#against her. did the mother superior make her use up all her magic to heal her fellow sharrans before she was punished so she couldn’t heal?

[selunesfavouriteprincess]

I think way too much about how Shadowheart was the healer on her Sharran mission. like she wasn’t infiltrating or in charge of combat or breaking and entering, she was preventing death and curing wounds. I need someone smarter than me to analyse this properly but just like. she was trained to torture and cause pain and yet what she’s good at is healing, is relieving the injured of their pain and making them better.

[acourtofthought]

How It All Comes Together

(contains spoilers for all series)

I have so many posts at this point. So. Many. Posts 😂 And they all touch upon a lot of the same information but I wanted to put every headcannon I've got in one place in the order of events (though the order of events within each book is flexible) that I think could happen.

I have no idea if any or even one will turn out to be accurate but when I combine her interviews, books, and Q&A sessions together, this is how the information seems to best fit together and makes sense to me.

Starting with an Elucien book:

"Let's focus on healing one sister then the other."

Elucien will restore spring together -

My father would think twice before standing against an army of superior strength and size.

"But Tamlin is already hanging by a thread. You and Lucien have made it clear that he's barely improved this past year" "With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces"

"No. But we need to summon Lucien," Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn't like it one bit. "We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears."

"I am the first one the others look to - I set the example"

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring"

But Elain...The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. / Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place. And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she'd placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess - perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn't let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there.

"She pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he'd tried to bring into the world."

Elain and Lucien will perform in Calanmai aka Fire Night together -

"There's a ritual. But it's...very faerie." / "From their coupling, magic will be released and spread to the earth, where it will regenerate life for the year to come."

It was Spring, and yet it wasn't. / Distant - because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. / The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. / The Spring Court had felt stagnant. Hollow. Empty ..

"It's his (her) instincts that select her (him)."

"I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court."

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that....fire.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts.

Elain will be able to shift into an owl (shifting being a marker of the Spring Court) -

"Your Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting"

"And once you were in this body, you couldn't change?"

Elain was again at my side, I hadn't heard her steps.

Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain cocked her head.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her.

"You came," Elain said behind her and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth - Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck. (How did she make it to Nesta in time when she was in the far reaches of their camp?

"Glamour for what?" "To look normal." "Being a High Lord, comes with physical markers too. It's why I couldn't hide what I was becoming from my brohters - from anyone. It's still easier to blend it." / "I think she's got you beat for secret-keeping"

Elain, Lucien, Vassa, and Jurian will find a way to get those on the continent to sign the treaty -

We need the humans in others territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace.

"He's spent months helping them sort out the politics of who rules Prythian's slice of the human lands."

"He'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people"

"My sister can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles."

"She (Mor) was still trying to convince them to sign the new treaty."

"I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

"At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more.

"Jurian..." "Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. "He's keeping everything running. I think he'd have been crowned king by now if it wasn't for Vassa."

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long.

"And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?

"She didn't used to be that way." "She loved balls and parties."

but Elain had taken charge of planning

Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”. / “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

Eris will join Elain and Lucien on the continent, not only to free Vassa and stop Koschei / Beron but to retrieve Mor and for their past to finally be dealt with (their past being a possible mating bond between them which is why he set her free)-

"My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too."

"I wanted to feel out Vassa and Jurian." He didn't mention his brother, oddly enough. "But they clearly know little about this."

But as Eris strode by...I could have sworn there was something like sadness - like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

But Vassa's freedom would end. Lucien had said as much months ago, and still visited her often enough that I knew nothing in that regard had improved. She would have to return to the lake, to the sorcerer-lord who kept her prisoner, sold to him by the very queens who had again gathered in their joint castle. Formerly Vassa's castle too.

"Tell my Vassa I'm waiting"

"Lucien stared out the window - as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target."

"But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?"

"Mor left for Vallahan this morning and is out of our daemati magic's range."

"She knows the truth but has never revealed it" "Why?" "Because she's afraid of it."

"You're not the person I want to explain myself to." "I doubt Mor will want to listen." (as for a Mor love interest, I think Emerie could be a possibility but I also think the Golden Queen is another option. As her hair and eyes were taken, there's a chance she was made into something new and Elain said "she's not dead, only changed as I was". I don't think she's talking about Vassa. There's also a line where Mor claim she's always be drawn to things that were wild and free)

I think Elain will be the one to break Vassa's curse which I don't think is a curse at all but a Valg infection. If she can heal as Yrene did than we know a healers light can banish the infection from someone's blood. (I have a longer post on this but this is the Cliffs Notes version) -

I'd never seen such spell work. I'd sent my power over her, Helion too, hunting for any possible threats to unbind it. I found none. It was if the curse was woven into her very blood.

"Black fire raced down his blood" (Chaols Valg infection)

"Will many of these soldiers die?"

Amren was holding Elain upright as she vomited in the grass. Not from the Caldron. But pure terror.

Elain rushed to Cassian. / Nesta was watching them when I reached her and Elain at the tree-lined outskirts. Had she done some healing, somehow, in those moments after she'd severed the king's head? / I didn't ask my sister, and she supplied no answer as she took the water bucket dangling from Elain's still bloody hands.

I think Lucien and Eris will finally kill Beron -

"Beron tortured you?"

Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him.

"The same things he does now." "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them."

"I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch."

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege - on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien's lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn't he do?

And Cassian didn't need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction. "I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation." "I think you might even be a good male." "You're just too much of a coward to act like one."

Lucien will finally discover Helion is his father -

But not the gift of Helion. His true father. I still hadn't mentioned it. To anyone other than Rhys.

In the taut silence, Helion nodded to the bright hall beyond the room. "I would like to remove myself from the Mask's odious presence, and perhaps enjoy your palace, Rhysand. It's been a long while since I was in a place of such quiet. If you'll allow it, I'll stay here for an hour or two." "Something bothering you at home?" Rhys inquired, falling into step beside the High Lord.

I think Elain, if she has healing powers (not to mention her affinity for growing things), will be the one to help the Pegasus. This would provide her a purpose in Day and even connects her to the land where the Prison is located) -

Helion's most beloved pair - this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate - hadn't produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn't made it out of weaning before he'd succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy.

According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon - had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them was no longer.

She found flowers - somewhere.

It's possible that if she does travel to the Prison, she'll also find where Koschei's box is located (possibly the box that possesses his soul) -

"There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything...save for them. The girls."

"Maybe...." "Part of me wonders if the Prison was either built or stocked with it's inmates to hide the Harp's (onyx box?) presence. There are so many terrible powers here, and the wards on the mountain itself. I wonder if someone hid the Harp (onyx box?) knowing that it'd never be noticed with so much awful magic around it."

"These are like no wards I've felt before." "They feel old. Incredibly old." "They probably predate this place being used as a prison (remember, we learn that the courts were not actually formed until after the Prison was made).

"But Koschei is as old as the sea - older." "I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself it's master. As he once tried to do, (hint that Koschei is Asteri / possible Valg?) long ago." "Those are legends that predate our courts."

Lucien will help infiltrate the castle where the other Queens had been staying. Not only did the castle once belong to Vassa but if Koschei's soul is not hidden in the prison, maybe it's hidden there -

"I told you; their castle is too heavily warded, and full of magical traps that would trip up even Helion."

I do think it's possible that Koschei will be defeated in an Elucien book and I think it's possible Lucien's fire will fail him in that scene causing him to tap into his Day powers in full -

"I was getting worried you'd never approach. Poor Eris would have met a very sorry end if that had been the case. His fire wouldn't have withstood Koschei's lake, I don't think."

Maybe Lucien will also be the one to help Rhys and Feyre undo the bargain that links their lives to one another -

"Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain - if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.

I believe Eris will step into power as High Lord of Autumn by the end of an Elucien book. I also wonder if when they think everything has calmed in the rest of Prythian and the continent, they'll visit Feyre and Rhys only to be informed of Bryce having landed in Velaris (and her subsequent return to Midgard). This will set up the either the final spin-off (not sure if SJM still plans on having the third spin-off set in the past which she mentioned as a possibility in interviews) or the next round of ACOTAR books, some from the ones she was contracted for in her latest 4 book deal. -

A Gwynriel book would then follow -

I think Az's story will first tackle his past with Mor. If she is ready to admit to the truths Eris spoke of in SF in an Elucien book then she'll finally be in a place to have the conversation she needs to with Az -

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

I think the majority of his arc will deal with his hatred of the Illyrians, and now their issues with the Valkyries, possibly ending with Rhys leaving him charge of overseeing them in a more permanent position -

Perhaps we needed a permanent presence out here, until the Illyrians remembered things like consequences. / But the war had impacted us all, and with the rebuilding, with the human territories crawling out to meet us, with other Fae kingdoms looking toward a wall-less world and wondering what shit they could get away with...We didn't have the resources to station somewhere out here. Not yet. Perhaps next summer, if the climate elsewhere was calm enough.

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly.

It was healthy, perhaps, for Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.

