#Warlocks of Manhattan

[malsperanza]

Rainy day in NYC, for some reason leading me into a nostalgic mood, remembering downtown in the 1970s and 1980s, when this city was more marvelous and strange than the Emerald City of Oz, hospitable to artists and freaks and weirdos, pocked with strange little places.

The city has always had magical portals - streets and corners that lead into other worlds. One was west 19th Street in Chelsea, an area now populated by mega-wealthy Wall Streeters who live in full-floor lofts and dine nightly at the wildly overpriced restaurants with named chefs. But then it was a district full of professional photographers' studios; at twilight in winter, if you walked down the side streets between 5th and 6th Avenues, the windows above would sparkle and flare with the flash of studio cameras.

At 35 w 19th Street was The Magickal Childe, the scariest store I've ever been in. It sold witch stuff, and was run by warlocks. There were dried bats and human skulls long before that stuff could be bought on Etsy. It smelled like incense and sealed tombs. In the back, behind thick curtains, was a little room where you could get a palm or a Tarot reading, and where, no doubt, unspeakable things happened after hours.

At 9 west 19th Street was Revolution Books, the communist and socialist bookstore (which still survives in Harlem). They carried books you couldn't easily find elsewhere, obscure collections of Fanon and translations of Ho Chi Minh's poetry. I found the collected writings of Subcommandante Marcos there in the 1990s. There was no Internet to order these things. Last time I looked, the storefront housed an upscale interior decorator's shop. We don't have nearly enough of those in NYC.

There were lots of other bookstores in the area too - used books and used records at Skyline Books a block down, at 13 west 18th Street, was one of many.

Also on 18th Street, at mid-block, was an enormous secondhand clothing store. I wish I could remember the name. In the window on a mannequin was the gold lamé halter dress worn by Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It belonged to the shop owner, a former Broadway dresser who was a master costumer. A lot of the clothes were former costumes from Broadway and the TV shows, or design samples from the then-thriving Garment District. He had hundreds of wedding dresses. When I wanted to make a huge costume dress for Carnival in Venice in around 1981, I bought a massive wedding dress from him for a few dollars. It was from one of the soap operas - I think One Life to Live. It still has the name of the character sewn into the label inside. He got enthusiastic about my project, so he added enormous padded side panniers and redid the already plunging neckline and filled out the immense puffed sleeves with tissue. We added a black lace train and I sewed small black feathered imitation crows that I bought in the wholesale flower district on 26th Street all over it. I was the Queen of Winter for many years, going to Venice for Carnival. I wish I remembered his name.

The Magickal Child was also a publisher: "She left me her Necronomicon, number 141 of the first edition of 666 hardcover copies, inscribed by Simon: 'To Greymalkin, As per the missing page of the Nec… ‘Blessed Is, Blessed Was, Blessed Will Be…’' " (https://www.nypress.com/news/the-doom-that-came-to-chelsea-EDNP1020030610306109999)

[macbethz]

Everyone lovessss an emo villain type but when I say I love an archetypal all-American golden boy with deep psychosexual problems & a skewed moral compass under the surface no one stands with me….take my hand…

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 174- Shattered Dreams

Summary: The Manhattan trio head back to the world of dark fairytales. Clover accepts responsibility for her actions. A rescue ensues. Revelations and blood rage come forth. A dream is crushed by a ton of bricks. A journey continues. Something lost is still lost. Thranduil connects. A sweet moment turns to heartbreak for Lola. Legolas leaves the Elvenking reeling....and plotting.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst

Notes: I have now changed to third person writing. The "you" thing just doesn't fit for the readers with Josie being an original character.

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Clover, Jace and Matthew were tossed into a large clearing on the Northern side of middle earth's hidden perimeters. It was too risky to just appear inside of them, for Jace's magic stele that he used to transport them had the habitual pattern of just spitting it's passengers out in a nearby vicinity of the desired location and that would be far too dangerous for them if they were spotted, especially the marked and hunted dhampir with her bewitching fiery strands. Even where the former Raven now stood, out in the open breeze, imperiled her as her cinnamon scent could easily be picked up by Viktor's nefarious death dealers or even by the vicious vampire ruler of infamous superhuman strength himself as Viktor was one of Jareth's resurrected pawns.

"Why does the sky look as if it were dusk? It's only noon. Could it be....Jar...h..him?" Clover asked, guarding herself not to mention the Goblin King's name as her eyes squinted at the familiar eerie hue of glowing amber.

As Matthew's vampire eyes reddened with caution, his sensitive nose subtly inhaled the air. "It is not he himself, but one who is now of him. The same immortal responsible for the great quake of middle earth."

Jace stepped next to his beloved dhampir and clutched her hand as they both whispered the believed identity. "The Elvenking."

Clover's mind briefly drifted. She would never forget what Thranduil had become while she had been a prisoner of his halls and what he had taken from her, but could she truly hold him accountable? Jareth had set it all into motion by torturing the King of Mirkwood and poisoning him with his warlock blood, not to mention, Thranduil now wore Jareth's citrine ring, the glue that sealed his fate. She still struggled with her loss and who was truly to blame, but after all she had taken from Thranduil, she knew damn well that she, along with her sinister mother, were the ones solely responsible for unleashing the wrath of the Elvenking. If she had merely walked away after Caroline's death instead of being the misguided monster she had always been, Thranduil would still be Thranduil, even if that in itself wasn't always a good thing and he would be with his family, living happily within his halls....but now, his heart was at war with his mind against the world and even his own Queen and another war was on the horizon. A war that Clover knew was also her fault. Everything that had happened since Chateau de Lioncourt was her fault.

Jace's squeeze to her hand released her of her torturous thoughts. "Hey...Clover, you're safe with me. I'll never let him or anyone hurt you. I promise."

She smiled sweetly at the golden haired warlock. "I know your heart is in the right place and I love you for it, but you know as well as I do that you cannot promise such a thing with all the enemies I have rightfully earned. I'm wanted Jace...and certainly not alive."

He pulled her against his brawny body and kissed her softly. "Well, they will have one hell of a fight upon their hands. I won't hesitate to kill to keep you safe."

Her loving gaze at him strayed in sadness. "What about my sister? She will never understand."

"I'll do everything in my power to make her see you the way I do."

"Respectfully Jace, your words will mean nothing to her. She will try to kill me and you know it. You shouldn't have to be in such a conflicting position because of me. I know how much you love her and she you."

"And it is that love that will defeat her hatred."

Clover playfully smirked but with a sigh. "You're too good for me and quite frankly, your optimism still makes me nauseous."

The blonde warlock shook his head and smiled. "Just shut up and kiss me."

As the new lovebirds tenderly locked lips, the tall, dark and blue eyed Brit Matthew momentarily watched them with an envious grief, for it would be years before he would unite with his destined soulmate Leeanduil and for a vampire, years felt like an eternity when one walked alone. The recluse vampire Lestat knew that all too well. The loneliness Matthew currently agonized over would only intensify, but for the Princess of Mirkwood...he would endure the internal burning flame that ignited one night with a single shooting star and remain devoutly faithful, for his futuristic visions of their love gave him the strength.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he whipped his head in the opposite direction with widened eyes of wariness. In his 1500 years as a blood rage vampire, Matthew had become a very highly skilled tracker, for his nose was extremely sensitive to others of his kind, especially those who carried the gene of temporary insanity and that was when the brisk breeze alerted him to a familiar presence. He could also smell turmoil, for a distressed vampire released a particular chemical. An abhorrent aroma of burning flesh.

Clover took notice of the repulsive stink as well, but unlike Matthew, she wasn't used to it beings she was still in her newborn phase and it turned her stomach. "WHAT is that??" she cringed, swiftly bringing her hand to cover her crinkled up nose. "It smells like...like...."

She paused, finally taking in a whiff of the underlying scent that was also familiar to her. "P...pancakes. Oh my god....G!!!"

Before Matthew or Jace could even blink, Clover was gone. Disappearing into the forest, leaving a whirlwind trail of dead leaves swirling about like a cyclone. Although she knew that Garrett, who had cared for and bonded with her in her childhood, had now come to despise her, especially after their last encounter where she had wickedly tricked him into believing she was his beloved Josephine all to successfully bed him, she still cared for him.

Once the pair caught up, they found Clover at a desolate cabin, gazing in the slightly frosted window with eyes matching the blazing sky.

"Step back girl." Matthew commanded with a snarl as he glowered down at her. "Have you learned nothing of entrapment??"

Jace angrily pulled her aside. "Matthew is right. What were you thinking?? Even if Garrett is in there, others may be also or may be close."

Scoffing, she pursed her rosy lips and reluctantly submitted. "Fine...but do not man handle me warlock. I can give as good as I get."

Jace grinned and winked. "You don't have to remind me of that my firecracker."

The three then circled the small wooden structure until Matthew deemed it and the surrounding area clear of any threats and then they cautiously entered through the back door. All was quiet except for the creaking of the floorboards beneath their feet and the repetitive sound of dripping water also coming from below, ringing like bells in the two vampires' keen ears.

Clover deeply inhaled the potent aroma of molasses as her golden eyes darted about, suddenly fixating on the empty whiskey bottles upon the counter. "He's been here recently or is still here."

"So have others. Merely days ago." Matthew added as he continued into the living room. "Vampires. Two of them. One male, one female. Twice dead for their scent becomes twice as strong."

