#I'm not sure what this is

[misc-obeyme]

You were so unexpected. He knew that you were yet another task that Lucifer was pushing off on him for the sake of Lord Diavolo. Only another instance of being used, of being relied on, of being given the job no one else wanted to do.

It was difficult at first. A great demon like him had better things to do than babysit a fragile human like you. But time passed. Things changed. You changed and he changed and everyone else changed, too.

And then one day Mammon looked at you and saw his entire world.

He saw his sun in your eyes and his moon in your smile. His sky in the soft expanse of your skin. His roots in your fingers slotted perfectly with his. Time and tide and thunder and lightning, every part of him and every part of you - it was his everything.

It almost hurt to say it out loud. To admit to this vulnerability. His greatest weakness. It was always you. It would always be you. And in darkness, when you couldn't quite see him, he found he was desperate to whisper his truth into you. Pressing his face against your hair or your neck, his arms around you, feeling your heartbeat thudding against his. When he could just exist there, in the only place he ever felt like he truly belonged.

The Celestial Realm didn't want him. And the Devildom was only home because no place else could be.

Until you.

You saw him for who he was. A demon, a former angel, but more than any of that, you saw a brother, a friend, a lover. You saw the part of him that wanted to have fun, pulling pranks on Lucifer and going out clubbing with Asmo. You saw the part of him that wanted to protect, threatening Levi's bullies and taking the blame for Belphie. You saw the part of him that kept things normal for his family, teasing Satan and gifting things to Beel. And more than anything, you saw him when he was open and raw - when he didn't hide himself behind too much bluster, when he admitted how much his brothers meant to him. How much he loved you.

And maybe it was a little bit dangerous. Mammon knew that when it came to you, it would take so little. That in an instant he could become a demon whose power and rage cracked through the very fabric of existence. The kind of demon he never felt the need to be, the full potential that he let pass by in favor of keeping the peace. It would be nothing if it meant keeping you safe.

Pact or no pact, Mammon knew the truth. And deep down, he was sure you knew it, too.

That Mammon would let that power off its leash and bathe the world in blood, only for you.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[bilosan]

@summerofbuddie week one — mixed media ↳ buddie + book quotes (the song of achilles - red white & royal blue - the beauty of darkness - crooked kingdom - emma)

[musette22]

What if, one Avengers movie night at the tower, the team decides to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral because Steve and Bucky have never seen it, and apparently, that's shocking.

Steve has been kind of quiet all evening, not joining in with the usual banter or even munching on popcorn like the rest of them, just watching the screen silently and sitting very still.

Two weddings come and go, and then, it's time for the titular funeral.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone," the pale Scottish man recites W.H. Auden's poem, visibly overcome with emotion as he remembers his deceased beloved.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The poem's final words hang in the air for a moment, bleak and heavy with sadness, and then suddenly, Steve makes a sound. It's not intentional, he just can't seem to stop it. Like the wave that's been building inside of him, quietly but inexorably mounting higher and higher, finally crests. A sob escapes him, sounding like it's torn from his chest, harsh and incongruent in the heavy silence of the room - and then, he starts to cry uncontrollably.

All heads swivel in his direction, surprised at the sudden outburst, but it’s just Bucky who is up like a shot, immediately reaching out for Steve. Steve curls in on himself, trying to hide his face in his hands, his whole body shaking with heaving breaths and big, ugly sobs.

“Oh, Steve, Stevie, hey." Bucky's hands are on Steve's shoulders; soothing, anchoring. “It’s okay. You’re okay, hey, sshhh.”

The words don't seem to register, bouncing uselessly off the wall of sorrow surrounding Steve, so Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's shaking frame instead and pulls him in, close to his chest. Steve resists for half a second before he melts into it, hugging Bucky back tightly, desperately, clinging hard enough to crack a rib in someone not enhanced.

“You were d-dead,” Steve chokes out, in between sobs. “You were dead and I – I m-mourned you. Bucky, I couldn't... I w-wasn't - Buck- Bucky.”

The last iteration of his name resembles a wail more than a word, heartwrenching, cutting right through Bucky's bones.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, inadequately, miserably. “I’m so sorry.” He rubs Steve’s back, over and over, shivering when Steve buries his nose in the crook of his neck, like he wants to burrow under Bucky's skin. Bucky presses his cheek against Steve's hair, trying to give Steve the comfort he's finally admitting to needing. "I’m here now. We’re both here. I’m never leaving you again, Steve. Never again, I promise.”

This time, the words get through to Steve, but instead of calming him down, they just make him weep even harder. He cries and cries until finally, his entire, big body shudders in Bucky's arms and some of that awful tension finally drains from his shoulders.