Az might hunt down Bryaxis who I believe is the thing that guarded a portal to Hel that exists in the library. I think we'll see Bryce enter the portal in CC3 or Aidas exit it and they'll realize they need to close it back up -

"Do you want me to hunt it down?" An easy, unruffled question. "Let Bryaxis enjoy the Solstice as well," I said. A rare smile curled Az's mouth. "Generous of you."

"No, but..." Gwyn's swallow was audible. "I can feel something. Like a cat. Small and clever and curious. It's watching.

And then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but...a womb. The womb from which all life and come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. Nesta. Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. Nesta. It slid along her bones, her blood. She had to pull back. Pull away. The darkness pulsed, beckoned.

"The House is good." Nesta breathed. "Is it?" Nesta considered. "The darkness in the pit of the library - it's the heart of the House." Amren nodded. "And where is it now?" "It hasn't made an appearance in weeks. But it's still there. I think it's just...being managed. Maybe the House's knowledge that I'm aware of it, and didn't judge it, makes it easier to keep in check."

I think Gwyn may be a cousin of Eris's (maybe Lucien) which will cause conflict between she and Az as he'll struggle to let go of his prejudices toward Eris (and Lucien) while she will want to build a relationship with the only blood family she has left -

"My grandmother was a river-nymph who seduced a High Fae male from the Autumn Court."

Gwyn will have siren powers that she can use to do her bidding against enemies -

Something beckoned in Gwyn's song, in a way the other's hadn't.

Gwyn's voice rose again, holding such a high note it was like a ray of pure light, piercing and summoning.

Like Gwyn was calling only to her.

"I barely outran that one as I led it toward the camp. My timing was just good luck, though."

Gwyn will pull both Narben and the miniature manuscript from the sea. Seeing as how the book is one of the first printed books in existence, I think it will contain information that will be necessary for future threats to their world -

She would have kept it secret. I only heard from a fleeing water-nymph that it had been done."

"When it would not bend to her, she destroyed it." "It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war."

A miniature illuminated manuscript, crafted by the skilled hands of the smallest of the lesser Fae- one of the first printed books in existence. / He regretted throwing it into the river the moment it had vanished under the ice, but he'd been foolish that night.

I think Gwyn's song may also be able to draw Azriel back, in the chance he has a different form and maybe that's what he meant when he made the comment that he sings. That he too needs to sing in order to pull himself from his "beast" side -

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

I think you'll find that Az is even less forgiving than I am." "With that pretty face?" she crooned. "I have a hard time believing it."

"They were shape-shifters who dwelled in the lakes and rivers and lured unwitting people into their arms. And after the drowned them, they feasted." Nesta stared toward the bog's black surface. "And they live in there?" "They vanished hundreds of years before we were born," Cassian said firmly. They're a myth whispered around fires, and a warning for children not to play near the water. But no one knows where they went. Most were hunted, but the survivors..." He conceded with a nod to Azriel. / "Just don't go running after a beautiful white horse or a pretty-faced young man and you'll be fine."

I think Merrill will be the main villain in Gwynriels story. That we'll find she had been in contact with Koschei before his defeat and gone searching for other survivors in other worlds at his command. She'll be the one responsible for helping them enter their world -

"There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They'll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I'll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove."

"But know that Briallyn and the others sold me to him not through their devices, but his. By words he planted in their courts, whispered on the winds."

"I am descended from Labath, Lord of the Western Wind," Merrill seethed. "Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am no lackey to be dismissed."

"Midgard is a base. We opened the doors to other worlds to lure their citizens here." "But we also opened the doors so we might conquer those other worlds as well." "Your Starborn ancestors shut the gates to stop us from invading their realm once more and reminding them who their true masters are. And in the process, they shut the gates to all other worlds, including those to Hel, their stalwart allies. And so we have been trapped here. Cut off from the cosmos. All that is left of our people, though our mystics beneath this palace have long sought to find any other survivors, any planets where they might be hiding."

"Merrill's brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms - different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can't even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself." "Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas."

so she supposed that two would take them perhaps a bit farther than that, and Velaris … Well, it seemed like it’d take three strings. She didn’t want to know where all twenty-six strings might take her if strummed. Or if someone made a melody..

I think part of a Gwynriel plot will be Az and Gwyn working together to try to understand what Merrill is actually researching -

- and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it. and some other fancy thins that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated.

Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. “I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn said. “All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research,

By the end of a Gwynriel book, I think we'll be set up for a Multi POV / Crossover Series book(s) in the ACOTAR world. Possible plotlines -

Nesta will raise an army of the dead / World Walk -

And one day, when the time was right...They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

The Harp sighed, a low purr rolling off it as Nesta’s hand neared. We shall open doors and pathways; we shall move through space and eons together.

He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp.

She could feel them around her. The dead. / Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet.

I think Lucien will be High King, wielding Gwydion. Yes, I realize it called to Bryce but unless we find out Amren’s recollection of the High Priestess giving it to him was wrong, it seems it first belonged to Fionn and was taken by Theia. Made objects can have others do their bidding, therefore it could have wanted Bryce to be the one to take it home. We know Helion responded to the mask, a made object, therefore Lucien should theoretically be able to wield made objects too -

Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he'd trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. / "But know that the Cauldron's benevolence will be extended to you only for so long before it is offered to another.

"Lucien's goodness"

"He is a good male"

"he'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people."

"Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before."

"But Lucien had learned to keep his cool".

Narben's powers had not been the holy, saviors light of Gwydion" (Side note, SJM tagged Elain under the Blodeuwedd fairytale and the uncle of Lleu (Lleu being the character that seems to match Lucien's part in the tale) was named Gwydion. Gwydion means "born of trees" and in ACOWAR, SJM tells us Lucien looked "crafted from the forest")

SJM once spoke of us seeing more babies in the ACOTAR world and I think this will refer to Elain in any future crossovers (not CC3) -

"But Elain had given it back - had pressed it into Azriel's hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back."

I think Elain's war days are over and a pregnancy would provide her a valid reason to sit out of battle. If she does have healing powers then I imagine she'd much rather tend to the wounded.

I also believe that by this time, the food that sustained the Pegasus would be restored and the illness preventing them from having foals would be cured (a possible Elain storyline), making it possible for the Valkyrie to ride into battle on Pegasus.

The End 😂

[bloodxstarved]

@tevinteredeemer Arranged Marriage {Closed Starter}

A birthday is usually a joyful celebration, especially the eighteenth birthday as it is often once celebrated in many regions of the world as one officially crossing over into adulthood. This was not the case for the birthday boy Adrian Tepes because his celebration was also an engagement party. Not only was it to an older man he'd never met, but this man also belonged to a family that had hunted and threatened his family and kind for years.

Adrian was the son of Vlad, man knew as Dracula. Vlad was the original vampire and ruled over all vampires, the undead, demons and darkspawn. He and his kind were incredibly powerful, but their match were the magisters of Tevinter. These magisters were powerful mages, using forbidden bloodmagic against the vampires. They wanted to seize power and kill these creatures of night so they would be the most powerful beings. For years they were at war, but despite this war with Tevinter the vampires claimed an ally in the people of Orlais. Dracula falling for a human spirit healer Dutchess Lisa, their love sealing their alliance and strengthening each other. When the magisters found out their leader a magister of House Pavus hunted down and captured Vlad's pregnant bride and threatened to kill her if the vampires did not surrender to them. The king of vampires was at Halward Pavus' mercy and had to make a great sacrifice in order to saved his beloved: he had to promise his unborn child to Halward. Lisa was forced to make a bloodpact, if their child did not marry the Pavus heir she would die.

When her child was born more conflict arose as Lisa bore a son, House of Pavus only heir was a son and Halward was irate that they couldn't continue their bloodline if his son married another man. Vlad made another deal to keep the magisters from killing his newborn son. Their sons would still marry when Adrian came to age, after one year Vlad would turn the Pavus son into a vampire making him the first magister to be turned. It would grant House Pavus power above all magisters and secure their rule over Tevinter for eternity. Not something any vampire wanted but it was the only way Vlad could keep his family from being killed.

The half-blooded son of Vlad and Lisa grew up knowing this day would come. He didn't like it but he would go through with it to keep his beloved mother from being killed by the bloodpact she had to make. He took on the title of Alucard, the reverse of his father as many vampires had claimed them to be quite the opposite to each other. Vlad was commanding, a natural bloodthirsty conqueror. While Adrian was kindhearted soul that took after his mother with her healing magic. While not like his father in personality, a dhampir was far more powerful than any vampire or mage. He had none of the weaknesses a vampire had, he didn't have to rely on blood and the sun did not turn him to ash. Nor did he succumb to illness and disease like mortals did. He was a superior being and the magisters could hardly wait for Alucard to become theirs.

Adrian's birthday and engagement celebration was being held in the grand mansion of his future husband. The main hall was filled with magisters and vampires, though there was a noticeable separation between the two. The only ones who mingled between both were the Orlesian mages and diplomats that were here for their dutchess to make sure everything went smoothly. The birthday boy was standing with his father and other vampires near a large blood fountain that the vampires filled their wine glasses with, but he did not partake in the endless flow of fresh blood. He wanted to venture over to the Tevinter's side where the actual food was being served but was afraid of leaving the safety of his father's side. That was when he felt a soft hand take his own and looked down to see his mother. Lisa smiled up to her son but it was filled with sadness, she did not want her son to lose his freedom to the people who had tried to hurt them for years. Alucard lifted her delicate hand to kiss the back of it, this was the toughest day of his life but he was choosing to go through with it for her.