Clover gasped at an object propped against the couch with no concern over Matthew's validation. "G's guitar!! Garrett???!!" she shouted with excitement and bolted down the hall to the bedrooms only to find them both empty.

"I...I don't understand! He's here. I feel him." she reeled, bursting apart the women's modern day clothing hanging in the closet which offered her another surprising scent. "Oh...my...god. These clothes..." She ripped a dusty shirt from the hanger and shoved it under her nose. "Cherries...it's...it's...these are my sister's! This must be the cabin Josie had been held captive in last year. No wonder G was...or IS here....but where????"

As they all looked at each other with confusion and silence, the dripping from below solved the mystery. "The basement!" Clover shrieked and zipped off once again and this time, Jace was beginning to turn a little green.

There the King of Devil's Island laid, motionless, flat on his back and chained in iron shackles upon a musty old mattress, appearing deader than vampire dead.

With eyes molten as the lava, Clover unleashed her power, freeing his searing wrists from the toxic metal and then climbed onto him, slapping him on the cheek and then shaking him.

"G! Open your eyes."

Moaning, he rubbed his cheek and mumbled. "Why did you do that?"

"I'm going to do it again, much harder, if you don't wake up."

His eyes, black with thirst, complied and moved about the ceiling. "Where am I?"

Clover pulled his weak body up into a sitting position and when he saw her, he groaned as if he were in pain. "Uuuuugh. Well I just answered my own question. I've died and went straight to hell."

Scoffing, she sent him hurling back onto the bed, grunting as he hit the mattress. "Same old G with your bullshit humor. Obviously, you're going to be just fine. You're welcome!"

"Your voice. Make it stop." Garrett grumbled, palms pressed to his forehead. "Punch iron stakes in my ears or kill me. Either will do."

Matthew intervened as he stepped forward, awkwardly gazing at Garrett's chest. "You've been marked with protection."

Garrett snickered and pushed himself back up. "A lot of good that did. Well, except when I tried to end it all. Fucking faeries. Wicked little beasts underneath all that beauty. Especially Amara. Crazy bitch with a thousand razors for teeth. Makes me feel sorry for apples. She did this to me, the mark that is. All because she likes my music talent. and has nominated me for her leisurely concerts."

Jace's brows furrowed. "The seelie Queen? There must be something more she wants."

Garrett lifted his heavy eyes up at the warlock he now recognized. "Speaking of. I remember you. The day Josephine and I left Amara's court and were on our way back to the Dorwinion castle. You came out of nowhere and helped us after her mind warped father attacked us. You're her brother....Jace? That's why you had tracked her down."

His eyes glanced at Clover, then back at Garrett, reluctant to reveal it had all been a lie. "Yeah..so...who did this to you? Amara?"

"No, but she had been here prior to my being ambushed, basically to rub it in my face that I could not kill myself because of this mark she let her Chippendale satanic servant brutally burn into my chest. She had better things to go follow up on such as having Legolas for herself and keeping him away from Josephine. That was her whole end game. Games are her fetish. Wicked sadistic ones at that with her creepy crawling cray cray vines of truth. I probably shouldn't say any more. Her little minion spies are everywhere."

"G! Focus. WHO did this to you??" barked an anxiously frustrated Clover.

"Oh...that would be Craven, your bat shit crazy father, pun intended, and my newly re-headed reeking ex, Kate. Well actually, she put me down here for revenge. Craven later taunted me and left me so I couldn't try to stop him from reclaiming Devil's Island and his title as King. Fucking traitor created me and then left me to die."

Clover turned whiter than a ghost. "M...my...father is... oh my god....Jace...I...I never knew him. Haldir killed him shortly after I was born. What do I do?? I..I mean, I know he was evil but..."

Jace pulled her close and stroked her cheek. "He was still your father. I get it. But just remember who he was Clover and since Jareth brought him back, that means he will be even more deadly."

"Clover??" a confused Garrett asked. "What happened to Raven? Too dark and fitting for you?"

"If you must know..." she sarcastically replied. "I'm not that person anymore. People can change. You did because if I recall, you were no better than me once upon a time Mr. fucking hypocrite."

Garrett weakly wobbled to his feet, standing the tallest of the four and glared down at her. "Yeah well if you also recall, I wasn't born evil. You were. Just what the hell are you doing here anyways??? Especially with your sister's brother whom you seem to be all cozy with. How'd you pull that one off? Did you use your magic to get him into bed like you did to me??"

Clover felt her stomach do a flip as she fearfully glanced up at Jace, for even though he knew most of her sordid past, he didn't know about that.

In his instinct to protect her, the lovesick warlock quickly came to her defense. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."

The vexed vampire raised a befuddled brow. "Whatever. It's your funeral, especially when your sister finds out."

Matthew, in his rapidly growing frustration, chimed in. "Enough of this. Maybe you should be a little more grateful that we came to your aid."

Garrett's eyes bolted to Matthew. "Well I'll thank YOU... and even YOU," he exclaimed as he happily gave a single nod to Jace, but his attention swiftly redirected back to Matthew in the midst of a memory flashback. "I've seen you before....at...Lestat's masquerade ball. Drinking alone in the shadows."

Clover's eyes widened. "You were there????"

Matthew had known it could surface about his attendance at some point and he had a prepared answer to avoid revealing his real purpose for being there.

"As were many vampires on the invitation list, who like I, enjoy drinks and entertainment every so often and observing all of the creative costumes. Lestat's balls never disappoint."

"Yeah except THAT particular one did because of the death dealer attack. You knew...didn't you??? You and your visions!! And you did nothing to warn or help???"

"Hold your tongue half breed!" he growled and began to creep towards her, his eyes reddening. "You know nothing of what you spew little girl. After what you and your mother had done that night, you have the audacity to make such accusations against me?? It was you and she that everyone needed warned about but I knew nothing of your plans until long after the fact of that fateful night and to be crystal fucking clear, I had departed before Richard's ambush. Even if I had known about it, one would be a fool to interfere in Viktor's affairs as you and Caroline learned."

Clover's eyes slitted with skepticism as her intuition began to read him. "How...convenient. The timing of your departure. Surely you would have stayed for the concert which was the entertainment you speak of and of course, that's when they attacked. No, I think you were there for something...or someone else. I feel it. Someone very important to you. Someone I know. Someone we all know."

Matthew abruptly halted, perplexed by her accuracy. Simultaneously, she paused, her troubled eyes drifting away, trying to unscramble the pixeled image that taunted her mind...and then, it pieced itself together like a puzzle. "Oh my god...now I know why you told me at the old church that you had business with the elves, but you wouldn't reveal what it was! It's....it's my sister. I see Josie! You were there for her! What on earth do you want with her??? Are you...in love with her too like this fool over here is???"

As her eyes darted to Garrett concerning her last statement, the corner of his lip curled into a smug grin. "Seems you're the only fool right now."

A low emitted growl rolled up Matthew's throat as his threatening steps resumed. "Fool indeed. I do not take kindly to your intrusive perceptions of me."

Jace's eyes cautioned of yellow as he fearlessly stepped into the path of imminent destruction. "Matthew, back off. Now. I do not want to fight you, but I will to protect what I love, just as you would do to protect what you love."

As Garrett mumbled "I think I am going to ralph," Matthew submitted to the warning as he considered Jace's words, knowing that even he too was susceptible to making mistakes during a bout of blood rage and he could not risk his life over something so trivial when all he lived for was Leeanduil and someday...she would desperately need him much more than she did now.

With lightning speed, the humbled vampire zipped up the stairs, leaving an aromatic trail of lavender and vanilla in his wake. Jace spun around to Clover with an exasperated frown. "You and I will talk later."

The waspish warlock picked up a dusty bottle of cheap wine from a cobweb infested shelf and then jogged up the stairs, leaving Clover's eyes stinging of tears, for she knew the talk would be about her defiling of Garrett and not about her idiotic instigation of Matthew's rage.

"You never learn do you...Raven." Garrett reeled.

"And YOU never keep your mouth shut." she snapped and sucker punched his chest so hard, he catapulted through the air and landed in the corner, grimacing and groaning as he helplessly sat at the mercy of her fire happy hands.

The disgruntled dhampir preyed forward with angry amber hues. "I should set your ass on fire and put you out of your misery, you fucking ingrate."

Still wincing from the blow to his iron enfeebled body, Garrett managed to grunt out succumbing words that Clover related to and empathized with. "Go ahead. I've already tried, believe me. I have nothing to live for."

Her fiery orbs dissipated back to their ultramarine state as her mind witnessed another image of Josie forming from Garrett's emotions.

"God you're so pathetic." she softly murmured. "Yes you do. Get up. You need to hunt or you'll never regain your strength and power and you'll need that if you ever want to see her again."

His weepy yellowed eyes lifted up to hers as the thought of Josephine incited his will to go on and he reluctantly reached his hand out to Clover for assistance. Scoffing, she slapped his hand down and then made her way up the stairs, leaving Garrett to crawl his way up.

Matthew and Jace, who shared years of friendship, had already made their peace by the time she entered the living room where they were both sipping on the mundane vin with abhorrent frowns, for it was an abomination compared to the wickedly wonderful wine of Dorwinion.

