#But I am too easily amused by the Bank of Middle-earth

[elgaladwen]

My favorite damn nerd

The X-Files Season 5 Episode 3, Unusual Suspects

[reylo-trash-4ever]

The Game Part 4

LOLOLOL so it’s been years and I bet everyone thinks I’ve fallen off the face of the earth but no bitch, I still live. Quarantine has given me time to write so whoo hoo!! Also, I will for sure be trying to set up an Ao3 account in the near future and that will most likely be my new main source to post this story, so look out for that!

In the mean time, please enjoy the newest installment, and sorry it’s so short. As always, shout outs go to my lovely and wonderful queen beans @scav-eng-er and @mojona1999. Y’all are the GREATEST! Happy Star Wars Day everyone and May the 4th be with you! 

The Game: Chapter 4 Rating: PG 

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to get my stolen laptop back.” Rey spoke matter-of-factly, her arms crossed over her chest and a defiant look in her eyes as she stared unblinkingly, and unwaveringly, up at Ben.

“I told you, you’d get it back tomorrow,” Ben responded, leaning on the left side of the doorway and blocking any possible entry. 

“Yeah, that’s what you wanted, but I decided on something different, so… here I am.” 

Rey started out strong, her voice fierce and determined, but she began to doubt herself and feel the weight of his amused gaze getting under her skin once again. She felt awkward standing there without moving, his tall frame towering over her in that intimidating way that she hated. 

“And what exactly did you decide?” Ben challenged, raising an eyebrow incredulously at her.

“Let me in and I’ll tell you.” Rey knew it was a long shot, but she was banking on his curiosity to take over common sense and meet her demands. Or maybe she was playing towards the pride he obviously had too much of, either way, she knew she was taking a risk. 

Ben’s amused smirk slowly fell from his lips and he didn’t try to hide the annoyed and inconvenienced look that followed. Rey held her breath, waiting for him to slam the door in her face or to yell at her for being so insubordinate, but instead, he let out the smallest of huffs and stepped aside. She took that as her cue to go in and nodded her thanks as she walked past him. 

Rey didn’t know what she expected his place to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. She probably had some idea of a classic ‘rich boy penthouse’ apartment filled with luxuries that no one really needed, like game tables, a hot tub, racks on racks of expensive liquors, but she was wrong. A few steps down the small entryway hall led into a spacious living area with floor to ceiling, tinted glass windows that lined one side of the wall. Further to her left, Rey spotted an open kitchen with a small island in the middle. To her right was another hallway that most likely led to a master bedroom and bathroom. Another ajar door revealed what looked like a study, or some kind of office space. The decor was minimalistic, but definitely nice. Black leather sofas, a massive flat screen television, and marble countertops were just the most noticeable displays of wealth, although she could only assume there were plenty more not as easily seen. 

Truth be told, the place had a bit of charm to it. If you could call that uneasy ‘bring one spec of dirt into my home and you’ll be punished’ feeling “charm”. It was more like a picture perfect apartment, something you might see in a magazine. 

“So, are you ever going to stop ogling or are you finally going to tell me what you’re really doing here?” 

Rey turned over her shoulder and looked back at Ben, who was pushing the door closed behind him. It shut with a click and Rey felt her breath hitching in her throat again. Her plan was shaky, and being alone with a stranger in his apartment was only the beginning of how dangerous this could get. She couldn’t believe she was putting her job, and the possible promotion, at such a risk as this, but there was something about the opportunity that she couldn’t resist. 

“Well, Ben,” Rey began as she walked further into the room, pretending to keep her attention anywhere but on him and knowing that if she didn’t, he might see right through her ruse, “you obviously think I’m an idiot and incapable of keeping up with your ‘oh so wonderful’ self.” 

Rey paused to wait for his reaction, but he only raised an eyebrow and cocked his head slightly to the right in defense. She took his silence as a cue to continue. 

“Why else would you have given me your laptop after already taking mine? you could have easily just walked off with both and left me on my own, so what would you gain by giving me a key piece in learning more about you? Well, that’s when I realized that the answer was probably nothing, and I highly doubt you’re the kind of man who does anything if there isn’t something in it for him. So, then I thought that the laptop switch might be one big show to try and keep me off the trail of what you’re really planning.

“But then I came over here, and from the look of things,” Rey scanned around the room again, letting her watchful eyes linger in the direction of the bedroom and then the front door, “you were a little ‘preoccupied’ to be doing any real work at this point.” 

“So, you two met after all?” Ben asked, taking the opportunity while she was in between thoughts to make his way closer to where she now stood. He moved past her and bent down, opening a drawer and pulling out the bottle of wine he intended on having by himself. 

“We didn’t, and it’s really none of my business,” Rey said quickly, dismissing her interest and his curiosity on how she might have reacted to his personal life, “I just thought you’d be going through my laptop to get more information on me, since you went through all the trouble of taking it. Except, I can see that my bag lays untouched over on your end table, which means you haven’t even opened it. Why is that?” 

While she spoke, Ben walked to some cabinets with see through glass doors above his sink and took a long stemmed glass from them. He returned to the counter and popped the bottle, pouring himself a healthy amount of the dark liquid. Finally, when Rey finished with her question, he returned his attention back to her and gave her a smirk. 

“Because I already know everything there is to know about you, sweetheart,” Ben replied, tipping his glass towards her in a mocking salute before taking a sip. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Rey snapped, not missing a beat, “and there’s no way that could be true. You can’t learn every aspect about a person through just the internet and newspapers, that’s just ridiculous. Especially in our profession, genuine human interaction and connection makes all the difference in how a person will act or behave. And you, of all people, should know that as a lawyer, it’s our responsibility to find that out for ourselves. It’s why we have to have such personal relationships with our clients.”

“But I’m not your client, Rey, I’m your superior,” Ben said slowly. His voice dropped to an almost threatening level as he leaned both elbows on the counter across from her, making them finally at eye level. She stared defiantly back, refusing to be scared off. 

“Except that you’re also supposed to be my partner,” Rey said, tilting her head and giving him a sickly sweet smile, “Partners don’t have anything to hide and don’t go behind each other’s backs. They put the client first and they get what they want by working together.” 

Ben squinted at her reproachfully, and took another sip of his wine that he still refused to politely offer to his guest. 

“What are you suggesting?” 

“Total honestly. At least, while I’m here, you can ask me anything you want and I promise to answer it with the truth. But you have to do the same with me. It eliminates any reason to doubt each other or to think that one of us is working against the other. We’ll both get what we need to know, and we don’t have to go snooping around each other’s personal items to get there. It’s a win-win situation, and this way we save the most time and energy so we can get to working on the real case as soon as possible.”

Rey watched Ben listen to her, and she could tell that there were many points where he wanted to argue, but she must have kept his interest long enough, because he let her finish.  

“And how will I know you’re telling me the actual truth?” Ben questioned, standing up to his full height and looking down on her once again. 

“Because I’m a terrible liar, and you’ll see right through me if I do.” Rey shrugged her shoulders and looked away, trying to sell the ‘innocent’ look as best as she could. She really was telling the truth though, she may be as sneaky and stealthy as a Black Cat, but she wasn’t as clever as one. 

“How can you be bad at lying if you want to be a lawyer?” Ben scoffed with a smirk. 

“Because I win my cases by being right.” 

It was Rey’s turn to lean in and she looked up at Ben through her long, dark lashes. He wanted to speak, to make some retort about how ridiculously childish her and her ideals sounded, but something about those intensely dark eyes made him want to play along. He couldn't explain it, but she intrigued him. He had to give her that. 

“Fine, I’ll play your little game,” Ben said, and Rey let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding on to, “Except, if I’m going to do something so asinine, we’re going to need to make it a little more enjoyable.” 

By the glint in his eye, Rey was hesitant to let anything be on his terms, but she knew that if her plan was to work, she’d have to keep playing into his arrogance a little. It wasn’t very hard seeing as he had a lot of it. 

“How do you suppose we do that?” Rey asked. 

“Alcohol,” Ben said simply. He turned his back to Rey and bent to retrieve another bottle from the cabinet. 

“Too bad I’m not a big wine fan,” Rey muttered, mostly to herself, but Ben must have heard because he swung back around and placed the bottle rather loudly on the counter. 

“Oh, it’s not wine,” he chuckled, “this is a particular brand of bourbon that happens to be my favorite. Care to join me for a drink?” 

Rey could hear the sarcasm in his voice, and the joke of the situation wasn’t lost on her seeing as she was already in his home and already agreeing to have the drink. She simply widened her eyes, took a deep breath, and shrugged an ‘okay’ with the shake of her head. Ben nodded once and grabbed more glasses from the kitchen. When he came back he directed them towards the living area taking a seat on the longer of the two couches. Rey sat across from him on the very edge of a large arm chair, ready to bounce up and make a break for it if she had to. 

Ben, on the other hand, leaned back comfortably. One of his impossibly long legs reached over the other, his calf resting on the opposite knee. Even sitting down, he couldn’t hide his body's sheer length. Rey noticed the bottle and glasses on the table between them and took his lounging as an indicator that she was supposed to pour the drinks. 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t his maid and he was perfectly capable of getting his own, but she did as she was expected anyway. Let him think she was just another woman willing to do his bidding. Any and all “sucking up” she could fake in this moment would give her the upper hand. 

“So, what are the ‘rules’ to this game, exactly?” Ben asked, as she passed him a glass with one shot full of the slight smokey smelling liquid. He took it, his hands wrapping around hers for an instant, and Rey felt a weird spark of energy pass between them. She recoiled, but not before seeing him tense up. 

The moment was over in an instant and Ben acted like nothing had happened. He looked to the glass now in his hands and swirled the liquid, waiting for her to respond to his earlier question.

“Okay, it’s a simple drinking game mechanic, really,” Rey said, pouring herself the exact same amount, “you ask me a question, and I have to answer. If you think I’m lying, you can challenge it. If I am, I have to drink.”

“Ah, so you do lie.”

“I said if I lie, then I drink. If you’re wrong about the challenge, then you have to take the shot.” 

Ben shifted in his seat and squinted at her again in the way she was beginning to recognize as trying to figure her out. She found herself loving the idea that he didn’t know as much about her as he thought, and her chest puffed out in pride. Ben huffed a short laugh and leaned further back. 

“Well then, one for good measure?” He lifted his glass.