Hand in hand with his dear mother the pair crossed the room so they could join the buffet, reluctantly having to socialize with the magisters in order to eat. Alucard stayed practically glued to his mother's side as he feared that someone would break the deal and try to kill Lisa. But his mother held strong despite the possible threats being all around them with confidence and grace. The dhampir didn't get to enjoy the food much as the magisters all spoke of his future husband Dorian Pavus and his magister father Halward, the pair being fashionably late to the party despite it being their house.

[yellowsuitcase]

The Niffler // Draco Malfoy

A/N: I’m really happy with how this turned out! It took me a good three hours to write and I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: A niffler got loose in the Slytherin common room. Draco and Y/N get into an argument. Angst and fluff follow.

Warning(s): Swearing

Word Count: 2.5k

Draco grabbed Y/N’s hand as they made their way to the Great Hall to get some morning tea as well as sausages, eggs, and toast. His ring brushed up against her middle finger, the cold metal shocking to the touch. She turned her head to admire her boyfriend’s handsome side profile. He sensed her eyes on him. Draco smirked and, without warning, went in for a sweet kiss. Y/N let out a small surprised squeal but eagerly kissed him back. Draco began to deepen the kiss, Y/N pulled away. 

“As much as I’d love to snog you all day long—” her stomach growled, “I’m starving. And you have terrible morning breath, love.” 

Draco sputtered, his soft expression turning into a perplexed and shocked one. Y/N simply giggled and dragged him to breakfast.

-----------

Y/N rushed into Greenhouse Three; she’d only just made it in time. As she took her spot at the table, she made a mental note to scold Draco later. Professor Sprout was going on about dittany, and Y/N was trying to pay attention, but a teary-eyed Pansy Parkinson was rather distracting. 

“Pansy!” She whisper-yelled. “Pansy, what’s wrong?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, would you like to tell me the three uses of dittany?” Professor Sprout called out. 

Y/N felt her face turn crimson. Luckily, her mother became a Herbologist after working at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Transportation. 

“Dittany can be used in potion-making, healing magic, and a dittany stalk can be used as a wand core,” Y/N answered. Professor Sprout simply nodded, “Correct, 5 points to Slytherin.”

With Professor Sprout off her back, Y/N was able to speak to Pansy. 

“My necklace is missing. It was a summer gift from my father,” Pansy said while wiping away a tear. Almost all her mascara had been washed away.

“A summer gift? Your father gave you a necklace just because it was sum—” Y/N stopped herself realigned her focus on the problem at hand. “Where did you last see it?”

“I put it on my nightstand last night, this morning it was gone. When I find out who stole it, I’ll hex them. I was thinking the horn tongue hex,” Pansy smirked, “That ought to teach them not to touch my possessions.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. She and Pansy weren’t really friends, but she still felt inclined to help her. Y/N knows that if her emerald choker, given to her by Draco as a birthday gift, had been stolen, she’d be just as upset as Pansy, albeit a bit less.

“Who would’ve stolen your necklace, Pansy?”

“I’ve got no clue, who would do that to me? I mean everyone loves me, I don’t understand!”

Y/N eyes widened as she stared at the empty plant pot in front of her. Surely Pansy wasn’t this thick, was she? If she genuinely believes everyone loves her, she’s got observation skills to develop.

Y/N inhaled through her nose and out through her mouth before asking, “What does it look like? I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“It’s got three diamonds on each side, with a sapphire gem in the center.”

Y/N nodded and shifted her focus back to her Professor.

----------

Draco spotted his girl from across the hall. She was waiting in their usual meeting spot, the bench outside the Transfiguration classroom. Most of the time, Y/N would have her eyes closed and her head propped against the wall, trying to get in a few moments of shut-eye since she had likely stayed up a few hours longer than she should have the night before. But today, Y/N’s eyes were wide open and scanning every student who walked past her.

The blonde boy weaved his way through the crowd of students and walked up to her.

“What’s got you so tense, love?” he asked as he put his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging them.

Y/N let out a sigh. “Pansy has lost her necklace. She believes it's been stolen. I told her I’d look out for it, but it seems nobody’s wearing any jewelry today.”

Draco frowned. “Since when do you care about Parkinson’s problems? Didn’t she bully you in year 2?”

“Yes, I suppose she did. But it’s been years, we’re young women now, and women help women.”

Draco smiled at his girlfriend’s feistiness and placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “That reminds me, Bulstrode’s been interrogating everyone in Apparition class about the whereabouts of her bracelet.”

“Millicent? That couldn't have been fun.”

“It wasn’t.” 

Just then, Blaise Zabini walked up to the pair, making an effort to avoid Y/N’s eyes, “Malfoy,” he said while looking around suspiciously, “Have you seen my pocket watch anywhere? It’s been stolen.”

Y/N and Draco shared a look. “Haven’t seen it no. How do you know it was stolen?” Draco asked as he removed his hands from Y/N’s shoulders.

“I don’t simply misplace things, Malfoy. Someone had to have stolen it while I was distracted.”

“Well, we haven’t seen it, but we’ll keep an eye out.” Y/N said with a smile the quickly diminished when she heard Blasie’s next words.

“No matter, I’m certain it must’ve been one of your mudblood friends.” He glared at Y/N as he spoke. Very clearly conveying his disapproval of Y/N’s mingling with muggle-born Hogwarts students. 

Y/N visibly shrunk under his fierce gaze. “Watch it, Zabini," Draco spat. He was not enjoying the way Zabini was talking to his girl. 

Zabini said nothing more. He turned on his heel and walked off.

Draco sighed. “Sorry about him, darling.”

Y/N scoffed. “Why are you apologizing? Just a year or two ago, you would’ve agreed with him. Hell, you probably would’ve called me blood traitor every day; you were an arse. I mean, honestly, I still marvel at the fact you were able to stop being a git. What did make you decide to stop bullying everyone who didn’t think purebloods were superior? Huh?”

Draco stood speechless. Y/N was practically fuming, her pupils had shrunk, and her ears were bright red. He looked at her, his hurt expression catching her off guard. She blinked quickly as she realized what she’d just said to him. Her feet stumbled backward, and she took off down the hallway, leaving Draco standing alone as the clock tower bell rang, signaling the beginning of class.

--------

Y/N felt like utter, for lack of a better word, shit. She couldn’t believe she had said all those nasty things to Draco. Thank Merlin it was the last class of the day; after Charms with Professor Flitwick, she’d be able to take a relaxing soak in the Prefect’s Bath. One of her close friends was a Head Girl and would tell Y/N the password to the bathroom if she ever asked.

Y/N heard mumbles behind her. 

“I heard they got into an argument.”

“She really went in on him, he looked shocked, he did.”

“He deserved it that scum bag.”

Y/N turned in her chair, facing the people who were whispering, and twirled her wand between her fingers. Silently suggesting her capabilities. “Can I help you?” She asked while batting her eyelashes. The two Gryffindor students hastily shook their heads. Y/N nodded and turned back around, deciding to actually pay attention to Flitwick’s lecture on the Bubble Head Charm.

Soon enough, the bell rang, and Y/N dragged her feet, leaving the classroom. “Everything alright, Ms. Y/L/N?” Flitwick asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yes, no need to worry, Professor. I’ll see you next week. I do hope you’ll allow us to practice the Bubble Head Charm in the lake.” 

Professor Flitwick didn’t look entirely convinced, but he smiled and nodded nonetheless.

As she turned the corner, Y/N could sense something was wrong. She surveyed the crowd, searching for someone she knew. A flash of red caught her eye. Fred Weasley. She ran towards him, the crowd whispering as she weaved through them.

“Fred!” she called as she waved her hand. “Fred!” 

He heard her call, “Ah Y/N, what’s up?”

Y/N breathed heavily, catching her breath before asking Fred, “Something’s wrong, what’s happened? Is Draco alright?”

“Take it, easy mate, he’s alright, he’s only lost his ring.”

Y/N felt her heart sink. Draco was quite fond of his Slytherin ring. He was likely not very happy to have lost it, especially after their altercation. She knew she needed to find her boyfriend.

“Thanks, Fred, got to go, see you!”

Fred chuckled as he watched her run off to the dungeons. “Good luck!” He called after her. But she was already out of earshot, adrenaline running through her veins. She was so focused on getting to the Slytherin common room, she hardly noticed she’d already run past it. Her feet skidded across the cold stone floor as she came to a halt. To her defense, it was easy to miss the entrance to the common room. It was a hidden passageway that only appeared when the password was said. Otherwise, it was a bare wall. 

Y/N stood anxiously outside the entrance. “Serpent,” she muttered. The wall moved to reveal a staircase leading down into the common room. Upon her entry, all eyes fell to her.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Y/N,” said Pansy, “Would you like to return our stuff, prat?” Some people snickered at her comment. 

“What do you mean? I haven’t stolen anything.”

