#the bone witch incoherent whatever

[farawaysoph-ie]

The Bone Witch Incoherent Whatever

I started these books mainly because I can't read French very well, but this is a story for another list. I started them and finished them, and I didn't know I had needed such a story. This. Bad. So I guess a super long and super spoiler-y list was in order (while I cry again because they are too much T.T)

Rin Chupeco was immediatly added to my list of favourite human beings: the dedications were a mood and the acknowledgments, gosh wonderful

Tea of the Embers, love of my life, is amazing, I don't care about anything I loved her from her first words until the very end

Somehow we always knew where this was gonna end, but i didn't feel prepared at all, my heart breaking and mending at every chapter

"My only claim of strangeness was that I read fiercely, learned thirstly"

"We asha are always expected to be on our most proper behavior, to never have so much as a hair out of turn. Asha do not cry or scream or make threats. When people cut us, we are expected to do only two things: smile and bleed.”

The world building, the power system, the politics, Tea's commanding of the Dark

The deal with Mykaela heartglass broke my heart, I have ex that I regret and the idea that I could remain stuck like that, loving someone and slowly dying because of that terrifies me (HOW COULD YOU KILL HER WHEN THEY WERE SO CLOSE)

THE AZI

I repeat THE AZI

Tea looked at a giant three-headed undefeated dragon, went around in its head, saw it just wanted to be left alone (which same) and said I'm gonna keep it (which again SAME)

What do I have to do to befriend a dragon? (TELL ME)

Zoya turning out to be a magnificent and fierce warrior with a major case of ChildhoodFriendCrush, and not irrelevent mean girl

Also her and Shadi are just so cute, the way the first is always embarassed and everything and the other just loves and teases her more

"Unfortunately, the oracle had something very different in mind with me" takes on a WHOLE new meaning when you finish the trilogy

I hated how people started getting more and more scared of Tea, when in the end it was all a plot, a lot of prejudices were to blame, and they seemed to forget how kind my girl always was

I have to say I liked Aneah and all the words she whispered, give me a twisted dark lady and you have my attention

"A little corruption is good for the soul, Tea." To which yes, let a girl get revenge

I'm looking at you filthy oracle, I can understand the "I have to sacrifice something to win this fight" way to go, but you were just a pathetic crazy liar, how dare you corrupt Althecia

I can't get over that, I didn't see it coming

The elders made me sick, those horrible hags tested my patience, go die of old age Hestia or whatever

The end of The Bone Witch will always have my heart because Chupec dropped the ship bomb on me with a "Let's go, Kalen"

After going on with "a boy who died for me" and "I made a note to strangle Kalen as soon as I saw him again", AND THEN THAT

I was rooting for them, so I think I screamed or something: you say enemy to lovers, you have my attention

Those two invented love, it took them two books to get around, but was it worth it. They were so devoted to each other, like Kalen stayed with her against Everything and Everyone, like literally. We stan one loving boy

Whats more the oracle had predicted the next bone witch was gonna bring about the dead of her lover, and he was going around "get away from the prince!", then she went, brought down the freacking azi, trapped a Faceless one using her dead horse, and he was like "I guess I'm doomed"

gosh Fox

It all started with "Let me be clear: I never intended to raise my brother from his grave, though he may claim otherwise. If there’s anything I’ve learned from him in the years since, it’s that the dead hide truths as well as the living."

He is exactly how a big brother should be, you can feel him come back to life in every sense, slowly, until he falls in love. I could feel all his love for a sister he kept understanding less and less despite being in her head, and how this held him back from a life he wanted, but knew he shouldn't have had in the first place

Beautifully done, I felt and understood Fox, despite him not being the narrator, despite being angry at how the situation with Daisy was hurting Tea, the two of them were power siblings

“We need someone in our heads to tell us whenever we’re being idiotic. It’s the Pahlavi way.”

Mistress Parmina with her love for money, always stood behind Tea, despite her way of doing things and I wished that Councilor Ludvig was my granpa, I mean he was this kind, smart politician who taught Tea a lot and helped them mantain peace

Ah the well meaning Inessa, I liked her, but felt like I haven't seen enough of her

But the joke of how there were no rulers to get accidentally engaged to killed me, that's awareness

Polaire T.T

The infatuation for Kance stayed that way and I'm glad, and most of the last books I was like, don't hurt my girl

The Heartforger was a rollercoaster ship-wise: Tea insults Kalen, he is standing behind her; Kalen tries to be nice to Tea, Tea is very confused; pretend they are a thing in front of family; Tea compels Kalen hoping to save his life, Kalen is not pleased at all; unsuccessful apologies; realization, "compel me too", you gotta destroy this two dudes who were rude to you, so I can go "that's my Tea"; you don't just stab the Deathseeker while the bone witch is watching; very public kiss; taking each other back from Faceless influence

All the time they spent with a Heartshare rune between them

"We danced for a few minutes without saying anything. A Daanorian woman worked up the nerve to approach us but backed away when I glared at her. “Angry about something?” “You do know there are women itching to kill me right now, right?” His grip tightened. “Did someone compel the people in the palace? The wards are still in place.” I sighed. “That’s not what I meant. Never mind.”"

“Nobody’s more of a fighter than you. You’re the bravest, strongest, most amazing man I’ve ever…”

Realizes

"I mean you are alright"

When Tea jumped off the tower and the azi caught her !!! (yes I screamed, because I love one queen)

"He was the only place I could rest my head and dream without nightmares plaguing me, as they had for the last three months."

Rahim and Ches were very precious

And don't get me started on Likh

Lady Likh can very much kick your ass on her own, but try to hurt her and you'll have to speak with my punches

Khalad agrees with me (the guys in this family don't know how to get the hint)

But in the end, he was helping Tea so Likh could wake (tears, tears everywhere)

The induced madness and the Blight stuff were sick

From when Tea almost jumped off the window, with Kalen terrified poor boy, to killing Daisy (her own free and light sister T.T), to not remembering a second suicide attempt

Black heartglasses being associated with violence, and Tea's one turning because of what other people did to her

Tea' simple "I want to live", can't a girl have peace? Be free like the azi? Have daughters with her eyes and her singing voice?

"I felt the hatred you were capable of like it was my own. And in that instant, I loved the darkest part of you, because I understood, better than Fox or Mykaela could. I’ve known you at your worst." If this isn't love I don't know what is

Drunk Tea was a sight to be hold, and perfect: take off every filter from the dangerous Dark asha and what she has to tell you is how much she loves Kalen

“I don’t care. I’ll bring us back from the grave if I have to, silver heartsglass or not.” “And I will kill anyone standing between us,” he promised, before his lips closed over mine, “even if I have to crawl out of my grave to do so.”

And you know what? THEY DID.

Tea taking her trials, which after the last chapters were nothing worse than her nightmares: her home burning, her own execution could not compete with Daisy's death and Fox rejection

But Kalen was not a price she could ever think of paying

"You can’t break the rules simply because you want to. More often than not, the rules wind up breaking you."

“The world is a much bigger place than the space I occupy, and with even greater consequences.” “There will be no world if you aren’t here with me, Kalen.”

Yadoshans warm my heart

"That is the nature of tyranny, young Tea. Maintaining power is their sole intention. Why worry about retaliation and revolution when they have always intended to wield the sword?"

The whole part in which they killed Kalen and the azi, ripped my heart out

The song she must have sung for hours, and the azi waited until the end to say goodbye

Thank the Creator for the visions she got, or she would have really drown herself T.T

“Sons and daughters,” she echoed, “sons with my fire, daughters with my eyes. Mayhap one day, they will. A life worth dying for is a life worth living after all.” She laid a hand on her companion’s shoulder, squeezing. “Let’s go, my love.”

Even after this long list I feel like I didn't do justice to this trilogy or to how much I loved it. Tea's fierce and kind strenght, even when every one but Kalen was suspicious of her, even when she was going mad because of poison, even when she was trying to outsmart a ruthless enemy, did something to me.

I spent three books knowing that she didn't care if she survived, if she could save her friends then her wish to live was not important. She didn't want much, she just wanted to live. But she let go of that for everyone else. Yes I'm going to cry again.

About the ending I like to think that for finally healing the world she was rewarded, so she got the quiet life with Kalen she'd always deserved. I like to think that she and Kalen remember, that after they'd done enough they finally found their peace and freedom.

They were together, they got to be someone else and had all the time in the world.

[cursedfortune]

@fallesto​ continued x.

The witch allowed him for the moment to lay his hand upon her, to wipe away the blood and ponder whatever thoughts he was thinking. Ones that eventually came out as he noticed she lacked any form of allegiance to the others. At least, none that he could see. She always found it so foolish to make such statements. But one could argue a witch in a black dress was doing the same, could they not? And there she sat with no color to her, save for the plum tendrils that loosely curled over her shoulders and down her back.

She listened to his answer, short at it was. Biased, no doubt, as it was. Walking could be antagonistic if done purposely. Mortem would know, she has utilized such a means herself to provoke others into attacking. A delightful thing, to see people riled up to the point of such incoherent madness. Or to bear witness to those who felt a flicker of hope that they could slay the lithe witch. It all ended the same; their heads missing, their hearts exploded, organs spilled and bones crushed. And those hands of hers stained red as no apologies would be necessary to give for she never felt remorse for such actions.

Mortem followed him with her eyes from where he stood to then sink down to her level; among the dirt and gore of the violence he had unleashed, where his pretty white clothes so eagerly soaked up the blood of his victims. Her gaze fell from his face, admiring the once white fabric for a moment before lifting once more - staring at him as he resumed touching her face. Dark eyes reflected unnaturally as she stared into the molten gold that made up his own gaze, watching as his expression softened. As he spoke reassurances and niceties that left her feeling suspended, awaiting the other shoe to drop.

His acknowledgement of her power told her enough that he could sense it, but his demeanor was still puzzling. To not be put off in some manner was... fairly impressive. Yet all the more reason she kept her caution. It was rare that another acknowledged power favorably, often possessing underlying motives. Or simply being greedy. Which, considering his name, certainly warranted her suspicion.

The witch could tell him his companion could have certainly tried to eat her. She could reveal more about herself with clever words that so often carried an ominous presence to them. Or remark about his power, his potential for such greatness that she absolutely doubted he was utilizing properly. Instead, the witch leaned forward slightly - revealing a more honest version of herself. Something calmer than one ought to be in such a situation and yet curiosity churned within her stare.

“And what does it mean to be found by you?” Why does it make you happy? Why does it make me lucky? The questions revolved around her mind as she stared at him, cheek resting within his hand. A coiled cobra that waited for any reason to strike.

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy 

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos. 

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 1.5k

Link: Battle Scars 

Type: Slow burn romance

CHAPTER ONE

I didn't know many things in life, though of all spiritual possibilities, one thing I was absolutely certain of— my bone-solid intuition.

Paper, quill, ink and wand had carried me through the first decade of my life, and after Hogwarts, I had tried relentlessly to position myself into the wizarding world - proving to the snobby know-it-alls that a witch of muggle descent could make it. That blood status meant nothing when magic was involved.

I'd climbed high, and got myself a private office in the Ministry– just two floors away from Ron and Harry, and the mischief they boiled.

Really, I couldn't file any more paperwork to get them out of trouble if I tried.

Life was good, and the darkness had faded from our lives… I suppose enough to see the sunshine, or whatever it is they sing about on the radio these days.

Wake up, it's a beautiful morning?

The notion made me shake my head now, scanning over an old report or two, on the exact train I had been on seven years ago, to the day. The Hogwarts Express.

If you'd have told me that I would leaving London with a suitcase and a handful of study material, I'd have laughed. Smacked you on the arm and teased, even.

Though here I was, with little to chuckle about– a new professor for the academic year.

Really, how was I meant to turn down Professor Mcgonagall when she asked so nicely?

"Miss Granger, you will be doing us such a help— put that down, Mr Tuffle!- we wouldn't know what to do."

"And it would only be for six months?" I had asked.

"Six… eight, who knows." Mcgonagall had tittered nervously. "Mr Tuffle might not be fully recovered by that point– I said put it down! –as you can hear he's not doing too well."

"Mm." I had hummed nervously, listening as an incoherent William Tuffle started playing bagpipes in the background and Mcgonagall rushed to end the call.

I would have been less nervous if she would have just sent an owl.

There was a nervous part of me that couldn't wait to see the castle again– the rush up to Christmas, Hagrid's pumpkins. Butterbeer down at the pub and stories from Nearly Headless Nick.

The children on the other hand… they would be difficult.

The train itself curved around a large body of water, precisely half an hour away from Hogsmeade, and delved into a thicket of wild trees – designed to keep the last stretch of travel away from muggle sight: a new infrastructure, after Voldemort made his plight of vengeance very public, so many years ago.

Yes, the wizarding world had undergone serious changes for magical security - another being an enforcement of ministry participants acting in the muggle government.

Saving our world day by day, the mission statement claimed.

Saving nothing, I thought bitterly.

A flock of new years wandered down the corridor and stopped to look inside, their shirts untucked and robes askew. Frightened little deer, staring into the eyes of their new professor. I smiled weakly, though they scurried off, whispering to themselves.

I sighed and focused on my work, trying not to let the title of 'scary teacher' settle like a halo over my head. The new Mad-Eye Moody… the new Snape.

A shiver went down my spine.

Harry had all but laughed maniacally at the idea of me in the teacher's lounge, pouring myself a cup of tea and awarding house points. Ron was more comforting, though told me to give the students' a break, as 'not everyone is as academically gifted as you.'

Ginny could only pat me on the shoulder.

She had become my sole confidant since Hogwarts, though part of me wondered if she was just trying to get me back with her brother. I couldn't explain to her again that we were better suited as friends, as the bond was too strong. Though as every Christmas passed, I would get a longing look over my present as Ginny proclaims we were meant to be sisters by blood.

She didn't take my offer when I said we could always carry a locket of each other's hair.

She did smirk, however.

My quill dawdled down the paper and landed on a particular question that required some thought– my brows pulling prettily as I formulated an answer.

The carriage door slid open, a bustle of movement followed, and then a figure slumped across from me.

I didn't look up at first, too engrossed in reading, and then a cologne caught my attention— woody, heavy and sharp. My mind exploded as Deja Vu crept in, sending forward bursts of color, sound, touch and magic.

As magic as a memory could be.

The figure then coughed, and all fell into place.

Draco Malfoy.

My eyes snapped up, and I found the old 'friend' in front of me to be unrecognizable – a phantom of the boy I once knew. His hair still a sharp white, though now tousled and askew… messy, and not as pristine as I remembered, having been so insecure about mine. His blue eyes were expressionless, watching out the window, the rolling hills and tall-trees reflecting against the haunted look he now had.

Older, meaner… a dog that finally had bite, and not just bark.

This Malfoy settled into his chair and flexed out his jaw– something I noticed to be sharp, and carrying a wound that sliced all the way from chin to brow– animated as he frowned against the light, and cleared his throat.

An infliction not from the war against Voldemort, but something else.

I must have been staring in shock for too long, as he turned his cheek to look at me, and all the air vacuumed out of the carriage.

This scar had blinded his right eye, now leaving behind a cloudy white in its place– as eerie as a remembrall. The other, still as ocean blue as I remembered, settled on my face and narrowed.

I quickly cleared my throat and blinked the shocked expression away.

"What are you doing here?"

He raised his brows a small amount, though enough that I saw.

"Hello to you as well."

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting to see you." I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. "How are you? It's been a while."

"It's been years." He noted. "I'm well… and you?"

"I'm okay." I answered too fast.

He nodded slowly once. "Are you here as a parent?"

A parent? I thought, then caught up quickly. "No, no. I'm filling in for Mr Tuffle for the academic year."

"Charms?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"And you?"

"Defense Against The Dark Arts."

Huh. Mcgonagall kept that quiet.

"You look surprised." He added.

My face must have been a picture, one I could barely scramble together– though after some time, I regained my cool. "Not at all," I shrugged, "I just didn't expect to see you… here."

He nodded once, and then looked out of the window.

Where was his usual cocky behavior? His ego that swallowed all air in the room?

His smirk?

Then a flash soared through me, answering all those little questions.

I had read something in The Daily Prophet about a young boy at Malfoy Manor falling into a lake and drowning. I always thought it was a cousin, or someone distantly related to Draco – though seeing this version of him before me now fit the description of the 'grieving father.'

Draco had lost his only son.

"I'm sorry, by the way." I added in a softer voice. "About your son."

"Is Potter with you?" Malfoy asked, rather harshly. I was taken aback by the sudden whisk of tone, and began to see an animal beneath the cracks of the cool facade – nasty, as he always had been.

"No."

"Weasley?"

"...No."

"Just you then." He scowled.

"Just me." I snapped back even harder.

"I would advise you to stay out of my way for the rest of the academic year, Granger." He stood, the train slowing to a gradual stop– Hagrid's bustling voice filling the empty platform. "You might have won over the rest of the wizard community, but you'll always be a dirty mudblud to me."

I froze in my seat, mouth ajar and silent – watching as he stormed out of the carriage, spitting the word 'filth' beneath his breath.

Did that year we spent together mean nothing to him?

Did he forget all about what we did after Voldemort was vanquished?

I could still remember the letter now, coming through the door as Ron, Harry and I laid in the garden of a safehouse, instructing us back to redo our final year at Hogwarts. Our seventh year never entirely completed.

Everything was different… everything was exciting.

A year no one talked about.

The train shrieked and smoke bustled from the roof, Hagrid calling all first years to the front. I got to my feet and blinked away the burning tears of anger that had surfaced, making my way from the carriage.

I could still feel his hands in my hair. His laugh in my ears.

Though nothing really lasts forever, does it?

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Like Ink on Paper | Geralt x Reader

Like Ink On Paper

Note: This is a follow-up to Pretty Words, which you can read here if you haven’t read it yet. I got a request to write a part 2, and I couldn’t resist. Also, it’s holiday themed, which is appropriate. Hope you enjoy, and have a wonderful holiday, whatever you celebrate. Thank you all so much for reading.

Summary: It is Yule, and you finally have someone to celebrate with—the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, who has been wintering with you. You think, maybe, you’ve somehow slipped into the pages of one of your favorite books. You’ve spent days worrying, knowing that with each day, the page turns—and you are scared that your story may be coming to an end. Is it?

Warnings: The usual smut

You wake up to watery winter sunlight filtering through the window of your bedroom and snuggle into Geralt’s warm embrace. The bookshop is closed today for Yuletide celebrations, and you have no intention of getting out of bed until you absolutely had to, despite the fact that your body still woke itself at dawn.

You are nearly asleep again when you feel Geralt press his lips to the top of your head; the soft kiss you had grown used to waking to over the last few weeks.

“Hm?” you mumble, snuggling even closer, drawing in the familiar scent—wood smoke, aftershave, and the faint smell of earth and wind.

“Nothing,” he says softly. You can hear the grin in his voice. “Go back to sleep, little bookworm. You were only awake half of the night.”

You smile against his chest. Your life was starting to feel more and more like the life of a heroine in one of your books, yet somehow you still couldn’t stop reading them. It was in your blood the way that slaying monsters was in his.

His amber eyes, he told you, were made to see things no one else can see—like the millions of pretty words floating around in your beautiful eyes.

“I had to know what happened!” you protest, still curled against his chest.

