more joy than anything else in the world. “I am for the first time without words.” Before she could laugh at him, he was hunched over her, lips pressed towards her own in an intense kiss. Around her she could feel his magic whirl, his tendrils embracing hers, caressing along any naked skin of hers and then some. The kiss was filled with love that neither of them thought possible.

And then she as back towards her belly, his hands exploring the expanse as if it was a treasure map and he had found the prize. It was almost childish the wonder he held. While he did that she brushed her fingers through his hair, eyes memorizing every emotion that played across his features.

“Are you happy?”

“I’m ecstatic.”

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, I tried looking into the future, I’ve tried various spells and charms but I’ve seen nothing. Whatever they are, whoever they are, they’re not allowing me to peep,” Oya spoke quietly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael answered her, eyes now on her own again. “This world we’re creating is for them.”

“It’s for us.”

[deeisace]

hm.

I haven’t thought of my welsh harry potter au in a while

as is clear, I've not posted a chapter for three and a half years at this point I think

but like.

i’ll put this under a readmore

so, Evans is a welsh name, no? (god knows I know that, seems i’m descended from half of them myself.) so like. Lily is Welsh. (Snape is still northern, but his da’s a coal miner, yeah? maybe? there’s a good seam of that in south wales, too)

also, like, squibs, right? those exist. more’n Argus Filch and Arabella Figg. hey, both those have the same initials!

uh, so, Filch had that paper once, yeah, where he wr tryna learn magic or smth? and was angry to Harry about it? so stands to be such that squibs can learn magic?

what if like, a ‘spectrum’ or smth? like, the govt have classifications cs they’re fuckers, this is a well-known phenomenon, we know this. uh so like, some folks can’t do magic cs uhhh buncha reasons

like how, the Dursleys tryna “stamp out” magic, right? musta been some fucked up reason they thought that’d work.

or like, veins? like, magic has pathways? and sometimes that gets stoppered? for some or other reason, idk.

and right, stoppered magic gotta go somewhere, no? like Dumbledore’s sister, i forget her name. or just in a way that idk, gotta get out, yknow? so uhh, Neville, right? his family “thought he was a squib” til he come to Hogwarts - and he’s shitty at potions cs that ain’t a way his magic can work (and also he’s using his dad’s wand a while, and also Snape is a colossal arse) - but herbology, it can go that way! so it does! or uh, seamus exploding stuff, cs his magic just literally does explode, y’know, like you’ve shook a bottle of pop or smth, til he gets a handle on it.

or, if, if, there’s too much magic for the standard pathways to handle? or it just can’t go the ordinary way or smth? gotta go some place - so Dumbledore can speak Mermish, or Harry (and his grandfather) can speak Parseltongue, or Lily can bring a flower back to life on purpose as a child (have I misremembered that?), or uhhh

like, could be magic being nonsense, on account of magic (that’s just how my brain works, that’s just how your magic works, y’know?), could be ‘exceptional circumstances’ like harry’s stuff what’s goin on with his forehead, could be some event (like Luna or Arianna or Neville), could be physical trauma (like if your hands are burnt t fuck, your wand mayhap not doin you any good, nor the magic pathways/veins in your hands, especially when that is how magic is “”supposed”” to be focused, how folks are generally taught, through the wand and/or hand, y’know?)

and sometimes magic ant goin nowhere, that’s fine and cool right, and sometimes it can need uh magic physio, there’s stuff and there’s other stuff an all sorts, idk

so anyway right, Draco Malfoy has a squib great aunt - Sylvia, who is Abraxas’ sister. she didn’t want to be hid away nor married off to some twat, right, so she fucked off to London and like underground-style organised a school for squibs, so folks can opportunities, cs god knows that ain’t happenin in 1940s wizarding Britain, and to make it legit she goes through the international council or whatever, so’s british govt can’t fuck with her overmuch, cs fuck those fuckers, I mean really

and lily evans’ parents are a squib couple who’ve like, run away fra their (well, Hettie’s) awful family - and Hettie was nee Prewett, yeah, cousin of a cousin of Molly, yeah? and the cousin they share (sorta. family trees, man) is Alys. And she worked for the ministry, and forged their documents in 1953, and had a squib son with this unfortunately bigoted lady, right, and then got together with Sylvie.