“Of course, you haven’t. Draco, you agree with me, don’t you? It’s obvious she’s stolen my necklace, Millicent’s bracelet, Blaise’s pocket watch, and your ring. Is it not?”

Y/N’s eyes shifted to Draco. He was standing next to Blaise with his arms crossed, refusing to make eye contact with his girlfriend. 

“I can’t be sure,” he uttered.

“Draco, you know I wouldn’t,” Y/N said in desperation. She knew she looked bad.

“Prove it,” he said while lifting his eyes to glare at her.

 “Go on then, shake out your robes,” Pansy said. More laughter arose.

Y/N begrudgingly stripped her robe and held it in front of her. She pulled out the pockets, flipped it upside down. The only thing that fell out was two pieces of Fizzing Whizbees, a sherbet ball that made you float a few feet off the ground. It was her guilty pleasure. 

Pansy’s smirk lessened. “Well, you could have hid—”

She was cut short as Professor Snape and Hagrid came bursting into the common room. Snape looked very irritated as he glanced at Hagrid, who took that as his cue to speak. 

“I ‘ave reason ter believe a niffler ‘as gotten loose in ‘ere. I’ll need everyone ter help search fer the little guy.”

Pansy’s face turned red with embarrassment. It was apparent now who the culprit was. Nifflers were known for their excellent treasure locating skills. They’re always on the hunt for shiny objects, of which the Slytherin students had many. 

Y/N felt relief flow through her. Her name was cleared, but now they had a new task, find the niffler, as well as the items it stole.

They searched for what felt like hours. Millicent had found her bracelet and Blaise his pocket watch. Pansy’s necklace and Draco’s ring were still missing. Y/N was currently searching through a wooden cupboard. As she was lifting the random items within it, she came across something shiny. Upon further investigation, she realized she’d found the ring. Excitement rushed through her as she yelled, “Found it!”

Only she wasn’t the only one to have yelled. Turning around, she saw Draco holding the little niffler by the scruff of its neck. It was squirming in his grip. Swiftly, he grabbed its foot and gave it a shake, out fell his ring, which he quickly caught and pocketed.

Anger flashed behind his eyes, “I’ll kill this filthy rat,” he said as he raised his wand. Just as he opened his mouth to curse the niffler, Y/N shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Draco’s hawthorn wand was ripped from his hand and cast across the room. Most students took this as their cue to leave; they didn’t want to be caught in the middle of Draco’s rage. On her way out, Pansy snatched her necklace from Y/N’s hand.

Hagrid stumbled over to him and gently took the niffler from him. “Thank yeh, Y/N,” he said kindly. Y/N nodded, sad to see the little guy go. She was rather fond of nifflers. A fact Draco knew of. She gazed at him. He was seething as he thrust his ring back onto his finger. 

“Go on then, yell at me, call me a git again. You said it yourself, I’m an arse.”

Her heart clenched. She really fucked up.

A few beats passed before she said, “Draco, I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for what I said to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. I was just angry at Zabini, and I took it out on you. He made me feel weak and stupid, and I was embarrassed. You only stood up for me. I had no place calling you a git and an arse. You’re not. You’re the complete opposite. You’re so much more than I deserve, and I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She knew his harsh words were coming. She closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip hard, bracing herself for it. But nothing came. Tentatively she opened her eyes. They were met with the sight of Draco’s chest. She tilted her head up, rubbing away her tears with her arm. Draco was looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

A few moments passed, and Draco hadn’t said a word. Y/N thought it was over. This must be where he was going to end things between them. She began to cry again, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh sweetheart, come here, It’s alright, I forgive you.”

Draco’s arms wrapped around her. His hand came up behind her head and guided it to the crook of his neck. Y/N only sobbed harder. The weight of the embarrassment and stress endured that day finally crashing down on her. 

He began to stroke her hair. “I’m here, love, you’re okay.”

He held her in his arms for a while until gradually, her sobs turned to sniffles. She gently pulled away from him and peeked up at him. He smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and then to her lips. “Let’s get you some water, and then it’s off to bed. We’ve had an exhausting day, haven’t we darling?”

Y/N let out a chuckle. “We have.”

Draco’s eye’s twinkled with playfulness. Suddenly, he reached behind Y/n and scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. They both giggled like young children as he began to walk them up to their dorms. 

Y/N admired his side profile once again. “I love you, Draco,” she said quietly.

He looked down at her. “And I love you.” They shared another kiss. “Oh, and before you ask, yes, I’ll go apologize to Hagrid and the niffler tomorrow.”

Y/N smiled brightly. “You better,” she said with a stifled laugh. And off they went to get some well-deserved sleep.

[moonlightreal]

This is the “author’s note” I found on the amazon pages for the pretty hardcover Night World books.  My memory is that it was just there, the book-blurb at the top by the cover picture, was this. 

Like a bonehead I just copied the text without grabbing a screencap or noting the date.  The amazon page now has the publication date is December 2016 so this bit of optimism was just before Ms. Smith vanished.  Of course we don’t know when it was written or whose idea it was.  Was Strange Fate really finished or was someone just feeling hopeful? 