“The night fell in love with the princess?” He guesses, his words laced with meaning. Your heartbeat picked up as you turned them over and over in your head.

Fell in love.

You had been aching to utter that word—so simple, yet so complex. No matter how badly you wanted to say it, you hadn’t had the courage. He was a Witcher, staying for the winter. You hadn’t let your thoughts travel much beyond that.

But perhaps…

“He did?” You meant it to come out at a statement of fact, as if you were simply commenting on the plot of the book, but your voice betrayed you. It came out like a choked little question, almost desperate.

“He did,” the Witch confirmed, his amber eyes fixed on you.

You blinked a few times, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Your heart thudded even harder in your chest. You’d always lived between the pages of your favorite books, where things like this happen. But you have never thought it could happen for you—You are no princess, you are a commoner who works in a book shop. And yet, here you were.

A flood of emotion rushes through your veins, and you crash your lips against the Witcher’s.

My White Wolf. My Knight.

He pulls you close as he deepens the kiss, strong arms wrapped tightly around you as you melt into him. You had thought, until recently, that you only wanted to melt into the pages of your treasured books, but this was much better.

Your hands slide over his bare chest, mapping every muscle, every scar. When he breaks the kiss, you take advantage of the moment to bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply. The smell of him is more comforting than the smell of well-worn book pages and leather.

You press your lips to his neck, tasting the musky salt and sweat. You love how his head tilts back when you nip at the skin there, the pleased rumble of a ‘hmm’ escaping his lips.

His hands are exploring your body restlessly. He knows how you like when they graze over your back, when he gently sweeps you hair from one side to the other to press his warm lips to your collarbone.

You have each other memorized, like a passage from a book.

Your eyes flutter closed as the Witcher presses kisses along your collarbone and you gasp softly when you feel the gentle caress of his tongue. Taking this as an invitation, he turns to flip you over so that he is on top of you.

You peer up at him, and he looks down at you through wisps of white hair. You love the way his hair looks in the morning, tousled from sleep and falling from its usual tie. He places one arm on each side of your head and pauses there for a moment, amber gaze fixed on you.

“What are you looking at, Witcher?” you ask, biting your lip.

“Just you, little Bookworm,” he says, lips curving into a smirk before leaning down to press his lips against yours again.

You stay like that for several long moments, neither of you in a rush. It is a holiday, after all. You’ve nowhere to be—nowhere else you’d want to be. There is no one and nothing else that matters to you in this moment than the white-haired Witcher.

Slowly, still in no hurry, Geralt slips his hand up under your shift, calloused fingers tracing over your skin and raising goosebumps in their wake. His touch was gentle but firm, teasing you and making you arch your back up into him, wanting to feel them all over you.

“Hmm.” He studies you for a moment, pressing his lips to the bare spot on your chest where the strings tying your shift together have loosened, hands still moving lazily over your skin.

“Geralt,” you huff, one hand tangling in his long hair.

“So impatient,” the Witcher says with a click of his tongue, a smile playing on his maddeningly beautiful face.

Still, he leans on one arm so he can finish unlacing your shift, albeit with unhurried movements. Once it is unlaced, he pulls the thin fabric over your head and brings his lips to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving red marks that he soothes with his tongue, making you moan and arch up into him.  

Your hand tangles in his hair, the other resting on his strong shoulder, and your mind clears of all thoughts that are not him.  

He takes his time, slowly tracing his lips along your collar bone, and then lower.  You gasp and your hand falls uselessly at your side, gripping the crumpled sheets beside you.  He laps at your breast with his tongue, and his eyes meet yours, holding you in his gaze as he continues lavishing you with attention.  

One hand comes up to your other breast, brushing your nipple with the slightest of pressure, making you groan and arch up, trying to increase the pressure. The White Wolf was taking his time, though, clearly enjoying watching you writhe beneath him.

“Why the rush, my little Bookworm?” he asks, flashing a grin as he moves so his face is directly above yours as she continues to tease you.

Between his teasing fingers and the use of the word my, you can’t seem to find words.  You just stare up at him for a moment before finally managing to mutter a soft, “I need you.”

His eyes dilate, filled with hunger, once you say those words. You can tell from that small, unconscious reaction, that he truly wants you, too.  

He presses his forehead against yours, hand roaming down your body, toying with the waistband of the thin material covering your most intimate place. “Then you know how it feels… How much I need you.”

You’d come to realize, over the last few weeks, how the Witcher always chose is words carefully.  This tendency could lead to long silences and breaks in conversation, but it also left no doubt that whatever he said to you, he meant it.  

You are breathing heavily now, a sharp contrast to Geralt’s steady, even breathing. The contrast had been strange at first, though you’d read plenty about Witchers, especially after the day that the mysterious white-haired stranger had entered the bookshop. You knew, of course, that Witchers’ mutations and intense training allowed them to breathe slowly and deeply, could keep the rate of their heart slow and steady, making them efficient killing machines. None of those stories mentioned anything about the other uses of these mutations—namely, that he had endless stamina.

This time, when your lips crash together, you both cling to one another. His hand yanks at the thin material, baring you beneath him. The Witcher seems to have abandoned his deliberate teasing and efforts to control himself. Now, his lips are all over—your neck, your shoulder, your chest, below your belly button, then your hipbone.

He breathes deeply, resting his head on your thigh, using his free hand to knead your other thigh, pushing it outward, leaving you completely open to him. “You have no idea how intoxicating you are,” he says, voice deep and gravely.

“Intoxicating.” He repeats the words, and your eyes roll back in your head as he finally moves so his head is between your spread legs and his tongue is on your clit. After so much teasing, you are aching with need, and his tongue gliding from your opening to your clit, toying with it, drives you insane. It was the most exquisite torture.

After an indeterminate amount of time, in which you moan incoherently, hands gripping at his hair or the sheets, whatever is closer, he snakes his tongue into you opening, swirling it around and brushing all of the sensitive spots it can reach.  

‘Mmm.’ He hums appreciatively, not removing his tongue. Gods he makes you feel so desirable.

He leans forward, ensuring your legs are draped over his shoulders. There is something so intimate about this position—the way your legs are locked in place, separated by his strong shoulders, the way his tongue moves, the way that he meets your eyes as he does it.

With one hand, she brushes his fingers over your clit, rolling the sensitive bud and making you tilt your head back, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Yes, Princess,” he finally says, his fingers working you over, “Cum for me, good girl.”

He smirks down at you as you finish, back arching and legs clamping around his head.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he wraps his strong arms around you, turning you over so that you are laying on your stomach. You turn your head, attempting to look at him, questioning.

He must have caught the glance, because the first thing he does after he settles between your legs is run both hands down your back, “Relax, Y/N,” he says, “Trust me, you’ll enjoy this.”

You can’t say that he’s ever steered you wrong in these situations, so you does as he said and relax against the bed. He wastes no time, running is hands over your shoulders and back, massaging any tension away. Soon, his hands are replaced with his tongue. You feel yourself drawing in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar sensation. You swear he manages not to miss a single inch as he kisses, nips, and runs his tongue over each mark left behind.

He works his way down your back, and suddenly, you feel his tongue snaking between your cheeks. None of your former lovers had done anything like this, and at first you are filled with anxiety—worried that you might somehow disgust him. Then again, he clearly does not seem disgusted as he kneads your ass with both hands.

Once you are moaning and arching into him, he lets out a soft chuckle and gently pulls them apart, bringing his tongue between them, gently swirling and licking. You yelp at the unfamiliar sensation, but immediately relax into it, giving in to the pleasure.

“Geralt!” You exclaim, surprised that the feeling of his tongue over such an intimate place. You can already feel a familiar tightening in your belly. His tongue flicking and licking over the sensitive flesh has your mind completely muddled, lost in unfamiliar sensation.

His skillful fingers snake underneath you to expertly work your clit. After only a few moments of his undivided attention you explode with pleasure, writhing beneath him as he slowly brings you down from your orgasm. He makes no move to turn you over, instead gently caressing your back and brushing through your hair.

Once your breath has returned to some semblance of normal, you trust yourself to speak. “No one has ever… Done that,” you say.

He chuckles again, a low rumble in his chest, as he eases you onto your back once more. “I am honored to be your first,” he said with a smirk.

Even after the back-to-back intense orgasms, looking up at him fills you with need once more. There was just something about the Witcher that made you want him – need him. So, when he gets up and off the bed to pull off his boxers and does not immediately rejoin you, you let out a huff of disappointment.

“Again with the impatience,” he says with another smirk.

Instead of getting back into bed, he grabs your hand and tugs at you, urging you up and off the bed. Now, the two of you had used nearly every piece of furniture for similar purposes, so you are not confused in the least – rather, you are filled with excitement. There was nothing ordinary about the Witcher, and that was part of the allure.

As soon as you are standing, you make a move to get on your knees, wanting to take him in your mouth, but he keeps a grip on your arm, making doing that impossible.

“I want to fuck you,” he says gruffly, pulling you towards him and bending to lift you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. You add this to your running lists of the non-monster-hunting uses for his Witcher powers.

He does not take his lips from yours as he steers you toward one of the bookshelf-lined walls. With your back against the spines of the full shelf, he positions himself, pressing against your entrance. There is the brief moment of resistance, and then the euphoric feeling of him entering you, making you both suck in a breath.

He wastes no time, setting a rhythm that has you moaning and burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. He has no problem increasing his pace, slamming into you harder and harder, making you scream. By now, you are both sweating. You should be worried about the old books you are pushed up against, but they are yours after all, and there is something, well, sexy about the whole thing – like ink on a page.

You are seeing stars as he hits your g-spot relentlessly, incapable of doing anything mut muttering his name and a few other choice expletives. But then, you hear the Witcher’s voice, almost a growl.

“Fuck.” His eyes are fixed on you, drinking you in. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your body responds before you even have time to process what he has just said, and you finish with screaming his name, long and drawn out. A moment later, you can feel him emptying into you, and you slump forward, your whole body going limp after so much activity.

For a moment, he just holds you there, one hand bracing himself against the bookshelf as even the famous Witcher has some trouble catching his breath.

Your head rests on his shoulder as you catch your breath, drinking in the smell that is distinctly him. It is now that you finally have a moment to process the words he’d said, and you find yourself smiling against his chest, one hand detangling itself from around his neck so that you can toy with strands of his white hair between your fingers.

“I love you, Witcher.”

[searching-for-arcadia]

Sea-Hearts by Margo Lanagan & Vita Nostra by Maryna and Serhiy Dyachenko

torchwood fanfic asks

9. AUs? what kind?

Edits aren’t quite responsive since they’re not quite AUs that I’d say I gravitate towards, but more AUs I’d love to see people’s take on (I’ll actually answer the question below).

First, Gwen as selkie (and not the Torchwood selkie which seems to be an opposite selkie) isn’t something I’ve seen done (though if you know of a fic that has done this, please send it my way!). There is something about the soulfulness of her eyes that says selkie to me. A little snippet of something for flavor:

Gwen loved Rhys. He was a much kinder man than the man whole stole her from the sea. He loved her because he loved her, not because he owned her. That was more than many mortal men could boast.

Second, I would love to see a Torchwood/Vita Nostra fusion where Tosh was recruited to the Institute of Special Technologies and goes through the terrifying transformation and education we witness in the novel, but ultimately rejects her place and her power. She retains her brilliance but is always a little afraid from that point on of what she is capable of of. A little snippet of flavor:

She built the sonic modulator with the same sick feeling in her stomach that she had carried with her when she first joined the Institute of Special Technologies. She remembered when she sleep deprivation was driving her to madness and incoherence; she remembered when her studies suffered and her mother was in a near fatal automobile accident. A reminder, her mentor had said, and an incentive to study harder. She remembered the horrible accidents that befell all her classmate’s family members (broken bones, heart attacks, just-too-coincidental deaths); remembered that they were all taken hostage, their families held as ransom or collateral, until the lessons overtook their senses and they fell into the heady trap of being powerful. She was careful, while building the sonic modulator, to not become too interested, to not let her sense of capability outstrip her sense of fear. She would not forget how to be human twice.

And to actually answer the questions. YES, I love AUs. Excluding my already professed love of Chosen One!Ianto and my continual insistence that everybody, Suzie included, should live, here are some of my favorite AUs (in general, I love things that decrease the stakes for everyone involved because these days I just want to be coddled and comforted):

1. Time Lord Tosh or Ianto: I just think Time Lord Tosh makes a whole lot of sense and that she would make a fantastic companion to the Doctor (regardless of whether she’s human or a Time Lord, so that’s another AU for you, Companion!Tosh).  And of course, I love the different ways that people tackle Ianto and Jack after Ianto regains his Time Lord senses (Does he get over it by sheer force of will/love? Does Jack’s fixedness not bother him at all? Does he choose to live as a human because he can’t bear to be with Jack as a Time Lord and he also can’t bear to be without him?).

2. The Team in Boeshane: I love the idea of the whole team being taken by the Rift and dropped off in Boeshane, either with or without Jack and while past-Jack is there or not. I just love Jack’s mother taking members of the team in.

3. Harry Potter AUs: I think that it’s our prerogative to pry this universe out of J.K. Rowling’s hands, take the interesting bits, and then tell better stories in it. I headcanon Ianto as a Slytherin, Tosh as a Ravenclaw, Gwen as a Gryffindor, Owen as a Hufflepuff, and Jack as a Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Slytherin (depending on what happened to his family life prior to his sorting; if there are no incidents, Hufflepuff; if there was an incident with Gray, but his parent(s) didn’t reject him, Gryffindor; if there was an incident with Gray and he has a fraught or non-existent relationship with his parent(s), Slytherin).

4. Daemons AUs: I especially love Daemon AUs that keep the touching taboo and think about how the existence of daemons would impact modern life. I think that the existence of daemons also has interesting ramifications for Suzie and Ianto. Does Suzie persist with the glove even though it can’t bring back a person’s daemon? I think you could characterize her either way. Does Lisa retain her daemon despite her partial conversion? I tend to think so and that the persistence of her daemon is the reason why Ianto doesn’t give up; when her daemon disappears is when he knows its over even if he can’t accept it yet.  I don’t have a lot of defined thoughts about the daemons I’d give the team except that usually, I think of Suzie with a bird, Ianto with a scavenger, and Gwen with a canine. Jack, Tosh, and Owen are more variable in my head. I would also love to see broader HDM AUs that take more of the universe than just the existence of daemons (give me witches and the science of dust).

5. Coffee Shop AUs: Kinda. I’ve never really been particularly into Coffee Shop AUs specifically, though I do love them in the general way that I love fluffy Torchwood-doesn’t-exist AUs (Jack is a traveling artist and Ianto his muse, Gwen is a legitimate psychic who consults with law enforcement, Rhys and Ianto run a restaurant together, Owen as the A&E doctor who treats Tosh after a welding accident, Jack is a sci-fi author and Ianto writes mysteries; the possibilities are endless!), but now I’m a bit of a coffee snob (this happened independent of Torchwood; I developed my coffee habit and snobbery years after watching Torchwood) and know people who roast coffee, so I just want to see more coffee geekery. I do wonder how blasphemous it would be to update Ianto’s coffee tastes to be more in line with third wave coffee roasting preferences/innovations (which was certainly alive and well in the 2000s, especially in certain cities, but hadn’t seemed to hit Cardiff yet).

6. Role Reversal AUs: For when I feel like keeping the stakes the same, I love AUs that put Ianto in charge of Torchwood Three by whatever twist of fate you’d like with Jack working under him. Sometimes he’s immortal (so he takes on Jack’s backstory minus the coming from the future bit), sometimes he’s not (he gets put into power before or after Canary Wharf, though after seems most likely). Sometimes Jack grew up on Earth (either because his entire backstory has been changed or he was taken by the Rift as a child) and sometimes he didn’t (he can still be immortal or he can be a stranded Time Agent/Time Agent in hiding).

7. Dogs AU: Honestly I can’t explain myself. It’s completely silly and I love it. I don’t know if I’ve seen one of these in the Torchwood fandom, but AU where the whole cast are dogs and they meet at a dog park or their humans are neighbors. Jack is a retired military dog. Ianto spent some time as a street dog, was rescued, then there was some incident that put him back on the street, before being adopted (possible by Jack’s human(s)). Gwen is a former police dog that was pulled to join an experimental medical program and she now spends her days sniffing out neurodegenerative diseases. Owen is a therapy dog; his humans don’t get it because he hates strangers, but it’s like he’s a different dog around those in need. Tosh is a scarily intelligent dog who is part of the cohort of animals that is being taught how to communicate using a speech board.

[dayofunity]

Echoes of the Past, Emperor Belos, and the Day of Unity

Spoilers,  please don’t keep reading if you haven’t watched this episode yet. The post is kinda long, so I’ll include a TL;DR at the bottom! Enjoy!

It’s five in the morning and I’m trying to get all of this out so I have bragging rights when Rebecca Rose puts all of this together in her reaction video, so sorry if it’s jumbled and incoherent. That’s just how I do- I made a Tumblr specifically to share this so I hope you enjoy! First of all, holy shitaki mushrooms, what an episode. This is exactly my favorite type of episode, the episode you’ll know you’ll watch later and know exactly what everything meant. I know we don’t have all the puzzle pieces yet but you can bet I’m going to try to put them together now. So, in this episode, they were clearly drawing our attention to this big mural. I have a lot of thoughts about this thing in particular. 

While I also have thoughts about the guy on the left, I’ll save that for another time. Let’s talk about the figure on the right. I think this is the Titan, or something related to the Titan.  Let me walk ya through why, because it’s for more reasons than “it’s big”.  First of all, look at the hand.

I know that there’s a finger difference, but that fourth finger could be hiding in the angle of the pose. It’s also worth noting that another depiction of what is presumably the Titan’s hand in the Unauthorized History of the Boiling Isles (top left illustration) gives the hand a completely different look and five fingers, so there are already inconsistencies in illustrations. Take this with a grain of salt. 

Another thing worth noting is that symbol on the figure’s chest. We have seen this before, in an incredibly interesting place. 

This is the top of Emperor Belos’s castle. Right before this shot in Agony of a Witch, Willow tells Luz that the castle was built as a “symbol of unity”. Considering that this castle is built in a chasm surrounded by bones, it doesn’t seem very... unifying. However, what if it’s literally a symbol for unity, an important structure for the Day of Unity? We don’t really know much about the Day of Unity- if memory serves, all we know is that it is the focus of Emperor Belos’s plans, that a date for it is fast approaching, that he needs wild witches to be “dealt with”, and that he needs the portal for it. Working with this limited information, it’s hard to figure out what the Day of Unity is. However, this new detail may shed some light on it. Stick with me here. 

Look at the way the tower was built, opposed to the rest of the building. It’s different, clearly added on later, as is shown by the fact that it’s sprouting from ruins. A bluish pipe- or vein, it’s difficult to tell with this show- runs up the tower, piping something in or out from whatever’s combusting at the top. Now, it’s hard to tell where Emperor Belos’s throne room that’s shown in Agony of a Witch is, other than the fact that it isn’t on the first floor, but for the sake of the argument, let’s say it’s at the base of this new tower, directly under it.

Above Emperor Belos’s throne is what we can assume is the Titan’s heart. Attached to it is a blue tubing of sorts. Obviously this is all speculation, but if that is the same tubing, then the Titan’s heart is connected directly the tower- the “symbol of unity”. I find the placement of this tubing on the heart rather interesting as well, as it is pretty much lines up exactly with where a witch’s bile sac is located.