“And for poor judgement?” Rey teased, a smile on her own lips despite herself. 

“Exactly,” Ben said, tilting his drink slightly towards her, “cheers.”

[nelllraiser]

your ass is grass | deirdre & nell

TIMING: after deirdre’s fateful call with regan’s dad. (yes, this is old) PARTIES: @deathduty and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: regan is grass. nell still hates mimes. deirdre isn’t a rotten egg. penises. 

HellaHairFlip Today at 12:40 AM: do u have anything to add walmart dentist Today at 12:41 AM: add that i love u :/

A lot of things were going wrong for Deirdre, she was happy at least at sneaking into a nearby recreation center was not one. “Move your feet, Penelope. We’ve got something very important to steal.” The door clinked open and the banshee pushed it open, waiting for the human to follow her in. She adjusted the mask on her face, an unnecessary precaution, probably, but she might have taken any excuse to wear a mime mask. They were truly terrifying. “We can’t commit theft if that’s how slow you’re going to move. Don’t witches have more self-respect than this?” The cold night air drifted in behind her, a perfect day for a little criminal activity. Penelope wasn’t her first choice in companions, but she’d need the witch for the spell once they were done here. So it was convenient, more than anything. 

Of all the things to steal, Nell was rather...surprised that it was only fake grass that was needed as an ingredient for breaking a fae promise. “I’m moving fine!” she hissed back, feeling rather dramatic in her all black outfit along with the ski mask over her eyes. “And did you have to wear a mime mask of all things? Cursed creatures. Snobby know-it-alls. They probably think you’re emulating them.” Nevertheless, she thought it’d be rather fun to commit a little bit of theft, even if it was only grass. Besides, if she got brought home by cops— it wouldn’t be the first time. “So why do we need grass anyway?” she asked as they closed in on their target.

“Why aren’t you wearing the mime mask I bought you?” Deirdre hissed, though her anger deflated a moment later. If someone saw them, it’d be the mime and the bargain bin bank robber, and she’d kill to see that headline somewhere. “We can’t be a team like this.” She knew Penelope couldn’t see the smirk on her face, but she hoped the child could feel it. “This was the only mask left in the store,” she groaned, leading the witch through the halls until they reached one of the fields. Glorious, beautiful turf shone back at her through the small window in the double doors. Deirdre pushed on the handle and unsurprisingly found it clunk back at her with the telltale signs of being, equally unsurprisingly, locked. “I told you on the way here: we need the grass for the spell. It takes two parts, fae components and then something representative of the spell. My darling Regan is the grass, or the not-grass, but her father thinks of her like grass.” She looked up at the mechanism that held the door in place and turned back to the witch, gesturing up at it. “Can you do anything about that? I don’t suppose you know any convenient door opening spells, do you?”

 “Because mimes are the literal scourge of the Earth!” Nell’s voice was full with the passion of a thousand suns on that matter. “I’d rather die than impersonate a mime.” Damn. She would have liked to be a team, though. Nell hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe if you’d gotten anything else but the mimes- we could have been the super cool theft tag team. I feel like we could have even just made homemade masks. A fun bonding activity, don’t you think?” She was only half-joking. It’d probably be amusing to see what sort of mask Deirdre might fashion. “Yeah, yeah, but why is Regan grass? None of your analogies make sense.” Nevertheless, she gave a bit of a smug smile as Deirdre requested her services. With a simple few words, and the passing of her hand over the mechanism, the door was ready to go. “Now who’s lacking self-respect?” The retort didn’t make any sense, sure. But it made her feel a little better.

“You really...hate mimes.” Deirdre blinked, simply listening to the child. She hadn’t expected it to be such a hot-button issue, but she also hadn’t expected to be stealing grass in the middle of the night with someone who was, effectively, a child. “I don’t do crafts, I make people do crafts for me and then I throw them out,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as though it were the most obvious of fact---that she would never degrade herself doing anything lowly. “Regan isn’t the grass, her dad wants her to be grass: easily maintained, something to look at. He only cares enough to keep his lawn looking the way he wants it, no matter what that means. Regan isn’t grass, she’s better than---oh, forget it. Why am I even explaining this to you?” But her explanation served as filler between Penelope’s spell and the door clicking open. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to say, Penelope,” Deirdre smiled, pushing open the door and pausing at the threshold between the field and the hall. Then she turned, her smile twisting with mischief, “last one in is a rotten egg.” And being right at the door, Deirdre took the first step on to the fake grass and was, unceremoniously, not the rotten egg. “You humans have some delightful phrases, although I hope this doesn’t mean I just turned you into an egg.” She paused, “the last one in is not a rotten egg.” She turned back, pulling a knife from her back and gesturing around. “Do you want to do anything else or shall I get started on the grass.”

“They’re my biggest and most mortal enemy on this Earth,” Nell finished succinctly before thinking to continue on with. “Though often I doubt if they’re actually mortal. Especially that weird one that walks on all fours.” Nevertheless, her disdain for the mimes dissipated as she traded it for amusement. “Crafts can be fun.” Nell wasn’t entirely sure if she’d entirely caught the whole ‘grass’ analogy, but she was fairly certain she at least understood it well enough to be able to replicate the spell Deirdre was teaching her...if she ever needed to. Surely being able to do away with fae promises was something that would come in handy one day. “No fair! I wasn’t warned! You’re supposed to count down from three or something.” She was, quite understandably, quite miffed at having found herself the rotten egg, though she was quickly placated by Deirdre’s rectification of the situation. “Oh- that’s much better. Thank you. I could feel my yolk forming as we spoke.” Nell scanned the surrounding area, as if someone was waiting to jump out and yell, ‘Gotcha!’. Though could they actually be arrested for taking fake grass? “No, no, please proceed with your grazing. I’ll be here.” She squinted at the knife. “You know you could probably just pull the fake grass up...right?”

“Oh! You’ve seen that thing too?” Deirdre knew they were getting off-topic, but what was a chat about mimes while they stole fake grass? “I was with someone who cut its head off and the cursed thing just grew right back! Such a shame, really. I would have loved to pick through the bones that thing must leave…” she paused, gazing off, lost in the fantast in her head. “If any,” Deirdre murmured finally, shaking her head and moving along. “I think you’d look like Humpty Dumpty if you were an egg. You know, with the eyes and the mouth and the small little legs dangling over your brick wall.” Deirdre bent down, stabbing her knife into the grass and digging out a clean square for them to take. “This is more fun,” she glanced up, working through her patch of grass, “you’re not terrible for a human, Penelope. Certainly more fun than some---”

“Hey!” A voice boomed through the walls, and the jangling of keys followed. “Is anybody in there?” The double doors on the other side clanked open, and an old man dressed in security blues hobbled in. “You whippersnappers better not be painting any more penises here!”

In a moment, Nell put two and two together, her brow furrowing together a bit. “Wait, are you talking about Shiloh? She was telling me she cut it’s head off!” She’d been a bit jealous that she hadn’t been there to witness that, or have the honor of cutting it off— even if it wasn’t it’s real head. “But true...it’d probably be some pretty weird bones.” Her nose wrinkled, immediately rejecting Deirdre’s egg classification of her. “Ew, no. I couldn’t be. I don’t fall off of walls. I’m gonna be like a...dragon egg. You can be a chicken egg,” she joked with a little shrug. But she nodded sagely at the other woman’s claim, knowing firsthand that it truly was more fun to cut things with a knife. “Aww, Deirdre. Careful now. I’ll start thinking you like me or-” But her head snapped towards the voice that had yelled out, and she took in the sight of the night guard. “Do you have enough grass yet??” she asked in a hurried tone, not really wanting to be taken home in the back of a cop car or something. “Damn- we should have drawn some penises, though,” she finished under her breath.

“You know Shiloh too?” Deirdre, astonished again, blinked. It really was a small town. “Is Humpty Dumpty not a beloved story, Penelope?” She teased, making quick work of the turf below and slinging it over her shoulder once a sizable enough square has been cut. “I do like you, human. I say this now because you’ve suggested phallic defacement and of that, I am always a fan.”  The guard finally snapped his flashlight to life and cast its orange-tinted light over to the two trespassers.

“Oi! You two there better not be drawin’ any penises or else I’m--” he paused, squitining. Then he took a cautious step forward. “Are you….are you two stealin’ grass?”

Deirdre snapped up, down with her thievery but not so done with her mischief. She turned to Penelope and gave a wide smirk, then turned back. “It was her!” And with no remorse, she pointed at the younger girl and dashed from the field with her fake-grass. She spared one singular glance backwards, seeing the security guard waving his light around and giving a very slow chase. He was too shocked to speak into his transerver to report the crime, but not shocked enough to trip over as he attempted to give chase. He hollered behind them, “a mime and a ski-enthusiast are stealing grass! A mime and a ski-enthusiast! My wife said it could never happen! I knew I was right to worry!”

‘Bitch!” Nell called after Deirdre, though it was colored with some amusement. “You’ll never catch us alive!” She yelled dramatically before hauling ass after Deirdre, rather quick on her feet. But then the other woman’s words about phallic drawings as well as the security guard’s were running through her head. And truly...she couldn’t resist. In a moment she was waving a hand over the grass, and a giant, stark white penis was glowing up from the greenery. Who cared if she used a little magic while her identity was hidden? As the man’s voice continued to yell after them, her joyful laugh flitted through the air, all too pleased with her art as her and Deirdre made their grand escape. 

[singofsolace]

The Party

The Proposal, Chapter 16

Pippa had never seen so many people in a garden before. Witches and wizards in ostentatious clothing buzzed around with drinks in their hands, making small talk and being altogether superficial, as far as Pippa could tell. While she herself had a reputation for being no more than a wealthy socialite, she knew that crowds like this were the kind you only entered if you were informed enough about the guest list to successfully navigate pointless conversations with the crème de la crème.