NIGHT WORLD Dear Readers, It’s hard to tell you how much the re-release of the Night World books means to me. It has allowed me to come full circle, to complete a cycle that began with Secret Vampire. It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate, which grew into an epic that included roles for almost every Night World character. And Strange Fate allowed me to show the origins of the Night World, the apocalypse that threatens to destroy it, and even a possible future in which the evil side of the Night World prevails. I am often asked how I conceived the idea for the Night World series. It began when I wanted to write stand-alone novels that would combine horror and romance. But I wanted more: I wanted to do a series in which this Night World—a vast, secret world that exists within the everyday world—would slowly reveal itself to readers. That’s why the first book is called Secret Vampire: the inhabitants of the Night World, composed of vampires, shapeshifters, witches, and other supernatural creatures I wanted to invent, are hidden from humans. A vampire is necessarily a secret vampire … because of the laws. I also wanted to write about a new kind of forbidden love. That’s not easy—most good forbidden love topics were old by Shakespeare’s time. But with this series, I could create the possibility of forbidden love simply by saying that the laws of the Night World prohibit a Night Person from falling in love with a human. But I still needed one more ingredient. I needed the rise of the soulmate principle to actively force Night People to fall in love with humans, no matter how hard they fought against it. Voilà! Then it was just a matter of making up interesting characters and setting them loose in my head to see what they would do. I often begin like that: sitting in a quiet room and searching for a sparkle in my mind that could become my new heroine. Sometimes it’s easy and a whole character shimmers before me. Sometimes I only get the faintest firefly glimmer of a new girl, and I have to hold my breath and see if that glimmer will materialize into a three-dimensional person. Heroes and anti-heroes are easier. It’s just a matter of picking one that will be a true soulmate for my heroine. I have a whole collection of these characters in my mind, all trying to crash the party. And they’re usually bad boys. The settings and in-depth plot development are another layer of work. But often the characters just run off and do what they want, and I have trouble keeping up with their antics on my keyboard. One thing I always do is look carefully at my characters and plot from all angles to make sure I’m not plagiarizing a book or series that I may have read before. That’s just normal procedure for ethical authors: we make sure our stories aren’t too much like another story we might have read. Of course, there are many ideas that have been around since the Babylonian myths, and many characters that are archetypal. But, really, it’s almost impossible to take many things from the body of another author’s work—say, someone else’s character(s) or plot or story device—without actually intending to do so. I can’t imagine wanting to do that. I wish I could say every author felt the same. Poppy North is a character I examined very carefully. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t too much like Bonnie McCullough, another petite character of mine from The Vampire Diaries. I didn’t even want to plagiarize myself ! But Poppy convinced me that she was a tough little squirt who by high school had already planned out her future, which is very unlike Bonnie. Poppy was going to marry her mysterious friend James—she just hadn’t informed him yet. Also, unlike Bonnie, she had a fatal flaw in her small body. In Secret Vampire, I knew I was dealing with a serious issue: terminal cancer in a high school girl. So I did a lot of research before deciding on a type of cancer that would be truly inoperable and give Poppy only a month or two to live. I went to several hospitals to talk to nurses in oncology wards. I always brought toys for the hospitalized children, but the whole subject was so heartbreaking I was almost afraid to tackle it. Once I did, though, I found that Poppy was even stronger than I had imagined. In the book, she makes the only choice she can to go on living, and she never looks back. Poppy is one of my favorite girls, and she ushers in Ash Redfern, who quickly became one of my favorite bad boys. Ash has a murky past of womanizing and … well, more womanizing. Ash returns in Daughters of Darkness because he has been ordered by the leader of all vampires, Hunter Redfern, to bring his three runaway sisters back to their cloistered vampire island. But when Ash locates his sisters, he runs straight into the human stargazer Mary-Lynnette, and the sparks begin flying—literally. Mary-Lynnette is a character I made up when I was a kid, and I’m always surprised by how many people like her and Ash together. Mary-Lynnette spends most of the time expressing her feelings for Ash by kicking him in the shins, but their dialogues are some of my favorite passages in the whole series. Ash, in turn, escorts Quinn into the series. And Quinn (who does have a first name, though he rarely uses it) is one really scary guy. A vampire since 1639 A.D., Quinn is sharp, cold, humorless, and heartless. Unlike Ash, who is mainly guilty of an incredibly long series of one-night stands, Quinn enters the series as a human slave trader. That is, he provides vampires with young girls, and he doesn’t ask questions about what happens to the girls afterward. This led to a problem: How on earth was I going to redeem this villain enough to make him someone’s soulmate in The Chosen? I really sweated over that. My first task was to make Quinn more sympathetic. The best way to do it seemed to be by telling a bit of Quinn’s own tragic story: how he falls in love with sweet Dove Redfern, and how her vampire father decides to make Quinn his heir. Dove’s father is Hunter Redfern, one of the most important vampire leaders in Night World history. This is the same Hunter Redfern who, nearly half a millennium later, sends Ash to drag his sisters back home. The same Hunter Redfern who sends his daughter, Lily, after Jez in Huntress. The same Hunter Redfern who tries to turn Delos into a merciless killer in Black Dawn. But, as a boy, Quinn doesn’t know anything about the Night World, and he is deeply in love with gentle Dove. When Hunter makes him a vampire by force and then when Quinn can’t save Dove from being killed, Quinn’s heart freezes over. For four hundred years it accumulates ice—until he meets Rashel. That’s another favorite scene of mine: when Rashel, a dedicated vampire hunter since (guess who?) Hunter Redfern killed her mother, encounters Quinn. A group of Rashel’s fellow vampire slayers have captured Quinn and plan to torture him, and Rashel is left alone to guard him. Quinn, feeling old and tired despite his youthful appearance and great power, gives himself up for dead—and is a little glad to do so. Rashel, however, can’t stomach the idea of torture. When Rashel talks to this most-hated vampire and hears his story, she deliberately sets him free. And that astonishes him. But it’s the soulmate principle working its magic. I loved making two such strong-willed enemies succumb to the silver cord that connects them. I especially loved hearing Quinn warning Rashel not to let him go—and then protecting her when her comrades arrive back in time to see that she’s let him loose. I really loved writing about Quinn and Rashel’s soulmate sequences. As Rashel enters Quinn’s mind, she sees “thorny scary parts” but also “rainbow places that were aching to grow” and “other parts that seemed to quiver with light, desperate to be awakened.” She begins to think that people ask so little of themselves. If the mind of a slave trader can look like this, an ordinary person must have the power to become a saint. It is with this revelation (and much penance on Quinn’s part) that Quinn is redeemed. That’s the thread that binds all the novels together: redemption. The possibility of a second chance. Everyone has choices to make, but even the most evil of vampires can choose to atone and be redeemed. It may not necessarily stave off punishment in this world or the next, but redemption is possible. I’ve been asked who my favorite characters are, and the answer always changes because it depends on the book I’m writing. Right now my favorites are three characters from Strange Fate. As for my favorite couples in the published books? Morgead and Jez—I suppose. Who would find themselves at greater odds than a vampire gang leader and his onetime superior, a vampire who finds out she is half human? I learned some cool martial arts moves as a bonus for writing about them. Then there is Keller, one of my all-time favorite heroines, and Iliana, the beautiful Witch Child, and Galen, ruler of the shapeshifters: the love triangle in Witchlight. Keller starts out seeming brusque and businesslike, but the love of Galen and of the unselfish Iliana help to heal her inner wounds. And I can’t forget Thierry and Hannah, and Circle Daybreak. I created Circle Daybreak because the Night World witches had only two clans: Circle Twilight and Circle Midnight. Those, like Thea in Spellbinder, who belong to Circle Twilight are not-so-wicked witches (that is, they don’t want to exterminate all humans like the darkest witches, those who belong to Circle Midnight), but they are still wicked enough. So what was to be done with all these new soulmates, when Night World law said that they must be put to death? Someone had to make a place for them where they would be safe, and I decided it was Thierry, one of the oldest vampires, and Hannah, his Old Soul soulmate, who has lived hundreds of lifetimes without ever reaching the age of seventeen. They are the ones who revive Circle Daybreak, where humans and Night People can forget about past tragedies and concentrate on a brighter future together. Although Thierry is an old vampire, he isn’t the oldest vampire. There is one older, the one who Changed him. She provides another thread that binds the series: the pitiless Maya. Maya is the first vampire, the witch who finds the secret of eternal life—and chooses to use it for evil. But there will be plenty more about her, including a look at the young Maya, her sister Hellewise, and their mother, Hecate Witch-Queen, in the upcoming Strange Fate. And so now I’ve come full circle, back to Strange Fate. But I can’t finish until I add the other joy that the re-release of Night World has brought me. It’s brought me into contact with you by e-mail. Night World fans write so many intelligent, articulate, courteous, exciting e-mails! I love to get messages from “old” fans, who say my works “got them through high school.” Thank you for them! And messages from new fans, who say they have just read all my reissued books—and are impatient for more. Thank you! And the messages that simply demand: “When is Strange Fate coming out?” Thank you, too! With a full heart, all I can say is thank you, thank you, and thank you again! I never thought I would have a chance to write an open letter to all Night World fans, and I can only wish that you knew how grateful I am … for this second chance. Sincerely, (LJ Smith signature image) P.S. I love to get e-mail, letters, and messages. Visit me at ljanesmith.net!

[nemobookaholic]

FrostIron Part 1

So I volunteered to write a FrostIron fanfic for @belligerentmistletoe , please let me know what you think. I’m always open to honest critique.

I hope it is going to be as much fun to read as I had writing it. Please excuse any typos or weird phrases, I’m not a native speaker.

Had to split it, cause I’m unable to write less than 6k it seems 🙈 I have to remind everyone, that I don’t own any rights to the characters. You read that on your own responsibility. Its a ship, so I don’t have to tell you what can and probably will happen. No violence to it tough. Enough talki-talki, enjoy.

LokixTony

We are at an alternative Timeline, in which Loki joined the Avengers, after he came to earth together with Thor. Thanos never interfered, so we find Loki wandering the Avengers Tower.

All the halls looked the same to him. He lost orientation some time ago, yet he would never admit that. Not to the people who crossed his path, with their ghastly looks and the mistrust they didn’t bother to hide. And when Romanoff and Barton turned the corner, he slipped into the next door hastily.

Loki found himself in a big room with large windows and a bar in it. The light was dimmed and in front of the counter he noticed a figure leaning onto it. Loki stepped closer to see who that was, it turned out to be Stark. And because the god had no other plans he decided to join him.

“I’m still waiting for that drink,” Loki said, sitting down on a barstool next to Stark.

The mechanic was staring at an empty glass, playing with it, as if he would think about what decision to make.

“Your bad, I stopped drinking a long time ago,” Tony answered after a while, as if he would just realise the presence of the god.

“Then why do you look like you would yearn for one?”

“That’s none of your business,” Tony said, turning away gazing out the window.

“Hard day, hmmm? May I help myself to a drink?” Loki asked politely and Tony nodded absent minded. The god made his way round the counter to get himself a glass, which he filled with whiskey. He sat back to his former place and sipped from his drink now and then. The two men sat in silence for some time.

“You know that nearly the whole crew was against having you in the team?” Tony interrupted the quietness.

“I didn’t expect anything else,” Loki shrugged his shoulders, “what is your opinion on the matter?”

“Hmmm,” Tony started playing with the glass again, “to be honest, I’m not happy either. But as I have experienced it myself, I know that people have the capacity to change.” He scratched his head, “I think you deserve a second chance. Anyway, that doesn’t mean I would trust you,” he admitted.

“Fair enough,” the god emptied his glass. “So what made you hide in here? Did Rogers ask for a private conversation?” Loki chuckled.

Tony groaned, “it’s my fathers birthday.”

“And you have no ambitions to get to see him?”

“He’s dead. Steve’s friend ensured that and like you, he’s part of the team now.” Tony dropped his head into both his hands, “seems like everyone deserves forgiveness, even mass murderers. No offence.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Anthony,” said Loki. If Tony would have looked up, he would have seen that the god wasn’t.

“No need to be sorry. Howard was an asshole,” Tony slammed his fist onto the table.

“Then why do you even bother?” Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Would you not, if someone killed your parents?” Tony mumbled the words to his glass.

“I would give everything to get my mother back and to bring revenge for her death. For the Allfather? I would send a letter of appreciation,” Loki smirked. “Unfortunately I have to send it to myself.” The god wasn’t in full control of his facial expressions and for once more they proved him a liar. Tony gave no reaction to it, so Loki felt encouraged to go on. “He was a miserable father most of the time. You know, kidnappet me from my realm. Promised me a throne that he never intended to give to me,” the longer he talked, the more agitated he got. “I never understood why he took me away from my home in the first place. To make me feel like a freak, once I discovered my true nature?” Slowly the illusion slipped away. His skin turned blue, the eyes red. When he realised he had unmasked himself, he turned back to his human appearance in an instance.

“In the end he was just an old man full of regrets,” Loki ended his monologue.

Tony let out a loud snore.

“Anthony?”, Loki asked in surprise.