When his grip on Bucky loosens a little, Bucky pulls back to look at him. Steve’s face is blotchy red and wet, but his eyes are like cut diamonds, deep blue and bright with tears and emotion. He is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen. Slowly, Bucky lifts a hand to Steve’s face, gently brushing his bangs away from his forehead. Apart from the occasional aftershock, Steve stays still, arms still wrapped around Bucky’s waist, their faces only inches apart. Steve's face, usually so controlled, is now wide open, love and adoration and awe all right there on the surface, plain for anyone to see.

Steve looks at him like Bucky hung the moon, like he’s his North and South and East and West, and Bucky feels too small to warrant it all, small but solid like a gem, precious and cherished in the face of Steve’s devotion.

When Steve’s eyes flick down to his mouth and linger there, his gaze rapt, transfixed, Bucky's heart trips. They haven't -- not since Bucky came back to Steve, not in this century, and Bucky hadn't been sure he'd remembered right, but now... Bucky's lips part on a soft, stunned gasp, and then before he can so much as blink, Steve surges up and presses his own lips against Bucky's. Bucky gasps again, arms coming up to take Steve's face in his hands, cradling it tenderly in his palms, metal and flesh alike.

The kiss is as much a thrilling, breathtaking culmination of years of silent yearning as it is the easiest, most obvious thing in the world. It makes everything that's felt just slightly off-balance over the past seventy-odd years finally right itself, pieces falling into place, the red thread of fate untangling itself and smoothing out, stretching taught and vibrant between them.

They're not sure how long they stay there like that, wrapped up in each other, revelling in the feeling of finally being together, being whole again. But when they finally break apart, Steve's eyes are closed and his face serene, finally at peace. He hums softly when Bucky rests his forehead against Steve's and rubs them together, lightly, comforting. The room around them is silent, the TV turned off, everyone else gone.

There'll be curiosity later, gentle teasing and well-intentioned demands for explanations, and that's alright. But for now, it's just Bucky and Steve, and a love that burns as bright and all consuming as the sun, as endless as the moon and stars.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Happy Marauders go back to school day!!

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is Hogwarts Express xoxo

"Are you okay?" Lily asks, watching Remus' leg bounce from inside the carriage as his anxiety mounts. His eyes are practically glued to the window, scanning the platform.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm..."

He trails off the moment he sees him.

Sirius.

He steps through the platform with James close behind, and Remus can already see the switch that a summer away from his family brought on. He's standing a little taller, his eyes a little brighter. As Effie and Fleamont emerge, he turns and smiles at them, his whole body more relaxed than Remus has ever seen him.

"I'll be right back," he says quickly, standing and practically running from the Hogwarts Express.

Once he gets out onto the bustling platform, Sirius turns and spots him. His face brightens in an instant, positively beaming at the sight of him. God, just the sight of him sends warmth through Remus' chest.

He doesn't even know when Sirius starts moving towards him, all he knows is that they meet in the middle with a crashing, bone-breaking hug. Remus shuts his eyes, pulling Sirius closer. For a while, he was worried Sirius would be gone forever.

Here he is, happy and safe and free.

"You got out," Remus murmurs, a little breathlessly. He feels Sirius nod, and the relief floods him so suddenly, it brings tears to his eyes. Sirius must be able to feel that Remus is on the brink of a breakdown, because he pulls away. Gently, he reaches up and cups Remus' face with both hands.

"I love you," Sirius says suddenly, with that damn smile that just... knocks the air out of Remus' lungs. The one that travels up so far that it crinkles his eyes. Then, out of nowhere, he pulls Remus in and connects their lips.

Sirius is here.

He's here, and he's staying.

Life is fucking perfect.

[morganski-19]

Robin hates that she’s even here right now asking this question, but she has to. She has no frame of reference for what to do and her nerves are spiking all over the place. And the only person she can think to ask is Steve. Which shouldn’t be awkward because he is her best friend and they’ve talked about uncomfortable topics before but this is different. She’s never really wanted to know the details of his sex life before, especially when it’s about his ex now her girlfriend, but now she’s actively asking about it. Just because she has no idea what to do when she and Nancy eventually have sex. 

“The hottest thing you can do is put her hand on your head and tell her to show you how she likes it.”

Robin nods, a little skeptical. “Would Nancy even want that”

Steve nods. “She can be very demanding in bed when she wants to be.”

Eddie walking by this conversation, “Wait, what.””

“Yeah, sometimes she likes to call the shots. Most of the time actually, once she’s comfortable with it she likes it more that way.”

“You mean she topped you?” Eddie asks, a little stunned.

“I mean, sort of, she didn’t peg me or anything, except for that one time, but she was in control.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Robin says covering her ears. “So do you think she would want to do that with me too?”

“Probably, like I said, she liked it a lot more that way. I did too, to be honest.” He says it so nonchalantly like this information isn’t making Robin so uncomfortable. 

“That was too much information.” Robin shakes her head, picking and choosing which words she wants to remember from this conversation.

Eddie bursts out laughing. “You like being topped by nerds.”

“Hot nerds,” Steve corrects.

“I feel like I’m learning too much about your sex life.”