As it was, she and Hecate had hardly rematerialized fully from transference when a dark-haired woman wearing a frankly absurd outfit (complete with a birdcage that served as a hat) announced loudly to the garden at large that the witch of honor had arrived, latched onto Hecate’s arm, and dragged her off to the center of the crowd. Her name was foreign-sounding—so much so that Pippa would even hazard to call it “alien”—and her title was one Pippa wouldn’t soon forget: Daughter of the Seventh House, Holder of the Blessed Cup, Heir to the Hallowed Charms of Troy. Hecate had looked frankly alarmed to see the woman, and shot Pippa an apologetic glance as they were separated. Pippa could still hear the woman’s voice loud and clear from the center of the garden:

“You’ve been gone too long, darling, too long! The Highlands have been positively bereft without you! There can be no bonnie banks without their best bonnie girl, dear! Let me look at you—dear, darling Hecate, what have you been eating? Are you eating? This is what I get for spending a few brief decades in the Antipodes. Have they been starving you in London? The English aren’t known for their food—”  

Mildly relieved that she wasn’t in the spotlight herself, for once, Pippa quietly sipped her champagne on the outermost edges of the garden. They had arrived fashionably late—which was absolutely, 100%, not Pippa’s fault; if anything was to blame, it was Hecate’s hair, which she had begrudgingly allowed Pippa to fix by hand when it became clear magic just wasn’t doing the trick—and so the party was already in full-swing. If Pippa was being honest, she wished they were still in Hecate’s room, debating the suitability of wearing their hair up or down. It had been delightfully domestic, combing and weaving Hecate’s thick waves into elaborate braids. But she had to put a stop to such thoughts; none of this was real intimacy— it was all simply a result of an absurd situation.

Miss Bat’s appearance beside Pippa ended that line of thinking abruptly.

“You look a little lost, dear,” said Miss Bat, linking elbows. Miss Bat had also braided her hair; whenever the sun caught it, the silvery-white strands shone brilliantly. She was also wearing an alluring amethyst necklace that seemed to emanate a kind of powerful, magical essence that Pippa couldn't quite explain.

“I just didn’t expect this many people would come on such short notice.”

“The Duchess never fails to summon a crowd. Her parties were famous, back in the day,” said Miss Bat, whose eyes were trained on the woman in question, who was currently hovering in her wheelchair by a table decked with delicious-looking treats. Catalina was commanding the staff with the efficiency of a military general, and Pippa wondered, not for the first time, about the nature of the Duchess’ illness, and where the woman was finding the energy to do all this.

“I wish I could’ve attended one,” said Pippa, imagining a grand spectacle of music and dancing, with a somber, teenaged-Hecate standing off to the side, never quite comfortable enough to be a part of it.

“They were truly something to behold. But tonight’s ball will surely rival any that have come before!”

Pippa felt a bit light-headed at the thought of having to showcase her mediocre waltzing skills in front of such an esteemed crowd. But she smiled her way through the feeling and said, “How exciting!”

Miss Bat patted Pippa’s arm in a placating way. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

Just then, a scrappy-looking dog ran up to them and started barking ferociously at Pippa.

“What on earth—?”

Miss Bat laughed. “Oh, that’s just Star. Who’s a good boy?”

The old witch bent to pick the dog up, but the dog evaded her to continue barking at Pippa.

“Star! Star! Be nice,” said a young witch, skidding to a stop in front of them. “Calm down, Star! Sorry, Miss. He doesn’t like strangers.”

The little girl nearly tripped on her untied shoelaces as she picked up the dog. Her brown hair was parted in the middle and tied into two long, braided pigtails on either side of her head. She couldn’t be older than twelve, and her modest summer dress suggested she was not a member of the aristocracy.

“That’s quite all right. And you are?” said Pippa, wincing as the dog continued to bark.

“Mildred Hubble! Well met, Miss!” she said, shuffling the dog in her arms so she could cup her forehead with one hand.

“Well met,” said Pippa, glad to know at least one person at this party was polite enough to greet her.

“Where’s your mother, Mildred?” said Miss Bat, before turning to Pippa, “Julie Hubble is an artist. The Duchess has been a patron of the arts for many years, and Ms. Hubble’s work is particularly inspired.”

“She’s talking to Lady Hallow,” said Mildred, pulling a face. Pippa almost laughed at the obvious disdain the child held for the woman. “She told me to play with Ethel, but Star doesn’t like her either!”

“Well, I’m sure the Nightshades will be arriving any moment, and then you’ll have Enid to talk to, won’t you?” said Miss Bat, patting Star on the head.

“Enid’s coming?!” said Mildred, her whole face lighting up.

“You know Narcissus Nightshade never misses a Hardbroom affair! And really, what party is complete without a little music, hmm?”

“Yes!” Mildred pumped her little fist in the air, nearly dropping the still-barking dog in her arms as a result. “I’m gonna see if the kitchens will make something for Star—that might keep him quiet for a bit. Bye Miss Bat! And Miss—um—”

“Pentangle,” supplied Pippa, mildly relieved that Star was being escorted away.

“Bye, Miss Pentangle!” Mildred shot over her shoulder.

Pippa sighed, happy to be able to hear the sounds of the party once more.

“You’re more of a cat person, aren’t you?” said Miss Bat with amusement as Mildred’s pigtails bounced out of sight.

“Actually, I prefer owls,” said Pippa.

“Those are remarkably keen and loyal animals—owls,” said Miss Bat, and suddenly Pippa was aware that Miss Bat was trying to convey something to her.

“Yes,” said Pippa, uncertainly. “They are.”

It was clear Miss Bat was about to continue when a flash of pink caught her eye.

“Pardon me, Miss Bat, but who is that woman talking to Hecate?”

Pippa could only see the back of the witch, but the woman was wearing a bubble-gum pink cardigan over a black ensemble, and had short, blonde hair. Pippa watched as Hecate’s face grew paler and paler while the conversation went on. She had a slightly panicked expression, which brought a frown to Pippa’s lips. What was the woman saying that had the ability to put that look on Hecate’s face?

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Bat, suddenly taking Pippa’s hand. “Let’s take a walk, shall we? There’s a wonderful display of foxgloves just behind these hedges here—”

Miss Bat was tugging her in the opposite direction of Hecate, which only served to make Pippa more determined to go to her assistant’s side.

“I think I really ought to go see what’s wrong—”

“That would be a mistake, dear,” said Miss Bat, her grip suddenly very firm. Pippa had no choice but to allow herself to be directed away. The old woman was strong.

“Really, Miss Bat, I don’t see why—”

“Miss Pentangle,” said Miss Bat, as they walked through a maze of hedges, “I hope you trust my judgment?”

Pippa found that despite only knowing the woman for less than twenty-four hours, she did indeed trust her. “Yes, of course.”

“The woman you just saw,” started Miss Bat, having to search for her next words long enough that they arrived in front of the foxgloves before she managed to finish her sentence, “was someone very important to Hecate. The Duchess invited her before she knew that you two were—engaged.”

Pippa swallowed around the lump that was suddenly in her throat. “You mean—that was—”

A.C., she thought, but before she could voice her thoughts, Miss Bat’s necklace started to glow.

“Oh dear,” said Miss Bat. “It looks like the Duchess needs me. I’m sorry to leave you like this, Miss Pentangle, but I think it would be wise for you to spend a few more moments admiring the foxgloves.”

With the message delivered, loud and clear, Miss Bat gave her hand one last squeeze before transferring away. Pippa felt a bit disoriented, standing alone in a far-away part of the garden, stewing in the knowledge that she might currently be wearing an engagement ring bearing the initials of someone who was only a short walk away.

“Well look what the familiar dragged in.”

Pippa jumped at the unexpected voice that came from behind her. She turned to see a blonde-haired witch in a smart, black skirt-suit. She had piercing blue eyes that had a cold edge to them, and painted red lips that were currently turned up in an insincere smile.

“Pardon me?”

The witch moved closer, into her personal space. If she planned to intimidate Pippa, the witch was sadly out of her depth; Pippa wasn’t easily cowed by anyone, let alone a smirking stranger at a garden party.

“Pentangle, isn’t it? You inherited your poor father’s little publishing house, didn’t you?”

Pippa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting to the slight against her father. “I did. And you are?”

“You don’t know who I am?” The witch’s eyes filled with a cruel variety of mirth. “Hecate hasn’t mentioned me?”

“As you have yet to introduce yourself, I couldn’t possibly answer that question,” said Pippa, unable to keep the frustration out of her tone.

“I’m the Duchess of Wormwood,” she said, tilting her head a bit, as if offended to be required to announce herself. “Lady Agatha Cackle.”

tbc

please leave a comment to let me know what you think!

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Lauren (Ticci-Toby x Reader)

Toby had been walking for fifty minutes before heading down the desolate street. He swung his hatchet, his eyes catching the now dried blood stains on it. Tonight had been slow. It had been like the world had just stopped around him when he was used to the world going a million miles per hour around him, people turning to blurs. All except a few.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Toby…but i’ll let you try.” Your voice rang out. He turned to look behind him and there you were, illuminated by street lights. Toby quickly grew agitated by the sight of you. “Stop following me!” He snapped. “I’d love to, believe me I would- won’t be much longer now… I hope."  

"What the hell do you want!?"

“No…” You said taking a few steps closer. “No, no, you don’t get to know anything. You're going to have to wait, just like I did.”

"Do you a-actually want something?"

"From you?" You shook your head. "No, but I can't leave. That isn't how this works, that isn't how the game ends. There are no happy endings here." You looked at him for a moment, you couldn't be sure what he was looking at because of his goggles but you assumed you had locked eyes with him. You shrugged a little with a shake of the head before turning away. "Toby!" Toby's head snapped to see Masky. "Come on, let's go." He looked back at you but you were gone. He shook his head and continued with Masky.

Weeks later Kate and Toby were roaming the fields. "We should see if a farm is near by, or any kind of car for that matter. Then we can go back to mine to hide out for the night."

"Sounds like a plan." Toby nodded.

"Have Masky and Hoodie moved locations?"

"No."

"Good, we can meet them, take them back too. Gotta love winter." Kate finished sarcastically and Toby nodded once more. They found a farm up ahead as well as a wooden post directing them to various parts of the farm. "You stay here, I'll take a look."

"Sure, I'll contact Masky." Toby said leaning on the post and sliding down to sit, placing his hatchets on either side of him. Kate took over through the tall grass to inspect the farm. Toby flicked through his burner phone searching through his contacts. He twisted slightly when a gust of wind brushed against him.

"Cold?"

Toby looked up to see you sitting in front of him, propping your weight up with your hands. Toby sighed before continuing to flick through the phone. "You again."

"you don't seem suprised."

"As someone who had dealt with many hallucinations before, you aren't going to scare me in the slightest."

You hummed. "Hmmm, and here I thought it was your choice in friends."