“He’s asleep Sir,” a bodiless female voice informed him.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” Loki rolled his eyes, “well, I’m sorry my story seemed to bore him that much.” The god jut his chin forward.

“If that’s a comfort Sir, he was tired the whole day. The fight with Miss Potts made it even worse,” Friday explained.

Loki slid down the barstool and stepped towards Tony.

“Can you explain to me how to find his bedroom?” he asked.

Friday gave him directions, while Loki lifted Tony into his arms. He just hoped that nobody would see him. Not because he would be ashamed of carrying another man, but because of the general distrust that was brought to his person.

The AI woman followed him, to assure that her boss would make it back to his room safely. Not even a humanoid person trusted him, if that wasn’t good news!

Carefully the god placed the fragile human into the sheets. Loki kneeled down to untie Tony’s shoes and placed them on the ground.

He even ensured to pull the blanket over the mechanic's body.

Loki hesitated a second, somehow he liked Stark. With a soft touch to his fingertips he brushed some stray hair out of the other man's face.

Loki turned away and made his way back to the bar. He felt the urgent need for a bottle of wine, or better two.

***

Tony opened his eyes, because the sun was beaming directly into his face.

How did he even get to bed? He couldn’t remember.

“Friday, please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid yesterday night?” he asked into the void.

“No sir. But I’m afraid your company has,” she answered.

“My comp—oh fuck! I was with Loki, wasn’t I?” he didn’t bother to wait for an answer, “where is he now?”

“Shop floor,” was the hesitant answer.

“You let him in?!” Tony flared.

“Mr. Laufeyson has been very charming,” came the snippy answer.

“How could he charm you, you’re not even a real person,” Tony grumbled.

“But he treated me like one.”

“Remind me to look over your coding,” he said.

“Yes Sir.”

Tony made his way through the maze of floors on the Avengers Tower until he reached his sanctuary. When he stepped inside his feet shoved a bottle on the ground. It slid away, crashing into more empty glass.

“What the fuck?” he raised his arms in disbelief.

The scene was like a bad comic. Loki lay in the middle of the room, surrounded by wine bottles. The gods head popped up when he heard Tony enter.

“Aaaanthony,” he beamed at the new arrival.

“Are you drunk? I didn’t think it was possible, according to how much Thor can drink,” Tony slapped his hands onto his cheeks and let them slide down his face.

“He had about twenty bottles Sir,” Friday informed him.

“Twenty?!” Tony looked onto the mess on the floor, “and why did he drink them in here?”

“I couldn’t find the corkscrew,” Loki babbled.

“And so what? You decided to use a hammer instead?”, Tony shouted, which made Loki twist his mouth in pain.

“It was a screwdriver to be accurate,” Loki corrected him.

“How did that even work?” Tony was shaking his head, “anyway, don’t you have a place to go back to?”

“Of course, it seems like I’m the guest who stayed too long. My apologies, I’ll leave immediately,” Loki pushed himself back onto his feet. Not without some effort to keep his balance.

“If you give me the address, I can call you an Uber,” Tony offered, without hiding the annoyance in his voice.

“No need for that,” Loki assured, pointing at his boots.

Tony looked at him, as if the god had lost his wit.

“Darling, would you mind opening a window for me?” Loki asked the ceiling.

“Not at all Sir,” Friday answered. Instantly one of the big windows slid open. Meanwhile Tony had crossed his arms, watching the scene in disbelief.

Loki clicked his heels together like little Dorothy and started walking on thin air. His seven league boots had proved great benefit to him over the years.

“Those god’s and their magic stuff,” Tony mumbled to himself jealously, looking at the god’s back. “Uh-oh,” he gasped, the second Loki reached the window. The god had stepped way too close to the ceiling, but as he had turned his head to give a superior smile towards Tony, he didn’t see the mural. His head collided with the wall and he fell over backwards. With a nasty sound, Loki smashed onto the ground.

“Oh for heaven's sake, Thor is going to kill me!” The mechanic ran to the god’s side, checking if he was fine.

“Vital signs stable Sir,” Friday informed him, “I scanned his body, it’s nothing but a cut on the forehead.”

“Fucking drunkard,” Tony had troubles not to slap Loki while he was already on the floor.

“Ouch—where did that mural come from?” Loki said with a raspy voice.

“It was there all the time you jerk,” Tony was rolling his eyes.

“Maybe I better take that Uber?” Loki rubbed his forehead, smearing blood all over it.

“First of all, we need to look after this cut,” Tony commanded.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to bother you any longer Anthony,” Loki said, getting up again.

“You stubborn…” Tony began.

“It will heal,” Loki interrupted him.

“Yes, after you spilled blood all over the floor,” Tony grabbed him by the shoulder. With one fast move he had sprayed something onto the cut. It cooled the throbbing wound in an instant which took Loki by surprise.

“What was that?” Loki asked.

“Something to close the cut. Now tell me where your brother is?”

Loki was shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t he tell you where he wanted to go?”

“No—by chance I would think he’s stalking Miss Foster again,” a smirk appeared on the god’s face.

Tony hid his face in his hand, he had no clue Thor expected him to play babysitter. “You can stay if you want to,” he sighted.

“I’d prefer to sleep in my own bed.” Loki was brushing his bloody hands on his pants.

“Fine, I’ll drive you!” Tony snapped at him.

“Please, I don’t want to be a burden for you. I’ll find my way back home on my own,” Loki bitched back.

Tony ignored him, “Friday, make sure the Audi is waiting for us.”

“Yes Sir.”

***

Loki’s flat was surprisingly ordinary. Tony would have expected it to be an opulent palace with shiny gold statues showing the god’s counterfeit. One could almost call it minimalist. There wasn’t even much furnishings but a sofa opposite a TV and a big bookshelf covering the wall next to the door. That’s all Tony could see when stepping in. There was a corridor to his right but he felt uncomfortable exploring it without permission.

The polite god had had a feeling that there wasn’t any chance to get rid of his Nanny, so he asked Tony in.

Loki offered him a place on the sofa, but the mechanic disliked sitting down, he preferred to browse the bookshelf.

“Make yourself at home, please. The kitchen you’ll find next door, if you want something to drink. If you could excuse me for a while, I need to have a shower now,” Loki said, disappearing down the corridor.

Tony was fascinated by the books, some of them were written in languages he had never seen before. But also there were many classics he did know, like Shakespeare (at least it must be familiar to Asgardians, as they used this sort of language), Dante, Goethe and many more. Tony randomly grabbed one of the books and pulled out an old, leather bound copy of the Norse Myths.

‘Why would Loki want to read his own tales?’ Tony wondered. He made his way to the sofa and sat down, flipping through the pages. He found notes, scribbled in a child like writing to the side of the text.

One said: ‘After studying Shakespeare, I wonder if he used Valstagg as a role model for his Falstaff? Utter fun.’

Tony was frowning his brows. He had read the Myths before, yet he was interested in seeing them through the god’s eyes, so he started from the beginning. At some point Loki came back in, bringing with him two freezing cans of Coke. He handed one to Tony, when he sank into the pillows next to him.

The mechanic didn’t even bother to look at him, missing the fact that Loki was wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Loki sipped his drink, watching Tony with some interest. After a while he placed the can onto the small table in front of him and let his body sink deeper into the sofa. Loki’s head tipped over to the back, leaning against the wall. He had dark spaces underneath his eyes, the twenty bottles had taken their toll him. Loki fell asleep.

Tony wouldn’t have realised that either, if Loki didn’t sink onto the mechanics shoulder.

“Hey,” Tony tried to push Loki away with one hand. With the effect that Loki’s head landed in Tony’s lap, what made him look down at the god.

“Sweet Jesus, couldn’t you find a T-Shirt?” Tony shifted uncomfortably. Never had he imagined the guy would be so heavy. There was no chance to free himself. Tony sighted, finally he made himself as comfortable as possible and read on.

He was absorbed by the story, when, without his doing, Tony’s hand found its way into Loki’s hair, running his finger through it. The mechanic did that quite a while, until Loki turned around facing the opposite side. Tony got aware of what he was doing. Shocked, he stared at his hand.

Did he just pet another man?! And why did it feel so natural?

He shook the thought off. That was all because of the fight with Pepper, he told himself. He should phone her and apologise. But at this very moment he had no intention to do so. His attention was focused on the god in his lap. Observing Loki’s face this close for the first time, he realised how young he looked. That there was some sadness to it, but also an innocent peace in his sleep.

Tony felt the urge to trace Loki’s cheekbones with his index finger.

Trying to resist, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The light was fading slowly, when Loki opened his eyes again. He looked surprised about the delicate situation he found himself in.

Tony was bowing over him, with his face so close that Loki could feel the other man's breath on his cheek.

“Uuuhm, Anthony?” he whispered.

That woke Tony from his rigidity, he shied back.

“You wouldn’t wake up…,” he tried to explain, yet he couldn’t help but stare at Loki’s lips.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

“I need to pee,” Tony stuttered just to get away from Loki.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the god sat back up.

In an instant Tony was on his feet, heading towards the bathroom. It wasn’t a lie that he had to pee. The Coke wanted to leave his system.