“You asked, I answered. And like you already didn’t know I was a switch”

“What,” Eddie says a bit too shocked. 

“Yeah I’m a switch, thought you knew that.”

“How would I know that if we’ve never switched, we could have.”

“Yeah but I know you haven't liked that in the past so I didn’t bring it up”

“Yeah but I didn’t love those guys, this is different. Sure of won’t be like an all the time thing, but it can happen every once in a while”

Robin smacks Steve’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were at the love stage, dingus?”

Steve has a wide-eyed expression while looking at Eddie “You love me”

“Oh cause that was the first time,” she says, connecting the dots.

Eddie’s eyes widen with what he just said, cursing to himself. “I didn’t mean to tell you like that. Especially with Robni. Here.”

Steve gets up and kisses him. “I love you too.” They kiss again, seeming to forget that Robin is in the room as it is obviously leading somewhere.

She gets the cue and grabs her stuff, heading for the door. “Well, this was nice. Happy for you, I’m just going to see my way out and call Nancy to come pick me up. Happy fucking.”

“You too,” Steve yells out as she shuts the door.

[sm4sd]

maybe in another life things would've worked. in another life it's you and me, and me and you. my letters don't go unmarked and unread. in some life we would be in love. for now, all i get is "returned to sender."

[scarlctheart]

( sweet cheeks cabaret, evening, may 1st ) @anchoragestarters

After the last year spent in Anchorage, Freya was starting to feel like a bona fide local in the Alaskan town. Even through the oddities and macabre things occurring in her orbit, the dancer felt a sense of normalcy among the lifelong residents and their gallows humor. Sweet Cheeks in particular felt like a home away from her familiar basement apartment, even during a special event that had little to do with what she did there most nights—trading in the sequins and feathers of her performance wear for a new role: aspiring seamstress extraordinaire. But though the redhead prided herself on being cool under pressure, especially after years of ballet training had given her nerves of steel, it seemed that her usual resolve was quickly put to the test when thrust into unfamiliar waters. And with the clock counting down until the next round of models was due onstage, pieces of her costumes still in incomplete tatters, she was getting desperate.

Peaking her head out from behind the backstage curtain, Freya gestured to the first person that crossed her path near the edge of the stage. "Pst! Hey! Do you have a second?" she asked, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. "I'm having a bit of a tailoring emergency, and I don't know what to do. You think you could help me out? Or... you know, talk me down?" she remarked with a nervous laugh, glancing back at her designs.

[missathlete31]

Work In Progress.... Thursday?

This little conversation came to me when, (shockingly) I was thinking about Hangman angst. Basically it's a conversation between Javy and Nat after the mission, where Javy can't seem to take everyone bashing his best friend anymore (aka fandom Javy is the best Javy).

It paints Hangman in a good but sad light, (sorry I can't help it, I'm VERY BIAS towards him). But I would love to hear what people think about it.

Fair Warning: It's a very rough first draft! Also some adult language in here.

"Are you really all that fucking blind" Coyote spat, an unusual show of animosity dripping from his tone.

"Excuse me?"

"It's an act, Jesus Christ, it's a fucking act" Coyote looked her right in the eyes, any drunkeness she thought she saw was long gone, "he acts like a dick, he acts like the world's cockiest asshole but god he doesn't know any better."

"Don't excuse his bullying-"

"It's how he gets you all to fly better Phoenix, and don't even try to deny that it didn't work. He a shitty communicator but he gets results."

"Why would he bother-“

"Because he cares, shit he cares. He worries non-stop about all of you, about all of us. He brought up Bradshaw's father, a dick move I know" he cut in before Natasha could, "because he was petrified that Rooster wouldn't fly fast enough without it. He knew Mitchell was picking him for the mission and he needed to get him motivated."

"Maverick wasn't even team leader then, don't tell me Hangman knew-"

"Of course he knew, we all did. Everyone saw there was history, everyone saw the way Maverick chased after Rooster on the tarmac that first day. It was obvious he was on some sort of apology tour and was going to use the wingman spot to curry favor- I'm not saying Bradshaw didn't deliver in the end" Javy raised a hand to stop the argument she was about to make, "but you cannot tell me that he was the right choice prior. He never made it through the course under the time. He constantly ignored his group to make a point that slower was fine."

Natasha's gaze turned to Rooster who was chatting with Omaha, Fitz, Fanboy and Payback at the pool table. All was good now but Phoenix remembered the fear in Payback's voice over the comms when he knew Rooster wasn't flying fast enough; wasn't leading them fast enough. Coyote was right; she was blinded by her loyalty at the time but choosing Rooster was clearly Maverick's attempt at making amends, a decision that could have resulted in people not making it home. She turned back to see the other pilot was watching her gaze, "You knew it too,” Coyote told her softly some of his anger burned away, “you just didn't want to accept it."

"I couldn't" she looked down, "not at the time."

"I get it."