I’m pretty sure we were already assuming- at least I was- that Belos was using the Titan’s power, not just communicating with it, as the powers he has displayed are unlike anything else we’ve really seen. We know that all magic comes from the Titan’s original magic- KIng alludes to it in the beginning of Young Blood, Old Souls (” [The Titan's] original magic was so potent, all life on the isles evolved to wield magic too”)- so we can assume that the Titan’s got a lot to work with.  Now, we circle back to the mural. The symbol of unity, as I’m going to refer to it, is seen in the center of the creature’s ribcage, right around where a heart would be. Emperor Belos’s castle was built in the Titan’s chest cavity, also where a heart would be.  So. What if this Day of Unity is a unification ceremony between Belos and the Titan, and with the power he has harnessed with this heart, he has made his entire castle into a glorified bile sac.  Think about it. The Day of Unity requires all wild witches to be “dealt with”. That means that they are either petrified or in covens, locking up magic into controllable channels. Magic originally came from the Titan. What if Emperor Belos is trying to gather all magic into his coven system, leaving all magic at his command, and what if this is necessary for the Day of Unity? He needs to return magic to the Titan, and he couldn’t do that when witches were harnessing magic for themselves without his control. So essentially, the figure in that mural isn’t just the Titan, but it’s the Titan after the Day of Unity? Not physically the Titan as in the bones the entire Boiling Isles is made of, but its spirit manifested and able to wield magic? Or maybe it IS its physical form, and the Boiling Isles is just doomed by this process. This would bring in the portal. While Belos is a... goal oriented dictator, maybe he doesn’t want to entirely doom a whole bunch of people? So his solution would be simple: bring witches to Earth- relocate them  It’s a bit of a stretch, I’ll admit it. But I can’t think of any other way to include the portal, and I wanted to address it in some capacity. He clearly needs it, after all, and I don’t think he’s human or trying to take over Earth.  Maybe he needs the myths that have spilled out into the Human Realm (i.e. giraffes) to come back to the Boiling Isles? I’m just spitballing now, so I’m going to move on. 

There’s another possibility to consider. What if that figure ISN’T the Titan? Now, I know, I just spent too long trying to prove that it was. I finished watching this episode two hours ago, I’ve already sunk a lot of time into this, so I’ll make this quick.  We don’t know much about Emperor Belos’s communications with the Titan. We’ve never seen it happen, and he’s apparently the only person that we know of that is capable of doing so. Now, he could easily be lying about this, but let’s pretend he’s telling the truth. This episode already played with the idea of a king truly believing a lie he’s been led to believe, with King believing he was the King of Demons. Emperor Belos being lied to about being a chosen figure, able to communicate with the Titan itself would mirror things in a way that I just LOVE. (Also they both have things over their faces with two horns, King has a crack on his horn, Belos has a crack on his mask, both Belos’s castle and the King’s guardians have a... fleshy quality to them, let’s say? These just feel like they’re Something but I don’t know what so) We’ve already seen a weakness in Belos’s ability to account for personal motivations. He believed that Lilith would continue to serve him after refusing to heal Eda. What if there is another entity out there, an evil one, that is looking to gain a physical form, and is using Belos to do so? I don’t have a lot of fact to back this up, other than the discrepancies mentioned earlier with the “Titan’s” hand, and the fact that the Titan’s skull looks different from the head shape of the figure, from what we can see, but it would be an interesting thing to see play out.  Anyways, all I have to say is that I have the feeling that if the mural wasn’t chipped on the head of that figure, we’d see two horns looking suspiciously like Emperor Belos’s mask. TL;DR: The figure on the right in the mural (top picture) is an entity, likely the Titan, that Emperor Belos is looking to merge with or gain control over on the Day of Unity. The symbol on the center of the figure’s chest matches the main tower of Emperor Belos’s castle, which is referred to as a “symbol of unity”. I throw a bunch of other stuff at this idea but if you’re in a rush, these are the two main takeaways.

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 20 - as in the midst of battle

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >   

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: toxic relationships, mild gore/fighting)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Sonnet XXV” by George Santayana)

Roman led his friends back into the forest, trying to ignore the sour feeling growing in his gut. It was high noon, and the sun filtered down through the trees in broken rays. The woods looked so different in the daytime. Almost beautiful. Despite how upset it would make them both, and the points to the contrary they’d posed, Roman still thought Patton and Logan would be safer away from the fight. Roman had learned to deal with dangerous situations with nothing but his own skills and quick thinking. Three more people, two of which that were far more vulnerable, increased the number of things he had to think about tenfold. Not to mention their plan was rather half-baked and incoherent at this point. Roman simply hoped that by the time they got to the meadow, the ideas would start coming. Ursula could show up at any moment. They had to be ready to act.

Instead of worrying endlessly, Roman simply kept running over the handful of witchtongue phrases and words Virgil had taught him just in case things got hairy. Be careful, he’d admonished. You don’t have control of your powers yet, so you can’t control how powerful each word’s going to be. It could be like setting off a bomb.

Behind him, Logan drilled Virgil about the magical properties of everyday substances, desperately trying to formulate some kind of attack strategy.

“So, rosemary enhances magic?”

“Sort of,” said Virgil, struggling to explain. “It’s more like it concentrates it in one area. Keeps it from going wrong.”

“Anything else? Something also available to us?”

Virgil stuffed his hands in his oversized pockets, thinking. Patton had his cardigan on, and even Logan wore a windbreaker. It was a little chilly, now that Roman thought about it, but he’d always run hot, even as a kid. He had his usual weapons strapped to his body, but aside from that, just a t-shirt and jeans.

“Coffee puts us to sleep,” Virgil offered.

“So that’s why you never drink it!” Patton exclaimed. “Maybe we could blow a bunch in her face?”

“It’s not a tranquilizer,” he amended. “More like melatonin. It just makes us drowsy and lethargic.”

“We’re almost there,” Roman announced, but the three others were too engrossed in their planning to take notice. He didn’t mind. Roman wasn’t much of a planner. He was a shoot-and-stab first, come-up-with-brilliant-strategies later kind of guy.

As they walked, Roman let his mind wander to Dorian. Was he sleeping? If so, where was he?

A familiar tugging sensation filled his mind, and somehow, he just knew which direction Dorian was. Southeast, about three miles. The location popped into his mind just as easily as any one of his normal thoughts. It felt similar to how he’d found the Silkweed, and that strange sensation he’d felt that night outside the forest with the—

Roman audibly gasped, stopping in his tracks. Logan bumped into him.

“Roman? What—”

“It was you!” he breathed, pointing at Virgil.

Virgil paled, immediately nervous. “What was me?”

“You were the cat that kept following me to the forest every night!”

Virgil relaxed a touch. “You’re just figuring this out now?”

“Well, I mean. Kinda. I guess I didn’t connect the two,” he said, flushing. “Whatever, let’s keep going. We’re almost there.” Roman turned around and continued plodding through the trees, trying to hide his embarrassment. He’d had full on mental breakdowns in front of that cat. He’d talked about Virgil to it. It was comforting, and really sweet, actually—but also incredibly embarrassing.

“Okay,” Logan began slowly, “back to the matter at hand, I guess. Are there any substances that have negative effects? Ones that we can use against Ursula?”

“I mean, iron’s a classic, but there isn’t much of that just lying around,” Virgil said.

“What are its properties?”

“It cancels out magic.”

Logan sighed. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Virgil. What are the constraints? The parameters?”

“Well,” Virgil said as they arrived at the meadow, “magic can’t pass through it. So, if someone was behind an iron door, or in an iron cage, no magic could get in or out. In the Witchlands, they use iron cuffs to bind prisoners.”

“And what of iron in a powder form? What if a person were to become covered in it?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it before. I guess it could cancel out their powers, but it wouldn’t be as concentrated as solid metal. My guess is it’ll simply destroy any control over their spells, or decrease their power.”

They stopped in the middle of the clearing.

“Fantastic,” Logan muttered to himself, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

“Where are we supposed to get iron powder?” Patton asked.

Logan squatted down, pressing his fingers into the dirt. “Right here. Virgil, do you know of any spells that could draw iron from the ground?”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” he said with that same smile that crossed his face anytime the mention of performing magic was made.

“Now, be careful,” Logan warned. “Iron is a necessary nutrient for plant life.”

“Don’t kill the forest. Got it.”

Roman watched as Virgil knelt down, pulling the talisman from his jacket pocket and placing a hand on the ground. He opened his mouth, then stopped, eyebrows knitting together.

“What rhymes with stone?”

Logan brightened. “Tone, sloan, own, bone, zone—tome and roam are slant rhymes, but I’m sure they’ll work.”

“Disown,” Roman said. Atone was also in there, but he refrained from offering that one.

“Shown? Or known?” Patton chimed in.

“That’ll work,” Virgil said, and returned his attention to the ground. “Seek and find the hidden stone, bring it hence and make it known.”

The ground shuddered and beneath Virgil’s palm sprouted a pile of iron flecks, and a few larger pebbles.

“Jahsti,” he said softly, that strange tone to his voice that made Roman’s heart race and fingers tingle. Logan flinched ever so slightly. The iron seemed to vibrate, and soon all the flecks and pebbles were reduced to a fine powder. There was only enough for a fistful, maybe less.

“Wonderful,” Logan said, gathering the substance up in his hand.

“So, what’s the plan?” Roman asked, unconsciously scanning the treeline. “We somehow get close enough to her to chuck the stuff in her face?”

“That’s a rather simplistic way of putting it, but yes,” Logan said. He had that look in his eye. The one that betrayed a million calculations and ideas finally coming together.

A rare grin stretched across his face. “Patton, how fast can you run?”

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian lay on the top of a sheer cliff, bathing in the sunlight. Winter was approaching. He shuddered at the thought. Sure, he didn’t need to be warm to live—just like he didn’t need to sleep, or eat, or breathe—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to enjoy one and hate another. The cold reminded him of his time in the dungeons.

In his periphery, he could sense the little prince and his friends a few miles northwest of him. Perhaps they planned on confronting the Dragon Witch today? Dorian reveled in the fact that he couldn’t care less. Either they took care of his problem, or he got to kill Ursula and the little prince.

Who he hadn’t become fond of in the least.

Obviously.

Under normal circumstances, Dorian wouldn’t have been so out in the open, let alone sunbathing atop a clifftop, letting his scales shine like beacons. Again, it felt good to have no worries.

And yet, the little prince’s presence kept nagging at the back of his mind. What was their plan? How could they hope to defeat such a power with the prince so oblivious to his own? They had no chance, really. It was bound to end in disaster, and they’d no doubt come crawling to him for assistance.

Which he wouldn’t offer. Under any circumstance.

This is ridiculous, Dorian thought, and in a snap of brilliant golden light, returned to his human form. He needed to clear his head.`

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian stood at the treeline. Now that the curse was broken, he, too, should be able to leave the premises of the forest. Something that surely wasn’t fear curdled in the pit of his stomach. He’d never approached a human settlement before. Even while hunting Ursula all those centuries, he’d avoided the places as well he could.

Steeling himself, Dorian stepped into the yellow-grass field separating the township from the forest. He would have expected some sort of reaction, even a tingle up his spine, but of course nothing did. He trudged through the field and slipped between two houses. The street was lined with residencies and nothing else. The town square must be around here somewhere, he reasoned, and stepped out into the middle of the road. It was hard, like stone, but blackened and smelly, as if a dragon had scorched it with its breath.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Dorian strode down the middle of the street. Small humans—even smaller than the little prince—rode past on strange two-wheeled contraptions, staring at him with open mouths. While Dorian knew that magicless mortals such as these could not see the scales marring the left side of his face, he wondered if they saw some other kind of deformation more familiar to them. A burn, perhaps?

They continued away from him, stopping behind one of the large metal machines that littered the sides of the street and peeking out at him. Dorian continued down the road, twitching his finger in the direction of the machine. A blaring alarm rang out and various white, yellow, and red lights began flashing. The children yelped in fright and scampered away. Dorian contained a smile.

One of the large machines was moving toward him rapidly. A similar alarm blared at him and the woman inside made a gesture with her middle finger as she gradually slowed down. Dorian cocked his head to the side, and the machine’s engine made an awful cranking sound, black smoke billowing up from the front end. Another jerk of his head, and the entire contraption slid to the side of the road, out of his way.

This might be fun.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“VIRGIL!” a voice screeched in the distance, ringing like an ornery bird call through the trees. Roman froze, a chill shooting down his neck. He cast a glance Virgil’s direction. He looked paler than normal, and clutched his talisman so tightly, he would have killed it, had it been alive.

Roman knew where Logan and Patton were simply because they’d planned it, but he couldn’t resist using his newfound ability to be absolutely sure. Patton was thirty feet east of him and Virgil. Logan was even farther east. One hundred and twenty-seven feet, to be exact.

“Where are you, cat?!” Ursula screamed in frustration. Roman refrained from using his ability on the witch, just in case he ended up giving their location away. From where they crouched in the bushes, she sounded only a couple hundred feet up the slope of the mountain.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Virgil muttered.

“What?”

“She should know exactly where I am. I’m her familiar,” he said. “I don’t know why she can’t find me.”

“Well, whatever the reason, let’s count ourselves lucky,” Roman said. Though, for their plan to work, they needed Ursula to find them. Reaching into the bush, Roman grabbed one of the branches and snapped it. This needed to seem unintentional.

Sure enough, the witch began stomping down the hill toward them. Her hair was silvery as Roman remembered, though she wore pants, tennis shoes, and a streamlined running jacket. She almost looked like a normal human.

Her eyes scanned the trees. She still seemed unable to pinpoint their exact location.

“I can sense you, kitty,” she muttered.

Before Virgil could make his mind up to bolt in the other direction, Roman grabbed his arm and stood up out of the bush, pulling Virgil up with him.

“We’re right here, Ursula.”

Her eyes snapped to him, then to Virgil. Roman could feel him shaking beneath his jacket. The witch smiled and lifted her hands in a gesture of goodwill.

“I’m not here for you, princey. Virgil’s been misbehaving recently, and I think it’s time he got a reminder who’s in charge around here.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him,” Roman said, unsheathing his sword.

Ursula cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to save that for the demon? Be a shame to tire yourself out before the curse even starts.”

“Leave us alone. You have no business here.”

The witch’s expression darkened. “Where are the rest of your friends, kitty? Didn’t want to join the party?”

On cue, Patton wandered out of his hiding place, calling, “Roman? Virgil? Come on guys, where are you? Logan’s worried sick!”

Roman let out a curse, and a smile stretched across Ursula’s face.

“Patton! Get out of here!” he shouted. Patton’s head snapped in their direction.

“No,” Ursula crooned. “Why don’t you come over here, dear?” She curled a finger towards herself and muttered, “Nohmai.”

Patton jerked forward, as if drawn by a string sprouting from the middle of his chest. Roman’s breath caught. Just like his curse. Patton’s feet skidded across the forest floor as he was drawn toward the witch, his face one of fear and confusion.

Virgil nudged him. Roman started, remembering the plan.

“Baesta!” he cried, concentrating as well he could on the invisible connection between the two of them. Power surged out of him with the strangest sensation Roman had ever felt. It was like blood flowing back into a limb that had fallen asleep.

A deep groove tore into the ground and branches were shorn from trees as some invisible force barreled out of him. The furrow separated Patton and Ursula, and he stumbled to a stop a few paces from her. The witch looked at Roman, astounded.

“You’ve discovered your powers.”

“Patton, run!” Roman barked.

Responding faster than he probably should have, Patton turned on his heel and sprinted in the direction he’d come.

Almost as if he’d expected it.

She’s going to try to use him as leverage, Logan had explained. She’ll see him as the weakest member and since she can’t kill or harm Roman and risk him dying, she’ll try to threaten Patton’s life in exchange for Virgil. As long as you and Virgil can keep her from using magic to capture Patton, the plan will work smoothly.

The chase began without preamble. Ursula dashed after Patton with far more speed than a woman of her age should have been able. Roman and Virgil sprinted after them.

Roman was pleased to find that Patton wasn’t just a good runner; he was shockingly fast. His feet beat the ground in a quick pace, his strides long and loping, yet he swerved around trees and over logs with ease. He was easily faster than Ursula and Roman, and could probably keep up with Virgil in cat form.

They were fast approaching Logan’s hiding place. Thankfully, due to his total lack of magical ability, Virgil had said it would be near impossible for her to sense Logan’s presence.

Don’t let any of it touch you or Virgil, Logan had warned. We want to disable her powers, not all of yours.

Ten more feet.

Ursula growled in frustration, snarling, “Eirholme,” and rising into the air.

Five feet.

She picked up speed, her outstretched hand just centimeters from the collar of Patton’s cardigan.

Roman and Virgil swerved out from behind her just in time to avoid the plume of iron powder Logan flung directly into Ursula’s face as she passed.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian stood outside the small, two-story house, nose crinkled in disgust. He’d abandoned his quest to find the center of the village when he’d caught the unmistakable stench of magic.

The house was ripe with it. It was bound to happen, given that the last heir to the Witch’s Inheritance, a sybil, and the world’s most powerful witch’s familiar were all living in the same vicinity. He figured they were simply lucky they hadn’t attracted more attention.

Most likely, it was his own scent that had kept any stray magical creatures wandering the outside world at bay. He smelled of death, and he knew it.

Not at all curious, but simply wanting to get out of the public eye for a while—at least until people stopped getting all agitated about thier machines acting up—Dorian stepped up the front porch steps. The door was locked. A simple touch, and the door opened for him.

The odor was even worse inside. Dorian couldn’t fathom how the familiar had stood it all these years. Then again, Dorian used to live in the Witchlands. That scent had once been the smell of home.

He hadn’t sensed such an aroma in hundreds of years.

The house itself was quaint, with a relatively open kitchen and living space. Dorian found a carpeted staircase tucked against a wall and wandered up it. The smell grew stronger.

Four rooms, a bathroom, and a linen closet. He could tell which was the little prince’s without having to open the door, despite it hanging open, revealing a mess of clutter and clothes. He’d grown used to the boy’s particular odor by now. The familiar’s simply smelled like the Witchlands. The third had no particular scent whatsoever. Peeking inside, Dorian found the room studiously neat and well kept. Boring.

What he was most interested in, actually, was the sybil’s room. The child had come out of nowhere, with significantly more power than any other sybil Dorian had come across while in the Queen’s court.

He ran a finger across the door handle and sniffed it. Nothing too suspicious. Easing the door open, he stepped inside. The room was… warm. Homey, if Dorian had to put a word to it. Not much in the way of possessions, unlike the little prince.

Dorian sniffed.

Something was off. The room smelled of the prediction magic typical of everyday sybils, but there was something else. An undertone he hadn’t sensed since his days in the Queen’s dungeons.

Something… prophetic. Divine, even.

A loud thud from downstairs pulled Dorian from his thoughts. Eyes narrowing, he exited the room and slipped silently down the stairs.

The thudding continued. Dorian ambled curiously down the hallway it originated from. Being as powerful as he was, he didn’t have much to worry about in the way of danger.