"Atrocious." Matthew verbally verified, coughing to clear his tainted throat after swallowing much more than he had cared to of the execrable liquid. He then locked eyes of humility with Clover upon her entrance and sat his full glass down, also swallowing his pride as he shamefully turned to gaze out the window. "I offer my sincere apologies. The blood rage, as you personally know, can be quite difficult to control but even so, being a vampire with 1500 years of learning to manage such a curse, I carelessly let it get the better of me."

Clover empathized once more and felt extreme remorse for antagonizing him. "I do understand. It's a living hell all on it's own. I...I'm the one who is sorry. I provoked you and I wrongfully accused you and I...I was intrusive just as you said. Your actions were justified. Although you owe me no apology, you are forgiven."

Her reply was not what he had expected and he turned back to face her.

"You have come a long way in such a short time Clover. It is time that I am completely honest with both of you, for you were correct on why I had attended the All Hallows' Eve celebration. To observe a very pregnant Josephine, but not for the reason you mentioned. It is not her that I love, not in the way that King Thranduil does anyways and he and the other elves are the reason I departed so quickly. I had a vision of her there but they were not in it. I certainly would have never expected elves to attend a vampire gathering, especially ones of such stature and with the uncanny power of knowledge the Elvenking carries, I did not want to risk being detected, for he would not understand. Josephine did not at first either, nor did her side kick Haldir to say the least."

"Wait...I'm so lost. You...have already spoken with her? And I ask again, respectfully, why would you have visions of her?"

"I'd like to know the answer to that myself." Garrett demanded as he scuffled in, using the wall as a crutch.

"At first, I did not know the reason for the relentless visions, some of solely her and some including her King and even his son, that is why I chose to accept Lestat's invitation to try and understand what was happening, but my answers did not come that night. They came two weeks later, the night of November 2nd. I stood on a bridge in Oxford after learning of the destruction at Chateau de Lioncourt and Thranduil's sudden demise, wondering if I should attempt another visit to his Queen and in that moment, a shooting star offered me the answer with a life altering vision. Josephine and her child, who was born that same night, would need my added protection with the King gone and the war coming and in the ever so distant future as well, for Leeanduil will....become my bride. She is my star. My destiny. My one true love that I have impatiently waited agonizing, lonely centuries for."

All three mouths gaped between Clover, Jace and Garrett and then Garrett spoke, mostly to himself in confusion. "Why would Josephine not have told me about this?"

"Possibly because you were...here?" Matthew guessed. "It was only recently that I tracked Josephine down in Dorwinion city and informed her of all this. Garrett...there is something else you should know. In that particular vision, I saw myself with a fully grown Leanduil and...I saw Thranduil too. That was when I realized he had not perished like all had assumed and it was then confirmed to be true when Jace told me of all the events that partook in the dark realm of the Goblin King right after the elf lord's so called death, for Jace had been held prisoner there just as Thranduil had. The rest of the story is not my responsibility to tell."

Clover lightly gulped as Matthew glanced at her, for she had not been prepared for this. As she let her worried eyes slowly glide over to a flabbergasted Garrett, she was all too glad he was in a debilitated condition because when he learned she was the reason for Josie's unwarranted suffering, she was certain all hell would break loose, but for the time being, he was consumed with trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dreams of a future with his "little one" would now and forever be just that....a dream. In that moment, Clover witnessed the little light he had left in his eyes burn out as he staggered his way out the back door.

"Garrett!" she called out as she ran after him. "You need to know more!"

He abruptly turned around and the way he looked at her terrified her. It was complete emptiness, as if his entire soul that had kept the human side of him still alive, had been ripped out. This time, he truly DID want to die. At least before, he had a glimmer of hope that kept him alive, even through his suicidal tendencies and now... he had none.

His commanding words were flat and lifeless. "I know enough. Let me hunt in peace."

The sun was at it's highest as Thranduil and his company had stopped to briefly rest and refuel their bodies for the first time since their departure from his halls. They were now at the Eastern end of the Old Forest Road where it joined the Celduin. Soon the Elven army would continue their lengthy and tedious journey along the River Running's winding banks where it would eventually mate with the Carnen. There, they would then follow the meandering miles of the Redwater that flowed into the Sea of Rhun, but it would be many days yet before they would cross the Dorwinion borders.

Thranduil dismounted his great elk, who still remained ever so loyal to the clone of his master, and slitted his moonstone eyes at the irradiant sun trespassing through the gaps of the large and densely packed beeches. With Jareth's blood now burning through his veins, he loathed the light now just as the Goblin King did. Even the air of his own realm turned his stomach, but with his newly acquired darkness, he had poisonous plans to spread the sickness of Mirkwood throughout it's entirety. The moonlight he desperately craved. It would aid him in his malevolent quest, for like the werewolves, it transformed his physical and mental state to that of peccable wickedness.

As he now stood alone in the clad of tall trees, the Elvenking sternly snapped, startling the birds out of their nests. "Legolas!"

Deep within the depths of the Dorwinion castle, Legolas, Lola and Josselyn had just exited the password protected room where, according to Josselyn, Ashmole had last been secretly stored by Julian....but the necromantic book was no longer there and they knew this because Lola, being of warlock blood, failed to visually locate it like only witches can do.

The blue eyed beauty with long licorice locks, sighed in frustration. "I am so sorry. Maybe...maybe I cannot see it because I am not a full blooded witch like my fath...Lord Narcisse??"

Her reluctance to admit her parentage did not go unnoticed by Legolas He took her petite hand of delicate youth into his and smiled as he harbored his new feelings of desire that magically strengthened simply by her touch. "I do not know my lady, but know this. It is not your fault. Please do not apologize. Also know that you are nothing like your father."

Her dazed kitten-like eyes flitted at his words as she too was overcome with a magical sensation that she had harbored much longer for the flawless Prince.

The silent moment of connection between the two was then rudely interrupted by Thranduil's thunderous voice inside of Legolas' head. "Legolas!"

Abruptly releasing her hand, Legolas mildly gulped as he realized he had allowed his distractions to permit his father entry into his mind.

Legolas refused to speak and tightly closed his eyes, forcing his father out and resealing the doorway to his thoughts.

"Legolas?" Lola asked, lightly touching his cheek. "Are you alright?"

This time he was displeased by her touch and angry with himself, for she weakened him, something only Josie had been able to do and he couldn't allow his heart and mind to be mangled again. He still was not over the fiery Queen of hearts and was unsure if he ever would be. "Do not touch me. We need to go. I must find Josie."

Lola's eyes welled with pain as she watched her dream lover trail off without a single glance back at her and in that moment, she threw herself into her mother's awaiting arms and sobbed like she had as a child.

It was instant, Thranduil's burning rage at his son's betrayal, but one thing pleased him, for he was now aware of Legolas' newfound feelings for the one named Lola and it was even more pleasing to learn that she was the daughter of his nemesis Narcisse.

His thick brows planted firm over his glaring, hungry eyes, for both revelations had now handed him the golden opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

@redeemer46

[helenofblackthorns]

I was bored & got thinking and developed a theory for twp; that the academy is going to stop being "Shadowhunter" academy. one of the greater themes in the modern timeline is blurring and eventually removing the line between Shadowhunters & the Downworld - something that really kinda starts in City of Glass with Luke convincing the Clave to allow Downworlder representatives on the Council. and now Luke's the Headmaster of the Academy in Exile so I just feel like it's the next logical step?

the Academy has always had a problem when is comes to anti-Downworlder sediment; we see it in 1899 with James & the 80s with the Circle & in 2008 with Simon. It's basically a breeding ground for it. part of fixing the problem could be opening the doors to Downworlders & put them on an equal playing field for once (I mean, look at the impact Simon had). Obviously curriculum would have to be specialised for different species but things like history wouldnt be.

like the only current Downworld equivalent is the Praetor Lupus, which was completely destroyed by Sebastian. yeah Maia's rebuilding but it's not her only responsibility, she's also the leader of the Manhattan pack & the representative of the Council. not only that, it would take decades to get the Praetor to what it once was. so what if Maia & Luke decide to combine them, since the missions of both are quite similar.

so like, any young (or recently turned) shadowhunter or downworlder can attend & learn about their world & their powers. how fitting would it be if Max could attend as a student & even do training if he wanted to but not be the only downworlder there. also I feel like a school would be really useful for warlocks in particular lmao. they're the most unorganised of the Downworld & their current system is "hope your parents are good and figure it out from there" (has famously not worked)

[widowshill]

unhinged character ask game: can I get 1 + 2 for Vicki, and/or 2 +17 for Carolyn, and/or 2 + 7 for Roger? Please and thank you!

UNHINGED CHARACTER ASKS.

this ended up a little long, so posting it under the cut!