But Natasha raised her head, her own anger coming back, "Of course you do," she chided, "you’re blinded by your best friend too. You can't honestly convince me that his actions are because he cares. He insults us regularly.” she spat bitterly.

“He pushes you, in the only way he knows how.”

“Coyote-“

"Believe whatever you want" Javy shrugged, "he prefers you think the worst of him anyway."

"I mean it's just- he's-"

"I know what he is" and again that sobering look was on the man's face, "I know better than anyone and if you or any of the other's would bother to take a second to really look, you'd see it too."

"He's horrible to everyone, can you blame them-"

"Who is always the first one to text you for your birthday Natasha, no matter where either of you are stationed?"

"Okay but-"

"Who sent flowers for your grandmother's funeral? Who drove you six hours to your parents that time you were stuck four years ago? Who helped Yale get the leave he needed by trading in his own? Who made sure Rooster got to the hospital the night of his car accident in flight school? Who salvaged Halo's birthday party when everyone got reassigned at the last minute? Who fought those guys that jumped Omaha despite having no other backup? Who cleaned up when we all got trashed after the dogfight football game so Penny didn't have to on her own? I know it's easier to think of Jake Seresin as a dick but don't deny he hasn't been a friend all these years as well. I thought better of you."

"That's not fair-"

"Isn't it?” His eyes narrowed dangerously, “tell me, do you know when Jake's birthday is?"

The woman couldn't help the heat that rushed to her face from her lack of answer, "I- I don't" she admitted.

"Do you know anything about him? His family? His hometown? Anything? Did you know he never goes back home during leaves or holidays? He stays on base alone or he goes with me if I'm off the same time."

Again Nat shook her head, "I- I never realized-"

"Yeah" Coyote finished his drink and stood up from his barstool, "I didn't think so."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go check on him. I want to make sure he's alright-"

Her brow furrowed, "Why wouldn't he be?"

"Just forget it."

"No wait," she pulled at Javy's arm so he couldn't walk away, "I’m serious. I know he didn’t come out tonight but I figured he had other plans or something. Is that not the case?”

Coyote looked her dead in the eye for a moment and Phoenix felt like she was taking a test she didn’t know how to pass. Finally Javy seemed to lower his defensives, “He didn’t come out because he was trying to get some sleep” the man shared carefully.

“Oh-“ Nat couldn’t contain the surprise, “he’s having trouble sleeping?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re worried about him” she observed softly.

“Someone has to” he shot back tightly, “because he sure as shit isn’t going to worry about himself.”

The statement caught Natasha off guard but she opted to not question it. She always thought of Jake Seresin as self centered but clearly from the stress in Javy’s posture, it seemed that cockiness was just another part of the Hangman show. Phoenix cleared her throat to get her companion’s attention, “do you think-“ she huffed out a breath, not sure how her request would be received, “do you want some company to go check on him? Maybe I can help?”

Coyote stayed silent for a moment as he watched her with a frown. His eyes shifted to the other Daggers still having fun before they rested back on the female aviator, “don’t you want to get back to the others?”

“I want to check on my friend” she amended with a raised brow, relieved when Javy matched her expression but didn’t exactly contradict her. “He’s not going to like it” Coyote offered instead, “Jake didn’t want anyone to know.”

“When have I ever done what Hangman likes” she tried to joke. It barely landed but Phoenix counted it as a win when Javy gave the tiniest of a nod towards the door, “alright, let’s go.”

Part 2:

Javy headed into the gym quickly, immediately reaching for the speed controls on the treadmill and slowing it to a walking pace. Hangman offered a weak nod as he staggered off the machine. "Thanks man" the man's voice was breathy as he panted, "went a little too hard."

"'A little hard?'" Coyote mocked, "you look ready to collapse-"

The blonde waved him off, reaching for his water bottle and taking a big sip, "I'm fine- what you doing here anyway?"

"When I didn’t see you in your bunk, I figured your dumbass would head to the gym, do you have any idea what time it is? What are you doing Jake? The treadmill says you’ve been running for 11 miles already! Are you crazy?”

The blonde pilot bristled in indignation but Javy could see the touch of embarrassment that colored Hangman's cheeks, "It’s fine” Jake argued, “It’s just a work out, don’t get all upset-"

"I will get upset because you’re meant to be trying to get some sleep" he emphasized the other man’s sweating body, "this doesn't look like sleeping."

"Just needed to get my body a little more tired before I try again-"

"Jake this is the fifth night in a row-"

"It's getting better, I was able to get twenty minutes before-"

Javy shook his head sadly, "You need to talk to someone man,"

"I'm handling it-"

"No you're not, you haven't gotten a decent night sleep since we docked and I'm getting worried.”

Hangman opened his mouth to respond but stopped when he noticed another figure in the gym, a dark haired woman standing just a few feet back, "Phoenix?" he gaped out in surprise, “what are you doing here?"

Nat offered a weak wave as she stepped closer, "Hey Bagman-"

Jake’s green eyes narrowed onto his best friend, cold with betrayal, "Why did you bring her?” He asked sternly.