Fiddling for his zipper he froze.

That couldn’t be true! Did he build a tent in his trousers for a guy who once tried to kill him?

Even worse, did Loki realise he had?

Tony felt panic creeping up his chest. Taking some huge effort, he fought the panic down, forcing himself to empty his full bladder.

The mechanic flushed the toilet, turning around to wash his hands. He splashed cold water to his face, tearing out his hair with wet hands.

Tony was desperate about his unusual behaviour. How had Loki managed to charm him? It must have been a spell, there was no other explanation to this awkward situation.

‘I am a straight man, I am a straight man, I am a…’ Tony kept repeating his Mantra.

Well of course there had been some experiments in College, but nothing that ended up to be serious.

When he found he had cooled down, he went back to the living room.

“I just got a call, I need to leave,” he told Loki, staying away as far as possible. He turned towards the door, his fingers already on the door handle, as he felt the god’s hand closing on his wrist, holding him back.

“Uhm, you’ve been my first guest…and, I…thank you for visiting my place,” Loki said, looking at the floor.

Tony opened his mouth in surprise. This day couldn’t get any weirder.

“Thanks for having me,” Tony replied with a little smile, “I really have to go now,” he insisted and Loki let go of his arm.

***

Stark had been in such a hurry to leave, that Loki wondered if he had done something wrong. He was laying on the sofa again, breathing in Tony’s scent that was still lingering there. It reminded the god of machine oil and iron with something fruity to it, but Loki couldn’t figure out what it was.

Did Stark intend to kiss him?

Loki couldn’t tell. The only thing he knew was that he would have allowed him to, this very moment. He wanted it as he saw Tony’s eyes resting on his lips. That’s what worried him most. What would Thor say, if he’d know?

Probably something like: “I knew Stark first,” that made Loki laugh deep down in his throat.

At times he missed his brother, yet he knew why Thor left him here. The god of thunder wanted Loki to get along with everyone on his own. And Thor had to care for New Asgard of course. But they had agreed not to give away too much about it right now.

Loki was the one to stay in New York and keep an eye on the doings of the Avengers.

Yet he wanted to be with Tony for very different reasons.

The mechanic dominated his thoughts and made a new desire grow within him. One he wasn’t sure he ever felt before.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

no good to dwell on dreams (even if i walked with you once upon one)

At the top of a wooden tower, Krel finds a boy cursed to sleep for 900 years until he receives true love's kiss.

At the top of a wooden tower, Douxie is finally awoken from his cursed sleep. Nothing is as he had expected it to be.

Thank you to the Sleepless Domain Discord user known as 10zin for helping me out when grammar was an issue for me. This fic is post-3Below AU where Wizards didn't happen, and also a Sleeping Beauty AU.

I'm still on hiatus due to finals, but I hope people enjoy this!

AO3

FFN

"I wonder what creepy creepers are in this creepy castle?" Steve asked.

"Really, it's just a tower," Toby said, swinging his warhammer around for light. The three of them had been excited to have a peaceful winter break. No school aside from the homework that Miss Janeth and Señor Uhl had assigned, and ever since Krel and Aja had defeated Morando last summer, the only fights there had been were with the occasional goblin or gnome. And, of course, sparring sessions that Krel tried to ditch as often as possible.

But then the tower had shown up, which meant that Toby and Steve had decided to drag Krel through the woods near Arcadia Oaks. He should have just stayed home, because at least there wouldn't be so many trees. Just the loneliness that had settled into every corner when Mother died and Aja and Varvatos had left.

The tower was made of wood. Dead trees, because of klebbing course it had to be. It looked a lot taller in person than it did from far away. A cool mist surrounded it. The door was made of wood as well, with a few runes carved into it.

Toby frowned. "That's not Trollish or Akiridion."

"Maybe we should come back with Claire, since she's trying to learn to decipher other magical languages?" Krel asked. Really, they should've just waited for Claire and Jim to heal from their common cold before investigating the tower.

"Uh, no. She and Jim will act all smug and superior because we needed their help," Steve said.

"They won't be... okay, they might be annoyed because how dare we go off on our own and pull a stunt when those two have nearly killed themselves doing the same thing, but! They won't be smug. Grumpy, sure. Jumpy, yes in Claire's case. But not smug. I'll lead, but have your axe and serrator out," Toby instructed. He pushed on the door, but it didn't give.

"Oh, well, I guess we should go home now," Krel said.

"Not getting out of this that easy," Steve said, punching Krel in the shoulder with enough force that Krel was glad he was in his Akiridion form. Otherwise, there was a good chance that Steve would've knocked him over.

Toby took a step back, then slammed his warhammer into the door. It still didn't give way.

Krel's curiosity won over the fact that he should be trying to be the voice of reason for his friends. He pushed past Steve and Toby. He then reached up to trace the runes. Perhaps there was some sort of mechanism to them.

They lit up green under his touch. Krel heard Toby make a nervous sound behind him as the rest of the door glowed green before turning to mist.

Steve coughed. "Well, since the castle-"

 "-tower," Toby interrupted.

"Since it likes you," Steve continued, "I guess you're leading the way." Krel groaned and walked into the tower.

The three of them made their way up the spiral staircase. Every several feet, a sconce in the wall lit up with green light. Eventually, they reached a second door at the top of the stairs. Krel once more traced over the ruins engraved in the door, which then disappeared into the same mist.

The room at the top of the tower was empty aside from a stone slab in the center of the room. On top of it lay a boy. He looked so still; so peaceful. He was human, with dark hair tied into a bun and bangs flowing down either side of his face. His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked to be at most a year older than Steve, Toby, and Krel.

"Is this... a tomb?" Toby asked as the three of them approached the boy.

"I don't think so," Steve said as Krel leaned over the boy, who showed no signs of breathing. "In all the video games I've played, the tomb is under the castle-"

"-I keep on telling you Steve, this is a tower!"

"The tomb is under the castle," Steve continued despite Toby's interruption. "Not at the top of it. Unless, I don't know, maybe some cultures don't have their tombs under the castles? Krel, how do Akiridions do it?"

Krel was about to retort that it didn't matter how Akiridions dealt with their dead, because this boy wasn't Akiridion. However, Steve nudged Krel forcefully enough that he lurched forward and his lips brushed against the boy's. They were soft, and just warm enough that despite being in his Akiridion form Krel could feel the temperature difference.

Krel stood up, about to turn and yell at Steve for pushing him. But then, the boy's eyes fluttered open.

Toby screamed.

The boy screamed, sitting up and scrambling away from the three of them.

Steve and Krel screamed.

The boy caught his breath and looked between the three of them. He drew his knees up to his chest as he   and Krel waited for Toby and Steve to stop screaming. He licked his lips and swallowed before speaking. "Which one of you kissed me?"

Steve pointed at Krel. The boy stared at Krel with an odd expression.

"I only did so because I was shoved," Krel said, rolling his eyes. Really, if the boy wanted an apology for having been unexpectedly kissed while he was asleep, then Steve should be the one apologizing.

Slowly, a shy smile formed on the boy's face. "I'll admit, I had thought that my true love would've been a human or another wizard, not... no matter what, it's good to meet you. I'm Douxie."

Out of the corners of his eyes, Krel could see his friends trying and mostly failing to not laugh at the entire situation with Douxie. This wasn't funny, and his friends weren't helpful at all. Maybe this was a sign that they should've waited for Jim and Claire, who would certainly... no. They'd probably also be trying to stifle laughter. Krel was so thankful that Aja wasn't here, because she'd definitely be laughing.

"I... no," Krel said. "Why the kleb do you think I'm your 'true love' or whatever?"

Douxie's face fell before raised an eyebrow. "I was cursed, so that I would sleep for 900 years, and then this tower would appear in close vicinity to my true love, who would wake me with a kiss. Didn't you read the runes the Master Merlin inscribed on the door? You would've triggered their magic."

Krel bristled with frustration. "Well, clearly this 'Master' didn't account for the possibility of my technology interfacing with the tower."

Douxie flinched, frowning and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Wait, by Merlin, you wouldn't happen to mean a crusty old wizard who likes the color green and uses the Staff of Avalon, would you?"

"I wouldn't call him crusty..." Douxie said. One of the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying to fight off a smile.

"Come on," Toby said. "My friends - other friends, not these two - and I have way too much experience cleaning up Merlin's messes."

The four of them exited the tower and watched it turn to mist behind them. Douxie frowned and was silent as they made their way to Jim's house.

"So," Jim said, glancing over at Douxie. Douxie was seated on the couch, sipping at a glass of water. He had tucked himself into a corner, arm not holding the glass wrapped around himself. He looked around slowly with a dazed and confused expression. "You decided to, instead of waiting for backup, go investigate the tower on your own. And then you woke up yet another ancient wizard."

"I mean," Toby replied, "at least this one doesn't seem to be genocidal or power hungry." Claire flinched.

"Technically Krel woke him up!" Steve said. Krel scowled. He only woke Douxie up because Steve pushed him. For all they knew, carrying him out of the tower would have worked just as well. Or splashing him with water or shaking him.