1. How do you think this character would fare in a zombie apocalypse? for Vicki.

optimistically ... ok? suffering, but alive? Vicki has a stubborn knack for survival ! she's dealt with almost every other supernatural phenomenon except zombies and emerged 90% of the time with her life (including vampires, ghosts, witches, warlocks, phoenixes, and Frankenstein's monsters, finally losing only to Jeff & the death knell of marriage, and [redacted] and the [redacted]) so I have confidence in her. her strengths are in her puzzle-solving and her general willingness to believe in the supernatural; she'd be one of the first ones to accept what was happening, and to seek the reason behind it / the best way out. she also tends to doggedly stay focused, and to not abandon ship, or abandon hope (even when it's reasonable to do so!). her biggest weakness in an apocalypse type scenario is that she's obviously no action heroine, and she will almost certainly find herself in Unfortunate Circumstances. luckily she has two shotgun-toting boyfriends at her beck and call, plus Joe if she needed him, plus Carolyn and her revolver (plus Liz and her firepoker, if we're really in dire straights). and Josette's help! who would certainly not let her die at the hands of her zombified husband.

which brings me to my next point. Vicki's downfall, or closest to it, would be if she lost a loved one to zombification — which certainly includes romantic partners, but also anyone she cared about. she would all but refuse to let them go, and she'd be unable to admit that's not them anymore; that they can neither be helped nor can she be with them. someone would have to force her to, and Vicki would be extremely resistant, not to mention basically paralyzed by grief. she'd get through it eventually — she's very resilient through her various traumatic situations — it'd be close to impossible without someone dragging her bodily through it.

2. Favorite hc for this character? for Vicki.

there's a broad group of headcanons that fall under the umbrella of "Vicki has never left Manhattan in her entire life, and now lives in the middle of nowhere in Maine" and a lot of those are fun (someone had to teach Vicki how to drive, and to swim; and Vicki's always going to be the one putting the bugs / rats / etc outside and never Roger) but I think my favorite one is thinking about Vicki's relationship to the stars and the night sky in Collinsport? that ... she'd be just knocked over seeing them for the first time — it's one thing to know the constellations academically, it's another to see them. she'd see such immense beauty in an ordinary starlit sky, but, gosh. a meteor shower? the northern lights? she would cry.

and it's not just ... aesthetics? that's one part of it, sure — the beauty-minded part of her, but. Burke, for instance, used to be out on the boats, he would know them like the back of his hand, and he'd be able to point out everything to her — even the ones that are different in this hemisphere at this time of year, as opposed to South America. and she'd have such an affinity with the idea that she's looking at the same stars that people did from that hill 200 years ago — that Jeremiah was guided by the same stars Burke was at sea — that, by the late 60's, they're so close to reaching out and touching them. she's not much of a space nerd (not to the extent that I could see David becoming), but from a scientific perspective ... starlight is the world's longest-traveling love letter, and every time you look out into space you're looking so many millions of years into the past, and Vicki would be besotted with that.

2. Favorite hc for this character? for Carolyn.

everyone already knows my real favorite headcanon (that Carolyn is a girl kisser and hasn't figured that out yet) but I don't know that I have anything to say about it that everyone hasn't already heard.

I think, hm. Carolyn is a little hard to pin down for me in the details, because we really get to know so little about her compared to most of the characters, other than she's got the hots for her relatives. and I really think part of that is how ... changeable -? Carolyn is. she has that quote to Vicki: "That's me! Up and down, in and out. Never the same girl twice." And she tends to act at such a distance from who she actually is, and how she actually feels. Burke has that quote pretty early when he's categorizing everyone by drink type: "Her daughter, Carolyn, well that's strictly soda. Well, she'd like to think it was something stronger, but it's always soda." And I think that sums her up very well: that Carolyn is always pretending, or wishing, that she's more grown up than she is, or more freewheeling, or more sure of who she is.

and for me I think a key part of my understanding of Carolyn is that she exists so much through mimicry — there's acting like Liz, when she's in the hospital and the running of the house and business falls to Carolyn's shoulders; and there's acting like Buzz, dressing like him, forming the image of Rebellious Youth; or Vicki, even, when she dons her little diaphanous nightgowns and huddles close from storms and ghosts.

but the main one for me, especially early on before she starts modelling herself more off of Liz, is Roger? and I guess this is where the actual headcanon comes into play: that for a young Carolyn, who saw the extent of her mother's suffering immured in her own house, suffering for — so she thought — a husband that abandoned her, of course she's going to idolize and model herself off of her young, charming, pretty, and (seemingly) happy uncle. who spends his share of the money with the intent to enjoy it — who goes out drinking, and dancing, fucking off to Boston, or Portland, or Europe — who keeps company with those beneath him, but still every bit the bitchy bourgeoisie. and who wholeheartedly rejected and resented the ties of marriage. Carolyn, as a young girl (and even in the present day as a young woman) doesn't get a glimpse into the intricacies of his personal life, and she mostly sees the performance and the markers of fulfillment, and what she comes to see as representative of a happy, well-lived existence as a Collins — absolutely diametric to her mother's self-imprisonment.

which is not to say that she doesn't love and respect Liz — she does! — but she doesn't want to live the way she does. she likes Roger, she finds him captivating, practically reveres him: that, for her, is the ideal. so particularly as she's growing into an adult, struggling with her own sense of self-definition, she absolutely turns to the image of her uncle, and scorns the domestic fidelity and duty that has gone so unrewarded in her mother.

17. What gives this character the most comfort? for Carolyn.

Carolyn's just like her uncle in that she is So So Clingy and Touchy. not just within their pseudo-incestuous relationship, although she probably touches/kisses/hugs/etc Roger the most, but speaking broadly, and especially once Vicki is there? I can think of so many scenes where she crawls into bed next to her, takes her hand, clings to her arm, puts her arms around her, even for comfort for things to which Carolyn is supposedly accustomed, like big storms, or the house creaking, or the ghosts dancing.

and some of that's attraction (at least, in my eyes, and you don't see her being quite that touchy with Joe, most of the time). but I think in general it's a testament to the pervasive sense of the Collins isolation (near total, at the beginning!). there's a little bit of physical affection between her and her mother, but not nearly to the level that there is between her and Roger: I think you get the sense that the two of them are both just desperate for attention and touch upon his arrival back in Collinsport, and they eagerly meet that need with each other ... and Vicki. there's a sense of more being permissible with Vicki, a woman her own age (such that she can climb into bed with her during a particularly bad storm — which she can't do with Burke, or Joe, or god forbid her uncle, not without severe repercussions). and Vicki (as she is with Roger) is in the position where she's inclined to be complacent with the family that employs her, and will give them attention when they ask.

which is to say — in the absence of a robust social network or circle of close friends, in various versions of unrequited relationships with men most of the time, having spent ten years alone with her mother who loves deeply but dotes and pets sparingly, a governess she can cling to is a godsend.

2. Favorite hc for this character? for Roger.

where do I start.

I think, probably, it's that Burke and Vicki are Roger's type — poor brunettes working for, or that have worked for, his family (really — for his sister, not for him). it's partly that Collins Family Propensity for getting involved with the help — is his interest in Burke any different from Elizabeth's in Ned or Bill, or Carolyn's in Joe? great (great) uncle Quentin's, or grandpa Edward's interest in cute little ingenue governesses?

but also, importantly, that Roger is so alienated from his own class — he's moderately-wealthy, college-educated, charming, cultured! but he doesn't socialize with the upper crust. instead of finding well-to-do cocktail parties in the summer colony, he's out drinking (and driving) with a fisherman on the boats and his captain's daughter fiancée in some shitty tavern — spiriting an orphan governess to the local dive bar, or the hotel coffee shop, or Burke's hotel room at one in the morning. and that's not just slumming it: I mean, that it amuses him and he'll return to the safety of society after the fact. there is no high class social world in which he feels safe; not, anyway, as an adult. just the solitude and static wealth of Collinwood.

and flirting with people like Burke and Vicki is partly, a measure of control, in a world where he has very little of it compared to Liz, especially: he gets to knock people around a little with the Collins name, and charm them with his status, and hopefully entice them to do as he wants. fun. but I think that Roger genuinely feels rejected by his own peers and class as an unworthy younger son (the sardine to the Collins family whales) and someone perceptibly queer and Leyendecker effete. he doesn't stick the landing of postwar American masculinity, he blew his money (and blew his fisherman), and he's dependent on his sister's help: there is no refuge for Roger in classically patriarchal networks of power (such as business, or his fellow alumni).

but that's all structural — and it's doing a disservice to his attachment to Burke and Vicki to not acknowledge the personal, even if, I think, their traits are shaped strongly by their circumstances. their work ethic, devotion, their genuineness, forthrightness, and their sense of independence. which I mean both in the sense of supporting themselves — financially and morally! — and their independence from any ancestors or expectation. Burke had a little more history to contend with than Vicki, but in many ways they were both blanks to be filled in, as opposed to any Collins heir who has their story shoved in as a paragraph between others. and all these things I think Roger both resents and admires in them, and he sees in Burke and Vicki a sense of future as opposed to a decaying past.

7. What’s your favorite thing about this character? for Roger.

unserious answer: his hands

serious answer: I really have to say his allergy to sincerity that has such deep, obvious cracks in it <3 I do love his moments of being a dick and throwing around bon-mots, but the best Roger scenes (to me) are the ones in which the persona fails, and you can see how very shaken he is. for instance: fresh from cartoonishly, Rochester-ly tormenting Vicki in the West Wing, he immediately falters when he sees just how terrified she is, and you can see the realization on his face that oh no. he genuinely cares about her. see also his switch from seemingly idly brushing off concern that she's disappeared, to panic-stricken at finding her tied up in the Old House — or gasping and bolting out of the room when she vanishes during the 1795 séance. same when David's and Liz's life are threatened in the Laura arc: he practically falls to pieces over them.

for all the bickering, and bullying, and emotional distance (and sometimes blatant dislike!) he props up between himself and others, he's full of shit and it's very obvious. this is not to say that Roger is secretly a bleeding heart and he just pretends to be selfish and insufferable (he is; though not to the same exaggerated extent). but rather that there is a certain number of people he finds worth caring about, to paraphrase, and those people he cares extremely deeply for, to the extent that it cuts him like a wound

[alexanderlightweight]

I love your writing! ❤️

I was wavering between this continuation and another, but could you do one for when Alec resigns and/or retires because of Imogen declaring Jace as the HOTI?