Turning the corner, he was surprised to find a door, sealed shut with a glowing, violet sigil. The thudding turned to scrabbling at the edges of the door, trying for purchase on any one of the hinges or edges.

The mark of Avalian, Dorian mused to himself, running a finger across the sigil. It sparked and smoked at his touch.

“What are you hiding?” he muttered, pressing his palm into the wood of the door. Dorian slowly wiped his hand across the mark, wincing ever so slightly as it scorched the skin of his hand in protest. Despite the spell’s noble efforts, however, it eventually gave up and dissipated.

The door swung open.

“…swear I’ll stuff a pixie up that cat’s nose and tie his tail to a—”

Dorian’s mouth ticked up into a smile. “Hello, there.”

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Ursula screamed and fell to the ground, rolling several times. Whatever magic that kept her flying stopped. Patton jogged to a stop a few feet away. Logan leaped out of the bush, breathless with excitement.

“It worked!”

Roman rushed forward, brandishing his blade. Ursula wiped her face furiously with her hands.

“What did you do?!” she wailed, tears from her bloodshot eyes streaking down her face. She coughed. “Iron?!”

“That’s right,” Roman said, pointing his sword at her chest. “Don’t move.”

“Or what?” she said, spitting iron-tainted saliva out onto the ground. “You’ll kill me? We both know you can’t—aaah!” Ursula cried as he drew his blade across her thigh.

“You don’t know what I will or won’t do, witch,” he growled. “I’ve promised a very powerful demon that I’d kill you in exchange for my freedom. Seems like a tempting offer.”

“You brat. No wonder Virgil’s been acting up.”

“He’s not your property,” Logan said, brushing the remaining iron dust off his hands. Patton came to stand next to him. Ursula eyed them both.

“You stupid mortals would never understand. The kind of bond between a witch and their familiar is for life. There’s no going back.”

“He’s done pretty well without you, so far,” Roman countered. “Besides, you’re powerless now. You’re not exactly threatening.”

“Well,” she said with a smile. “I think the little prince needs to be taught a lesson, don’t you, kitty?”

“Roman, do it,” Virgil said hastily.

“What?”

“Kill her! Now! Before—”

“Dokuah Kulong,” Ursula rasped, gesturing toward Logan and Patton.

Roman’s heart dropped to his feet. One second, his friends were standing there, looks of surprise and confusion on their faces, and the next, they were just gone. As if they’d never been there. The world seemed to tilt around Roman, and he couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t… they couldn’t be… could they?

A wounded cry tore from Virgil’s throat.

Ursula was on her feet in seconds, disarming Roman, shoving him to the ground, and throwing his sword into the trees.

“Pounu!” she cried. To their right, several gallons worth of water appeared out of nowhere, sloshing over the ground and soaking Roman’s clothes. She growled in frustration and started for the water, desperately scrubbing mud over her skin, trying to rid herself of the iron powder. She’d obviously meant for it to appear right over her, but the iron was apparently doing its job.

“Makoaste duu fahrnistahll,” Virgil rumbled, his arms raised chest-level, the tendons on the back of his hands pulling taut as his fingers contorted. Tears streaked his cheeks, and his eyes held a fury that made even Roman’s stomach clench.

The world around them seemed to glitch, nothing staying in one place. The ground undulated and grew soft, Roman having to grab hold of the nearest tree to keep from sinking into it. The dirt around Ursula’s feet sunk in on itself, like someone had pulled an enormous drain deep below the ground. An absolutely terrifying noise emanated from the sucking earth. A low, bone-rattling note, like the earth itself were groaning.

Roman, it seemed, was already weak from the one word he’d uttered, and found it difficult to keep a grip on the tree. He was buried up to his waist, the ground pulling at his ankles like quicksand. Hopefully, Virgil wasn’t so enthralled in his fight he ended up pulling Roman into it as well.

Ursula was covered nearly head-to-toe in mud. Preoccupied with trying not to be buried alive, she paid Roman little attention.

“Eirholme!” Ursula rose into the air, the angry black dirt following her, tugging at her feet. She raised a muddy hand and screamed, “Kazhta!”

Virgil gasped, collapsing to the ground. The dirt immediately fell slack, jittering and twitching as Virgil thrashed and screamed on the ground, grabbing at his back.

“Virgil!” Roman cried, trying desperately to free the lower half of his body from the dirt. It was no use. His sword was somewhere lost in the trees. He tried to locate it, but he was too frazzled. He couldn’t concentrate.

Virgil tore his jacket off, revealing countless shallow gashes torn up and down his arms. His back was criss-crossed by them as well, soaking his black shirt crimson. More appeared every second. If it went on much longer, he’d be cut to ribbons.

Ursula approached Virgil, her feet alighting on the ground like she was an apparition.

Roman fought back tears of fear and frustration as he tried to pull himself out of the earth with the hold he had on a low branch. The limb snapped.

“Remember this, kitty,” Ursula crooned, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. She looked over at Roman, favoring the leg he’d injured.

“You both belong to me.”

And with that, she muttered a quick, “Dokuah Cairo,” and disappeared without a trace.

[gravitysrainbow-1x1]

Roots.

@scasonofthevvitch

Ira’s footing slipped underneath him and he stumbled. He hit the side of a tree, hearing something pop out of place in his shoulder before he fell into a puddle of mud the night’s rain had left behind. He cried out, not in pain, but of the miserable, taunting hunger that twisted inside of his stomach like a pile of starving snakes had nested there. He’d made it to the Grimm’s stable, where he was supposed to meet Sebastian the night before -- but had been unable to make it. He hoped that his love would have realized something was wrong and wait for the next night, but without contact, this was a wild guess.

“𝔇𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢,” the shrill voice of a woman hissed unexpectedly. Not who he wanted to hear.

Ira panicked and looked up to see a cloaked woman standing in front of him. Beneath her hood, he made out the sharp features and dark hair of Sebastian’s mother, Cecily. She glared at him with piercing green eyes that tore through him to his soul, and a cold chill crawled down his spine with a shiver. “𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,” the witch said, disdain and anger dripping from every word as she moved to stand over him, “𝑾𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑾𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆. 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒆'𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆. 𝑫𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒕 ��𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒓? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝑮𝒐𝒅'𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒖𝒔! 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄!”

Petrified, Ira wrestled himself up onto his knees. The fear in him coiled around his throat, suffocating the words he needed to say, but couldn’t get out. His plain pants were soaked to the bone, mud clinging to his fingers and bare feet. Dried blood stained the white, loose-fitted tunic he wore, which clung to him wherever the fabric met wet skin. Cecily took one last step forward before she bent down near him. When he recoiled and tried to retreat from her, she grabbed him sharply by the jaw, digging in her claw-like nails to force him to make eye-contact with her.

A curious noise left her lips as she examined his state. His skin lacked color; pallid and grey, corpse-like in the way dark veins snaked across his complexion. There was a gap of skin missing from his right cheek, revealing the tissue and muscle beneath, his teeth glinting through the small, growing hole. The whites of his sunken eyes had turned murky black, and his once-hazel pupils glowed a sickly yellow. “𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓,” Cecily commented, tossing him away from her hand as she pulled out a small satin cloth from her pocket to wipe away her fingers like he was a leper. Ira finally spoke, the words releasing from the cage they’d been trapped in. “Please, please, I’m begging you, Cecily - whatever you’ve done to me, release me from it! I attacked my mother! I bit her and tore out a piece of her shoulder! What have you done to me? I’ll do anything you ask of me and I won’t tell a soul!”

“𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆? 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆? 𝑻𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓? 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 -” a moment of hesitation caught her in her words as her lips curled between her teeth in contemplation - “𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏’𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏’𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎.” Ira’s breath caught in his throat, suffocated by the witch’s demand. His trembling hands raised up in submission, tears welling in his eyes as eyelids fluttered to try to keep it together. “No, no. No! Anything but that. I can’t do that. I can’t hurt him. I love him more than anything on this earth! Please, Cecily, mercy-”

The wind around them picked up, howling through the tree branches as Cecily took her hand and struck Ira across the face to silence his defiance. Instinctively, Ira tried grabbing her, but a quick movement of her hand sent a gust of wind to intercept him. His back slammed against the tree behind him as Cecily began to laugh as he fell to his hands and feet before her again.

“𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝑩𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑺𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒎 - 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 - 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅,” Cecily hissed through her teeth, her green eyes lit with anger and fury. “𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. Only death.”

When the boy began to lift himself back up to his feet, a look of defiance flashed in his eyes. He cried out for Sebastian, hoping, praying that he was near to hear him, but before he could get out his name again, Cecily snatched him by the neck. “𝑵𝒐𝒘, 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕,” Her green eyes glowed, and she mumbled incoherent words under her breath as she shook her head in disapproval at what he had just tried to do. Ira felt a piercing pain at the base of his lips. One hand tried to pry himself free from her grip, while the other fled to his face, startled and fearful as the pain spread like wildfire across his mouth. He tried to cry out when he realized that a black needle took its time to stab through his skin, carrying a thick leather thread through his lips until it reached the end, sealing his mouth shut. When it was finished, the witch threw him away from her, wiping away his filth in her handkerchief again and scoffed as she watched her abomination claw pathetically at his sewn-together lips. His muffled cries fell on deaf ears, and she pointed into the darkness of the woods. "𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆, 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌! 𝑶𝒓 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇."

[jynxeddraca]

Tale of a Witch Hunt

Witches were drowned here.  Only ever on calm days though, no one wanted to risk their life on a choppy sea - even if it was within sight of the shore.  Too many rocks to risk a stormy drowning so they drowned their witches on lovely days with bright sunshine.  Days like this one.

Marlene screeched and pleaded as they tied a string of warls around her ankles.  Each warl - a traditional witch sinking weight - corresponded to each of her convicted witch crimes.  She had three: one for making a bewitched poppet, two for psychic attacks on men to tempt them from their wives.  All three were hooked to a heavy iron chain that was tied to her ankles with a thin, strong rope that had been painted white.  The iron and the white paint served to bind her powers.

Or that was the idea, if she actually had powers.

“I am not a witch!”  Marlene shrieked.  “I have done nothing wrong!  I am innoce-,” A gag was stuffed in her mouth and tied tightly so she couldn’t spit it out.  This was also white but this time made from stinging nettles.  It was, supposedly, to stop any last-ditch curses from being spoken.  

“No need for the charade, we all know now what you are.”

Marlene glared at Stewart, one of the men who accused her of ‘nightly visits in the spirit’ to tempt him to make a pact with a demon.  

Since she couldn’t let him verbally know her utter hatred of him, she made a very unlady-like and rather vulgar gesture at him before another white cloth of stinging nettles were wrapped around her hands.

So she screamed against the cloth in her mouth.  She screamed incoherently muffled at all of them.  She screamed through her anger because if she didn’t she was going to cry and she would not give them the satisfaction.

A priest called on the gods, specifically the goddess of their sea, to cleanse her soul so she would be allowed into the afterlife and not be confined as a sea ghost for all of eternity.  As he prayed buckets of ice-cold water were dumped over her head, soaking through her thin, white, stinging nettle fiber dress.

She began to scream with renewed anger.

It took four men to drag her fighting figure to the edge of the boat, two more to carry the melon sized, stone warls.

She looked down at dark blue-green waters and tried to scramble back into the boat.

“If she be innocent, may the cloth binding her to her warls break so she can swim free.”  The priest said loudly.

She struggled to get back into the boat and spotted her little sister, Rue, standing with the other women.  Two of the village women were holding her back as she screamed, tears streaking down her red face.  They had decided she had no involvement in Marlene’s “sins” and, as Marlene was her guardian, were having her homed in with Stuart’s sister.  

Stuart’s sister, Rina, who did everything Stuart told her to do without question.  Who Marlene now knew held a sick obsession with her brother.

Marlene looked to the sea and silently pleaded with whatever deity who would have mercy to keep Rue safe.  Then she was pushed into the sea.

Spring had always been the traditional time to drown witches.  The water was icy cold - good for purification - and starting to cloud over with the annual algae bloom brought on by the longer sun.  The more practical reason for the spring drownings was that the cold kept bodies from spoiling too fast, so they stayed sunken, and the algae hid decomposing bodies from view.

Neither of these were things Marlene thought about as she dropped through the water so fast her eardrums ruptured.  Squirming in pain and panic, she tried to wiggle her feet out of the cord wrapped around her ankles.  To no avail, they were pulled tight and the stones were too heavy to allow any give.

Looking skywards, she could see light filtering down and a shadow of the boat, but little else and it all warped badly.  She wasn’t entirely certain if it was all an effect of the water.

Her lungs burned for air.

Her ears felt like ice picks were being jammed in them.

Her muscles spasmed painfully from the cold.

Her eyes watered, the last touch of warmth pricking at her before being washed away by another cold current.

Her arm shuddered at the hand.

Hand?

Marlene opened her eyes to two faintly glowing dots and an ocean’s worth of dark hair.  Behind the tendrils of hair she spotted several figures swimming in a circle around them.

More hands where behind her head and, helped by the fact that her hair had been shaved off upon her convictions, removed the gag’s knot.  Then the creature pressed their lips to hers and forced her mouth open.

For a brief moment, Marlene was full of panic, recalling the last time someone had forced her mouth open.  Then air was blown into her lungs and she nearly sagged with relief.

When the creature pulled back, the burning in her lungs was no longer there and she no longer felt cold.  In fact, her head didn’t even hurt so much.  Marlene stared in wonder for a moment before realizing that she could see flashes of the creature’s teeth, like it was talking.

It dipped down and very abruptly, Marlene felt herself drifting away in the current.  Strong arms wrapped around her waist and, at the arrival of another face again, she was gifted another kiss of air.  Feeling practically giddy now, she let herself be pulled through the water.  As she was soaring over the bed of the sea, she spotted many years worth of warls piled around, iron chains rusted away, here and there were bones peeking out from between them and the barnacles that had made them home.  Slipping in and out of her range of vision were more of the creatures.  She belatedly recognized them as narias, mermaid-like spirits of witches drowned.

Another naria swam up and pressed lips against hers again, Marlene gladly accepted the air as they moved through the water.  She received air several more times as the old warls faded away to smooth sand and then to smooth pebbles.  Then she was pulled up.

Head breaking the surface once more, Marlene gulped down sweet air and her ears began to pulse with sharp pains.  Marlene felt herself cry out in pain, but did not hear anything.  Not her own cries, not the roar of the sea.  She did notice, however, the hands on either side of her head pulling her up.  For a moment, she wondered what they were going to do when warmth spread along her ears, over her scalp and a faint golden light filtered to the edges of her vision.

“-to get her dry.  She’ll need clothes.  Do you think Mama Yani has any spare dresses for her?”

Mama Yani was a witch the town had been unable to drown centuries ago and from time to time sent plagues to punish the town.  Any who had tried to find her to stop her never came back.

“No.”  Marlene groaned.  “I’m not a witch, don’t send me to Mama Yani.”  

Tears were wiped from her face and she heard sad murmurings around her.  Opening her eyes she saw at least a dozen narias arranged around her in various shades of blue and green all staring at her with wet, wide, brown eyes.

“You’re safe dear.”  The naria that was holding Marlene in her lap said softly, fingers smoothing over stubble on her head.  “Mama Yani is nothing like what you were taught.  Let’s get you out of this cold water.”

“You don’t have legs though.”  Marlene twisted to look at her.

Giggling surrounded her and one of the naria, one that could pass as her own age, moved so that she was sitting on the pebbles in waist deep water.  A faint golden glow filtered up through the water and as it dissipated, her faintly tiger striped green-blue skin faded to a rich olive skinned tone and her hair a rich mahogany.  Then she stood up on two, perfectly human legs.

Marlene stared, dumbstruck at the change until she was helped to her feet as well.

“My name is Ilani, I’ll take you to Mama Yani.”  She smiled and, save for the fact she was not wearing any clothes and was dripping wet from sea water, looked like any other woman from town.

“Alright.”  Marlene let herself be guided to a small path she hadn’t at first realized was there.  “I’m Marlene.”

[preternatural-fools]

Limbo

It is time...to meet the one and only—Great Witch, Witch of the Black, the Wicked Bitch herself—Rathshiva.

“But K, I thought we were meeting Jin next?” Yeah, so did I, but the wicked bitch has been haunting me so I’ve decided to let her out of her cage so I can focus on Jin. 

Hope ya’ll are ready~~ I know Yoongi and Y/N aren’t...ehehehe

(shitty Moodboard courtesy of moi.)

Warnings: Strong language, magical themes, mentions and depictions of violence and blood.

Word Count: 7.7k

Theme: Supernatural!BTS, Witch!Yoongi, Great Witch(OC), Psychic!Jimin, Necromancer!Hoseok, Demons.? Hey there demons, its me, ya boi

Bonus Part: 1 of 2

Link to the First part of the series—starts with Yoongi

A/N: After much anticipation, I’d like to introduce Rathshiva! She’s mentioned throughout the main plot (Linked above—there are 7 parts so far, Jin has not been introduced yet) and in Jimin’s shitty side drabble here. Hope you all enjoy...

I woke up in the dead of night, dripping with cold sweat, something felt wrong.

Something like dread was looming in the air and lurking within every shadow. Something evil was here.

An evil I could feel resonate in my soul, like the feeling alone was contaminating and corrupting me as I soaked it in.

And then it was gone, everything snapped back to normal like a switch was flipped, and that’s when I knew something was really wrong—because whatever was here, wasn’t here anymore. Leaving the questions—Where is it now? And Why was it here?

I jumped up out of bed and made my way over to the door, though I couldn’t bring myself to open it at first; but I needed to, I needed to get to Yoongi. I needed to warn him.

Warn him about what?

I grabbed the knob and twisted it with a weak grip, throwing the door open and moving to rush out. But I stopped—and nearly screamed when I came face to face with Yoongi, only it wasn’t Yoongi, it couldn’t have been Yoongi.

Yoongi didn’t have blood seeping from his eyes, nose and mouth like that, dripping audibly onto the floor as he hunched over, nearly stumbling through the doorway of my bedroom.

Yoongi’s skin wasn’t that shade of grayish-blue like he had been dead for days. But overall—Yoongi’s eyes didn’t hold pure fear, the same fear I could feel in the air, the fear that was coming from him.

Blood splattering onto my skin as he uttered ‘no’ and ‘please’ in a voice too weak to have been his own, but he wasn’t begging me, he was begging someone else—something else—I could feel its presence.

And that’s when I saw another figure emerge from the shadows of the hallway, reaching out to claim Yoongi. And I did scream.

And then I woke up, again, this time in broad day light. The sun burned my eyes as I frantically looked around, squinting through the haze of tears and light—everything looked normal, everything felt normal.  

The sound of my door being thrown open made me jump and shriek again—only this time it didn’t make it past my lips, the scream was smothered by a choked sob that caught in my throat when I saw who was standing there.

Yoongi stood in the doorway, his eyes wide but alert and full of fire. “What’s wrong?” his voice held concern and his chest heaved—he had just run up the steps no doubt—he glanced around my room as I scrambled to get out of bed, rushing towards him.

His skin was slightly cold to the touch and the pink tint to the tip of his nose told me he had been outside. I clung to him like my life depended on it, anything I said—or tired to say—came out a jumbled, incoherent mess; I was sobbing too hard to talk, to breathe, I felt like I might pass out.

And for the second time, I saw fear in his eyes—masked—but it was there.