Javy shrugged, "She insisted."

"For what?” Hangman asked, “ I texted you before that I was fine. I told you to enjoy your night-"

"And I wasn't. Not with you here not sleeping- come on man, let me help-"

"There's nothing to help" Jake turned to Phoenix, his voice short but with more emotions than he normally showed, “I don't know why you felt the need to come but you can head on back to the bar now, nothing to see here."

The woman refused to be deterred, "I heard you’re having trouble sleeping-“ she began.

Jake’s shot Javy another nasty look before turning back to Nat with a smirk on his face, “no actually,” he retorted icily, “I felt like a late night workout. It takes a lot to look this good-“

"Jake-" she couldn’t contain her eye roll, “you don’t have to lie”

“Lie about what Natasha?" He opened his arms like he welcomed her argument, “I’m sleeping fine okay? Javy is just being ridiculous. I’m good-“ but he cut off when Natasha’s hands grabbed his. “Jake” she whispered, waiting until his green eyes finally met hers, “please. I'm not here to judge you. It’s okay.” she motion to Javy and herself, “we both just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help!” The man continued to argue. “I told you I’m good- I can sleep anytime I want okay,” his composure started to slip, his words becoming more frantic, “I can. It’s fine. I’m fine-“

She squeezed his hand tighter, “it’s normal what you’re going through” she reasoned but the blonde aviator only shook his head, “it’s not” he finally admitted, voice broken, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” he let out a loose sob.

“Oh Jake” Nat pulled him into her chest despite their size difference, “there’s nothing wrong with you. I get nightmares too you know-"

But it was clear she said the wrong thing as Hangman jumped from her embrace as though burned. He scrubbed at his face, erasing any evidence of his breakdown. “It makes sense you have nightmares” the man explained, his tone softened at the woman’s admission, but he kept his distance. “You had the bird strike, you flew the mission. Your nightmares are warranted.” He shook his head, “I was just the spare, I never flew the course-“

Nat's eyes widen as she stared at the exhausted man in front of her. One look at Javy and she could tell that he felt just as horrified at Hangman's rationale. “Jake- you flew the mission-"

"I didn't. I was just a dick to everyone and compromised the team.”

She shook her head, "You saved Bradley and Mav, you got a confirmed kill, you saved the day-"

"And I was almost too late, the missile... I-" he trailed off, his face contorting with emotions before he was able to pull the Hangman mask back on. Jake steeled his features, “look I don't need your concern alright? Go back to the others, both of you. I'm fine-"

"Jake-" Javy argued reaching forward and gripping his best friend's arm. Jake gave it a second before he shook of the touch, "Leave me alone, I mean it."

TO BE CONTINUED: (Maybe?)

[bejcwcled]

loki had gotten restless. without thor to mess with and any of his friends to talk to the god of mischief had quickly found himself getting bored. should he probably be doing something about kang instead of causing trouble? yes. did he have any idea how to deal with the man? no. so instead here he was in the center of the city with a herd of goats. "go on. be free. cause chaos!" he shouted lowering the door to the cart and letting the animals disrupt traffic. it was then he noticed a pair of eyes on him. "what are you looking at?" @walstarterblog

[ur-fave-bloggers-fave-blogger]

She made me a sandwitch by the lamp light, in the middle of the night, she looked suspiciously like an angel, I wonder how it would feel, to snatch all the goodness from her heart, and lock it into mine, would it be soft as honey just as her eyes? Or would it be hard as gold bronze like her skin?

And would she let me take it if she knew she'd never get it back.

I wonder when best friend turned to love of my life and if there's any difference between the two.

Then she slid it over, to me with a slight smile, dimples rippling over her cheeks like water on a lake. And I stop wondering. Because I love her to much to care.

>D

[writxrinthedark]

[teaandinanity]

So back in October I was doing a writing prompt thing and most of it was fic but some of it was not and I was reminded today of one of the ones that was not (thank you to tumblr for displaying other text posts with no relation to the current one except that I also wrote them) and I reread it and you know what? I like it.

So here, have some nonsense about a witch who would really rather none of this be happening to or near her;

[snip]

Agathe is a very improbable assassin. The only thing she’s ever used a knife for is chopping ingredients or food, and while a few of the concoctions she dispenses can be poison in excess, they’re medicine by the dosage instructions she impresses upon those receiving them. She isn’t small or quick or light on her feet.

She would not be anyone’s first choice as a champion, either. She’s tall and broad-shouldered and strong, sure, but you need a lot more than that to win a fight, and she’s never learned any of it. She’s a second-year journeyman witch, too young to have really come into her power. She’s young and green, and Absalom is a senior master and also demon-ridden and like 300 years old. It’s hard to sneak up on a man who doesn’t sleep. It’s hard to poison a man who doesn’t eat. A real assassin could probably get around those problems, but she isn’t one. A real warrior–

Well, a real warrior would die even faster than she will, so at least she has that much going for her.