Ah thank you so much!

I appreciate 💜

Here is more! I hope you enjoy

-

Magnus redesigns his lair the instant Alexander is deeply asleep.

First, he changes all the wards to no longer allow nephilim blooded individuals the privelege of allowing them to find his home. Which means that he’ll have to ensure Alexander is kept safely inside the wards unless portaled out, or provided with a pass to the wards.

The latter which Magnus will have to be convinced to give him, since Magnus doesn’t trust the rest of the New York Institute or the Clave to actually leave Alexander be.

First, Magnus relocates to the heart of Brooklyn rather than on the outskirts closet to Manhattan. There is no longer a need to be easily reaches and found by Alexander, and so Magnus takes his lair back to a giant, empty but well maintained apartment building that has been waiting for him to return.

Magnus creates a foyer and a waiting hall and takes the first part of the floor below what will be his and Alexander’s home and the roof and turns it into a maze of rooms. Magnus will no longer let anyone into the inner sanctum of his home beyond Cat and Ragnor.

The waiting hall won’t be used often, but it will be used and that is enough for Magnus to create it. Many of his clients meet at Pandemonium but with the shadowworld in turmoil, it will be better for them to come to Magnus. The wards ensure that he can portal any client into the foyer and the wards will keep them there, ensuring there are no nasty surprises. Any nephilim who attempt to thwart Magnus’ previous goodwill will find a nasty surprise if they hitch a ride on a portal for someone else.

Magnus hums in pleasure as he adds a little drink cart and some obscure texts that he knows will interest at least half of his clietnelle and then he ensures that no one will be able to sense or know that Alexander resides with Magnus.

It’s a mutual benefit.

Magnus doesn’t need his clients concerned and wary because a nephilim is nearby and Magnus doesn’t need to be concerned about Alexander's safety if he can’t be accessed.

As much as this is for his clients, this is also for Magnus and Alexander.

Magnus wants his boy to be safe from the reminders of the war he’s leaving behind. Because it’s possibly the bravest thing someone has ever done, just because they loved Magnus that amount.

The wards Magnus levies are to protect the integrity of his position and the secrecy of their identities.

Because Magnus’ power comes from not just his magic but his identity, how he’s known to his people and how he’s trusted because of how he’s known.

However, it’s not the only reason that Magnus is finally separating his work life from his personal life.

His identity as the High Warlock of Brooklyn will no longer be so intrinsically tied

It is also to protect the sanctity of Magnus’ lair, the home he’s building with Alexander. The intimacy of a relationship that Magnus has longed for and finally found to be so much better than his darkest hopes.

So Magnus will not let either identity interact here, where they must be separate.

Let the world see Alexander with him at Pandemonium, when they are both prepared for the roles they must now play.

But here, Alexander will never have to play a role other than the ones he wishes to.

So Magnus will ensure that both worlds are kept separate, here in the heart of his domain.

—

“So, what are the plans for today?” Magnus asks, reaching over to kiss Alexander’s brow and sighing in contentment when Alexander’s sleepily nuzzles up against Magnus’ jaw.

“I’m a retired nephilim commander.” Alexander sleepily rasps and he sounds petulant and exhausted, “you said I could just stay in your bed all day long if I ever left the Institute. What happened to that?”

Magnus freezes and swallows, because he did say that and a small part of him had even meant it. He just has tried not to think about it, because Alexander has always been very clearly focused on his goal of leadership.

Which, has just conveniently imploded.

“Well,” Magnus murmurs, voice low and dark as he pets over Alexander’s shoulder. “I did say something like that, didn’t I darling? Is that what I should do then? Keep you here? In my home? In my bed? Make sure the clave can’t ever find you again? After all, it’s not as if they deserve to have you back.”

Alexander smiles up at him, delight on his face because he will always be surprised by such sincere praise. But Magnus just wonders at how Alexander doesn’t even seem to care that Magnus is sincerely making plans now to keep his boy close and pampered and out of the war.

Because if Alexander isn’t on the side of the clave — if Magnus can keep him out of politics and fighting beyond self-protection and defense of Magnus himself — then Magnus can keep Alexander without a single worry of being distracted from protecting his own people. Magnus no longer has to worry about what will happen if they end up on opposite sides of this war.

“M’kay.” Alexander tells him, “sounds nice.” And then, Magnus’ sweet, precious boy falls back asleep, like he hasn’t just given Magnus a gift of a lifetime.

Magnus watches his sleeping form and marvels at the trust he’s being shown, the adoration he’s being given and Magnus vows to never let it go.

[tsc-malec]

“I’m so sorry about this,” he said. “It’s an emergency.”

“Um,” Alec said, hunching his shoulders, “it’s okay. I understand.”

“There’s an out-of-control werewolf in a bar near here.”

“Oh,” said Alec.

Something inside Magnus cracked. “I have to go and try to get her under control. Will you come and help me?”

“Oh, this is a real emergency?” Alec exclaimed, and brightened immeasurably. For a moment Magnus felt pleased that a maddened werewolf was ravaging downtown Manhattan, if it made Alec look like that. “I figured it was one of those things where you arranged to have a friend call you so that you could get out of a sucky date.”

“Ha ha,” said Magnus. “I didn’t know people did that.”

“Uh-huh.” Alec was already standing up, shrugging his jacket on. “Let’s go, Magnus.”

Magnus felt a burst of fondness in his chest; it felt like a small explosion, pleasant and startling at the same time. He liked how Alexander said the things that other people thought and never said. He liked how Alec called him Magnus, and not “warlock.” He liked how Alec’s shoulders moved under his jacket. (Sometimes he was shallow.)

Malec —The Course of True Love

[livealittleoc-cb]

“The rain feels so nice. An umbrella? No. I’m okay.~”

Basic Information

☽｡⋆ Name: Diego Rose

☽｡⋆ Species: Weather Warlock

☽｡⋆ From Manhattan, New York [The Human Equivalent to Escain in Astria] [Mixed Race: Colombian [Dad], African [Mum]]

☽｡⋆ He/Him | Gay, Monogamous | 26 [01/10, Aquarius] | 5’10”

☽｡⋆ Occupation: Weather Man in Astria [Schedules the Weather in the Realms], Royal Guard [Guard, Quitting Soon]

☽｡⋆ “Human” Appearance: light brown skin, curly short hair, light brown eyes, covered in freckles [trails from his entire face to his neck, shoulders && wrists], no tattoos, has studded earrings, multiple scars on his arms from training, wears male presenting clothes [sometimes feminine presenting], sweatpants, band tees, loose oversized hoodies, oversized jackets, loose t-shirts, baggy jeans, baggy cargo pants, comfortable sneakers, leather jackets, compression shirts, form fitting shirts, crop tops [sometimes], tank tops, occasionally wears makeup, tends to get his hair braided otherwise it’s in a fro or nicely formed curls, wears lots of colors mainly yellows, purples && black

☽｡⋆ Warlock Appearance && Information: Weather Warlock [Medium Magic Pool]; Weather Magic [Can control the weather && change it], light brown skin, curly short hair, sky blue eyes with yellow specks, covered in freckles [trails from his entire face to his neck, shoulders && wrists], no tattoos, has studded earrings, multiple scars on his arms from training, wears male presenting clothes [sometimes feminine presenting], sweatpants, band tees, loose oversized hoodies, oversized jackets, loose t-shirts, baggy jeans, baggy cargo pants, comfortable sneakers, leather jackets, compression shirts, form fitting shirts, crop tops [sometimes], tank tops, shorts, occasionally wears makeup, tends to get his hair braided by Marci otherwise it’s in a fro or nicely formed curls, wears lots of colors mainly yellows, purples && black

☽｡⋆ Personality: sassy asf, will take no one’s shit, heavily sarcastic, caring, soft, great listener, extroverted, can be a little shit., is caring in a direct && harsh kind of way

☽｡⋆ Likes: rain, walks, walks in the rain, the sound of rain hitting windows/the ground, the smell of wet grass, being outside, going out, rainbows, warm places when it’s cold outside, yellow && light blue shades, salty && sour foods

☽｡⋆ Dislikes: being sassed back, annoying people, doesn’t hate or dislike many things

Fun Facts

✮ Familiar[s]/Pet[s]: None But Babysits Buttons for Jay ✮ Languages: English [New Yorkian Twinge], Spanish [Less Than Basic] ✮ Abilities: Create Clouds, Rain Clouds, Sunny Days, Storms, Etc. ✮ Love Language[s]: Quality Time && Words of Affirmation [Giving && Receiving] ✮ Since he has a medium level of magic he has a harder time learning any other kind of magic outside of Weather Magic ✮ Is embarrassed if his freckles ✮ He really loves to get his hair done along with having his hair played with ✮ Has the habit of painting only his pinky nail purple or yellow ✮ Loves rainbows as much as he loves rain, it’s his next favorite thing to create ✮ His eyes can change color depending on mood; looks like the sun is glowing in his eyes with a reflective rainbow [happy], stormy grey [angry], look cloudy && turn a darker blue [sadness] ✮ Knows how to drive but tends to prefer to walk everywhere ✮ Tends to be compared to a black cat because of his sass ✮ Smells like a warm sun spot with hints of vanilla or Vanilla && or Lavender Perfume ✮ Is the sweet silence of someone listening to your every word, being attentive && holding onto each word as they enjoy your voice

NSFW

☽｡⋆ Strict Sub [Can be an Obedient or Bratty Sub]; Praise [Giving && Receiving], Man Handling [Receiving], Light Bondage [Receiving], Toys [Receiving], Oral [Giving], Light Choking [Receiving], Marking [Giving && Receiving], Nicknames/Pet Names [Receiving: Sweetheart, Baby, Sweet Boy, Etc.; Giving and Receiving], Aftercare [Receiving && Giving] [Tends to lean towards being a pillow prince. Isn’t super kinky but open to most kinks but might sub drop with harder kinks. Enjoys being taken cared of && can come off as a little selfish in bed but will do stuff in return. Loves aftercare.]