A half an hour later and I was sitting at the kitchen table—my entire body trembling, my core muscles spasming from how hard I had been crying. I wasn’t crying now, I was spaced out, staring at the steaming cup of tea Yoongi made for me, my mind replaying that image and those feelings over and over again. It was mind numbing to see Yoongi in such a state, I was almost unable to process it.

It wasn’t just a dream, it was too real. Something is coming.

“Y/N…” Yoongi spoke softly from the seat next to me, his chair turned to face mine. He reached out to take my hand in both of his, his thumbs soothingly rubbing over my skin. “Can you talk?” he asked, humming when I didn’t answer him. “Are you able to tell me what happened?” he tried to mask the impatient tone in his voice, but he was failing.

“Look and see.” I said, giving him permission to get inside of my head. He hesitated, almost like he didn’t want to know—I didn’t blame him, I could tell he was growing uneasy from my behavior.

His palm spread across the side of my head and I closed my eyes, preparing myself. I felt the mind-numbing chill spread throughout my head, starting at my temples.  I relived the dream, this time with Yoongi, and I squirmed in my seat, the feeling of dread weighing in the pit of my stomach.

Once Yoongi dropped his hand from my head I looked over at him, and my stomach dropped—he didn’t look the least bit concerned. “A-Aren’t you worried? Somethings wrong.” I was almost mad that he didn’t look concerned.

“We don’t know if your dream holds any truth, it could just be a dream…” he sighed. “But I’ll call Jimin, get him to interpret it, he’ll tell us if we should be worried or not.” He looked at me, his gaze softening, “I don’t plan on dying, especially now that I have to babysit you all the time.” He offered a small smile as he stood, vanishing beyond the doorway.

An hour or so later the front door swung open and several sets of footsteps echoed down the hall along with hushed voices, Yoongi turned to from his spot at the counter to face the doorway.

The first person to walk through the kitchen doorway was a noticeably tired Hoseok, he greeted Yoongi with a nod.  He looked over at me and gave me a lazy half smile, “Hey, you.” I gave a soft smile in return.

“Sleep well?” He teased, approaching me and ruffling my hair—Yoongi shot him a look, so he pursed his lips and sat down in the chair next to mine. The next person to walk through the doorway was Jimin, who didn’t bother to acknowledge Yoongi, instead he rushed over to me, squatting down next to my chair to speak to me. “Oh gosh, Y/N, you look exhausted.” His hands on mine were warm and comforting; with him in the room I got the urge to cry again, I knew he understood, I knew he could feel what I was going through. Occasionally that psychic connection came in good use. He stood and hugged my head to his stomach, smoothing my hair down, I could feel him trying to urge his was into my mind, but I wouldn’t allow it—not yet.

A deeper and more commanding voice spoke next, one that ran chills down my spine and sent a small jolt of excitement through my stomach. “So…explain why we’re all here?” Tae asked.

“There was an…incident, involving a dream—” “You say that like it’s nothing—” “I did not—“ “A majority of psychics have premonitions in the form of dreams, that’s how our powers usually manifest first, you know that and you’re treating this like it’s nothing.” Jimin snapped, his voice was both amplified and muffled as I listened to him speak with my head against his stomach, frankly, it wasn’t doing anything to help the dull ache behind my eyes.

“And I know that things can be altered by course of action, so even if the dream was a sneak peak at my death—there can be ways to avoid it and change the outcome.” Yoongi snapped back.

“Yo, wait, who said anything about you dying?” Hoseok spoke, confusion lacing his voice.

There was silence, the clock ticking on the wall seemed to echo, taunting us all while Yoongi delayed his answer.

I pulled away from Jimin to speak, since Yoongi obviously wasn’t going to. “I had a dream, Yoongi was dying, someone—something else was here, in the house.” “Did you see it?” Tae asked, moving to sit at the head of the table. “No, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Yoongi knows what it was.” I cast a bitter glance at him, “That’s why he’s convinced he can avoid it, he knows the dream wasn’t just bullshit but he doesn’t want to admit it.” I could see Yoongi grit his teeth as he closed his eyes, fighting back a bitter remark.

“Y/N, how was Yoongi dying in your dream?” Hoseok asked, swiveling in his seat to face me, eyebrows furrowed—a sudden fire, a sudden bitterness burned in his eyes, it was almost alarming to see him out of character. “He was bleeding from his eyes and shit, wasn’t he?” I gaped back at him, “Yeah…just like that.”

Hoseok gave me a petty smile before turning to Yoongi, “When was the last time you checked—” “Shut up—” “Obviously it—” “I said—” Yoongi stepped forward like he was ready to fight Hoseok into silence.

“GUYS!” Tae slammed his hand down on the table silencing Yoongi and Hoseok’s bickering, causing everyone to jump in the process.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so, “Let’s not fight…we need to be calm about this, this isn’t something we should waste time bickering over.” “Calm, Calm?” Hoseok shouted as he stood up abruptly, his chair nearly tipping over backwards.

“Y/N, you wanna know what you saw?” Hoseok turned to me. “Don’t you da—” “The thing in the basement—that we’re all afraid of—got out, that’s what you saw.” Everyone went stiff, the air seemed to freeze over, and the chill seeped into every inch of my skin reaching my bones in a way that made my body ache. A paralyzing fear wrapped fingers around my throat and my mind blanked, unwilling to process the words he just spoke.  

“The…what…” I breathed, I had forgotten about the thing in the basement. “Yeah, that, and it’s coming back.” Hoseok sat back down in his chair—though it wasn’t anywhere near the table anymore, he crossed his arms and stared down at his outstretched legs, isolating himself in petty anger.  

“When did that happen?” Tae spoke, snapping everyone’s attention back to the present.

“This morning.” Yoongi spoke, his gaze fixated on the floor. I saw Hoseok squirm in his chair and then draw his legs in to sit up straight from the corner of my eye. “When this morning?” Tae asked, his eyes finding mine. “Minutes before she woke up screaming.”

“You can’t avoid us…” Hoseok spoke, his voice was low and monotone, almost…feminine? “For we are many…” Everyone went wide eyed and turned to look at Hoseok.

His head hung, seemingly staring down at his lap; his hands had a vice grip on the arms of his chair, knuckles white and veins raised. “Pop culture or scripture? Either way they are the words of man, foolish and stupid.” When he picked his head up his eyes were pitch black, “You are foolish and stupid, Yoongi, I tried to warn you.” A grin that belonged to someone else stretched across Hoseok’s lips. A chill snapped down my spine like the crack of a whip, I wanted to bolt out of my seat—out of the house—it looked…wrong on his face.

“But you shut me out, for years.” “How dare you-” Yoongi breathed, his chest expelling the words along with all of the air in his lungs.

“I was never your enemy, Yoongi. I was only what you made me…but I made you—and this is how you repaid me? Locking me away…”

“Rathshiva…” I spoke, her name slipping off my tongue before I could stop it. “Yes, child.” Hoseok, no, Rathshiva turned to look at me.

“Our little witch has been collecting demons to harvest their power, right under our noses—sentenced me to limbo, destroyed my body so I couldn’t come back and stop him.” She looked back at Yoongi, “How do you feel now that your little secret is out?” There was a snarl to Her words, but the way His lip curled, it almost looked smug.

“I wasn’t harvesting their power I was c-collecting them…to stop them.” Yoongi got defensive. “And using their power in the process?” “It was necessary to protect myself—don’t forget you’re the one creating them in the first place.” He clenched his fists at his sides, but he didn’t dare move.  

Rathshiva fake gasped and with a tsk of her tongue she spoke, “No, Child, I wasn’t creating demons, I was creating witches—witches who couldn’t handle the power and became demons—you’ll end up on the same path if you’re not careful.”

“You kept making them after things went wrong, you knew what you were doing.” Yoongi spoke, his voice dropping quieter each time he opened his mouth, like he knew arguing was effortless. He has been caught.

Jimin and I were frozen in our places, both of us radiating anxious fear. Tae, on the other hand, seemed unphased and unsurprised.  

“NO!” Rathshiva boomed, flashing across the room—she moved like Tae in Hoseok’s body—fast as a blur; everyone flinched and jerked in response to Her outburst. Yoongi pressed his body back against the counter, leaning as far away from Her as he could without moving from his spot.

“No, I can’t make them right from over here, I kept making them because I was trying to find a body to use, a body that could handle the magic, so it could handle me. I’ve been trying to come back—I was willing to clean up my mess, but you denied me.” Yoongi was trembling. His face and lips were pale, and his eyes were blown out and frantic—searching every inch of Hoseok’s face like he couldn’t believe he was seeing this. The energy he was putting out was making me sick to my stomach, I could feel the air itself trembling; I could feel the shock, the realization that everything he had just crumbled before his very eyes.

“You denied me, because you got greedy—blaming me for years when you are the one causing your own downfall.” She took a step back, sucking in a breath to compose herself. “The only thing I’ve been meddling with was your little psychic friend so that I had a connection to your world, I needed a way to watch you…I have no real power in the place you put me, that’s why you put me there—remember?”

Yoongi blinked, staring at Her, frozen in his spot. I saw the way his throat contracted, and the way his chest concaved in and his body bowed forward as more air was forced from his lungs—he looked like he was about to throw up, his entire body wracked with the blow of the situation.

“Bring me my body and let me out, maybe I’ll consider cleaning up your mess and saving your life in the process—until then, I’m keeping this one while I have it, while it can handle me.” Rathshiva rolled Hoseok’s neck and crossed his arms.

She wasn’t asking, she was demanding.

Yoongi glanced around the room, I stared back, shocked at what I was hearing. “There’s no way…” Jimin breathed, speaking what was also on my mind. “Oh, there is, Child. The vampire knows because he’s been around the longest, I was never the enemy.” Rathshiva turned and walked around the table, running Hoseok’s hand across Tae’s back as she passed before sitting back down in the seat next to mine.

“Make your choice, Yoongi, it’s time to face the facts. You’ve been denying the truth even from yourself, it seems as though you’ve started to believe it.”

Yoongi locked eyes with Her, it almost seemed like his mind was shutting down and he was self-destructing mentally. The way his eyes shook in their sockets as he stared at her, his knuckles were white from his fists being balled in the material of his jeans at the sides of his thighs; sweat was shining on his neck and face. He was in shock.  

He sucked in a deep breath and glanced around at us all before he bolted across the room and down the hall, I could hear how he stumbled into the furniture lining the hallway.

The front door opened and closed with a loud ‘clunk’ and there was silence in the room for a moment too long, silence that was laced with overwhelming adrenaline and terror—which wrapped around my throat and ran a chill throughout my body.

Judging by the way Jimin was pale and spaced out, staring at where Yoongi previous stood—he was feeling the effects too, though he looked close to puking.

“If he’s smart, he’ll return with my body.” Rathshiva spoke, scooting the chair closer to the table and folding Hoseok’s hands neatly on the surface. “I believe he will, he knows he’s in too deep, I’ve been telling him for years and I think he’s finally getting it.” Tae ran a hand over his face and then up through his hair, sighing.

“Wait…” Jimin whispered, snapping his attention to Tae. “You guys…you’re—you,” He sputtered on his words. “Take a seat, I’ll tell you the story…” Rathshiva spoke, Tae nodded when Jimin looked from Hoseok to him. “You’re taking her side? What are you guys...Friends?” Jimin spoke, breathless, once he sat down.

“More like…Taehyung is my level-headed…acquaintance.” Rathshiva spoke inclining Hoseo—or Her head now, lacing His fingers under His chin.

“You trust my judgement, don’t you?” Tae spoke up as he eyed Jimin—who looked like he was between throwing up and crying—the anxiety building in the air wasn’t doing him any good. Jimin made a noise in his throat that could have been a gag or a noise of agreement.

And so, Tae continued. “As she said, I was always a little more level headed, I was able to take a step back and see everything from a broader view—I understood some of the…logics?—” Tae quirked an eyebrow “—behind her motives, why she did the things she did, granted…some of it was…” Tae paused, choosing his words carefully. “Please, speak freely, I’m intrigued about what you have to say.” Rathshiva arched an eyebrow and the corner of Hoseok’s lip twitched into an evil smirk.

Tae nodded once before continuing, “Impulsive and twisted, but understandable in a way—there certainly were better ways to go about some of the things she did, but Yoongi being Yoongi…if things don’t go his way, he kinda loses it, as we all know.” Tae sucked in a breath.

“In short, her morality is fucked, but she usually meant well—she does like to be an evil bitch sometimes, but who doesn’t?” Rathshiva breathed a laugh at Tae’s blunt statement. “I’ve been painted as the bad guy for years, if you’re not with him, you’re against him and that makes you a monster.”

“Didn’t you try to kill Yoongi? Like…twice?” Jimin asked, his voice quiet but steady as he locked eyes with Tae; avoiding acknowledging Rathshiva directly was keeping him semi-sane. “Kill? No, I would never kill my children—hurt them a little? Yes, but that’s how they learn, I’m sure you’ve heard of Punishment and Reinforcement.”  

“How long have you been banished to…limbo or wherever?” I asked, She slid her eyes to me next, Her dark gaze prodding uncomfortably into mine, into me. “How long has it been now? Eight years?” She spoke, Tae nodded. “Eight, then.” Her lip curled, disdain apparent in the expression forming on Hoseok’s face.

Eight…years.

It was so strange and foreign to see such expressions form on his face, to hear Her voice through his body, it made a question to come mind—“Where is Hoseok?” “On the back burner, he’s in his own subconscious—it’s like…taking a nap.”

“Why do you keep referring to us as child or your children?” Jimin asked, his voice louder, more confident as he sat up straight—the anxiety was starting to disperse, and the menacing vibe died out with it. “Don’t you know?” Rathshiva asked, lowering Hoseok’s hands to the table to properly face Jimin. “K-know what?” He asked, looking between all of us.

“All witches—psychics, seers, practitioners of magic—whatever you be—if you possess the ability to perform some type of magic or have a…gift, you are a descendant of mine, all witches derived from me.” Rathshiva answered, Hoseok’s eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Wait, really? I didn’t even know that…” Tae sat up straight, leaning his forearms on the table.

“Yes, all witches are mine.” “I thought you just created the immortal Great Witches?” Tae furrowed his eyebrows. “I specifically created those types of witches, yes, but they were already born with the ability to practice and therefore are related to me, I was the first witch, in a sense, the first Magical Entity.”

Something clicked, like adjusting the camera lens to see a clear picture. “So, you’re like…a deity?” I asked, “In a way, yes, not quite human not quite otherworldly—because I inhabit a physical body—though I belong more to the other side than here, because I am an entity.” She inclined her head as she spoke, it was clear she was stating her superiority—something I’ve seen too often with Yoongi. Most of the time I wanna smack him upside the head when he speaks down to me like that.

“I have ties to both planes, I’m able to go back and forth between the two—unless I get put in an enchanted limbo, crafted by demons, without having a vessel to return to.” She gave a bitter grin. “Once you get put into a lower dimensional limbo, you have to wait for whoever put you there to take you back out, even myself—the spirit worlds and other realms have laws of their own, things even I cannot break, because they don’t belong to me.”

“…I was told you were a demon…that the magic consumed you, and you became one of those things.” Jimin stared blankly at the table top, I could almost hear him working this through his mind. I’m guessing Yoongi brainwashed him the most.

“Child, I am the magic.” Rathshiva spoke, cocking her head to the side, a sly grin tugging at the corner of Hoseok’s mouth.

I took a moment to process this. “This all makes sense, actually...” I briefly locked eyes with Tae before looking to Rathshiva. “What do you mean?” She asked. I saw Jimin shift in his seat, so his body was facing me as I spoke.  

“You’re an entity, a deity of magic—you are the magic,” I breathed a laugh as realization set in, my skin began to hum as a new adrenaline took over.

“In any mythology or theology, the Gods lived by their own ways, their morals were a little fucked too—that explains why you are the way you are. I-I mean, I think we all know every God was,” I paused to breathe, paused to find words, “a little…questionable in their intentions, and it’s not really an excuse for their actions…but all Gods meddle, so you really could have always had good intentions—but it was the way you went about things that set everyone off.”

I wanted to laugh, laugh at the way it all made sense, laugh at the way the whole situation sucked, laugh at the way it was terrifying but alarmingly okay. The room was humming with adrenaline, so many things were happening and coming into light—I almost don’t know how to handle it, I felt like I might burst at the seams. “Other realms have laws of their own, their own moral code, that’s why you clash with humans, with Yoongi—Gods can’t live among men without chaos, you’re not of this plane, so you can’t live here.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be alarmed by the eerie smile that spread across Hoseok’s lips or not—not until Rathshiva said, “I like this one, she gets it…”

“Y/N is a kindred spirit in her openminded view of things, she sees the bigger picture.” Tae spoke, shooting me a wink.

“So…wait, we’re really r-related?” Jimin asked, looking around at everyone at the table, Jimin didn’t pass Go and collect two hundred dollars, he was stuck in Jail, battling with his own mind—realization was hitting him the slowest. “As an entity I pass on my gifts not my genetics, we’re all related through the magic, not blood ties.” Rathshiva spoke, “I never bore a child, but you’re all mine.”  

“Holy shit…” Jimin breathed, eyes wide but not present—he was still somewhere deep in his mind. That’s when I laughed, a laugh that sounded strange coming from my own mouth, but there it was.

And then I was crying again, and everyone was staring at me. “Perhaps…she should rest…I feel that this has all been too heavy on her mind.” Rathshiva spoke, her voice sounded distant, but all too close.

Everything was blurry, sound was distant, things seemed to move in slow motion. I recognized the hands touching me, they were cold, and they gave a feeling of death.

Jimin briefly passed in my vision, even in the haze I could see that his eyes were wide and full of panic as he was left sitting at the table with Rathshiva, Rathshiva in Hoseok’s body. Hoseok.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked Tae, he had one hand on my lower back guiding me and the other wrapped around my upper arm. “Who? They’re all in a little bit of a…rough place right now.” Tae’s breath was hot compared to his skin as it fanned across my face. “Give it five more seconds, Jimin will be joining you in your mental breakdown.”

“I felt a lot of things today and the day isn’t half over.” I blinked in confusion, we were standing in my bedroom, though I don’t remember walking up the steps—with the way my knees felt, I probably couldn’t have walked up the steps anyway.

“Why do I feel sick every time you touch me?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Ouch,” Tae breathed with a laugh. “I’m dead…you’re feeling death, Y/N.” “But you’re here.” “I’m immortal.”

“How does that work? What’s the magic behind it? The science? I need answers...” Tae looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or run.

“You need to lay down, your mind took a beating today, this is the mental collapse Yoongi was afraid would happen back when you started working with your powers.” Tae spoke, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back to lay down.

“Stay with me?” I asked, I wanted to look at him, but I was afraid that if I moved my head, I would puke. I felt like I was swimming in space. “I’m going to go get Jimin, he’s about to start losing it too, I think I can hear him repressing the urge to cry, and Rathshiva is enjoying it too much.”

“Her energy is too much to handle, it feels really scattered and overwhelming…she’s really that bitch—I mean witch, she’s that witch…don’t tell her I said that.”