Honestly, killing Absalom head-on would probably take a circle working of similarly powerful and experienced casters, or a bomb detonated right next to him.

Agathe is nineteen and freshly graduated; even if she had a circle for the working, she wouldn’t qualify as ‘similarly powerful,’ forget similarly experienced. She hasn’t even lived here long enough to wake the land to fight, and she’s not old enough to have her own power aged into fullness; she’s far more sapling than well-rooted oak. She’d need to be at least a century old herself to even give Absalom a workout.

But Eckersfield doesn’t have a circle, or a seasoned war mage, or a shadowborn assassin. Eckersfield has her. Eckersfield also has Absalom at the head of an army about to roll right over it, so she has to try to kill him even though it’s obviously futile. She walks into his tent, because she can at least shadow-walk past the mundane guards, with the ritual words to challenge him to single combat already in her mouth. It’s a formality, but he’s demon-ridden. He respects formalities and he won’t kill her out of hand while she’s observing them and being reasonably polite.

So she starts talking as soon as she comes out of the shadow-step, as soon as she sets eyes on him;

“Absalom of the house of eyes general for the throne of Gist I challenge you on behalf of Eckersfield and all her people–”

He doesn’t actually let her get through the whole thing, which is a break from tradition but not altogether shocking since she showed up in his tent while he’s dressed down. Not for sleep, of course, because he doesn’t need to and doing it now would be idiotic, but fewer layers, more comfortable and relaxed. He accepts (“yes, fine, shut up”). It doesn’t matter if she says all the words, not really. They both know the terms. Single combat. She’s not actually putting up any collateral but her life, but that’s obviously going to be forfeit. If she wins, he has to leave her home alone, can’t hurt the village or any of her people, since they’re the named party she’s fighting on behalf of.

If she wins. Hah. They both know how likely that is.

“You know better than this,” Absalom says, frustrated, and she nods agreeably. She absolutely does. She’s surprised he’s so irritated about it, but it does explain why he interrupted her. Demons usually don’t get annoyed about things, being incomprehensibly ancient, so when they do, they get impulsive. “You knew better than this as an idiot initiate, at twelve!” She nods again. “So, Witch Agathe,” ooh, he’s enunciating very clearly, biting the syllables into neat pieces. He’s well and truly seething, isn’t he? “Explain to me why you are choosing a foolish death.”

She’s too surprised to lie, even if it would do any good, so she tells him the truth:

“Because a death curse will delay you long enough for the village to evacuate.” 

Of course that’s why; she’d thought that was obvious.

She’s not going to survive attacking him. He’s a senior master warlock; naturally, he can squash her like a bug. But she’s lived in Eckeresfield since graduation. She’s been its witch for two years, caring for the old and ailing and bringing babies into the world, blessing fields and marriages, pulling apart the little ill-will curses a few nasty people manage to lay on their neighbors with nothing more than spite and wishing. Trying - sometimes succeeding - in talking them out of doing it again with friendly smiles and good tea sweetened with honey and a thoughtful listening ear.

She did curse-bind the blacksmith’s boy her first year, but he was escalating from simple boorishness to the kind of bullying that scared the other kids. He figured out right quick that the curse wouldn’t do him any harm as long as he wasn’t an absolute clot. She took it off him this year, because it’s not good to leave a curse to fester.

She’s been settling. It’s been good.

Maybe to others the town is nothing much, nothing special, but it’s hers. It’s hers enough for her to protect it, and for a death curse to hit anyone trying to harm it. To hit hard enough to pause Absalom, for all his power, and the army following him, too. She’s nothing, but she’s got a village behind her. Villages are stronger than cities, if they love you; villages can know you the way a city never will, and Eckersfield embraced her entirely when she settled in. Their witch had been dead a decade, but he’d loved the place hard; when Agathe settled in and reached out, the spells were all still there and they soaked up her magic like thirsty roots, like they’d just been hibernating through a long winter and she’d brought spring with her. The spells and the land tied themselves to her as soon as she decided she might like to live there. The place, the people, wanted to love her. They do love her.

And she loves them, so she’ll die for them and buy them time. Absalom can kill her. He can do it easily. He will do it, even if it’s going to annoy him. 

But she’s a witch, so when he does it, it’s going to hurt. Witches are like blackberry bramble; they grow wild, and there’s plenty of sweetness to them, but they have thorns, too. Tearing them out of the world has to be done very carefully if you don’t want them taking their pound of flesh for your trouble.

Absalom looks like he wants to hit her with a frying pan, though, not a combat hex. He was the strongest war mage in half a millennium even before the demon got involved; she’s kind of surprised he let her get a word out instead of just obliterating her, but the curse still would have gone off. Maybe he thinks she’ll slip on holding the purpose in her heart if he gets her talking, thinks he can kill her fast while she’s distracted and the curse will fizzle out.