☽｡⋆ Hard Nos: feet, watersports, wasteplay

☽｡⋆ His eyes turn a deeper blue almost navy blue when arroused

☽｡⋆ Safe Word: Rain

☽｡⋆ Uses ☔️ on Dash

Relationships && Stauses

☽｡⋆ Decorating for Christmas with His Babies, Content

☽｡⋆ Happily Dating @multi-joong ☕️ Barista [The Rain to his Clouds🌧️] [02/04/23] [Engaged On: 08/20/23] [Married On: 02/03/24] [Impatient Babes🫣]

☽｡⋆ Friend[s]: Jay [Menace Everywhere🙄], Ace [Little Angel🪽], Marci [Only One Trusted with His Hair🎀]

☽｡⋆ Tags: #☔️diego.txt [General Interaction Tag], #🎶diego music [Music Inspiration], #☔️diego wants [Outside Reblogs], #🌈happy birthday weatherman [26th Birthday Tag, 01/10/24, Late Birthday], #🧡💜joongdi [Beautiful Barista Ship Tag], #☕️🐸baby frog [Beautiful Barista Ship Tag], #💍engaged to my dream man [JoongDi Engagement Tag] #💒the love of my life [JoongDi Wedding Tag]

☽｡⋆ Faceclaim: @/taylorkarknott on Instagram

[kat-is-laem-oa]

Chapter 6: Park Slope

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Eljah’s phone woke him up around noon—too early. Being angry so fresh into consciousness was not the move.

“Rafa, I swear to the God that’s forsaken us, I will throw you into the first patch of sunlight I see. I was out late last night. I need-”

“This is actually Magnus.” Giggles were heard, the warlock’s amusement on display. In hindsight, it was too early for Raphael to be awake either. Who else could it have been?

“Oh, shit,” he groaned, stuffing his face into the neighboring pillow.

“It’s alright, dove. Maybe I should’ve let you get more sleep before I called.” Eljah murmured, flipping his entire body over and rubbing his nose bridge with his fingers.

“No, you’re fine, Magnus. What did you need help with?” He lifted himself up, discomforted by feeling the blood rush through his body and exhaustion present from last night that he hadn’t acknowledged before going to sleep. After throwing off his blanket, he went looking for the stele he assumed was still in his clothing.

“Who says I need help with anything? I can’t just want to call you?” Magnus sounded almost flirty.

Eljah wished he had another answer. He hadn’t made connections for almost five decades, or at least not any that weren’t business-only. It’s embarrassing to tell such a recognizable warlock that you’re a loser.

“Nobody besides Rafa calls me for anything besides assistance, to be honest.”

“That’s unfortunate. I’ll have to fix that.” If Eljah hadn’t muted himself, Magnus could’ve heard the strangled scream he held back. “If you’d like me to, of course.”

“Uh, cool, cool,” his subconscious screamed shut the fuck up, Eljah, “yeah, that would be… nice?”

“I’m glad. I do have a proposition for you, though. Would you be interested in having drinks later? I’ve asked Alexander, but he seems too busy. Said he’ll join us some other time.”

“Oh, I’m the backup, huh?” Eljah feigned humor, rather disappointed in reality. Magnus and Alec were both attractive men, and while Alec had confusing vibes around sexuality, Eljah was sure they’d work around it. He let his enthusiasm get the better of him and felt disheartened yet again. But Magnus didn’t give him time to overthink any more.

“You were never the backup, darling. I wanted to invite you both out.” Oh.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh! That’s… sweet of you, really.” He could hear Magnus’ hushed laughing again, Eljah’s unease growing. Out of habit, he swiped the outgrown hair behind his ear, jolting at the heat in his cheeks. He felt dumber as the call carried on.

“I’ll buy you dinner. How’s 7:00?”

Eljah cleared his throat and kicked his hanging feet back and forth off the bed. “I’d love that. I have to shower, so I’ll talk to you later.”

The last thing Magnus said was, “think of me fondly,” before hanging up.

Eljah’s body screenshotted itself with the effort to not squeal. A couple of books on his corner shelf sprawled across the floor and the curtains blew open comedically. That wasn’t a very calm and detached reaction, and he was incredibly grateful for the privacy of his room.

—

Investing time to take walks for his “mental health” was Eljah’s new hobby. Exploring random parts of Manhattan and Brooklyn combined, no matter the distance, he walked until he couldn’t anymore. Anyone else would have viewed this as self-punishment. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Eljah just let his body take control so his mind wouldn’t.

Eljah overused his endurance rune to the point Raphael told him it was abuse. It was easy to push himself beyond his limits and erase it with a swipe of his stele, just to progress further into a shutdown. He wasn’t used to having someone keep him in check, offer help, or care.

Raphael had begun calling once the vampire realized he’d left the DuMort with no destination in mind (again). It’s like he’d developed a sense for Eljah’s exact location, always knowing when he took off.

Eljah didn’t feel like picking up, burrowed in the depths of his brain and debating whether he was worth Magnus’ time, or anyone’s, for that matter. He always had amazing days followed by harrowing nights, or months without an episode, followed by lockdowns in the DuMort. The seesaw of emotions felt unbecoming and burdensome, which only added onto the weight his shoulders bore constantly.

Eljah had maintained composure and stability throughout the preceding hours he roamed, but the stress seized him upon conveniently passing an alley of lofts. He trudged over and plopped onto the nearby stairs, breath pulling away from him as stars swirled in his vision.

He could hear mumbles of angry conversation close by, but he couldn’t focus as he fumbled through his pockets looking for his stele. It wasn’t in his sweatpants pockets or hidden within his shoe. The yelling changed direction.

Eljah assumed his dizziness was only fatigue from wandering, but as his gaze blurred, pools of silver washed over his eyes and the muscles in his neck tensed.

It always felt gross, viscous, and seizing when he got visions and more so when he hadn’t received them for a time. His last was on the anniversary of his father’s death. It happened in a Brooklyn club, just outside of East Harlem, where the Hotel DuMort resided. He couldn’t remember the name, nor did he care, busy rolling a joint in the bathroom (not his finest or most hygienic move).

His head had shot up like usual, body lax against the folded toilet seat and unmoving like an exorcism (or so he’d heard). He saw nothing at first, random shapes, colors, and static taking peculiar forms behind his eyelids. And then altogether he saw bright lights and felt a heavy heartbeat.

He was in the body of a teenage boy, walking down a familiar road lined with dark alleys and aimlessly placed restaurants. He saw the key-shaped sign with yellow lettering, shaded but readable. That, alongside the iconic and recognizable “R” painted on the sign, informed him this young boy was outside Hotel DuMort. He seemed wobbly and all-too-giggly, which might’ve been fine if he wasn’t so young and completely alone.

He could sense danger nearby, auras packed like sardines in the distance; vampires waiting for an unsuspecting snack. Everyone needed to eat, or in their case, feed, but this innocent boy wouldn’t become dinner if Eljah could help it.

This would be one of the few times he fought with his fellow residents. He understood their needs, their situation. But the undead morals often needed checked.

His body released, muscles and jaw unclenching with the rush of energy leaving fast enough it made his head spin. Trying hard to move his limbs despite their resistance, he stumbled forward, catching on the stall door and snatching it open. He could save this kid if he just pushed forward. He snapped his fingers repeatedly as he faced the tiled wall, trying to spark his magic and watching the portal form and dispel again. His hands were icy, but the magic was heating him up.

He feared when he got the portal open that he’d been too late. His visions rotated between the past, present, and future at random. He shot out with newfound energy as he exited the portal and flexed his hands forward to release a burst of power. The group of vampires were like mosquitoes in summer, rushing at the dazed young boy. Eljah’s burst sent them stumbling back and cowering like the young boy they’d attempted to catch until they realized who he was.

“This is a child! How could you!?” Eljah shouted fiercely. He was beyond angry at their lack of compassion for a human at the dawn of their life.

“We could smell him. He shouldn’t have walked down our alley,” a random vamp Eljah couldn’t remember the name of spoke up.