I heard him chuckle low in his throat, “I won’t, I’ll be back…”

What felt like ten minutes was probably only ten seconds, and then Jimin was joining me in bed; his eyes were glazed over, and he looked pale. Tae tucked in Jimin and then sat on the edge of the bed, “I’m going to sit down stairs and chat with our guest while we wait for Yoongi, you two need to stay up here, okay?” “Need?” I repeated. “Yes, no matter what—noises, voices, anything, you stay in this room, got it?” He patted Jimin’s stomach, and then stood. “Tae?” I lolled my head to the side to look at him, “Don’t let anyone die…”

Tae smiled, though with the way the laugh bubbled past his lips, he sounded nervous, “I won’t.” He wasn’t fully confident in his words, but he said them, and then he left, taking one last glance into the room.

“Tae?” He was gone, but I knew he could still hear me, “Don’t be a martyr.”

Then dissociation set it, I spent some time locked in my own mind; derailed scenes—some from today, some not—floated in and out, nothing really seemed to make sense anymore, the moment of clarity was gone. I could hear Jimin’s breathing as he laid next to me—unmoving and probably spaced out. “What if this is all one big shared delusion?” I spoke, narrowing my eyes as I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think all of us can go crazy at once…not about the same thing.” “People can share delusions, Jimin, it happened in France.” “What are you even talking about?” “I don’t know.”

Silence fell after that. The energy was slowly dispersing—it seems being distant from Rathshiva was working. Though I wondered what the overwhelming energy was doing to Hoseok’s body, I wondered if he would have a body to come back to…I wondered if Yoongi found her body.

When my mind cleared enough to register my surroundings, I could have laughed in disbelief, the sun was setting. Yoongi hadn’t come back yet, and hours had passed…what if something went wrong? What if he ran?

“Why…do you think he did it?” I asked, I could feel my heart speed up at my own question, I didn’t really want an answer, but I did. “He…wanted power? I guess.” Jimin mumbled. “Power…as if he didn’t have enough of it…” I scoffed, I couldn’t grasp why he was doing it, why take that risk?

“Like he said, he was using it.” Jimin rolled over to face me, I didn’t move to match his position though, I didn’t want to, it would make the conversation too real—but I still needed to know. “I don’t buy the ‘I was protecting myself’ bit, protecting himself from what?” Jimin was silent, I used the silence to create my own theories.

“I think he was using it to keep her there, he could do whatever he wanted with her away, he was using the demons to do his bidding…she said the limbo was lower dimensional, demon made, maybe he used them to keep her away?” I could feel the muscles in my forehead shift as my eyebrows bunched together. I needed confirmation.

“Why did he want to keep her away though? What else was he doing?” I whispered to myself. “I don’t know…I don’t…want to know.” Jimin whispered back, shifting so he was staring up at the ceiling again.

An uncomfortable tension grew in the silence. I didn’t like this waiting game, I felt like I was coming out of my skin.

“Y/N?” “Huh?” “What…do you think is going to happen?” I looked over, this time Jimin was the one who didn’t move to meet my gaze. “He’s going to bring her body back, that’s what he went to do, what else would happen?”

“But…what if…” Jimin squirmed, he didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to make it real—and I didn’t want to know.

“What if that thing comes back, before he does?” The anxiety was back, thick in the air and it slipped down my throat like sludge, I couldn’t respond at first—and so he kept talking. “None of us can really…fight it.” He turned his head to face me, “Rathshiva is limited, barely holding it down in Hoseok’s body; me, you and Tae don’t have any powers like that, and even if—we’d be defenseless against a demon.” I hated this, absolutely hated it. “Jimin…don’t say that…” Shut up, shut up, shut UP. “It’s not going to happen like that, she’ll get her body back, she’ll help if she has to, she…said she would.”

I didn’t know that though, not for sure, none of us did. All we could do was wait. I didn’t doubt that she would help, I didn’t doubt that Yoongi would make it back with her body…but I did doubt when, because then what?

There was a loud thump from down stairs, and Jimin and I both went rigid. Silence followed, one, two, three seconds and then, “It’s okay!” Tae called up the steps. Jimin sucked in a breath of relief. “What do you think that was?” Jimin whispered.

“Rathshiva briefly leaving Hoseok’s body.” Tae said from the other side of the door before coming in, Jimin and I both jerked in surprise.

“She left?!” I sat up, Tae nodded. “She had to, or she’d destroy his body—he hit the floor, but he’s lying down on the couch now.” “But what if the thing comes back? Then what?” I recycled Jimin’s question, now that it was a prevalent concern. Tae swallowed thickly, “Then we…uh, you guys stay up here, and I’ll worry about it, but in the meantime, I’m moving you into Yoongi’s room—it’s protected…just in case.”

“It’ll rip you apart.” Jimin gushed. Tae blinked in response, nervously flexing his hands at his side. “I can handle it, long enough, don’t worry. Yoongi should be back soon.” He didn’t sound sure, and I hated that. “Why not come into Yoongi’s room with us then?” I asked, “I can’t, I’m not permitted to enter, it’s protected—anything that’s not living, breathing, flesh and blood can’t enter.”

“Then I’m not going, it’s not fair.” I spoked, balling my fists in the blanket. “Don’t be difficult, come on, get up.” Tae sighed, moving towards the bed, I didn’t move. “I’m fine here, Jimin can go.” After a second of contemplation, Jimin shook his head, “Hoseok is passed out down stairs, so what about him? I’m not going either—we all go, or none of us go.”

“So, then what? We all die because you’re stubborn? What happened to not being a martyr?” The dark look that crossed over Tae’s face as he spoke was enough to paralyze the breath in my throat, and once his words set in, I was back.

“What happened to none of us dying, huh?” Tae opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by the front door crashing open, all of us froze, wide eyed. “It’s Yoongi,” Tae breathed before rushing out of the room in a blur. I stayed for a breath of my own and then I was up, nearly tripping over the blanket as I took it with me. “Where are you going?!” Jimin yelled, scrambling to stand. “Down stairs.” I rushed out of the door and down the steps.

“HEY!” Jimin yelled again, stopping at the top of the steps. I only made it halfway down the hallway before Tae sprung out of the parlor doorway, grabbing me around the waist and yanking me into the room. “What are you DOING?!” He hissed all too loud into my ear. “I want to see!” I fought against him, catching a glimpse of Hoseok on the couch, he looked a little…too relaxed. “Is he okay?” I tried to pull away from him again, before I got an answer, I heard Yoongi yell, “TAE!” from the kitchen. “Not now.” Tae spat at me, dragging me with him as he left for the kitchen.

When we got to the kitchen, Tae let me go but stood firmly in the doorway, trapping me in the kitchen; his eyes were flaming, and his nostrils flared as he breathed out.

“What.” He spoke to Yoongi through clenched teeth, I turned too, my gaze landed on Yoongi before it wandered to the body on the table. All of the chairs were knocked over, kicked out of the way and away from the table. “Is that—” “Why is she down here?” Yoongi threw a wild-eyed look my way, he was rushing around, making a circle around the table with black salt and herbs. His hair was disheveled, and his bangs clung to his forehead with sweat, sweat soaked through his shirt and it stuck to his skin.

He looked insane, frantic, almost unrecognizable in this state.

“I need, I-I need…” Yoongi breathed, “The book from my table in the basement, get the book from the table in the basement.” Tae was gone before Yoongi could finish his sentence.

I approached the table, careful to not get too close to the circle.

The body on the table was thin—petite and short, she couldn’t have been more than five-foot-two. “Is this…” I trailed off. She was pale enough that you could see the blue veins running underneath the skin of her arms and neck, though the veins were primarily black along the backs of her hands and around her eyes. Her fingernails were long and black, as were her fingertips, but it faded back into pale skin at the middle knuckle.

The features of her face were sharp and angular, the eyes were closed—but I knew that once they opened, they would be pitch black—dark lashes feathered thick from gray eyelids. Her lips were gray, but black licked along the seam in an oddly natural ombre. Dark, bold brows matched her hair, which fell in wild curls, almost unkept.

Her dress, frayed at the elbows, was off white and dingy; it laced at the bust and stopped at her ankles—she wasn’t wearing shoes, her feet were like her hands—black to pale.

Yoongi started reading from his book, I hadn’t noticed that Tae came back up, I hadn’t noticed the exchange, I hadn’t noticed him pulling at my arm until he spoke. “Come on, we’re going back upstairs.” “No…” I pushed his hands away weakly, I wanted to watch, it was…bewitching, she was bewitching.

I noticed something, a messy circle of pointed sticks laid over her stomach, it can’t be what I think it is. “What is that?” I pointed to it. “Crown of thorns, to mock Christ.” It was.

Tae tugged at my arm again, “No,” I jerked away from his grip. “Leave her.” Yoongi spat between reciting his mantra. Tae made a noise in his throat but didn’t push, he wandered out of the room and down the hall—back to the parlor.

The lights flickered, and the house hummed with electricity—just as it did any time Yoongi channeled a lot of magic. The room spun with a source-less, chilled breeze and the lights cut out; I could barely make out Yoongi and the table, but he kept working.

“Y/N?” I didn’t recognize the voice, the whisper—I barely heard it over Yoongi—but I answered. “Huh?” I looked around the room, though I couldn’t see anyway.

“Don’t talk to it.” Tae was back, appearing silently behind me and breathing down the back of my neck—hands firmly planted on my waist—catching me off guard, I let out a yelp and then slapped my hand over my own mouth. “Don’t. Talk. To. It.” He repeated firmly, his forehead pressed against the back of my head, “Don’t answer it. I’ll be back. Don’t move.” He whispered, and then he was gone.

It’s coming, it’s here.

My heart sped up and my palms began to sweat; the anxiety crept up my spine and trickled down—crackling softly like electricity—down to my heels and back up to the back of my neck.

It felt like someone was—The hallway creaked behind me, as if on cue.

I hoped it was Tae. No, he’s silent, quick, like a shadow.

The hallway creaked again, closer, and the air left my lungs. I kept my eyes on the spot where I knew Yoongi was, even if I could only see the outline of his body. The heat from my palms traveled up to my armpits, up to my scalp, and the coil of anxiety in my stomach felt like it might burst at any second. The hair on the back of my neck prickled almost painfully as it stood on end, warning me—it was close.

“Y/N?” The voice was soft, feminine, almost…childlike. I shook my head at the thought. It’s not real. “Y/N…please…” The voice shifted, now sounding like Hoseok; tired, weak, scared.

Or…was it Hoseok? He didn’t look good when I saw him. I know Rathshiva could have destroyed his body—that’s why she left it…maybe she left it because she destroyed it?

No, no he’s fine. Tae would have said something…right? Or would he? Maybe he didn’t want to say anything because— the floor creaked, right behind me, it’s right there.

“Y/N, I need help…I can’t breathe…she…hurt…me.” The voice died out in a low, gargling noise, followed by a splatter—as if someone spilled something; and then there was a thud, like someone hit the floor…or the wall? I couldn’t tell.

No, no this feels wrong, I need to check, I need to.

“Hoseok?” I whispered, not wanting to move. “Y/N.” He said again, low, as if it was coming from the floor. “Hos-” I shifted to turn. “DON’T!” Tae’s voice boomed from the bottom of the steps, I jumped and shifted back to face Yoongi; wide eyed, my heart hammering in my chest. There was a faint chuckle from behind me, and a dragging noise, “Let’s see the boy for real then…” the voice was deep, guttural, inhuman.

“No!” Tae and I said at the same time, his voice coming out much louder than my own, there was a spring of footsteps and then a loud crash, the sound of glass breaking followed.

A cackle ripped through the air, and there was a yell of pain coming from an all too familiar deep voice. “No, no, no, nonono.” Tears stung my eyes and my throat seized up with the urge to yell out—and so I did, “Do something!” I yelled at Yoongi, who kept repeating his mantra, his voice cracked in response. I knew there was nothing he could do, we needed Rathshiva.

There were more bangs and shatters, the furniture lining the hallway audibly collided with walls—the deafening sound of splintering wood mixed with muffled curses and yelps echoed with Yoongi’s mantra.

It was too much.

The noises halted and there was a loud, drawn out gasp as the unmistakable sound of someone being punched resonated tauntingly down the hall; the raspy chuckle that came next made my stomach lurch with the need to puke. “Do you feel my fingers in your heart, boy?” There was a wet gurgling noise and a splatter—as if flicking paint at a canvas—and then there was nothing from the hallway. Yoongi stuttered over his mantra, the last of the words leaving his mouth in a rush of air. Tears leaked from my eyes and I covered my mouth to stop the sob. There was no doubt what that was, what that meant.

The electricity in the air cracked and dropped, and so the lights in the house turned back on. “Don’t look, don’t turn around!” Yoongi’s voice was hoarse as he spoke from his position on the floor, his back was against the counter and his knees were pulled into his chest; he was staring wide eyed at the table, his face and neck were visibly dripping sweat.

Rathshiva’s body arched off of the table and then it dropped, she was still for a second, then two, then three—and then she sprang to life. She moved like Tae as she took off down the hall, but in a black haze of mist.

There was a long, animalistic, inhuman scream; and I heard several of the light bulbs in the next room—the room closest to Rathshiva—shatter. “Y/N come here, come here.” Yoongi jumped to his feet and rushed around the table to grab me, he pulled me to the farthest corner away from the kitchen doorway, I could feel his hand trembling as he gripped my arm.

Once the light show ended, he sucked in a deep breath and dropped his arm from mine. “I…I need you to stay here…please…stay here. Right here.” Yoongi looked to me with wild eyes, his breath was coming out in pants. He took a hesitant step away from me, facing me as he did so, I nodded; I couldn’t half see him through the haze of tears. He took another slow step, and then turned on his heel and bolted towards the door way; but he stopped in the doorway and stared into the hallway. His shoulders slumped, and his lips parted as air forced its way from his lungs, he wasn’t looking around—he was fixated on a single spot—and I knew.  

My back hit the wall and I sucked in raspy breath, and it left again in a wail. I slid down the wall, gripping my own throat with both hands. Several wracked sobs left my throat before I looked over again, Yoongi was no longer standing in the doorway—he had gone down the hall.

“Is-is-is,” I couldn’t get it out, my throat wouldn’t allow it.

After a few painfully quiet seconds, Yoongi wandered back into the kitchen, his face was blank, and his eyes were distant; bloody shoe prints followed him, and he stopped next to me, sliding down the wall to join me. “Is…” I sucked in a breath and wiped my face frantically, trying to compose myself, as if it would help me speak, as if it would fix the situation. “Is he…dead?” Fresh tears spilled as the word left my lips. Yoongi opened and closed his mouth but didn’t say anything, instead he reached over and put his hand on my knee.

“And Hoseok?” I asked. “He’s…fine.” “But Tae…?” I needed to hear it, he had to say it.

“His heart is at the other end of the hallway, but I can fix that.” Rathshiva materialized from black mist in the kitchen, “He’s not headless, that’s good. That—I cannot fix.”

“Yoongi, help me.” She spoke, her dress swishing around her legs as she walked out of the room. “Wha- wait, what?” Yoongi jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed after her, “Y-You can fix that?”

“Yes…He’ll wake up, good as new—as will your little ghost walker friend.” Rathshiva’s voice sounded distant—I was still trying to wrap my brain around what she said.

She can fix this…

“Cleaning up, on the other hand, that won’t be fun.” Her eerie chuckle echoed down the hall.

A/N: First things first, I wanted to end it a little annoyingly. Why? Because I hate cliffhangers/unresolved endings. So why not make EVERYONE SUFFER by lowkey doing that?? 

Also, I combined the basement reveal with Rathshiva’s reveal. Two birds one stone, and I felt it fit better in a way? So! Here’s my favorite evil bitch! God, she’s been haunting me for AGES! It feels nice to let the cat out of the bag finally. I read through this twice, but I find its hard to spot spelling errors/typos when you read your own writing, because you already know what it’s going to say—so if you come across one—please ignore it fusdhgjskdg

I hope you enjoyed this part! Thank you so much for reading!

Feel free to send Rathshiva (or anyone else) some love! She’s open for muse chat—where you can ask her questions, interact with her directly or just come hang out with us~

(Any muse of mine, that has been introduced, is open for muse chat!)

I got the idea (and permission) from one of my favourite blogs- duizhangdeluxe, she does a muse chat where you get to talk to her muses, please check her and her lovely boys out! -K

[somuchtowrite]

49!

49. write about a dead forest, and the arsonist who caused it that visits every week.

thank you so much for the prompt!! this one was really fun to write…so much fun, in fact, that i’m thinking about rolling with it and writing some more in this world. while i was writing, i came up with quite a few characters, backstories, and the barest bones of a plot, so i guess i have you to thank for what might just be a whole new project to work on!!

words: 1084

The smell of smoke was long gone,but the remains of the fire stood tall and proud.

Every week since Eleanor had set thefires that destroyed the forest, she found herself coming back—through force ofhabit, through guilt, through need—whateverit was, it drew her back, again and again and again.

The quiet, the isolation, even theburnt husks of tree trunks welcomed her like old friends. She settled down in herusual clearing, what once may have been overgrown with grasses and flowers but wasnow bare, nothing but dust and dirt left. That was one thing she did regretabout burning the forest; the wildlife, what might have fed into her magic atone point, was all gone.

But there were no people this farinto the burnt forest, exactly as she had planned. It was said there was stillsmoke lingering in the air, that it was too dangerous to be exposed to it fortoo long.

If there was smoke in the air,Eleanor didn’t care. After twenty-three visits, it didn’t seem to have any lastingeffects. As if in spite of the warnings, she took in a deep breath and sat downin her usual spot, the tranquil evening bringing her peace despite theever-present fear of doing magic in the open.

Not that it mattered. She was goingto do it anyway, whether she liked it or not.

“Accretio,” she said under her breath, her gaze fixated at a spot onthe ground in front of her. A single blade of grass sprouted before her eyes,growing to a few inches tall before shriveling up and sinking back into theearth.

She sighed and said it again, thistime envisioning a flower in her mind standing straight and tall.

Another blade of grass sprang fromthe ground. This time, though it didn’t die. It was no orchid, but at least itwas alive.

She drew her journal out of hersatchel, scrawling out a quick note. Specificintent helps.

If she had her sister with her, itwould all be easier to get used to. She had only just been learning spells whenRachel cast her into this timeframe, and without guidance, it was a difficultcraft to master.

Lost in the memories, the desolatetree trunks surrounding her became soaring pines in her mind’s eye. Suddenly,Eleanor wasn’t in twenty-first century Newcastle, but rather seventeenth centuryMassachusetts, in the very same town she and her sister had grown up in.

Even as a child, she had grown usedto the insistence that she hide her powers, keep them locked away to keepherself and her family safe. But while it may have stopped her, it had neverstopped Rachel. Rachel, who would take Eleanor into the forest behind theircottage to show her spells she had only ever dreamed of, practicing by levitatingsquirrels and freezing birds in their daily journey across the skies. She hadnever been so enraptured by anything in her life, and it seemed like every dayRachel had something new to show her.

But as her sister grew stronger, sodid the suspicion around their family. Every day, witches were taken from theirhomes, whether they did any harm or not, and it was only a matter of time untilsomeone caught on. It was too dangerous to practice witchcraft in the open.

But no one told Eleanor.

She was only thirteen. She didn’tunderstand why her schoolmate’s father was chasing her and her sister, but shecould tell it wasn’t like the silly games of tag she and her friends played inthe fields. She had never seen such malice, such greed, in a person’s eyes. Not until that day.