Joke’s on him, if that’s the case; she’s been meditating on this since the army started moving, and this was the thing she was best at in school. Holding a purpose in her heart, intention and a spell ready to fire. She used it for blessings and healing, before; she’s never cast a curse bigger than an Inconveniencing. But he knows that, both parts. He’d hated teaching, but he said she had the best intentionality he’d ever seen in a student. The compliment had meant more from him than any of the other instructors because he didn’t care to give them without good reason.

He knows she has a curse ready. He knows that when she dies, it’s going to hit him, and the army, and probably the king and the country that sent them, because she holds the king more culpable than any of the soldiers or even the warlock leading them.

The soldiers aren’t war mages. The soldiers are going to be mightily inconvenienced and probably won’t be able to move for two days, expelling misery at both ends. They’ll be disgusting and deeply unhappy, but none of them will die. She doesn’t want them to die. That’s not the point. She needs them stopped (Inconvenienced), but she doesn’t need them dead.

She’d like the king dead, but killing kings is a costly business if you do it with a spell. They tend to push hostile magic into their country, and it’s messy. It hurts their people and their land badly, even if it works. Better by far to do it with plain steel.

She could, with all the possibility she’d be pouring into her death curse, probably kill a king; she’s dying young with the potential to grow into something great. She never aspired to greatness, but she could have been a sorceress strong enough to carve out a kingdom of her own, if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to, so it’s never mattered, but it matters now. She could probably kill a king. But that’s much less important than disabling the army, because the king isn’t here, and the army is, and so are half the people she loves in the world and also her cat.

So instead she’ll afflict the king with a dreadfully sensitive stomach and fourteen new food allergies and chronic cystic acne and a throat too sore for speeches about glory, and she’ll put his army down for two days. The king won’t be feasting in celebration, even if his vanity could abide the rest of it.

Death is expensive, but Inconveniences are cheap, and all Agathe needs is to buy time for little Gail to get her cat from her cottage and her goats and jennet from the little lean-to shed and get gone with the rest of the village. If she were stronger, if she were a barrier maiden rather than a witch, she could have just made the army go around Eckersfield entirely, but she’s not strong enough outside her chosen school, not to stop someone as powerful as Absalom. Her magic doesn’t like to work that way, now that she’s spent years training it to be something else. She’s taught it to be an oak tree, not a stone wall.

The army has already burned and murdered their way through three villages, anyway – including one that did have a barrier maiden, so it’s not like trying to wrap them up in magic would necessarily have even worked. This army is disinclined to go around, and Absalom can flatten almost anything in front of them into level road. She couldn’t shield them and it probably wouldn’t have worked even if she could do it, so she needed to move the village. They’re still going to lose the harvest and their homes, but her village will live. A village is people more than place. The people will survive, and the people can rebuild.

And her magic is good at growing; she blessed the seeds they’re carrying away with them. They’ll manage to get enough out of them, even planted so late in the year; enough to not starve overwinter.

Meanwhile, Absalom’s irritation has built enough that he’s started pacing and finally he turns to her and snarls,

“Do you ever think at all?!”

She watches, intrigued. She’s never seen him this emotive, this heated, this sincerely angry, and she saw him trying to teach a room full of magical preteens, kicking up their heels like yearling foals and flatly refusing to learn the material before them. He’s not done talking;

“So you told them to flee and then turned around and came here? You could have run with them!”

She snorts.

“You didn’t let Henge or Indimere run.”

“Henge and their wizard were arrogant enough to attack us, and Indimere has strategic value.”

And the barrier maiden thought she could stop him, and he’s a warlock, and demons take offense if you challenge their pride. She understands, she just wants to strangle him for thinking that makes any of this okay.

“And Eckersfield supplies a quarter of the country with grain, so you were always going to burn the village down and it took me until this morning to convince them to leave the land their families have worked for generations. There wasn’t time. I’m getting them time.”

“You are EIGHTEEN–”

“Nineteen.”

“You are nineteen and you’ve been here for two years, and this pissant village is not worth your life.”

His canines are elongated when he bares his teeth, his eyes ember-bright in the dimly lit tent. She ought to be frightened, probably, but instead she just asks,

“Then what is?”

She’s curious what his answer would be.

The question stops him cold. He just looks at her, stock still, and she says it again;

“What is worth dying for, if a home and people who love me aren’t? I can’t level an army–” at least not without a lot more than a week of warning, especially not in a contest against a man who could level an army in his sleep, if he ever did sleep “--and I can’t cast a barrier to circle them in safety, although apparently that wouldn’t have done more than piss you off. I’m a witch. I can give them little boons and blessings and herbal remedies, and deal with curses or, if I’ve got to, since I’ve got to, I can deal in curses.”

“So you came to face a warlock and an invading army by yourself, armed only with a death curse.”

“We use what we’ve got.”