"I g-guess you could say that."

"So fill me in, why are you sitting here? You may have a high tolerance for a lot of things but it's cold and the middle of winter."

"Looking for a car, a friend is down there." He pointed in the direction of the car.

You smiled in amusement. "What, in that dingey farm that's been around for decades?"

"and I suppose you have something better?"

You dug into your jacket pulling out a small blue card, a bank card specifically. "Not like I have much use for it now." You held it out and Toby reached out to take it before you pulled it away sharply. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You lot already took my card and maxed it out months ago."

Toby let out a laugh under his breath lowering his hand. "Ha, ha. Never knew you were funny. Hallucinations are rarely funny."

"You seem so determined I'm a hallucination." You smiled.

"I blink and your gone. Only hallucinations do that."

"but wouldn't it make more sense if you actually knew who I was if I came from your head?"

"No. It doesn't a-always w-work like that." You hummed again.

"Are you-" Toby was about to tell you to get lost but when he looked up you were gone. Toby shook his head.

The drive to Kate's house was rather quiet. "You seemed to find the car pretty easily Kate." Hoodie said.

"I'm holding my tongue." Masky's smirk could be heard behind his mask but he went ignored. "Yeah, turns out the farm was very familiar, went there when I was a kid with a friend."

"A friend? W-w-were you close?" Toby asked

"Very, her name was Lauren. We basically grew up together. We visited that farm a lot. Besides Charlie knew of the place before we ever did."

"Charlie can barely count to ten." Masky sneered. "How could he know anything of a farm!?"

"His parents lived there, Masky."

"Thought that place was burned to a crisp..."

"That was the family home, moron. They moved after he disappeared." Kate said coldly.

"Asshole." Hoodie rolled his eyes, the insult hurled at Masky.

"How about we continue to talk about Lauren and not a kid who cant defend himself because of you know what." Toby chewed out of his clenched jaw.

"There isn't much to say, Toby. I let him in, went off the radar and so CR, another friend, hoped to save me which ended in him dying and then a while later Lauren arrived to check on me. Except, she hadn't a clue was had happened and so she had to do her own little investigation and I killed her. Plain and simple."

"Awww how cute!" Masky gushed snarkily.

"Do you n-need to have a c-c-comment for everything?" Toby asked exasperated.

"I don't need to answer that, Ticci." Masky sneered.

"...Did you take her stuff?" Toby ignored Masky and turned to Kate.

Kate wore a grin behind her mask. "Of course. How do you think we got tinned food in the middle of the woods as well as a portable heater for than damned hut."

"And the extension cord!" Masky sang and Kate nodded. "She wasn't loaded but we got quick a good deal of what she had."

"Where is Charlie nowadays anyways?" Hoodie asked.

"I don't know, when I see him, the slender man isn't far behind. I'm guessing he is looked after by him. It would explain why he's feral." Kate thought aloud.

"That kid freaks me out." Masky grumbled. "He could be the cousin of the Rake." He shivered.

"The Rake is by far the worst." Kate disagreed. "Charlie is a bit much too look at but he's pretty harmless around the people he knows...CR learned that one the hard way." Masky rubbed his hands. "Does your house still have heating 'n' all that?"

"The water should still be working. I'm not sure about the power but I imagine it all still works fine. The place is quite isolated- I doubt anyone will have noticed it."

"God I miss beds and couches." Masky flopped onto the couch, taking up the whole seat.

"Well, we've got three beds and two couches. Quite frankly, my bed has my name written all over it."

"I could go a bed tonight, barely slept last night." Toby rubbed he back of his kneck.

"Sorry, my man but I'm taking the last bed." Masky rolled his shoulders and Hoodie shrugged. "Do what you want."

"I've got extra toothbrushes in the cupboard down the hall as well as toothpaste." Kate nodded to the door down the hall.

"Say no more, catch you later bitches!" Masky jumped up making a beeline for the cupboard. "Hm..." Toby smirked behind his mask. "The little things they don't tell you about working for him."

Kate smiled behind her mask. "You're suggesting that someone gives you a job description, Toby." Toby pointed to Kate with a wink. "You've got a p-point." Kate rose to a stand "I'm going to check the heating and all that still works." Kate turns to Hoodie. "Give us a hand, would ya?" Hoodie nods getting up as Toby moved to the seat by the window, gazing into the forest. He noticed a radiator directly beneath the window.

"It's a nice house isn't it?" Toby's head whipped round to see you sitting beside him of the three seater couch. You propped your heeled boots onto the table.

"Yeah, it's okay. It's bigger than mine was."

You nodded. "Yeah... Kate's parents wanted a place in the country side, weren't too keen in the city life."

Toby frowned. "I don't remember Kate telling me that." You looked at Toby before brushing some hair from your face. "What's with the change of clothes?" Toby changed the subject. You looked down at your self. "when you feel like crap, you do the little things to make yourself feel better." Toby snorted. "S-sure.

"You're strange." You said suddenly looking at him intently.

Toby sighed. "If you're trying to break me down you're going to have to do a lot better."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Y-you're not the first voice in my head to say shitty things and q-quite frankly if you want to make progress then you're going to h-have to do better."

"I meant how you haven't asked who I am."

"I don't care who you are." Toby slouched further into the couch. "You're just in my head." You hummed. "Can't argue with that... it just leaves one question then doesn't it?" Toby turned to look at you. "Where on earth have you seen someone like me before?" Toby was about to respond when a new voice cut him off. "Everything's working!" Kate announced but you seemed to had disappeared as she entered the room. "Luckily we can keep the back up portable heater in storage for now. Thanks Lauren." Kate waved a blue card in her hand before tossing it on the table. "Remind me to get rid of that." Toby's eyes were focused on the small blue card now on the table. It looked familiar, like the one you had waved in Toby's face earlier. He shrugged it off as a coincidence. "You know, I found that card by the portable heater in storage but I could have sworn I kept it upstairs in my desk drawer."

"Yeah but you have a tendancy of misplacing shit." Masky returned flopping down into the couch that Toby sat, leaving the seat in the middle where you had sat empty. "Is that maxed out?" Masky gestured to the card and Kate nodded. "Has been for months but then again, I haven't been home for months, that's probably why I still have it."

Masky leaned forward sliding the card from the table and began to bend it profusely. "Or you could use scissors..." Kate suggested. "let me have my fun and then I'll break it " Masky responded.

That night Toby settled into the double bed, the bathroom was directly across the hall and Kate's room was the last door. He sighed feeling the comforts of the duvet and mattress- a much better combination than leaves and dirt. "How long are you staying here?" Toby sat immediately to see you at the foot of the bed, the moonlight illuminating half of your face. "Ugh, you again. You're the most persistent one, I'll give you that."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment, now go away. I want to sleep."

"Answer me first."

"Right now? Just the night. Now get l-lost!"

Toby tossed and turned. Somehow, he couldn't sleep. After a while he gave up heading down stairs to find Kate in the kitchen with a few photos laid out in front of her. "Can't sleep?" She asked quietly and Toby nodded. "Me neither, Hoodie's asleep so we need to be quiet." Toby made his way around to Kate's side looking down at the photos. In one, there was a picture of you with Kate and he staggered back slightly in alarm. "Who's that?"

"That's Lauren." Kate ran a finger down the edge of the photo. "The one we've been talking about."

"Have you ever shown me Lauren before?" Toby asked staring at the picture. Kate shook her head. "No...I tossed just about everything with Lauren apparently I missed this though."

"And her card." Toby swallowed, his mind spinning as be tried to not let it get the best of him.

"She wouldn't be needing it anymore." Kate justified. Toby's head was reeling. "You know what? I t-think I'm just going to head to bed again.I think the lack of sleep has finally hit m-me." Toby pushed away from the counter and headed back upstairs. He couldn't help but piece together the little encounters you had as well as the little things you've said.

"Oh yeah, I forgot." You pulled back sharply before Toby could grab it. "you already took it and maxed it out."

"Never knew you were funny."

Toby's thoughts jumped to Kate. "You know, I found this by the portable heater in storage but I could have sworn I kept it in my desk drawer."

Toby felt a cold shill run down his spine. He flopped onto the bed releasing a breath allowing the link to settle. He was never one to believe in ghosts and he didn't doubt that Lauren was very dead which only really left one option that he was ready chew. You could be like him, like Jeff and Ben, perhaps given another chance at living but from who? If anyone at all?

You moved out of the shadows, catching Toby's eye who sat up immediately feeling much more threatened than before. You didn't seem to be phased as you continued to casually move forward to sit on the end of the bed with a smile.

"You d-didnt say a damn thing." Toby's eyes narrowed on you. "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, Toby." You smiled deviously, propping your weight onto your arms. "Yes, you do. You've never been in my head have you? You were really there."

"It depends." You mused. "To some I'm dead and to others I'm very much alive and of course there is a few who are certain I'm a figment of their imagination."

"Cut the bullshit, Lauren." Toby clenched his jaw.

"That isn't my name, maybe once I went my that name...but not anymore. You'd all know about that wouldn't you, Ticci Toby?" Toby lashed out which you quickly moved out of the way, rising to a stand with a mischievous smile. "Alright, w-who are you?"

"I'm (Y/N)." You said sweetly.

"What d-do you want?"

"From you? Nothing. I just borrowed you for the time being." You seemed annoyed as your head snapped to the side looking at your shoulder with a scowl before looking back at him. "To be honest, I'm just checking up on things. Catch a glimpse of the game before I actually play."

"what g-game?" Toby's eyes narrowed. You looked annoyed again once again by something on your right shoulder that was illuminated by the moonlight beaming through the window. You rose to a stand. "Sorry, some friends are calling for me." You moved to the door closing the door behind you but Toby caught it before it could close all the way pulling it wide open to find you completely gone.

"Hey you!" You scowled marching toward the group of 'creepypastas'. "You promised I could do my own thing tonight!" Zalgo turned to look at you along with Ben in an old fashioned TV, Jason the Toymaker who stood taller than them all and Eyeless Jack. Judging by Zalgo's face, you were in trouble. "You were to remain hidden! That was your only requirement. If the tall man and his slaves find out you're alive, you are immediately on the radar."

"He figured it out, I kept my side of the promise!" You frowned. "I didn't even get to confront Kate!" You said sourly.

"You will one day." Zalgo seemed uninterested. "But for now, you're young and remain under our wing."