“So according to your logic, your brothers and sisters should get executed for innocently walking past the Institute’s steps?” Referencing their mortal enemy only annoyed the other, small party more.

“Who cares?”

“You should,” Raphael startled the crowd and Eljah, vamps backing away to huddle near the DuMort entrance. With his usual rasp and lack of emotion, he reminded, “this is a mundane, you can’t hunt them for fun. If you break the accords and hurt a human, that provokes execution by the Clave.” Raphael flicked his eyes over to meet Eljah’s, who had hints of silver lining the veins of his eyes, sporting his dominant emotion like a stroke of paint and mirroring his natural hair.

Eljah felt guilty, despite having nothing to do with the situation. “Fix this,” he whispered desperately at Raphael’s side. The other shared the same sentiments, but avoided eye contact because of the mess his kin made.

The young boy was breathing sporadically, pure terror illustrated on his face. His glasses made him look even younger, breaking Eljah’s heart more. When Raphael approached him, the teenager backed himself against the wall.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise,” hands up in submission. “What’s your name?”

“S… Simon. It’s Simon. What the hell are you people!?”

“It’s okay, Simon. My people made a mistake. They didn’t mean to hurt you.” Raphael made his body level with the young boy. His eyes gazed into Simon’s and formed a connection. Encanto is what it was called. A vampire’s ability to attach and command another being’s mind. He was using Encanto to ensure Simon wouldn’t remember this and possibly blab to the whole of New York that vampires and warlocks existed (Eljah liked to pretend he was doing it for Simon’s well-being and sanity).

They’d flocked the den members back into the hotel and placed Simon outside the alleyway. Raphael and Eljah waited just inside the darkness for confirmation of the mundane’s condition. Simon woke up and stretched as if he’d just risen out of bed, adorable in Eljah’s eyes. Two women called out from afar, Simon giggling while hailing them. He’d successfully made it out safely, thanks to Raphael and Eljah.

Although Eljah was physically on the stairs in the middle of Park Slope, Brooklyn, he mentally found himself locked in a storage room, faded blue lockers lining one wall and frantic scratches clawed into another. The body seemed familiar energetically, wildly pacing between thin red bars and the previous surfaces with a phone raised high. They were attempting to call someone and when the line picked up they exclaimed, “Oh, I thought I’d never utter these words, but thank God it’s you! It’s me, Simon.”

Well… how many Simons do you think live in New York?

“Where are you? Where’s Clary?” The audio was mush to Eljah, but the names and voices were familiar enough to fill in the missing details.

“I don’t know. Some Chinese restaurant, I think?” He stuttered as he tried to explain, frustrating Eljah as he spent more time panicking than looking for clues as to his whereabouts. “This cop Alaric arrested us, but it was a total fake-out! Him and his buddy, they took us- They took us to their hangout and then they told Clary that they’ll kill her if they don’t find the Cup!”

“Just calm down, all right? Tell us what you see!” Simon acknowledged and rushed to the only window near him, jumping on a surface to gaze at a pier below, passing the information on to the caller.

“There’s a ton of water. Uh… I see lockers and…” startling when he found the deep claw marks embedded into the grain of the walls. “I’m in some sort of torture chamber! There are claw marks all over the walls!”

Mumbles sounded over the phone before someone said, “okay, Simon. You need to get more specific. Tell us what you see. Help us find you.”

Simon was growing angry and his aura was bursting into flames of red and gray reminiscent of Eljah’s hair strands. “There’s nothing else that can help—Wait! Hold on, hold on!” Calming substantially as he uncovered stacks of paper in a locker.

Eljah could see the Jade Wolf Chinese Restaurant logo in the middle of an old cocktail guide, vision fading now that’d seen what he needed to, alongside his strength. He was crawling out of his skin, trying to get out of the vision that was no longer of quality. He gasped for air, unknowingly notifying one of the very callers Simon was contacting.

Isabelle heard the gasps and cries, hair flocking to her back as she flipped around. Jace was finishing his call with Simon, saying, “we’re on our way.” As desperate as Izzy was to collect her newfound friends, a stranger in need also warranted help.

“Guys, something’s wrong. Do you hear that??” She brought attention to the croaks outside the alleyway. She took off, Jace and Alec desperately chasing after her after sharing an eye roll. When breaching the corner, Izzy did not expect to see Eljah seized up on the concrete stairs, but as she did, she cried out for him.

“Eljah? Eljah, what’s wrong?” She felt his forehead and neck before turning his head lightly, anything to diagnose his fit. Jace and Alec stood with drawn eyebrows and unintentionally flared noses. Izzy’s alarm grew as she pushed his hair out of the way and stared into his silver eyes.

“I’ve never seen something like this. Someone help me, I don’t know what to do!” Isabelle shouted. Both men rushed forward to help with Jace flocking to his back to support his head and Alec replacing Izzy in front of him.

Eljah genuinely believed he’d activated his luck rune at some point today, because the very shadowhunters supporting his body now was a one in a million blessing. Most notably, Alec was brushing the hair back off Eljah’s face, whispering his name repeatedly. It sounded heavenly coming from Alec’s mouth. He never particularly liked his name, but it sounded beautiful when Alec said it.

“Hey, hey,” he comforted, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Do we need to get Magnus?” Isabelle asked. Eljah shook his head harshly, catching his breath now that his muscles were releasing. His head dropped forward and the silver clouds dispersed.

Stele.

Stele.

Stele.

He kept trying, forming the words, but unsure if they came out right.

“Where’s your healing rune?” Alec pressed on, understanding the mumbles between sputtering coughs. Eljah rolled up his left sleeve and extended his arm. Alec rested a firm hand on the man’s right shoulder as he activated the rune that burned as usual. “I got him, guys. Go get Simon and Clary.” He ordered. It was getting dark and Eljah already felt overexposed like an old polaroid, thankful Alec was staying.

All shadowhunters smelled like hints of sunlight to Eljah, but Alec had a touch of the freshest linen and a basic cologne. It stabilized him further as the healing kicked in. The other two shadowhunters ran off together, Eljah wondering how Isabelle could move so fast in heels.

“You should go with them,” Eljah told Alec. “I don’t know how far the restaurant is, and Clary and Simon are more important than me.” Alec looked puzzled and froze.

“How did you know that? Eljah, how did you know where they were?”

“Heard you… from over here.” He lied poorly. “Endurance is on my lower back. Pass your stele, please.” Trying to maintain composure despite embarrassing himself. Alec conceded and huffed, retrieving his phone from his commonly worn jacket and subduing the stele into the outstretched hand. Endurance didn’t sting like Iratze did, and Eljah surrendered his body to lie back on the stairs.

“I’m calling Magnus.” At the sound of ringing, Eljah shot up, forgetting how to act and reaching for the phone. Alec was faster. Much faster.

“No! We have plans later. I don’t want to ruin them…” Alec looked considerate but didn’t respond.

“Magnus. I need your help.”

“What’s wrong, Alexander?”

“I don’t really know. Eljah collapsed and was seizing. I just- are you home?” Alec guided Eljah back down without looking by the hand still connecting to his shoulder.

“Send me your location. I’ll portal as close as I can.”

Alec said nothing more, and the two ended the call. Beeps sounded from the phone and Alec sighed once again. Eljah was staring up at him, unsure of what to do, and Alec shared the same sentiment as he looked down. Time passed before Alec realized he was still holding onto the smaller man and it was like he’d touched sunlit metal with how fast he pulled back. He mumbled sorry before moving to sit further away. Disappointment filled Eljah, and the two waited together for Magnus’ arrival.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Multiple uploads coming your way! (Borderline spam cause I've been WORKING HARD).

[flashfuture]

I've never read Captain America comics. What are the comic differences to the mcu ?

For Steve specifically honestly not too much it's Bucky who got parts of him shaved off. Steve is pretty solid. They did move Steve from being from the Lower East Side of Manhattan to Brooklyn. Idk why maybe to escape the fact that Steve was definitely a communist. Kidding... mostly But they did shy heavily away from Steve's immigrant parents/first generation American status which was kind of important to the character.

Main big difference is it's frowned upon to let children fight in wars so Bucky was no longer a 12 year old soldier but a real adult who grew up as Steve's bestie.

The way Bucky died was also different. So the 60s death for Bucky was Steve and Bucky in 1945 were trying to disarm a missile/rocket thing but couldn't so they bailed out. Steve dropped off but Bucky's arm got stuck and Steve had already let go and couldn't get up to help him again and it was a whole disaster of him seemingly watching Bucky explode.

Bucky also famously trained Red Room assassins and was in a relationship with Natasha. I know lots of fans were bummed about this not being adapted.

Steve finding the Winter Soldier and getting Bucky his memories back right before Civil War that's all correct. Falcon and Sharon being there too yep.

The entire Civil War arc in the comics was on the basis of well established anti mutant sentiments. They didn't have this in the mcu so it was off the wall. The sides were correct. Steve opposed it Tony was for it. But then they kind of gave Sharon's grief (Winter Soldier killed a friend of hers) to Tony in the mcu. Tony in the comics didn't know about Bucky till after Civil War. Another main thing the MCU changed is that Maria Hill isn't an insanely evil person

Yeah so here's the big kicker uh the end of Civil War. So in the comics Steve while fighting Tony was doing it in the streets and the people of New York famously bigoted against mutants were begging Steve to stop. Realizing fighting Tony like this wasn't helping save anyone Steve surrendered. However as he was being escorted away he was shot and killed by Crossbones on Red Skull's order. Steve fucking died. Tony and a few other older Avengers reburied Steve in the arctic which is insane IMO.