“What you’ve got. You were the best healer in your year or for a decade on either side, you could treble crop yields when you were TEN–”

“Yes, I know it’s my fault the army came. Eckersfield certainly wasn’t strategically important before it was a breadbasket. That’s why I have to save them. Your king wouldn’t have been able to find us on a map if we weren’t suddenly producing so much grain that Makram could export a surplus. I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot?! You’re in some nothing village when I know King Ezbar asked you–”

“I don’t want to be employed by your king. The magic every single place he rules feels like slime. The magic here loved me instantly; it covered my cottage in jasmine and the hens gave me eggs every morning and the bees sang to me and stung a rabid raccoon to death before it could get close to me, and that was in my first three months. The raspberry bush by my door fruited year-round both years. My pastures were full of clover, my goat had twins and still let down so much milk that I only drank water when I wanted it. My neighbors brought me fresh bread twice a week. I handfasted three couples and their marriages were full of love and joy. I blessed the herds and the whole village made ice cream this spring because what the dairy was getting was so plentiful and sweet. I midwifed nine babies and none of them or their mothers even sickened, let alone died. Eckersfield and her people gave me a home and loved me and let me be part of something, and a king and his highest vassals would only have thought me useful for wringing a little more gold and misery out of their serfs. I don’t want what you think I should want, but that doesn’t make me an idiot.”

She feels Gail, Grizzle in a basket in her arms, step into the wagon, feels her goats joining Ara’s flock, feels Apple being hitched to a cart, feels everyone trickling out of the village, heading to safety. She can’t bless anything, now, with a curse locked in her heart, but she blessed all the donkeys and oxen and horses already. They’ll be sound and they’ll be swift.

(Apple more than the rest; she’s been a witch’s transport for a year and change, now, and that makes a beast a little odd, mostly in good ways.)

Agathe smiles at Absalom, who doesn’t even look angry anymore.

“So I came holding a curse, and I also have a fire talisman prepared and eight pounds of nitroglycerin in my petticoat.”

Because she doesn’t have a circle or power, but she took top honors in alchemy, and she’s entirely capable of detonating a bomb right next to him and smiling while she does it. They’re far enough out that she won’t kill any of the soldiers unless they’re very stupid and decided NOT to flee the area when Absalom accepted her challenge; she got past them with magic, but they had to have heard the ritual words and known what they meant. A mage duel might sometimes involve some pleasant chatting before hand, but after that they tend to get wildly destructive.

Absalom goes shock-still for a moment, his eyes flickering a brighter demon-gold, and then he – laughs. She’s never heard him laugh, not really. He snorts, sometimes, to indicate he recognizes a joke has been told and he doesn’t think it’s funny, or makes a derisive noise saying he’s amused at your expense, or at best, chuckles in a soft, barely-there way that hints at a genuine feeling, but the demon-ridden don’t usually feel a lot of joy or mirth. He hated teaching, and doesn’t like children, and had seemed perfectly pleased to go to court instead to serve a vicious man on a stolen throne who was still so hungry for more land and power that he’d gone to war against his neighbors three times before he became neighbors with Makram and went to war with them, too.

Absalom grins, though, now, and drops to one knee, wrists crossed at his breastbone, towering height and fine robes and staggering power folded down into–

Into obeisance.

Wait, she thinks, and he says, grinning and gold-eyed and sharp-fanged,

“Witch Agathe, this one is outmatched and outplayed. I surrender to superior force, Lady of Eckersfield, and to you I yield–”

“No,” she says immediately, because what. No. He’s saying the words to surrender to a–to a ruler, someone who.

Shit, she did claim the village by doing this, didn’t she. Oh, damn it, she doesn’t want to be a sorceress-queen, it’s a pain in the ass and people expect things. She just wants to go back to her cottage and her cat and her chickens and her bees and her goats, going to the towns around on Apple, now and again, to see to them as well.

If they find out about this she’s going to have five villages in a fortnight and the king of Makram is going to be justly pissed off with her and–

“You aren’t allowed to refuse a surrender,” Absalom points out, which is true. She’d have to kill him if she won’t let him surrender, and she took oaths that she wouldn’t kill anyone in her power when she became a healer, and he’s already put himself in her power, entirely, whether he says the rest of the words or not. That’s the first part of a true sorcerer’s surrender, the crossed wrists a binding magical geas preventing him from harming her unless she breaks her end of it first.

He’s still grinning at her, the asshole, like someone who has taken her ‘I have a bomb’ threat and gone ‘I have a bigger one! Here,’ and plopped it right into her idiot, untrained hands. What the fuck is she going to do with a warlock, and a bomb, and a village she’s apparently now queen of, having already burnt most of her useful magic on getting here in the first place before the army was close enough to see her village very literally running for the hills?

She puts her face in her hands.

“You are an asshole,” she tells him, and wishes it didn’t sound a little like admiration.

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[diabloku]

king of rizz™ 🥂

[candiedcaiman]

Wanted to just mess around really A self portrait insofar that I did kind of depict myself