Rachel was showing her how shecould create tiny storm clouds when the man burst into their clearing with atorch and pitchfork in hand, screaming incoherent nothings at the two girls asthey scrambled to get out of his way. Eleanor hadn’t reacted fast enough—it wasonly her sister’s quick thinking that got her out of harm’s way before the mancould grab her and drag her away.

Eleanor knew better than to screamor struggle. She let Rachel heave her over her shoulder, the seventeen-year-old’sstrength barely enough to lift her sister’s panic-stricken dead weight. Eleanorremembered every stumble, every hitch in their desperate attempt to get away,all the way until her sister dropped her down behind a tree with a frantic lookin her eyes.

“Ellie, you have to listen to me. Idon’t know where you’re going to end up, but it has to be better than here. Youcan start a new life. You can make it. Do you understand me?”

Eleanor didn’t understand, butnodded anyway.

Rachel clutched her shoulders hardand looked past the tree trunk they hid behind. The man was getting closer, historch now abandoned and a feral gleam in his eye. Eleanor watched sweat bead onher sister’s forehead, despite the cold evening air.

“You’ll be okay.” And then, in awhisper, “Salus.”

The trees began to blur togetherand Rachel started to fade right before her eyes. Fear finally settled in, theprospect of losing her sister forever sending a bolt of terror through Eleanor’sheart.

“What have you done to me? What’shappening?” she said, but her voice sounded far away even to her own ears.

“You’ll be okay,” Rachel saidagain, but her voice was so distorted that Eleanor could only figure out themeaning by reading her lips.

Her sister sent another glance behindher before standing up with her hands out in front of her, meeting the man onher own terms.

Eleanor’s vision went awaycompletely and the welcome feeling of unconsciousness took hold of her. Anythingthat happened to her sister was lost to her after that.

Five years later, and that unknownstill kept Eleanor awake at night—though now, instead of being sleepless upon astraw mattress in a single-room cottage, she got to experience her insomnia inher shared townhouse in Washington’s suburbs.

The forest she was in was nothinglike the one she had been attacked in with her sister. But the essence of itwas the same. The memories never changed.

“Salus,” Eleanor said for the hundredth time since she’d decided to teachherself her own magic, each time praying to see her sister once more.

And for the hundredth time, nothinghappened.

[theliterateape]

The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 3

By J. L. Thurston

The piano began to pluck away a slow, incoherent tune. It was taunting me. I don’t know why I felt that way, but I did. The house hated me. It did not want me here. It did not want me to have my baby and my friend and my nice, new life.

My mother’s house. Not mine. In this house, she roamed the rooms, drenched in her craft and her insanity. She kept dead crows in the windowsills and let them decay. She had jars of blood for drawing sigils beneath furniture. I have few memories of my mother, but one of them involves watching her pull the entrails from a stray cat because she wanted to read my future.

Willow, Aunt Pat had said when she called me to tell me my mother was dead. You need to light incense for her soul.

I didn’t think incense was right for her, though. Incense is warm, fragrant, and full of texture and intrigue. My mother was none of those things. Instead, I went to the liquor store and bought a pack of cigarettes. I lit one and left it on the sidewalk to burn out on its own.

I wondered if it was the house that hated me, or my mother’s restless soul.

Thunder cracked through the sky. Nyla and Jane both flinched. Confused, we stared up at the black clouds. The storm had come so fast. Bones retreated into the trees.

Sorry. Give me a second.

That was the last time I ever saw my dog.

I went after him a little ways, but I knew better than to go too deep into the trees. My heart was breaking. Bones was an indoor dog. He’d never been outside in a storm. I didn’t know what to do, so I returned to Nyla and Jane. The wind was whipping against me. I rushed to the front yard and rolled Nyla’s scooter onto my porch just before the rain came down. She was grateful.

The pork chops were almost burning. We attempted to eat, but all sense of normalcy was gone. That was when the power went out. I made the most out of it, lighting a bunch of candles in the living room. Jane slept on a pile of blankets on the floor. Nyla and I got comfortable on the couch.

We watched Netflix on my laptop, praying the power would come back on before the battery died. The two of us were curled up in the same blanket. At first just sitting, then she stretched out her legs so they became interwoven with mine. I felt her fingers and let my hand hold hers. She talked a little bit. Then her lips found mine. I froze at first. I think I was half-expecting it, but also thought it would never happen. But the longer the kiss went on the harder I realized how badly I needed it. I was a diver, finally coming up for air. I was Icarus, flying into the sun.

We kissed in the light of the laptop screen while the storm raged outside. We were still kissing when the laptop battery died. She had moved down to my neck, giving me sensations I had never felt. I wish I could have stayed in that place, that warm, tingling place with Nyla, but movement caught my attention.

The laptop screen on the coffee table was black. There was the couch, perfectly black in the reflection against the windows behind us. There was my head, and the slow-moving coiled hair on Nyla’s head as she worked her way down my collar bone.

We weren’t alone.

Behind the couch was a silhouette. A thin, human-like shadow paced back and forth between the couch and the windows. I use the phrase “human-like” because the head, torso, and arms were too long to be human.

“Willow? You okay?”

I couldn’t look at Nyla. I couldn’t feel anything but cold all over. The shadow person stopped pacing and stood just behind us. It bent down, long arms spreading wide, resting its clawed hands on the back of the couch.

I could hear it take in a long breath.

“I think I need a cat,” I said. Nyla laughed. I didn’t tell her why I needed a cat. She didn’t pry. Instead, she snuggled close to me and fell asleep as I played with her hair.

I stared at the laptop screen and watched the shadow creature as it watched me. It didn’t move, it didn’t do anything but breathe. I refused to acknowledge it.

When faced with spirits, you should pretend to ignore them. If they are harmless, they may be able to move on. If they are evil, they will only grow stronger if they know you fear them.

Aunt Pat had taught me everything she knew. I was not a practicing witch, but I was raised by one. I knew how to gulp down reactions. I also knew that the shadow person was different from a spirit, but whatever it was it couldn’t be stronger than a cat. Aunt Pat always had at least two cats in her house at all times. Cats are guardians. Their souls are half here and half in the afterlife. Aunt Pat believed that supernatural entities would not go near a cat for fear they would be sent away forever.

I fell asleep with Nyla’s arms around me, thinking of cats, listening to the breathing of Jane and the shadow person.

Around three in the morning, a voice shouted in my ear. “WAKE UP!”

Jane shrieked. Nyla sat bolt upright. I was panting, ears ringing. The power had come back on. I could tell because my laptop was charging. I leapt to my feet and switched on the light. Nyla was scooping up Jane and rocking her, eyes darting all around.

She’d heard it, too. We all did.

The rain was coming down in sheets. We didn’t say it out loud, but we felt trapped in the house. We turned the television on, but I didn’t have cable hooked up yet. The old antennae still worked, so we watched a black and white station with the volume up so high we couldn’t hear the creaking in the attic.

We couldn’t hear it, but we knew it was there.

Return to sunrise, another day in the House on Deer Creek Road

[mimssides]

The Lie of Black and White: 2/9

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Remus was throwing some ugly vases against the wall in his room. Their shattering sound always managed to inspire him. And he was in need of some good ideas. Just something fun and juicy. Some light-hearted arson or poisoning.

Arson? That usually wasn’t his go to. Why had he been thinking of arson?

Only now Remus realized that he had stopped throwing vases and let the one in his hands fall down to the floor and stumbled backwards to his bed. Sloppily, he sat down and blinked several times. His vision was weird. The wall was blurry.

He blinked some more. He felt a water drop fall on his hand.

Was he crying?

Pain ripped over his right arm and he felt something like agonizing guilt in his guts. His breathing got quicker. His eyes flew all over his room, rested on the door in the corner of the room. He ran to it.

There was dust on the door knob. Of course. He hadn’t tried to open it since Roman had closed it all those years ago.

He tried to open it anyway.

It opened.

Remus wept. Everywhere. Lying unfinished pictures, poems, scripts. Scattered on the floor. Some edges were burnt. A clay statue was smashed. The air was thick and the big golden framed mirror was glowing on the wall.

Roman had left the portal into the imagination open.

Remus ran outside. To the dining table in the living room.

Oh Roman, thank God you don’t have a moustache. Otherwise between you and Remus I wouldn��t know who the evil twin is.

Oh Roman, thank God you don’t have a moustache. Otherwise between you and Remus I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is.

Oh Roman, thank God you don’t have a moustache. Otherwise between you and Remus I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is.

Oh Roman, thank God you don’t have a moustache. Otherwise between you and Remus I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is. Oh Roman, thank God you don’t have a moustache. Otherwise between you and Remus I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is. Oh Roman, thank God you don’t have a moustache. Otherwise between you and Remus I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is. Oh roman thank god you don’t have a moustache otherwise between you and remus i wouldn’t know who the evil twin is oh roman thank god you don’t have a moustache otherwise between you and remus i wouldn’t know who the evil twin is ohromanthankgodyoudon’thaveamoustacheotherwisebetweenyouandremusiwouldn’tknowwhotheeviltwinis

The snake. Sitting on a chair, talking to nerdy wolverine. Stopping. Staring at him. A small movement from his lower eyelid.

Popsicle said something from the kitchen. Maybe even shouted. Remus didn’t hear it. He bolted towards Janus and grabbed him by the collar. Pulled him up from the chair, as if he didn’t weight as much as a feather.

Now popsicle screamed something and nerdy wolverine stood up. Remus didn’t care. His arm hurt more. He had finally recognized which kind of pain it was. He finally recognized the burning sensation of his brother’s flames.

“What have you done to Roman! What have you done!?!”

Remus didn’t sound mocking nor dramatic. He sounded desperate and enraged. Janus had never heard him like this. Had never seen him cry like this. Had never thought he would actually be able to fear him. And yet now he did.

And at once, Remus dropped him and stared angrily at Patton, who had stepped forth probably to try and stop Remus from doing anything harsh.

“Remus! Clam down”, Janus tried to get Remus’s attention back “I did nothing to Roman! I haven’t sseen him in days! I don’t-”

Before Janus could end, Remus turned around and rushed past him back to the hallway leading to their rooms. With no much thinking Janus went after him, so did Logan and Patton.

Just as Janus was able to see around the corner, he noticed Virgil rushing out of his room and blocking Remus’s way. Virgil had a scared look on his face, yet seemed determined to stop him and was about to shout, as Remus simply jumped against the wall, over Virgil’s head and sprinted further towards Roman’s room.

And at that point the other sides started sprinting. Somehow, Janus got in front of the group and was first to reach Roman’s door and first to see the mess that his room was. The first to see Remus crying, pacing in circles in front of the glowing mirror and muttering, whispering, spurting things. He stepped inside and Logan pressed forward, looking around in utter disbelieve.

Patton and Virgil were still behind them and Janus heard Patton utter a loud gasp. He could almost see how tears formed in his eyes.

“What the fuck!?!” Virgil half-screamed and the other sides flinched at the creepy echo that had come with Virgil’s words.

It made Remus turn towards the group. Suddenly he was still. He stared at Janus, then Patton. The tears were still running down his face.

“He’s burNING!” Remus squeaked pained and a paper behind him evaporated in flames.

“Remus come back to your senses!” Janus demanded and tried to step in front of Logan, who was still closest to Remus.

But as the word ‘senses’ had fallen, Remus’s eyes lit up and his whole focus shifted towards Logan and just like that Remus grabbed his arm and bolted towards the mirror. He was too strong for Logan to fight against and the whole move had been too unpredictable for him to anticipate. And so, Logan was dragged into the imagination and Janus, Patton and Virgil stood back in Roman’s room in quiet shock.

That was until Virgil rushed forth about to follow them blindly, before Janus and Patton held him back.

“What – We – We need to get to Logan! What do you think will the mad man do!?” Virgil hissed agitated towards Janus.

Latter only shook his head and quickly exchanged a look with Patton before he turned his attention back to Virgil. Remus and Virgil had always had a weird relationship even before Virgil had left him and Janus behind. At times it was as if they were partners in crime, at times it was as if they were cellmates. The more anxious Virgil grew the more bizarre and gruesome Remus’s illusions and acts got.

And right now, that Logan was in Remus’s hands Janus could not risk Remus getting any more gruesome. He couldn’t risk Virgil getting too close to him.

“I don’t know”, Janus admitted and took a step backwards towards the mirror, “but he will get more random the closer you are to him! And like that I won’t be able to do anything anymore! Especially not in the imagination. It is their territory, Virgil. It is their land and we certainly won’t stand a chance against Remus’s craziness in there, if you make him anymore mad.”

Then Janus turned his head towards Patton and held onto the side of the mirror.

“I’ll go in and get them back. Sstay here and take care of him. Will you?”

Patton was shaking, his eyes uncertain and his breath unsteady. But his words sounded true as he said: “I will. I trust you.”

And with that Janus jumped inside the mirror into the imagination. It felt like falling for an infinity but was over with the blink of an eye and Janus landed wobblily on his feet. And before he could even start to begin taking in what he could see, he was overwhelmed by the smell of thick and heavy smoke. Janus blinked and his eyes stung. Only after a few seconds of adjustment he managed to truly open his eyes and found himself standing in front of a wall of fire. Just fire.

He was frozen. Remus could not be right. He could not. Be. Right.

Janus shook himself out of his state and looked away from the wall and finally found Logan standing only a few feet away from him. He seemed to be uninjured, if a little unsettled, but Janus would take whatever he could get at this point. Quickly he walked over to him and soon saw Remus wandering along the fire wall, forth and back, both hands pressed against his skull.

Logan saw Janus approach out of the corner of his eye and turned slightly towards him.

“Are you unharmed?” was the first question out of Janus’s mouth and Logan just nodded.

“Well, at least one thing is all right then. Did he say anything concerning this…”

“Catastrophe? No, he did not. He has been mumbling incoherently since he has gotten here and as much as I want to say that such behaviour is quite usual for him, I know that this is cannot be usual for him”, Logan responded and pointed towards the still wandering Remus.

Janus just stared at Remus, then back to Logan, gulped and waved for him to get closer towards the Duke. Logan followed and they soon heard Remus mutter: “Fire. Burn. Blaze. Flame. Bruise. Blister. Blood. Red. Red. Orange. Orange. Sun. Campfire. Witch burning. Burnt flesh. Burn. Burn. Burn. Pain – Pain! Blister. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. O p p O s I t e!”

An association game?

“Water?” Logan blurted out and Remus immediately turned towards him with a big smile.

“Water! Rain! Rain clouds!” Remus screamed and immediately the sky went grey and clouds formed to pour down to the earth.

The flames didn’t go down but it stopped the fire from spreading and steam rose up into the sky. Within moments the sides were wet to the bone and Remus turned towards the two others. Meretriciously, he watched both for a moment before his focus went back to Logan and he made a step towards him.

Logan let him approach. He wanted to ask Remus, what was going on but was not sure how well Remus could even understand his questions at this point. He seemed to be absolutely delusional and his eyes were red from crying. This was an absolute mess.

“Can you hold my hand?”

Logan rose his eyebrows as high as it was possible for him and asked Remus simply: “Pardon me?”

“You make sense! I need to make sense to think and to find Roman. If you hold my hand, I will make sense. Please. We need to go. Now. He’s getting worse”, Remus pledged with the lowest voice he could muster to utter.

Logan didn’t understand what was happening. Not completely at least. He was aware that Remus’s state certainly was linked to what was going on with Roman and that Roman probably was the source of this ridiculous fire, since it was his half of the imagination which was burning. What he did not understand was the fact that of all sides Remus decided to trust him and ask for his help. He was so far out of his territory of expertise that it felt almost ridiculous to think he might be of any help in here.

But here Remus was the Duke. He knew how this world worked and quite honestly after looking at the fire wall again Logan decided he might as well just listen to him.

“Very well”, Logan said and held out his hand for Remus to take it.

Remus grabbed his hand and started walking, while Logan looked back over his shoulder to Janus who stared at him flabbergasted. Logan just shrugged and then focused on the path in front of them.

And so, they followed Remus through the pouring rain. Minutes passed and the two sides felt slowly how the imagination started pulling on their nerves. Things here didn’t follow the laws of nature or some sort of coherent concept. What was believed to be true, would be true. What was believed to be wrong would be wrong. There were no rules, no sense, no time and neither Logan nor Janus liked being part of such world. It just didn’t fit their mindsets.

And naturally, there was also the fact the humongous fire was burning next to them and it seemed not to stop. This fire which probably was Roman’s doing and made them question, how greatly they had underestimated Roman’s mental state. They both had assumed that it wasn’t too good; the Prince hadn’t come to their dinners, but ate alone in his room. He hadn’t come out to present his ideas, didn’t sing and didn’t smile anymore. But he had done his part for Thomas and it had been decided to let him have his privacy and not fester him too much. In hindsight, a decision they should have thought through more thoroughly.

Thunder. Logan flinched and quickly looked around to look where the sound had been coming from.

Thunder.

Go away.

Remus stopped. Logan looked around hysterically. Where was this voice coming from? It couldn’t just be projected through the sky- Unless it could since this was imagination and Roman had seen Lion King about a million times and loved Mufasa speaking in the clouds.

So, he looked up but found nothing. Instead, Logan suddenly felt how Remus let go of his hand and started running straight towards the fire. Janus next to him shouted for Remus to stop but at once shut up as they both realized that there was something standing out of the fire. A glass surface. Logan and Janus exchanged a look and followed Remus, who had already started to knock against the glass wall.

The heat was blazing and even though they both were able to just heal themselves, in case they were burnt, neither had the urge to get closer to the flames. They didn’t understand how Remus could be so close to it and not show any signs of pain or exhaustion at all.

And then they were close enough to see through the glass. It was a gigantic glass dome, within flames burning just like outside of it. Only that in the middle of the construct sat a white character. With a red sash.

“Rooman!”

Remus’s voice was shrill and dry.

Nobody understands. How much… it hurts.

“Stop being dramatic! Stop! Stop! Stop!”

I can’t do this any longer… I can’t…

“StoP! If I can, you-”

Remus stopped. He turned around. His eyes again on Logan. Filled with desperation. And –

Hope.

“I forgot”, Remus laughed and scratched his head maniacally, “I forgot, I don’t know why, but I forgot and – I need to remember! I need to show him, Logan! I need to remind him too, to make him stop! Will you help me? Please?”

Logan just gaped at him for a solid twenty seconds. He was unable to do anything. He had no power in here. How could he possibly help Remus resolve this situation?

But if he didn’t try, he would surely be of no use at all.

And so, Logan fought off his paralyzed state and got closer to Remus.

“What do you need me to do?”

Remus smiled desperately and waved him towards the glass dome. Janus just walked beside them, holding up his cape, which he had conjured to be longer and fireproof, to shield the two other sides.

“Just put your hands on my back. I need to project something onto the dome, so Ro sees it. I’ll need to focus pretty hard so please don’t go away. Stay.”

The monotone tone of Remus’s voice scared both Logan and Janus but there was no time left. Swiftly, Logan positioned himself behind Remus and laid his hands on his shoulder blades while Remus carefully held his hand onto the glass.

Nothing happened at first. Then there was a static through the crackling of fire. Then there appeared a light, a projection on the other side of the glass dome.