[redstarfiction-blog]

The Very Bones Of You.

This is a continuation of Sonas/Happiness which was supposed to be a one shot but it had a fantastic reaction and actually this instalment will lead directly to another prompt I have received (watch this space!) So please enjoy my own version of events for early Voyager times - *spoilers for fans of the show only* H xxx P.S this is the first time I have ever written in Claire’s voice so please do bear with me if it feels a little off - I’m working it out :-)

I remembered a time in which the cold did not seep so easily into my bones, a time when my calves did not ache with the ascension of a single slope. I looked down at the grassy bank, just visible beneath the clutch of fabric in my hands and frowned. The grass, if it could reasonably be called grass at the length it was, had made various little nicks and cuts across my knuckles and for a moment I considered shrugging out of the woollen dress and continuing upwards in just my shift and stockings and bitter March wind be damned.

“Alright, Sassenach?”

I looked up, still grinning fiendishly at the thought of leaving the heavy garment to the elements and saw Jamie smiling back at me with a mix of amusement and pity. Clearly my laboured breathing had been more pronounced than I realised and I forced my trembling legs back into motion, lunging up the hill with a renewed determination.

“Of course, just … enjoying the view.”

The cheeriness of my tone and the vacant wave across the expanse of valley below us did nothing but cause Jamie to raise one arched red brow in my direction and hold out his hand.

“Let me help ye, lass.”

“Unless you mean to carry me …”

“I probably could. Ye’re a wee wisp of a thing! Did they no’ have proper food in Boston?”

Jamie caught my elbow as I huffed past him and helped me over a sudden rocky patch of earth, his own feet sure and steady on the uneven ground.

“Ha! Flatterer! They had plenty of food and I assure you, I ate plenty of it!”

I immediately regretted trying a form a full sentence as the air left my lungs in a rush of words and seemed to remain empty whilst I gasped, sweat prickling beneath my hair.

“Ach. Weel if ye did, I ken where it’s all gone.”

Jamie grinned with an exaggerated glance at my posterior. I rolled my eyes but didn’t have the energy for further banter. We crested the top of the hill and I all but collapsed onto the nearest boulder, mopping my forehead with my already sweat soaked handkerchief and grimacing. Jamie had settled on the ground before me, like a little boy in class ready for story time from his favourite teacher but his face was carefully blank – like Brianna’s before confessing to some naughtiness when she was a little girl.  

“So, we are now safely in the middle of nowhere - what is it you have to tell me?”

The element of surprise most often worked with Bree and sure enough, colour touched Jamie’s cheekbones that could not be put down to the cold alone.

“As a matter of fact there is something, Sassenach. I should have told ye sooner but … well. I should have and I did not and ye may hold me accountable in whatever manner ye please but I would ask that ye let me finish the telling before ye have your say.”

His head had been bowed but he looked directly at me as he spoke, his eyes fixed on my own and I saw both fear and love, each battling to outdo the other and I noticed that his hands were shaking.

“Jamie, whatever it is … I’m here. We’re here. We can tackle it together.”

He made a sound half way between a laugh and a moan and stood up, his whole body seemed to vibrate with nervous tension and my own leg twitched beneath me in response.

“What is it then?”

“I … Claire, I …”

He came and stood before me, arms held rigidly at his side and his gaze burning through me, furious and wild, his emotions barely contained and for the first time, I was afraid.

“Jamie, please…”

He nodded once, then twice and finally took a breath that drew his shoulders upward before releasing it slowly through his nose. I felt almost ready to scream, panic rising in my chest with every heartbeat but forced myself to stillness, waiting for him to speak.

“I got re-married, Claire. A few years ago when I was released from my debt of servitude in England, when I came back to Lallybroch and Jenny couldna stand my listlessness anymore… it was arranged and I was wed to a widow … and …”

Jamie had started pacing, gesturing with his hands when the words stuck in his throat but I could barely hear what he was saying. The wind seemed to howl around me, through me, blocking my ears and wrenching moisture from my eyes that I did not want to feel against my cheek. Everything seemed to sharpen into focus. The way the grey light of the sky above accentuated the deep bronze threads of his hair and muted the gold. How his shirt pulled against the powerful swell of his shoulders and his lips, slightly chapped with the cold, formed the words he spoke with a delicate precision. The rough feel of his hands on my skin as he cupped my face between them and his eyes, those beautiful, slanted eyes that he had passed down to his daughter, our daughter. Brianna. Oh Bree! To have put her through all that I had only for it to come to this …

As swiftly as thick grey blankets of fog engulf unsuspecting moors in winter, misery covered me like a shroud and I found myself too numb even to weep for all that I had lost and all that I had given away.

“Please say something Claire. I ken ye must be…”

I pushed his hand away and drew upon what little courage I had left.

“We don’t need to talk about it Jamie. If you could ask Ian or one of the boys to see me back to Craigh na Dunn…”

“NO!”

The violence in his voice shook the layers of shock cocooning me from the full impact of his confession but it was his hands on my arms that penetrated it, the sudden heat of him, and the feel of his fingers biting into my flesh. I looked away and closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of him. Mine and yet not mine at all.

“When we first wed, you were marrit and ye had to make a choice. There is no choice for me Claire, it is you. It has always been you.”

“Jamie, don’t …”

“Look at me.”

I kept my eyes shut and felt the air stir by my cheek a split second before the warmth of his palm settled there again, as gentle as a hummingbirds kiss.

“Look at me, damn ye Claire. See the truth of it for yourself and know what ye are to me, what ye have always been and will always be.”

“I can’t. If I look at you … if … I … I won’t be able to leave you.”

My voice cracked and broke over the words as Jamie lifted me to sitting.

“Please Claire.”

I swallowed and forced myself to look; I didn’t want to but something deeper than want compelled me to it and I moved on instinct for it was all I had the strength to do.

He looked tired and afraid and in the moment before I blinked, I saw his twenty-six year old self, sending me away to protect our un-born child, the same haunted lines of misery in the corner of his mouth. Yes there was love, as there had always been love. But I had been a fool to think it was enough to overcome all other disruptions of life for twenty years. I had been a fool to come back and expect it to all be the same.

“I should not have disrupted your life like this. I had no idea you had … I found no mention of a … a second wife in the history books … but I am glad you know of Brianna. You deserved to know about her.”

My voice shook again but held firm and did not break.  

“I am glad ye came back.”

“You shouldn’t be!”

I shook my head and slapped my hand against the earth in frustration.

“Jamie, you are married!”

“Aye! To you!”

“No … I mean… yes but …”

“You are my first wife Claire, the only woman I have ever truly loved and you think I would cast ye aside for a sham marriage that Jenny concocted? Christ!”

“It’s not about casting me aside! It’s about what is right!”

“THIS IS RIGHT!”

Jamie roared, his face flaming as the fire of his temper lit and caught

“You are my heart Claire! I love the verra bones of ye! Do ye ken what it has been like to live without ye?”

“Of course I fucking know! I’ve done the same as you and more! I raised your child!”

We were nose to nose, our voices raised and echoing off of the ancient stone around us, twenty years of hurt compressed into the clipped sentences we could manage to form coherently.

“Then dinna speak of leaving for I canna bear it!”

“You think I can? What would you have me do?!”

“STAY WITH ME!”

I could not say which of us started it, perhaps it was him, perhaps it was me, but we came together with the fierce and desperate longing that I had remembered from our parting twenty years before. It was not the cautious love-making of Edinburgh, nor the joyous coupling of our days since. We were fighting with the need to consume each other, the metallic taste of blood between our lips and teeth marks blooming from stark white to heavy bruised purple on collar bones. The slap of hands against taught flesh and muscles quivering with the assault of our combined efforts.

The salt of his tears stung the abrasions his teeth had left on my breast as I clutched him to me at the last, the colours of him exploding behind my eyes as my voice rose toward the grey sky above, the noise entwined with his own cry.

“Thoir maitheanas dhomh. Thoir maitheanas dhomh, mo Gradhe.”

Jamie’s voice was hoarse, his cheek pressed into the damp earth beside my ear. My fingers stroked the thick tresses of his hair almost without my bidding. The weight of his body pressed me into the earth, our joining an anchor for us both. I clenched my muscles and felt him move, an answering touch at the very core of my being.

“There is nothing to forgive, Jamie.”

“Whatever there was between us is there still Claire, do ye no’ feel it?”

I nodded. Whatever else was true, it was between us still, the force which had been powerful enough to survive war and starvation, even lift the veil of time itself. I love the verra bones of ye he had said and I knew it to be the absolute truth for us both for even separated by two hundred years when all that had remained of him was bones, my heart had pined for its mate and here in his arms was where I felt the most alive I ever had.

Turning my head to face him, I realised that the decision was not mine to make. To say good bye or to move forward was not a choice I had; for I had placed my bets and allowed the chips to fall as they may and I had won more than I had any right to dare hope for. Jamie was alive, I had found him, and we loved one another still. Now I needed only to gather my winnings and carry on.

“What do we do now?”

[xumxnghao]

all pf them

under a read more it goes

we are bulletproof: if you could be any superhero, who would you be and why?

spiderman! walking on walls seems cool

no more dream: if you woke up tomorrow to be incredibly famous, how would you react?

“yeah this is how it’s meant to be” (do I 100% expect to be famous in the future? yes)

i like it: if you could reverse any moment in your life, what would that moment be?

throwback to middle school when my best friend confessed to me and I told her I’d date her if i were a boy

n.o: biggest pet peeve?

i don’t really have any big pet peeves but I hate the sound of nails draggin on the weird ceiling material in cars

we on: how do you deal with people who don’t like you?

avoid them like the plague bc i have Anxiety

if i ruled the world: what would you do if you found out that you were an heir to a wealthy kingdom?

possibly have a panic attack but like money

coffee: what’s your coffee order?

green tea frappe with a shot of espresso bc i’m living that college student life of no sleep and only caffeine

cypher pt. 1: if you had to be part of a kpop group, what position would you want to be (i.e. leader, visual, lead vocal, dancer, rapper, maknae, etc.)

i’d WANT to be dancer, but realistically id probably be a singer

rise of bangtan: when and how did you get into the king and legends, also known as bangtan sonyeondan?

uh i remember i listened to fire a while ago and it wasn’t exactly my style and i thought bts was kind of overhyped so i didn’t really listen to them much until like a month are blood sweat and tears came out and i finally decided to watch and mv bank with them and i thought they were funny and it was really just a downward spiral from there

satoori rap: what does home mean to you?

home has no meaning to me bc it’s always been riddled with fear

boy in luv: when you are interested in someone (romantically, sexually, etc.), does your behavior change?

i mean i flirt more but that’s just cause im a libra :/

just one day: who would you want to spend the last day of your life with?

i think i’d want time alone

tomorrow: goal that you would like to achieve within the next year?

finish learning korean

cypher pt. 2: one thing about yourself you wish people would appreciate more?

there’s nothing to appreciate about me lol

spine breaker: what is your weakness when it comes to spending money?

i love stationary

jump: favorite childhood memory?

once in kindergarten we were painting pots for mother’s day. I was the kind of kid that liked to work ahead so i just started painting, but the pot was upside down so when i turned it over it just said “wow” instead of “mom”

miss right: what is your ideal ‘type’?

kim taehyung, park jimin, or xu minghao

i like it pt. 2: dream date?