And Tony in the comics did receive a post Civil War package from Steve like in the movie. However the package was a picture of Steve and Bucky with Steve's final request to Tony being to save Bucky. Cause 616 Steve had figured he might die during the Civil War event. Bucky, Thor, and Wolverine had also at that point in the comics vowed to avenge Steve. Then Mr Fanstastic or whoever revived Steve idr

Also "Infinity War" happened in 1991-1993 before all of the shit I just listed above which actually was completely different. The arc the Infinity War + End Game movie was the first one called Infinity Gauntlet which took place in 1991 and Adam Warlock was kind of glaringly absent lmao. Hulk sort of took over the Silver Surfer's role though which was cool ! Nebula's entire role in that disaster (she was also a bad guy) was taken out. They didn't do the actual 1992 Infinity War arc but clearly liked the name more LOL. And Steve is fine still to this day so !

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

DORO Rules Out Retirement: 'There's No Other Life'

In a new interview with Belgian Jasper, German metal singer Doro Pesch, who formed her previous band WARLOCK four decades ago, was asked if she he has ever contemplated retirement. The 59-year-old musician responded (as transcribed by BLABBERMOUTH.NET): "I'm thinking 24 hours about new songs, about the record, about the tour, about festivals. There's no other life. I grew up with horses, and I miss having pets in my life… But to me, I made up my mind when I was 24. I was living for 20, 25 years in Manhattan. One day I woke up and I thought, 'Okay, today I wanna choose my priorities,' and then it was very clear. I wanna live for the music and then nothing else. And then it was okay."

She continued: "I'm so happy that I made that decision, because before I thought, 'Yeah, I wanna have this and I wanna have pets and horses and dogs and maybe I wanna have kids and maybe I wanna have a husband.' But you can't. You have to make a decision, in my case, and that's the reason why I never married. I don't have any kids, but I have all the fans, and I feel like we are a big family. And I always feel so good in each and every country, in each and every city. And that's definitely a dream. Like doing music for such a long time. Oh, I didn't think that we would do it more than five, six, seven years."

[irigy]

( daniel sharman / 285 / he/they ) — it’s been a while since we’ve seen ambrose moonglade in the shadow world. the warlock resides in new york and reminds us of the scent of freshly blown out candles with rain and expensive perfume, the exciting arrogance that comes over you when you know you aced a test and caffeine induced trembling of hands as they move as delicately as possible clutching onto the pen with which you sign your name. rumor has it that they might have an affiliation to the downworld as high warlock of manhattan, but only time will tell where their loyalties really lie. until then, only one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the scholar

Basic Information

Full Name: ambrose moonglade

Nickname(s): oz

Age: 285

Gender: demi man

Pronouns: mostly he/him, sometimes they/them, it all depends on the day

Orientation: panromantic demisexual

Species: warlock

Occupation: high warlock of manhattan

Language(s) Spoken: english, french, russian, latin, italian, chthonian

Accent: british

Physical Appearance

Hair Colour: dirty-blond

Eye Colour: blue

Height: 6’2

Usual Expression: probably a rbf

Body modifications: small gauges in both ears, nose ring, tattoos of evocation circles on torso

Warlock mark: tiefling tail + forked tongue

Usual style: the only color he wears other than black is navy blue. very androgynous goth bitch style, flowy robes, long skirts, combat boots, turtle necks, hakama style pants etc. lots of accessories

Health

Physical Ailments: asthma + lactose intolerance

Developmental disabilities: ASD

Emotional Stability: 8/10

Sociability: verrrry introverted

Body Temperature: he's a warm boy

Personality

Positive Traits: honest, kind, bold, perceptive, intelligent

Negative Traits: stubborn, impulsive, reckless, over-achiever

Myers-Briggs personality type: INTP

Headcanons

He doesn’t talk about his family, mostly because there isn’t much to talk about. He was put into an orphanage at a very young age. He was bad at making friends, always an outsider, didn’t pick up on social cues that easily, but he was very good at school. Always has been. 

Ever since his powers began to show and he learned of the downworld, he’s been obsessed with magic. He needed to know everything about it, wanted to know about the history, the science behind it all. Which is why he spent most of his life in the Spiral Labyrinth, which is where he acquired most of his arcane knowledge. 

He is rather competitive, constantly feeling as if he is put against his fellow scholars. He tends to be over-ambitious, he’ll choose studying over sleep, then glamour the dark-circles away. 

His ascension to the position of high warlock of manhattan is unexpected at the least. He is younger than warlocks who usually take this position, so naturally there's a lot of speculation, ppl say he's too inexperienced, to which he says NUH UH!!! read his academic essays and you'll see 💅💅💅

he can come off as conceited and pretty annoying but honestly he's a sweetheart <3 very helpful, and even if he doesn't know how to help at first, give him 48 hours and he'll be an expert on the topic

you might think hey how is he so hot and terminally single?? well he's a yapper. talks way too much, is kinda awkward, nobody gets the nerd rizz, and even if they do, he needs to be trained, his priorities are all over the place.

[macbethz]

there are a few characters out there where im genuinely the only person producing fanart and its like ok. those aren't my ocs they were still birthed by whoever made them but they live in my house now. i can do whatever i want & it becomes canon to me because those are my guys. they're also basically like ocs in that people engage with them as a little treat for me

[marveltalesfeaturing]

Adam Warlock walks the streets of Manhattan!

Adam Warlock was created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby— and, a few years later, reinvented by Roy Thomas and Gil Kane.

[jefferyryanlong]

Infinite Pau Hana - January 18, 2022

“billy they don’t like you to be so free”

Hour 1

Main Title Theme (Billy) - Bob Dylan House of Glass - Warlocks Pow R. Toc H. - Pink Floyd Talking to the Grass - Curly Putman Surf’s Up - The Beach Boys Late Letter - Pete McCabe The Lantern - The Rolling Stones Morning Dew - Jeff Beck Need Your Love - Cheap Trick Redondo Beach - Patti Smith

Hour 2

Ojos Del Soul - Y La Bamba Nuestra Tema - Silvio Rodriguez Sampa - Caetano Veloso Nao Identificado - Gal Costa La Premier Bonheur Du Jour - Os Mutantes South American Getaway - Burt Bacharach Love Song for the Dead Che - The United States of America Cotton Eyed Joe - Terry Callier Send in the Clowns (live) - Cleo Laine Little Girl Blue - Lena Horne The Body Breaks - Devendra Banhart  Moon River - Frank Ocean Mourning Dove - Jon McKiel

Hour 3

Come on Feel the Illinoise! - Sufjan Stevens Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois - Sufjan Stevens Snow Is Falling in Manhattan - Purple Mountains I’m Getting Back into Getting Back into You - Silver Jews Hold Out for Love - James Yorkston, Nina Persson, and the Second Hand Orchestra Hometown Hero* - Andy Shauf Animal Kingdom Chaotic - Jesca Hoop Butchie’s Tune - The Lovin’ Spoonful Got a Feelin’ - The Mamas and the Papas  SOS - ABBA This Magic Moment - The Drifters Dreaming - Sun Ra and the Cosmic Rays My Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains - Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band Watercolours Into the Ocean - Destroyer

* - by request

KTUH - 90.1 FM Honolulu, 91.1 FM North Shore, ktuh.org

[alexesguerra]

Necronomicon Spellbook Necronomicon Spellbook Mass Market Paperback – October 1, 1998 by Simon (Editor) --Brand New Copies-- The mighty powers invoked by this eldritch tome are really long-forgotten psychic abilities, able to affect the most basic needs and desires, including Love, Wealth, Peace of Mind, and Protection Agains Enemies. But now comes a guide that enables anyone to pick up the book and use its ineluctable power "without fear or risk" according to editor Simon. About the Author Simon is a student of magic, occultism, and religion since the mid-1960s and the editor of the Necronomicon, Simon was a frequent lecturer for the famed Warlock Shop in Brooklyn and the Magickal Childe Bookstore in Manhattan for more than ten years before his sudden disappearance in 1984, speaking on topics as diverse as religion and politics, occultism and fascism, ceremonial magic, demonolatry, the Tarot, the Qabala, and Asian occult systems. He also conducted private classes for the New York City OTO during this period, with a focus on Enochian magic, "Owandering bishops," and Afro-Caribbean occult beliefs. An ordained priest of an Eastern Orthodox church, Simon has appeared on television and radio discussing such topics as exorcism, satanism, and Nazism. The media events he organized in the 1970s and 1980s -- with rock bands, ritual performances, and celebrity appearances -- helped to promote the "occult renaissance" in New York City. After decades of study in European, Asian, and Latin American cult centers, this book marks his first public appearance in more than twenty years. Product details Mass Market Paperback: 123 pages Publisher: Avon; 1ST edition (October 1998) Language: English ISBN-10: 0380731126 ISBN-13: 978-0380731121 Product Dimensions: 4.2 x 0.3 x 6.8 inches Shipping Weight: 0.3 ounces