and along with Lily and Petunia, Hettie and Alun Evans have a son, I think is name is Mike? Michael Henry? Fuck idk, I forget. Mickey! and he grows up to run an independent equipment/potions shop. if you don’t want to go to Diagon, cs the prices or the bigotry or idk. potions ingredients and single-use stunners (or spells in general, but nothing that’s overly complicated or likely to smash mirrors, or dangerous on account of permits n laws an shit, tho I mean. you could) for folks who can’t cast them themselves, and uhh 

also remus’ mum runs a little bookshop in Nottingham, and his dad isn’t in the picture, thank the lord, and he was gonna go to Sylvie’s right, cs there’s werewolves allowed there (international laws, not necessarily British ones) and also it’s cheaper and uh - but Dumbledore, whose reasons are his own, makes a very generous offer, and, but they can’t provide Wolfsbane, it turns out, a shame it is, and there’s no accommodation or previous incident (what’s the lawyerly word for that?) for allowing the transfer of students between schools, there’s no way now he can go to Sylvie’s, nothing to be done, but it’s okay, mum can try to save for Wolfsbane in the holidays, it’s expensive but she can figure something out, it’ll be okay, and he has his friends now, and he can get his OWLs and his NEWTs, and everything will be okay

and Tonks’ summer job is at Mickey’s, and her dad is a weatherman

and Sirius and Remus are together through the war, and after 1981, 1988, Remus and Mickey get together, and 1993, Sirius expects things to go back to normal, and they don’t and they can’t because that is not how life works mate, time changes (but it is a great healer)

one day in 1988, petunia picks a day and takes the train with the boy from Guildford to Swansea and drops him off at her parents with very little in the way of a by-your-leave, and gets home with just enough time to greet Vernon coming home from work, then as much as possible continues pretending she hasn’t got a nephew, or any siblings, or any parents for that matter. she’s absolutely normal, absolutely.

and and and 

well, that’s mostly as far as I got, off the top of my head

anyway

here’s what I've written yonks ago - (x)

[patchdotexe]

explorers of arvus: fen hill, pt 1 / 1.4.18

note: my keyboard was breaking so i had to copypaste “s” so it looks like i have a hom,estuck typing quirk. i am so, so sorry.

-

d&d time

[taure and charlie hi fiving loudly]

taure is being possessed by penn 

charlie vs A Fucking Asshole Plant 

i have no idea what this creature is but its really annoying to fight so far omg 

TAURE NO DONT POKE THE GHOsTs 

ghosts: [spooky shit] charlie: [voice cracking] AIGHT, COOL

"THERE CANT BE A CURsE OF FEN HILL IF THERE Is NO FEN HILL!!" 

taure: [jumps in a hole] [lands terribly] OKAY GUYs BE CAREFUL charlie: ..........i have a rope?

CHARLIE HAs THE CHAOs EMERALs!!!!!! 

HER WILD MAGIC LEGITIMATELY WENT OFF (W/O TIDEs OF CHAOs) FOR THE FIRsT TIME AND sHE CAsT MAGIC MIssILE As A 5TH LEVEL sPELL AND WIPED OUT 1/2 THE DIFFICULT ENCOUNTER 

WHICH BTW Is LIKE 7 MAGIC MIssILEs

sHE Is A TINY THREE FOOT HALFLING AND sHE WENT sUPER 

michael has been hyping this dungeon up and we are curbstomping it 

michaels been experimenting w bgm so now dramatic heroic music is playing :D 

taure is unconscious but i exploded the will-o-wisp trying to eat her omg 

jorb: im gonna take one of my healing elixers and shove it down [taure's]  throat michael: do you open the bottle first or-- penn: no

charlie is the fuckin mvp rn 

michael: take narcotic damage 

ica: [rolled a 9, then a nat 1 while trying to rescue sieron & taure from mortal danger] cmoooooon nat 20 ica: [gets a nat20] ica: YOOOOOOOOOoooooooo

literally just. normal roll failed. ToC roll was a nat1. jorb gave inspiration and i got a NAT FUCKIN 20 

jorb: sieron gave charlie a really good pep talk