I love amusement park dates

danger: have you ever had a near-death experience?

i nearly died of alcohol poisoning once. that’s a story.

war of hormone: most embarrassing moment?

when i was like in 8th grade i thought weed and pot were two different things and I’ve never lived that down

hip hop lover: three songs that are meaningful to you?

Should i just do BTS songs?

Move, Love is Not Over, Hold Me Tight

let me know: are you good at keeping secrets?

i like to think i am

rain: most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?

i took a day trip to Houston without telling my dad while my mom was in China

cypher pt. 3: favorite outfit to wear?

i got a new Fila hoodie in japan that’s bomb af and i look great in it plus my white hat with the long tail and my adidas samoas

blanket kick: longest time you’ve spent lying in bed (sleeping or not)?

idk how long i spent in bed but once i had a depressive episode so bad that my phone only marked 19 steps on that day

24/7 = heaven: what are you most looking forward to?

SEVENTEEN CONCERT AND MEETING SEVENTEEN

look here: do you have any hidden talents?

I can hum and beatbox at the same time

second grade: proudest accomplishment?

I finished 12 years of music theory, got put in the TMEA pamphlet and got some money from it too

i need u: are you in love?

i need u girl

hold me tight: does physical contact comfort you?

no

love is not over: ever had your heart broken?

:)

dead leaves: how loyal are you?

very

move: last time you cried?

I nearly cried at the airport leaving Japan because my best friend is staying there for college and I won’t be able to drive a street down to see her anymore, but I don’t cry much so I didn’t actually shed a tear.

I did however shed a single tear because of some gifs of jimin this morning

butterfly: most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?

answered

run: do you like traveling? if so, where? what’s your dream vacation?

i love travelling and i actually just experienced my dream vacation in japan. I guess my next one would be korea

ma city: if you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

seoul. I want to be an MV producer for idols

baepsae: do you vote and/or keep up with politics?

not especially, but I should bc i used to be a journalist

dope: what did you want to be when you were younger? how does it compare to what you want to be now?

i wanted to be a vet and now i’m going into film so there’s a pretty big gap

fire: are you a spontaneous person?

I’m an istp so yes

save me: your favorite place on earth?

im bad at choosing favorites, i’d like to think that i’m not tied down

young forever: what is one movie from your childhood that you will always treasure?

mulan

boys with fun: you’re going on a roadtrip with seven other people– dead, alive, fictional, real, famous, or not. who are they, and why?

sam, sarah, sara, kim taehyung, park jimin, xu minghao, and mark tuan

converse high: how many pairs of shoes do you own?

jesus wait lemme count

at least 14

whalien 52: weirdest thing that has ever happened to you? alternatively, weirdest dream you’ve ever had?

once after a 4th of july fireworks show my friend and i stopped at a gas station for drinks and this very obviously high dude in the car next to me said to me from his seat “yo dude u okay? u like… saw the paranoia i felt” and i had to reassure him that i was fine and i was going home soon

and i don’t like to think about my dreams bc theyre usually nightmares

house of cards: when was the last time you felt sexy?

like 2 years ago when i took the best selfies of my life

boy meets evil: have you ever committed a crime? if so, what was it? alternatively, what is the worst thing you have ever done?

i mean ive smoked weed

i snorted xanax once but after that night i decided to never do that again

blood, sweat, & tears: kinkiest kink you have?

i…. am not sure yall are ready for this information

begin: who are you most grateful for in your life?

i dont think i have an answer for this

lie: biggest fear?

abandonment. which lead to my fear of commitment and attachment

stigma: would you rather know the date of your death or the cause of your death?

cause

first love: do you believe in soulmates?

i’d like to

reflection: if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be?

don’t go to the counselor

mama: are you good at giving advice?

not even a little bit

awake: if you had to be a flower, which flower would you be?

i’m not sure which I’d actually be but i love peonies

lost: how good are you with directions? do you get lost easily?

i’m pretty god with directions. I don’t usually get lost

cypher pt. 4: what do you do to treat yourself or relax?

i clean the shit out of my face

am i wrong: you wake up one morning in the hospital, knowing only your name and a single memory from your life. what is that memory?

damn well i wish i just lost all my memories

21st century girls: do you prefer texting, calling, or video chatting?

texting

2!3!: your favorite thing about bangtan?

how fucking weird and unapologetic they are

spring day: who do you miss right now?

my bed

not today: what are your procrastinating right now?

i need to pay rent and my class fees but i’m not

wings: on airplanes, do you prefer the window seat, the middle seat, or the aisle seat?

i like aisle seats for long flights and window seats for short flights

you never walk alone: how many people do you trust with your life?

maybe 2 ?

[glympsis]

Really, it had only happened once before.

The bus on this particular trip off campus was fuller than usual, both the kids from class A and class B were present, but the bus was small. This was a fact that Ti hadn’t really thought about, standing to the side and waiting for Jason to return from the bathroom so they could board. Part of the whole “getting used to living outside of home” thing was realizing that normal people didn’t have so much space. Vaulted ceilings and long cars for only one person didn’t make sense when applied to everyone, and the muted confusion that came with this small realization still plagued her at times. Didn’t everyone deserve to have a room or two to themselves in their household? Didn’t everyone deserve free space on public transport? Didn’t everyone deserve, like, - she didn’t know - a few extra thousand yen in the bank?

She had only voiced something like that once, and the look on Ren’s face had shrunk the question down to swallowable size, so she only was perplexed in silence, now. Jason, who she figured knew her thought process almost as well as she did, had rolled his eyes and tilted his head to the side, his universal “come back to earth whenever, I guess” that he used on her all the time.

Now, as her classmates filed into the bus, Ti stood on her tiptoes to try and see past the line. Iida had tried, once again, to call for order as he always did, to varying levels of success. His business-like class president voice always made giggles rise in her throat, and she usually had to cover her lips with a slim brown hand to keep them from escaping. He had looked at her for standing out of line until she had explained her reasoning, bowing to him and calling him “class president, sir” and apologizing for messing up his order. Iida had turned faintly red, and the class behind her had snickered, but at least he had waved it away and let it pass. Iida didn’t truly hold any power over them, she figured, but it was nice to have someone that looked out for all of them. And, she allowed, he was sweet.

The last person had already boarded when Jason finally appeared around the corner, running at a light jog. Iida stood to the side as Jason raced up the steps, Ti on his heels.

Loud chatter filled the bus like helium in a balloon as the classmates talked to each other, laughing and shoving and having a good time. Jason slid into a seat beside Ren, and Ti was halfway there when she realized that there wasn’t any room. In fact, when she looked around, the seats were all filled. There was one toward the front, but Iida sat in that one before she could make it back there, and it seemed that the place was full.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she looked around, taking stock of the others around her. Some people were three to a seat, but no one in particular seemed to be paying her any mind, at least, not except Jason, who was looking around as well.

“Please take your seats.” Aizawa called back, and Ti went pink, trying and failing to find somewhere to sit. Her favorite hero had given an order, and she was unable to follow it, the spiral of thinking making her anxious. Maybe she could sit on the floor? Or ask someone to move over, or-

The shadows beneath the seats began to stretch toward her, and she only had a moment to look toward Jason, confusion evident in the green eyes she was met with, before a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

“Saikuro, here.” Ti turned, her eyes meeting Todoroki’s kind ones. Beside him, Deku and Ochaco were deep in conversation, but her childhood friend remained earnest. He held out his hand, and she took it, not even able to rationalize how he would find space for her before she was perched in his lap, his arms wrapped around her middle.

“Just like middleschool, right?”

Ti gave a small laugh, her face heating slightly against the contact as she grabbed onto the seat in front of them to keep some semblance of balance. Deku and Ochaco both offered greetings, and Ti had to smile back, easily getting wrapped up into their conversation about heroes, especially about Kamui Woods and Mt Lady, both of whom Ti loved dearly.

“Ti always likes transformation quirks.” Todoroki said, his voice light. “You can always tell when she’ll have a favorite because of that.”

”Todoroki!” Ti cried, her face going pinker with mortification.

“Well, it’s true. Your favorite heroes are always that way.”

“I like emitters too.” She challenged, fingers tightening on the seat. “They’re usually flashier, but their quirks are coolest.”

“But they aren’t your favorites.” Todoroki’s voice was even. Ti became aware of his arms around her, how the left was cool against her shirt and the right was warm, of his surefast hold and the way he didn’t let the bus’s movements jostle her too badly. “And I agree anyway, transformation quirks are impressive.”

“I think all quirk types have their good and bad things.” Deku said, allowing Ti to look away as the focus went to him. “All quirks can be used for the good of something, that’s the cool thing about them.”

As the conversation continued around her, Ti kept her eyes toward the isle, her face pink as a cherry blossom. She didn’t want to think about quirk preferences, or how her favorite heroes happened to be transformation quirks. Aizawa was an emitter, for pete’s sake! Didn’t that mean anything?

Part of her knew she was overthinking it, that there was probably a deeper meaning for her embarrassment, but she didn’t want to look at it too deeply. She wanted to think of other things. Her eyes tracked to Jason, who looked decidedly amused about something she couldn’t place, then to Ren, who was looking out the window.