And a sob. The projection showed one of their rooms out of Thomas’s childhood. Judging the angle, it was the view from a child sitting on a floor. Their gaze fell down on the floor and another sob made the whole frame waver.

It was one of them. It was a memory.

More crying. Louder. Heavier. Pained. The view got black as the boy blinked and was fogged when he opened his eyes again.

Logan felt himself gulp. Janus felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

 The scene seemed to never end, seemed to get mushier, more desperate. The crying didn’t stop, the pain got deeper and more chaotic.

 Then white. The boy blinked. White and red. A red sash. Roman. Merely eleven it seemed.

 “Remus?”

 His voice was so high. So childish.

 “Ree?”

 Remus sobbed harder. The scene shook. There was a shoulder. The scene grew steadier. Roman had hugged Remus.

 “It’s them, isn’t it? They fight all day long, so they must be screaming at you at night, aren’t they?” Child Roman said so softly.

 A nod. A little wail.

 Remus answered: “D says I – I – I overdramatize what they say! Says that I shouldn’t do what I’m doing! But – but-”

 He cried more.

 “I know. This is what you do. This is what you are for. You give Thomas’s fears and doubts form”, Roman said for him.

 “Yes!”

 Remus’s view had cleared a bit. Roman kneeled in front of him and held his hands. His eyes were filled with so much adoration and sadness.

 “Does it hurt Thomas? Am I bad? Should I not be? Are they right? Should I just die?”

 Roman’s eyes were also filled with tears.

 But on his lips, there was a smile.

 “And take me with you? No, thanks I wanna live and we both know that Thomas wouldn’t stand a day without me.”

 “Yeah”, Remus sniffled and watched his brother put on this faulty self-confident smile.

 “And if he cannot stand a day without me, he couldn’t stand a day without you either, dummy. We need your shouting just like we need my singing and Logic’s curiosity.”

 “But- But why? How am I helping now?”

 Roman frowned in frustration. Irritated he put his hand on Remus’s shoulder.

 “Ree, you’re awful, right?”

 “Butthole!”

 Remus hit his brother in the chest and Roman yelped and then sighed impatiently.

 “Not like that! I mean you feel awful, right?”

 “Oh, yeah I feel like cow dung.”

 “Yeah, and that means Thomas is feeling awful too! And nobody of the others can see that as clear as you do! This is why you need to show them all the things you show them.”

 “Why can’t you just tell them that Thomas isn’t feeling happy? You’re not good either”, Remus replied.

 Roman’s smile faltered a little before he caught himself and shrugged.

 “No, I’m not but Morality and Logic won’t listen to me. I’m not there to warn them but to be brave and talk to people and give Thomas energy and motivation. And to dream. They think I’m just dramatic. So, I can’t make them listen to me. But you can be loud and bizarre and gross! You can make Morality snap and then Logic is going to realize how bad it really is and will finally accept that we need to talk with Mom and Dad!”

 “But…” Remus voice was weak as he spoke. “What if I unsettle Thomas so much that he can’t talk to them anymore?”

 “Then I will be brave! I will ask Logic to let me take the lead and he will let me because I’m brave enough to talk over stupid Fear!”

 There was Remus’s laugh. He pulled Roman in another hug. Roman laughed too. The moment held on for a long time.

 “But”, Roman carefully pulled back and sternly looked Remus in the eyes, “I can only do that with you. I need you. We all do. You are essential for Thomas.”

 For a second Remus said nothing. A last sniffle.

 “And you’re my and Thomas’s hero.”

“And you still are!”

Logan finally tumbled backwards, as the projection faded away and fell on his backside while pressing his hand against his mouth to silence his crying. Janus had dropped his cape and starred at Remus in utter horror. They had almost got him killed. They had almost killed Remus, without even realizing it. Without ever noticing how bad he was.

But Remus didn’t care. Not about the pain he had been through nor the many times he had been ignored. He only cared for the glass dome that finally evaporated and sloppily ran towards his twin in the middle of the flames.

Remus’s skin was burning. He smelled cooked flesh, ashes and smoke. Almost tasted the roasted air, as he fought through the flames on his way to Roman. Roman didn’t move, when Remus reached him. His clothes were burnt into rags, the visible skin was red and blistered. It didn’t look like Roman anymore.

Fiercely, Remus grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him backwards out of the heat. Roman didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t protest. When Remus dropped him outside of the fire, he just flopped on the ground. He would have hit his head had Remus dropped himself on his knees and caught him messily.

“Ro. RoRo! Come on! Look alive! Look alive dangnabbit!” Remus cursed weakly and cradled Roman closer to his chest.

And in that moment Remus felt how Roman’s clothes changed and a weak arm being thrown around his back. Remus laughed and pushed him into a more upright position, while Roman started to hold him more ferociously and press himself against Remus. Remus let out another chuckle and felt how Roman started to cry against his shoulder. He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all.

Slowly Logan and Janus got closer. The rain was still pouring down and the flames finally started to falter and in the nearby forest, which had been spared from the fire, silhouettes moved in the shadows. Janus kept an eye on them while Logan quietly approached the brothers and waited for Remus to look up and notice him.

It took Roman a while to stop clinging to Remus. But no one dared to say anything about it and in all honesty Logan and Janus were just relieved to have a little time to calm down themselves. It had been so overwhelming to register what had just transpired and neither felt comfortable enough to console the Prince in this very moment.

As Remus eventually felt Roman slightly let go of him, he leaned back and tried to catch Roman’s look. His eyes were red from crying. His bottom lip still shivering. Remus cracked a smile, ignoring that he himself was still crying from the whole situation.

“Hey shit face”, Remus greeted Roman who promptly giggled, which led to him having a coughing fit.

Finally, Remus felt how the tears stopped running down and grinned towards Roman, while patting his back a little too hard.

“You asshole!” Roman blurted affectionately and scratched his nose. “But thanks for – yeah. Who from the others came with you? I can’t think right now.”

Roman still sat with his back turned towards Logan and Janus and Remus immediately realized that his brother might be not too happy with who had chosen to come with him. But they were there and he wasn’t going to tell Roman something else.

“Microsoft turd and J. I only brought the brain with me though”, Remus confessed and held Roman’s shoulders, which for everybody visibly stiffened by the mere mentioning from Janus name.

Logan and Janus heard Roman audibly gulp before he nodded and straightened his back.

“Makes sense. They couldn’t leave Virgil back on his own. That’s okay. It’s okay.”

Remus grinned. Roman shivered and so did Janus. The rain had made the air quite chilly and his fire-y brother as well as his coldblooded bastard friend didn’t like chilly that much. But with the fire still burning behind them he didn’t trust to stop the rain quite yet.

“Mind to put the fire out now?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course!” Roman said as if he had only now realized what was going on and tried too fast to get up, so that he almost fell down again had Remus not caught him in time.

“Sorry”, Roman mumbled and turned towards the fire. With a slight wave of his hand the flames went out and with an additional snap the rain stopped just a second later.

With a twist Roman turned towards Logan and just like that Logan’s clothes were dry as if it had never rained at all. It was the same for Remus and Janus, just that the latter didn’t get a look from Roman.

“Is it possible for us to get back to the mindscape, Roman? This environment is …” Logan inquired stiffly, while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Roman gave him a weak nod, looked over to Remus only to then notice that there were silhouettes standing in the forest. Slightly panicked, Roman shook his head, guiltily shot a look over his shoulders to the ashes and then to Logan.

“We’ll – You – Give me a moment. I need to fix this mess”, Roman said and conjured a little camp side with a fire place and materials in order to rebuild a small town.

Then Roman took a deep breath and wandered wordlessly towards the forest, where now one of the silhouettes had stepped out. Remus recognized her. The stout, blond woman was the general Ren of Roman’s castle guard. She was an impressive nemesis to him and his people.

“Your Royal Highness!” Ren said and bowed for Roman, who held up his hand to stop her.

With a quick glance he found other citizen of the nearby villages and towns hiding in the shadows and then addressed his general: “General. Are our people safe? Did you manage to evacuate everybody?”

“We have a few people left missing and I haven’t heard from all my men yet, but as of now we know of no casualties yet, Your Highness!”

Roman suppressed a relieved sigh and told Ren calmly: “Perfect. Go and look for shelter over there. You should find enough resources for everybody for at least a week. Treat the hurt and let the tired rest. Also distribute the food I’ve provided. It should be enough for a while. As I am now, I can’t help you with the reconstruction quite yet. As soon as I can, I’ll be back though.”

“Thank you, Your Highness! Thank you so much! We will do our best with our work and will make you proud! You can count on us!” Ren exclaimed happily.

Roman smiled slightly, bowed his head and said before going back to the other sides: “I know. You have never let me down before.”

His face fell the moment he turned away from his subjects. His expression was pained and he motioned for the others to wait. Logan furrowed his eyebrows and Remus glanced over to the tree line. Janus just observed Roman, who still avoided eye contact.

As soon Roman was in reach, Remus put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and muttered: “I can’t teleport us right to the exit. But I can get us closer. That sounds like a plan?”

Roman only nodded and stared to the ground. Logan and Janus got closer to the twins and with a snap Remus teleported them back into the direction from where they had come before. Roman looked around. No subjects in sight. He let out a pained groan and Remus immediately went to support him. To Roman’s surprise Logan soon stood next to his side and as careful as he managed to helped him stand upright. Slightly confused he observed him, noticed his eyes being red and a certain unsteadiness in his look. He decided to let it go and just let the two help him out for the next few minutes.

They didn’t talk as they walked back to the portal into the Mindscape. They didn’t know how to start talking about what had happened or focus on what would happen next. And so, they reached the portal with no plan whatsoever on how to explain to Patton and Virgil what had just gone down.

“You go first”, Remus said to Logan and Janus.

Logan hesitated but let go of Roman and stepped in front of the waiting for Janus to join him.

Janus watched Remus for a moment. He stood there so straight and seemingly lucid. He had rarely seen him portray anything but silly grossness and tonight he had seen him being everything but gross and silly. He knew that Remus didn’t tend to lie. He knew that he was not a deceiver. But he wasn’t so sure if that was true at this very moment.

“If we go first the portal closes and you’re stuck in here.”

Janus clicked his tongue, nodded and reluctantly walked over to the portal. He exchanged a look with Logan and then both stepped through.

For a moment the imagination was silent. Remus just held on to Roman and the both simply stared at the glowing portal. If they wanted, they could just close it. Stay here and never face the others again. Roman knew that he was tempted to just do that. To just back down for eternity.

“Are you ready?”

Roman hated Remus’s voice, the tone he used, the way he put so much more emotion in every word than he ever could. He hated it that it made him want to try.

“No, but I’ll never will be and we might as well just get started”, Roman answered and pushed them both towards the portal.

Remus smirked and felt relief wash over him, as they stepped through the portal.

[perkoform]

Lacanian Junk

taken from the chapters, ‘Empty Gestures and Performatives Lacan confronts tha CIA plot’ and ‘The Interpassive Subject Lacan turns a prayer wheel’ from the book ‘How to Read Lacan’ by Slavoj Zizek, 

available online at: 

https://www.uploady.com/#!/download/ZRuvRbXyta8/T~b5aQoH_PSEXAR0 

The empty gesture:

The most elementary level of symbolic exchange is a so-called ‘empty gesture’, an offer made or meant to be rejected. Brecht gave a poignant expression to this feature in his play jasager, in which a young boy is asked to comply freely with what will in any case be his fate (to be thrown into the valley); as his teacher explains, it is customary to ask the victim if he agrees with his fate, but it is also customary for the victim to say yes. Belonging to a society involves a paradoxical point at which each of us is ordered to embrace freely, as the result of our choice, what is anyway imposed on us (we all must love our country, our parents, our religion). This paradox of willing (choosing freely) what is in any case compulsory, of pretending (maintaining the appearance) that there is a free choice although effectively there isn’t one, is strictly co-dependent with the notion of an empty symbolic gesture, a gesture – an offer – that is meant to be rejected.

Something similar is part of our everyday codes of behaviour. When, after being engaged in a fierce competition for a job promotion with my closest friend, I happen to win, the “proper” thing to do is offer to withdraw, so that he will get the promotion, and the proper thing for him to do is reject my offer – this way, perhaps, our friendship can be saved. What we have here is symbolic exchange at its purest; a gesture made only to be rejected. The magic of symbolic exchange is that, although at the end we are where we were at the beginning, there is a distinct gain for both parties in their pact of solidarity. Of course the problem; what if the person to whom the offer to be rejected is made should actually accept it? What if, having lost the competition, I accept my friend’s offer to get the promotion after all, instead of him? A situation like this is properly catastrophic; it causes the disintegration of the semblance (of freedom) that pertains to social order, which equals the disintegration of the social substance itself, the dissolution of the social link.

 In my perspective, don’t offer, you won fair and square, you can instinctually sense whether you’re good for the job, so can the boss who chooses the shit one as a challenge then like works you to the bone and shows you your depth. Yeah that betterment. This shit is like being admitted ‘voluntarily’ to the mental health ward for a drug induces psychosis. You can’t actually choose you have to say yes, they should just call it compulsory. It would be compulsory if you were a potential danger to others, it’s stupid that they offer ‘voluntary’. suicide is not legal in Australia, though I think it’s becoming legal in Europe. Believing that an ‘empty gesture’ is like a proper part of social interaction just makes you a puppet.

 Symbolic castration and justice:

If a king holds a sceptre in his hands and wears the crown, his words will be taken as royal. Such insignia are external not part of my nature; I don them; I wear them to excerices power. As such, they ‘castrate’ me, by introducing a gap between what I immediately am and the function that I exercise (I am never complete at the level of my function). This is what the infamous ‘symbolic castration’ means; the castration that occurs by the very fact of my being caught in a symbolic order, assuming a symbolic mask or title. Castration is the gap between what I immediately am and the symbolic title that confers on me a certain status and authority. In this precise sense, far from being opposite of power, it is synonymous with power; it is what gives power to me. So one has to think of the phallus not as the organ that immediately expresses the vital force of my being, but as a kind of insignia, a mask that I put on, which gets attached to my body, but never becomes as organic part, forever sticking out as its incoherent excessive prosthesis.

Because of this gap, the subject cannot ever fully and immediately identify with his symbolic mask or title; the subject’s questioning of his symbolic title is what hysteria is about; ‘why am I what you’re saying that I am?’ Or, to quote shakespeare’s Juliet; ‘why am I that name?’ There is a truth in the wordplay between ‘hysteria’ and ‘historia’: the subject’s symbolic identity is always historically determined, dependent upon a specific ideological context. we are dealing here with what luois Althusser called ‘ideological interpellation’; the symbolic identity conferred on us is the result of the way the ruling ideology ;interpellates; us – as citizens, democrats, Christians. Hysteria emerges when a subject starts to question or to feel discomfort in his or her symbolic identity: ;you say I am your beloved – what is there in me that makes me that? What do you see in me that causes you to desire me in that way?’ Richard II is shakespeares ultimate play about hystericization (in contrast to hamlet, the ultimate play about obsession). Its topic is the progressive questioning by the king of his own kingship – What is it that makes me a king? What remains of me if the symbolic title ‘king’ is taken away?

No, not that name was given me at the font, bt ‘tis usurp’d; alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! O that I were a mockery king of  snow, standing before the sun of boilingbroke, to melt myself away in water-drops!

In the Slovene translation, the second line is rendered as: ‘why am I what I am?’ Although this clearly involves too much poetic licence, it does convey the gist of the predicament: depreived of its symbolic titles, richard’ds identity melts like a snowmans’ in the sun. the problem for the hysteric is how to distinguish what he or she is (his true desire) from what others see and desire in him or her. This brings us to another of Lacan’s formulas, that ‘man’s desire is the other’s desire’. For lacan, the fundamental impasse of human desire is that it is the other’s desire in both subjective and objective genitive: desire for the other, desire to be desired by the other, and, especially, desire for what the other desires.

Envy and resentment are a constitutive component of human desire, as Augustine knew so well – recall the passage from his Confessions, often quoted by Lacan, which describes a baby jealous of his brothers sucking the mothers’ breast: ‘ I myself have seen and known an infant to be jealous though it could not speak. It became pale, and cast bitter looks on its foster-brother.’ Based on this insight, jean-pierre dupuy proposed a convincing critique of john rawl’s theory of justice: in the ralws model of a just society, social inequalities are tolerated only in so far as they also help those at the bottom of the social ladder, and in so far as they are not based on inherited hierarchies, but on natural inequalities, which are considered contingent, not signifying merit.

What rawls doesn’t see is how such a society would create the conditions for an uncontrolled explosion of resentment: in it, I woul know that my inferior status is fully justified, and would be deprived of blaming my failure on social injustice. Pawls proposes a terrifying model of a society in which hierarcy is directly legitimised in natural properties, missing the simple lesson of a tale about a Slovene peasant who is told by a good witch: ‘I will do to you whatever you want, but I warn you, I will do it to your neighbour twice!’ the peasant thinks fast, then smiles a cunning smile and tells her: ‘take on off my eyes!’ no wonder that even today’s conservatives are ready to endorse rawls notion of justice: in December 2005, david Cameron, the newly elected leader of the british conservatives, signalled his intention to turn the conservative party into a defender of the underprivileged when he declared: 'I think the test of all our policies should be: what does it do for the people who have the least, the people on the bottom rung of the ladder?’

Even friedrich hayek was on the right track here when he pointed out that it is much easier to accept inequalities if one can claim that they result from an impersonal blind force. So the good thing about the ‘irrationality’ of success of failure in free-market capitalism (recall the old motif of the market as the modern version of an imponderable Fate) is that it allows me precisely to perceive my failure (or success) as ‘undeserved’, contingent. The very injustice of capitalism is a key feature that makes it tolerable to the majority (I can accept my failure much more easily if I know that it is not due to my inferior qualities, but to chance).

Lacan shares with Nietzsche and freud the idea that justice as equality is founded on envy: our envy of the other who has what we do not have, and who enjoys it. The demand for justice is ultimately the demand that the excessive enjoyment of the other should be curtailed, so that everyone’s access to enjoyment will be equal.  

 Afterthoughts::

I thought justice was more about place, and entitlement. Who is duly entitled to something, like if someone had their car stolen, it’s justice to retrieve the car from the undeserving thief. You paid for the car so you deserve it. What Lacan, Nietzsche and Freud are referring to is the flaw of seeking justice, false justice or something, letter of the law justice, justice in theory and not in necessary application, assimilation is numbing. ‘our envy of the other who has what we do not have…’ it should not be based on envy, but on necessity, ‘our necessity for what the other has, that we do not have’ regardless of whether the other enjoys or needs it, you may also.

You have to take into account appropriateness, and context, it’s a massive waste to have every resource at your finger-tips but no use for them, just for the sake of equality, people are unique and individual and have different needs and interests, this dictates what kind of enjoyment they deserve, as it is relevant to their unique chemical quality as an organism that is a part of a larger, synchronised web or order, you are a cog in the machine. Everyone plays their part, adds their unique contribution to the larger wheel of symbiotic cooperation. Everyone naturally has the access to every resource in the first place, how can it be real justice or equality based on envy. Also, rightly so, if the enjoyment of the other is specifically excessive. It HAS to be excessive, or else, it really would be nothing more than jealousy.  They are talking about hysteric people who compare yards with their neighbour. Grass is always greener on the other side.