She looked between them for a few moments, trying to figure out what was so funny, before the bus braked and she felt herself moving forward. She had a moment of flailing, where she thought she was going to fall, before Todoroki’s arms tightened and he deftly pulled her against him, stopping her forward movement and keeping her secure. In that moment, she felt everything, the way his chest was sure and strong, the way his hair tickled her shoulder, and the way his right side was slightly warmer than his left. She could even feel his breath against her skin, warm and even as clockwork.

“We’re here.” Aizawa announced, and around them everyone began to shift, collecting their things and moving to stand.

“Ti.” Jason said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Come on.”

Her best friend offered his hand, and she took it, Todoroki releasing her all at once as she was helped to her feet. She didnt even noticed how odd it was that he didnt say goodbye to her as Jason swept her off the bus, apparently in a frenzy to get to wherever it was they were going first.

“You’re blushing.” He informed her, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Am not!” Ti covered her face quickly, putting her palms against her cheeks so that her nose and mouth were covered, but her eyes weren’t. “Shut up, Yoshiyama.”

“Shutting up, Saikuro.” but he still looked superior and amused, and Ti was still blushing.

Stupid Jason, he knew her thoughts almost as well as she did.

[handsingsweapon]

come slowly, eden

(the final portion of the witch prompt trilogy from all my halloween silliness. read pt 1 here, pt 2 here - someday i will clean this up and a03 it, someday)

It’s summer when the realization that will ruin Victor’s life hits him. He is fifteen years old, and he’s traveled south for the summer to visit with relatives. There’s another boy in town who’s just about his age, Christophe, and they’ve just gone for a swim to stave off the summer heat. Victor’s beaten him in a race to and from the other bank twice, through no fault of Christophe’s: Victor cuts through waves like he was born for them, has always felt most clearly himself standing on a shoreline or looking into a pool. 

If there is magic about Chris, and Victor doesn’t have any reason to believe there is, it doesn’t speak to him in waves and currents and tides. Its secrets are not kept in a beautiful blue grimoire that Victor’s gotten to peruse while his mother watches. It’s a little sad, perhaps; he’ll never know the sacred circle of a coven, and there’s a whole portion of Victor’s life that he’ll never be able to clearly articulate.

For now they are just two boys making mischief, due to head back to the manor, crafting plans to steal pastries from the cook. 

Christophe pulls his shirt down from where they’d left most of their clothes, hanging over tree branches, and Victor notices the way his muscles ripple.

The realization is this:

Oh. He’s beautiful. 

He blinks and he is nineteen, and he and Christophe are at university together, two knaves unleashed together on London. Victor doesn’t know then that it’s a dangerous place for him, but he should: the water of the Thames is brackish and sick with pollution, and his mother’s letters all warn him to take care, that London is a place where there are good witches, and bad witches, and witches who are somewhat in-between, the way his mother’s mother is, always on the lookout for her own interests. In the end it’s not any of those things that do him harm: it’s alcohol and Christophe’s crooked smile and the gambling tables; it’s liquor and the community of bohemians who meet in the back rooms of pubs near university; it’s the things that happen in the boarding rooms they occupy, when no one is meant to be looking. Christophe is Victor’s first kiss, and the person Victor lets take him to bed, but Christophe has other lovers among the community of artists they dabble with, and what Victor wants is something Christophe can’t offer him.

He is twenty-one when Christophe gets expelled, and he is home for the holidays in time to listen to his Grandmother rant and rave about that terrible rake of a boy. “Make no mistake,” she says, “men who do the kinds of things that Giacometti boy got up to are a disgrace.” 

Victor is a water witch. It doesn’t mean he can’t still burn.

By twenty-eight he lives a half-life, stays far away from home, and when his father passes away suddenly and the manor becomes his, he has a blow-up argument with his grandmother in front of his mother that he’ll regret for a very, very long time. Maybe the old woman regrets it, too, but there’s no taking back the kind of hex she spews in the center of their shouting match. There’s an ugliness there that doesn’t easily go back into a bottle.

His mother begs him to reconsider. You could marry anyone, Vitya.

He is twenty nine and he will turn thirty in just a handful of hours. Anyone. 

“No,” says Victor, who fixes his Grandmother with a stare that freezes lakes. 

He turns thirty. The curse takes him.

The first years are ugly years, years he won’t be proud of later on: Victor haunts his Grandmother from the invisible realm he occupies, does everything he can to make her miserable whenever she dares darken the manor’s doors. He tries to be gentler with his mother, who spends years trying to negotiate the terms of the curse. I can’t break it, Vitya. I can’t -- I -- 

Shh. Quiet now.

His Grandmother dies and he’s glad of it. His mother dies and he’s miserable. One by one his friends follow. He watches his house change hands again and again and again and then one evening there is a young man with stark, severe features and kind, soft eyes sleeping in his bed. Yakov, thinks Victor. The old man’s gotten one last stab in after all: he hasn’t done what the previous heirs have, and told the newest occupants about the household rules. 

Well. At least it’s a novel change. He’s seen the three of them before, at least, visiting Yakov and Lilia in the intervening years. They’re an amusing bunch, a fledgling coven. Magic doesn’t seem to have the same strength in this era; they need guidance, they need the old ways.

He is not a ghost but some days he feels like he might as well be one.   He sits down and he writes. They are playing cards together. 

Victor’s been teaching his three fledglings bridge. The game’s interrupted by a guest and for a moment he feels a flicker of surprise. Guests! Once, Victor had imagined this house full of them, had let himself picture what it might be like to hold salons of artists and magicians, to create a place of thriving. He hasn’t thought of that in a very long time.

A man storms in, with Yuri hot on his heels. He has dark hair and umber eyes; blue-framed spectacles. He’s in a soft, chunky sweater that’s a little too big for him; Victor’s eyes catch on a sliver of collarbone and he immediately scolds himself. Their guest is lecturing the other three on curses -- curses! He’ll be giving them all a stern writing to, later -- before his attention gets caught on an old portrait Victor’d once sat for in the intervening years between London and the argument.  

“Who is that?” the stranger asks, and Victor watches delicate, gentle fingers sweep dust off of the touch of paint that makes up his painting-edition mouth. “He looks ...”

How does he look, Victor wonders, and he gets up without preamble, moves closer. Only distantly does he note Georgi saying his name; he’s studying the way the light from the windowpane catches on the tips of this man’s fingers, the way his eyes swallow and then reflect slivers of daylight. This close, he smells herbs and flowers; he feels braced in a way he’s not sure he’s ever felt. The others are still talking, and the young man, looking at the painting that both is and is not Victor, finally gives his name: “... Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki.”

“You’re a white witch,” Victor breathes, to a whole household that can’t hear him. Sometimes he does this; he can’t help it. Talking to himself is one way not to disappear. “You’re. You’re.”

He’s perfect, is what he is.

There is no relief for Victor’s latest house-guests after that: at night, he opens Yuri’s laptop and pecks away at the keys. He scribbles on the giant chalkboard Mila has put up in her room. He writes to Georgi in the journal. Together they try and fail to find a way to read Yuuri into the house’s curse, bound up into the inheritance of it. Every time Georgi tries to explain it he trips over his own tongue, knotted up with foul magic that won’t let any of them explain. 

He leaves notes on the fridge with the magnets Mila bought. Flowers, thinks Victor. In this situation, people send flowers. Victor picks them based on their meanings and makes Georgi fill the whole house with them. Georgi’s the only one who will do it; he thinks it’s very Romantic.

He learns Magnolias are Yuuri’s favorite. The house will never be empty of them, Victor thinks. He’s manic with this new, fragile thing, the feeling that perhaps finally here is someone who can help him, who can undo the foul thing that has sat on this household for a hundred years. 

He goes, perhaps, too far. If there is another way, Victor Nikiforov does not know it.

Y U U R I   when / i / look / at / you i / remember / how / hope / feels

The argument this launches in the middle of their kitchen is an excruciating pain, but it teaches Victor something important. 

Yuuri has a heart made of glass, too.

He writes. He spends an entire night doing nothing but writing, and six other letters get fed to the trashcan before there’s one Victor can tuck under Georgi’s doorframe for a delivery, feeding it through the slot there with careful, shaking hands. 

When Yuuri returns to the house carrying a potted fern and picking at the terrible poetry magnets on the fridge, Victor’s entire being opens up and sings. He has never been so grateful for such an idiot’s invention, and as a notebook gets added to the kitchen, he learns to admire the small, efficient bend of Yuuri’s handwriting. In general, modern script is so careless and ugly compared to the finely trained hands of Victor’s day, but there’s something about the way Yuuri writes that is still, in its own way, objectively lovely. 

Victor admits for the forty-seventh time that he is charmed. He likes the way Yuuri picks at the hem of his shirts, the way he cleans his glasses, the earth-smudges that stay on his hands when he shows up at the house after his work. Sometimes Yuuri nibbles on his bottom lip while he thinks and Victor has to actively stomp down the dizzying urge to kiss him, softly and quietly. 

There will be no kissing of Yuuri, not like this. 

Are you a ghost? Why can’t we meet? 

alive /

B U T

in / a / mist

Would you want to meet me, if you could? What a thrill to think of it.

“Yes,” says Yuuri. Yuuri who wears the softest sweaters and who rolls up his jeans and who has the most beautiful ankles. Yuuri who traces a finger over the edge of the mug of his tea when he’s thinking. “Yes,” Yuuri repeats, “and I am going to figure out how to help you.”

Victor takes a cue from Yuri Plisetsky and unapologetically shouts -- practically roars at the old witch, long since dead, from the kitchen. “Take that, you hag!”

He is unprepared for the actual reality of a few nights later, with Yuuri checking into the house with a suitcase in tow, setting up in a guest room facing east that Victor actively forces himself to stay away from. That night, as Georgi and Mila and Yuri prepare their circle -- they’ve started leaving a fourth place for Victor, along with a glass of water, to represent him, and it touches his heart -- he stumbles in with an empty mug of tea and a book tucked under one arm. “S-sorry,” he says, already backing away, and it’s Plisetsky who barks out a change in directive, who surprises sometimes with keen, fickle flashes of insight. 

“We’ll move around. Come join us, katsudon.”

“You want me in your circle?”

Yes, Victor thinks. Spirits yes.

Mila draws the chalk, the pentacle, places Yuuri at its apex, fetches a fresh, plain candle from the bookshelves and then snaps her fingers over each wick: green for Georgi, a pale yellow for Yuri, red for herself, white for Yuuri. Victor’s candle is blue and as Mila lights it he catches the puzzled look on Yuuri’s face. Whatever question that sits on Yuuri’s tongue waits as he watches them: Yuri is holding a mason jar with a moth trapped inside, and he opens the lid to release it; Mila lights incense; Georgi passes a bundle of lavender through the heat of his candle and then sets it on an open plate. Victor pauses for a moment, contemplative, and then he dips a finger into the water of the glass that’s been left for him and traces it over the crystal edge of the cup. Yuuri startles and stares, for a long time, at precisely the place where Victor is sitting. Then he frowns to himself and pats down his jacket for a bundle of twine, and Victor watches as he knots it around his own fingers, creating an intricate matrix of thread which glows white as Yuuri activates its magic with a whisper of his own breath. “Come into the center of the circle,” he says, “I want to see you.”

“You can’t,” Victor replies, certain that Yuuri can’t hear him.

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“You heard that?” Victor asks, incredulous, but he’s already on his feet, moving towards the center. “That’s incredible, Yuuri, I ...” 

This time, however, Yuuri gives no sign of having noticed, and it gives Victor pause, makes him wonder if perhaps the first time around was just a fluke, a trick. He’s still considering those doubts when Yuuri gets to his feet. Dust, Yuuri says, Georgi, I need -- 

Georgi keeps fine sand among the components he uses for spell-casting, and he slides it towards the center of the circle, waiting. Yuuri reaches for it, murmurs words of blessing, and unceremoniously throws it over Victor, soiling one of his better suits in the process. Victor holds his breath. Yuuri squints, and then blinks owlishly, and Victor stands impossibly still while he unwinds the string over his hands and then uses it, still glowing, to map out a second circle around their feet.

They’re standing so close. If he were corporeal he could just reach over and tuck one of Yuuri’s curls back behind his ear. Victor thinks about this and that’s when he feels it: Yuuri’s hand, sweeping his bangs aside.

“Your eyes are bluer than your portrait,” Yuuri says, very quietly, like he’s in awe, and Victor immediately chokes on the sob that breaks out of him, like a dam that’s been burst. “Oh, no no no - don’t cry, I didn’t --”

Victor attempts to pull himself together, but he can hardly breathe, much less speak or think. “I apologize,” he manages, after what feels like an eternity. “You must understand that it has been a very long time since anyone has been able to tell me what I look like.”

“You’re beautiful,” breathes Yuuri, who immediately flushes almost as red as Mila’s candle, and Victor’s treacherous heart skips over itself, falls down four flights of stairs. Oh. 

Yuri Plisetsky never misses an opportunity to miss an opportunity, and he ruins the moment entirely. “Will someone please tell me,” he hisses, “what the fuck is going on. Can you see him, katsudon?”

“... I couldn’t, before. And -- well, now. Yes. Like this.” Which is inconvenient and impractical, of course; they can’t spend a lifetime standing inside of a magical twine circle standing so close that if Victor breathes deeply there’s a very real chance he’ll accidentally touch some part of Yuuri and won’t that be a thrill come to think of it perhaps they can stand in the magical twine circle forever -- 

He’s losing himself again. 

“Tell me what happened to you,” Yuuri says, and for the first time Victor glances past him, and he sees what Yuuri must be seeing: that beyond the glow of the twine on their floor there are coiling, angry shadows, all of them bent on reclaiming him.

Victor opens his mouth, tests his own tongue. “Many years ago,” he says, “I was cursed by an angry old woman.” 

He can say it. He can stand here, and look at Yuuri, and be looked at, be touched, and he can say it.

The shadows circle. Victor is not sure how long this ritual will hold them off.

He makes the most of his freedom now to gently take one of Yuuri’s hands in his own, tracing the precious knuckles and the beautiful fingertips with their blunt fingernails and their work callouses. 

He tells the entirety of the sad, sordid tale, start to finish. Yuuri never once takes his hand back.

For a week, Victor watches from a state that is somewhere between euphoria and agony while Yuuri Katsuki devises new ways to battle back the curse. Three times a day they recreate the circle now, and three times a day Yuuri crafts new and inventive spells to try to pull Victor back. It’s thrilling to watch him work, to see the determined gleam in his eye, to realize that all this is being done for him, for Victor. It’s also objectively terrifying: every session ends with Yuuri spent, with Mila wrapping a fresh blanket over his shoulders and Georgi providing a fresh cup of herbal tea. 

They’re sitting in the circle within a circle again, cross-legged and facing each other, Victor’s hands resting upwards in Yuuri’s open palms when Yuuri bolts upright from his meditative state. “I’ve got it,” he says, with manic glee. 

“Victor. It’s so obvious.” He laughs, suddenly, brittle, nervous; rakes his fingers through his hair, says something Victor Nikiforov has never in his life imagined he’d hear from another man: 

“We’ll get married.”

“What?” Says Victor. And Mila. And Georgi. 

Yuri helpfully adds: “... the fuck?”

“You have to get married, but your grandmother never specified to who. It’d be inconceivable to her that you could actually marry a man, back then, but now you can, so you don’t have to compromise by -- I mean, you’d have to marry me, or maybe someone --” 

“I’ll marry you,” Victor says, and it’s only after they’ve extinguished the circle and he’s alone again in the invisible dark that he stops to think about it: about how Yuuri’s marrying him because of some loophole, some way to trick the hag’s age old-hex. It’s for you, but not because of you, he realizes, and for the first time in many, many years, he doesn’t sleep.

Yuuri comes back a few days later with a hedge witch in tow, an older woman he introduces as Minako who seems to have been talked or perhaps bribed into this entire ordeal. “Can he even sign a marriage license, your invisible Jane Austen house spirit?”

“Of course he can sign one,” grumbles Yuuri, and then he says something that breaks Victor’s heart. “I told you, it’ll be temporary, we’ll figure it out.”

They make the circle again.

Victor doesn’t come forward. He sits in a chair in the corner of the library, resigned to his fate. Perhaps he ought to be looking for ways to do what everyone else he knows has already done: shed the last remnants of his life and move on. Of course, the hex hasn’t granted him that, either.

Yuuri, beautiful, kind-hearted Yuuri, willing to marry himself into a lie just to break Victor out of the dark magic he’s stuck in, looks increasingly agitated. “Victor,” he keeps calling, softly, like he’s confused. “Victor, please. Won’t you come ... Victor, are you still here?”

It’s not until Victor realizes that he’s crying that he comes forward, slowly, conscious of the way the circle at first resists admitting him and then finally bends to allow him through. Yuuri exhales in relief. “I was so worried something had happened to you.”

“Something has happened,” Victor says, carefully, and he resists the urge to wipe away Yuuri’s tears. That’s the sort of thing that someone Yuuri loves should do, not someone he’s trying to save just because he’s a good person, bending himself into the shape of something he can’t possibly want. “You don’t have to do this, Yuuri, you ... I won’t ask you to do something so inauthentic. I can’t.”

“Inauthentic?” Yuuri whispers, bewildered, and something about it makes Victor admit to terrors he hasn’t even fully confessed to himself.

“Marrying me for the sake of marrying me,” he mumbles. “We’re not even sure it would work, and then you’ve gone and done something that’s supposed to be meaningful, and maybe it does work but maybe it’s been so long that the curse just lets time catch up with me and I just disappear or ... it works and you just, what, we annul it, and --”

“You want to annul it? After?”

It’s Victor’s turn to be bewildered. There are fresh tears in Yuuri’s eyes; he’s horrible with crying people, feels inclined to fall apart on his own. “Well, wouldn’t you? We hardly know each other.”

“I know everything about you that I need to know,” says Yuuri, with a certainty that takes Victor’s breath away.

“... What? How?”

“I know that you could have escaped this years ago by marrying some woman you could never love and you decided not to, which tells me you have integrity and you’re principled ... I know that you spent years mourning that choice and you could have become some awful, twisted version of yourself and that in some ways you would’ve had the right to, and you didn’t. I know that instead you chose to warn everyone else -- that you’ve taken care of the people who’ve come after you. I know that you’re clever and that you’re poetic and I know that if the idea of love didn’t matter to you so much you wouldn’t have spent the last hundred years so terribly alone.”

“I’m anachronistic. I’m an artifact. I belong in a museum.”

“I’m anxious and I’m not doing anything spectacular with my life and you’re going to figure it out and want to do something better,” says Yuuri.

“Yuuri, nothing on earth could be better than you.”

“Are you really arguing with him about who wants to get married more?” Yuri Plisetsky asks, from the outer ring of the circle, while Minako stands off to one side, raising an eyebrow.

“I think it’s very romantic,” Georgi says, with a hand over his heart. Mila thumps the back of his head, insults him even, but it’s incredibly fond.

Minako Okukawa conducts her first and only half-invisible marriage, and Victor signs the license that she’s somehow authorized to give them as some sort of city official. He will find out later that it was one of those things that seemed like a good idea to her once, while drunk. He will learn a lot of things later. 

He hears a howl and feels the twist and snap of shadows, and they lunge on him, on Yuuri, and intuitively Victor grabs Yuuri and pulls him against his chest, ready to protect him from the old wishes of an evil, selfish woman.

Nothing happens. Yuuri is warm and real against his chest and they both take three heavy, rapid breaths. 

The older woman -- Minako -- whistles. “Damn, Yuuri, you might have mentioned that he’s handsome --”

Victor looks around, sees the slightly stunned looks on Yuri, Georgi, and Mila’s faces; they’re all looking at him, eyes following him, and he’s -- he’s ...

He’s free. 

He drops to one knee, takes Yuuri’s hand in his. “Yuuri Katsuki,” says Victor Nikiforov, who is going to buy so many magnolias, “... will you court me?”

“Victor,” Yuuri says. “Stand up.”

Puzzled, Victor does.

Yuuri twists his fingers around Victor’s tie and kisses him, so softly, just off-center. Mila whoops behind them. 

“That’s what we do at the end of weddings, these days,” Yuuri murmurs, with a shy smile that’s utterly enchanting. 

Victor is going to kiss him until everyone else is sick of it. He starts, for now, with one more; drapes his arms over Yuuri’s shoulders, tilts their foreheads together and flashes a mischievous smile, grins, even. He can’t remember the last time he’s grinned, but he’s doing it now, ear-to-ear. 

“What else happens at the end of weddings, these days?”

“Victor!”