"Why were you asleep and trapped in the tower, Douxie?" Douxie jumped upon hearing Jim say his name.

"The curse was intended for our king, to make him sleep for 900 years, but his sister pushed him out of the way. It was because the curse wasn't originally meant for her that I was able to sacrifice myself for her," Douxie said. Very pointedly, he looked away from Krel. "I... there was an old wooden tower on the edge of Camelot. It had fallen into disrepair, so Master Merlin was able to enchant it to protect me, and so... the curse was supposed to only be breakable by true love's kiss, but I guess since Morgana took on the curse instead there were other ways to wake me up."

"Wait." Claire sat up straight, muscles tensing like she was preparing for a fight. "By Morgana, you wouldn't mean a witch 'has many names' and was the apprentice to Merlin?"

"I have never heard her claim to have many names," Douxie said, "but you do remarkably well at mimicking her voice. And yes, but she finished her apprenticeship years before I met her. How do you know her?"

"Oh, let me count the fucking ways." Claire sneered. "Let's see, in reverse chronological order, there's the time she tried to kill all life on Earth-"

"She wouldn't do that!" Douxie's hands shook before he balled them into fists.

"Oh, she definitely did. She did that and more."

"No, I know  her. You must be mistaken," Douxie said quickly, like he had very little air and couldn't say much before gasping again.

"You knew her," Claire said. Pinpricks of purple invaded her eyes, and her voice raised a little in volume with each word. "But I know what she became after you fell asleep. You should have just let her keep the curse."

Douxie began to hyperventilate, shaking his head. Krel just barely saw the way tears and pinpricks of blue formed in his eyes as he reached for his bracer before a cloud of pale blue smoke enveloped the room. The glass fell to the floor, and the sound of the door opening could be heard.

Douxie was gone when the smoke cleared, and there was no sign of where he could be.

"I... fuck," Claire said. Her hands shook, and she kept glancing down at them and around the room. Her eyes were wide and her voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch than normal. "I didn't mean to- I just- I'll go after him. Apologize."

"No," Toby said. "Claire, we all know you didn't mean to hurt Douxie, but we also all know that if you even just start sneezing because of dust then your PTSD starts to act up more. That argument you just had about Morgana isn't helping things. You're on the edge of a panic attack, and one or both of you will get hurt if you go after him."

"I'll go after him," Krel said. "What's the phrase... you wake it, you pay the consequences for it?"

"Eh... sort of, not really," Jim said. "It's you break it, you bought it."

"You break his heart upon waking him up, you're responsible?" Steve said. "But it's probably best if we split up to look for him before he gets himself hit by a car or anything."

Naturally, Douxie had run off into the trees near Jim's house. Given his path, it seemed like he had tried to find his way back to the tower, but he had probably given up when Krel found him. He was casting magic from his bracer and sitting on a tree stump. Half-dried tears reflected the blue light of his magic.

Krel bit his lip, recalling the way that Douxie's had felt against his. The doors of the tower had given way for him. As much as he wanted to deny it and blame Steve, it was Krel's fault he was stuck in a strange world with no one.

Krel inhaled sharply as it finally hit him why Douxie had been so pleased that Krel was his supposed True Love. It wasn't just because Krel broke the curse keeping him asleep, or else he wouldn't have insisted on it so much. He probably would've been thankful either way.

It was because, even if everyone else he ever knew was dead or evil in their old age, at least Douxie would have had someone guaranteed to care about him. It was the one thing he could hope for, and Krel had smashed that hope and left him all alone.

"I know this is probably overwhelming for you," Krel said, slowly approaching Douxie. Douxie didn't look up at him. "I'm not from Earth, so it was overwhelming for me as well, and I at least had my sister and our bodyguard. I'm sorry I'm not who you hoped I would be."

"It's not your fault," Douxie mumbled. "Is it true? That because I sacrificed myself, it's my fault that Morgana did so many horrible things?"

"No. You couldn't have known what she would do. Not even Claire believes that, and if she had been the one to find you I'm sure she'd be trying to apologize. But, out of all my friends, Morgana hurt Claire the most badly, so she overreacted. But no one blames you." Krel pointed at Douxie's bracer. "How does that work?"

Douxie smiled, probably thankful for a change in subject. He could talk about his ancient wizard technology instead of his feelings. "It's sort of like a portable spellbook. It helps me control my magic, and it's also easier to remember the components needed for spells like this. I'm currently trying to cast a spell that will help me find my familiar."

Douxie's smile slid off of his face. "He's a dragon, and dragons live for a long time. If he didn't, then I would have run away from Camelot and never would have sacrificed myself for her. But, what if he's changed like Morgana did, or gotten another wizard after all this time? Or what if he died of non-natural causes?"

"We can try to help you find him. Him and Merlin." Besides, everyone had been trying to find Merlin anyways, after the geezer had skipped out on the trolls by proclaiming that he had things to do.

"Thank you. Though, I'm scared to find either of them."

"Though, in the mean time, you'll need a place to stay. My sister doesn't live at home anymore, so I have a spare room if you want it."

"I'd like that; thank you."

There was no foretold true love waiting for Douxie, but that didn't mean he had to be alone. And neither did Krel.

A/N: I'm going to leave it up to the reader as to whether or not Krel actually is Douxie's fated true love and is just in denial about it.

[paganvamp]

Saving Grace: Prologue

1,000 years ago, a witch with powerful psychic abilities had a premonition that the family next door would commit an act so unholy, it would breed a race of monsters. And though she considers the family’s children to be close friends, she cannot risk the balance of nature. But just as Esther heard of the Immortality Spell, there are whispers of another... a spell which may leave a vital chink in the armor Esther is creating for her children.

But magic has a mind of its own, and Maja’s curse is not what she intended.

In present day Mystic Fall, Virginia, Grace Sinclair wakes one morning sure that her friend Elena Gilbert is returning to school after a four month absence following the death of her parents... only, Grace is apparently the only person aware of such a tragedy. Until that night, that is, when the Gilbert car nosedives off the Wickery Bridge.

So sets in motion a whirlwind of events none of the citizens of Mystic Falls are prepared for, including witches, psychics, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and hybrids... and that’s just the beginning.

Eventual Kol x OC (in the meantime, slight Damon x OC and Tyler x OC)

(A/N: Disclaimer - I do not own TVD or TO. Also, this has not been beta’d so any mistakes are my own) (Also the GIF is not mine, all credit to the original creator)

CW: Talk of blood, canon-level violence, eventual cursing and smut

                              1000 AD: The Originals

       “Ayana, you mustn’t do this.” Maja had been begging the older witch to see reason for nearly half a day. 

       “Esther will not be swayed,” Ayana’s response had been the same for nearly half a day. “She wants to protect her children, Maja.”

      “You know what I saw!” Maja protested. “You know how it will anger the Spirits!”

      “Then it will be her consequence to bear, not ours.” Ayana bore no ill will against either the young witch in front of her or the woman of whom they spoke. But she had no desire to get any more mixed up in their business than she already was. She had conceded to Esther’s pleading out of pity, guiding her towards a spell that would give her the protection she so craved for her remaining family. The same night the child, Henrik, had died, however, Maja had Seen a premonition of the future, a rare gift no one else in their land possessed. Monsters, she had cried, you will breed a race of monsters! Esther, who had been a mentor to Maja as she learned alongside Esther’s own son Kol, had ignored her. Blinded by grief, Esther demanded Ayana help her gather the ingredients for the spell, forsaking the Ancestors she had been sworn to. 

    “I saw our home, Ayana.” Maja spoke softly, knowing that was the one bit of information she had yet to share, had left out of her recounting to both women earlier. The destruction of their village. “Overrun with unnatural creatures, bathed in the blood of innocents.” Ayana straightened, abandoning her basket of White Oak bark on the ground.

    “Esther can’t have done that much damage.”

    “Can’t she? A thousand years later, Ayana, and our descendants are still paying for whatever mess Esther creates tonight.” The older witch hesitated, then stepped closer and lowered her voice.

    “There is… something.” She had heard of a tactic they could try, a story passed down from legend. “But it may not work.”

    “I will try anything.” Maja vowed. She felt for Esther, she truly did. Kol and Rebekah, all of them really, were her friends – she didn’t want anything to happen to them; Henrik had been a joyful presence in her life. But she couldn’t let Esther upset the Balance so monumentally – she wouldn’t. Even if it the cost was her life.

——————————————————————————

    The spell Ayana had found for Esther centered around blood – Black Magic. She was to mix it into their dinner, with a few other ingredients, perform the spell, and feed it to her children. The result would be their redemption; no one could hurt any of them ever again. 

    Ayana had found something that might put a dent in that plan. 

    “I won’t be part of this,” she warned Maja. “I gave you the spell, but if you want to stop Esther, you’re on your own.” 

    “I understand.” Esther’s wrath could be as ferocious as her husband’s. “Thank you.”

    “This is not a guarantee. It is a legend, nothing more, and it may not work at all.” But Maja had hope. No premonitions had revealed to her the success of the spell, but she knew enough about her gifts to trust in her intuition. So, she got to work. She knew what Esther had used for the spell – who Esther had used for the spell – and knew that she had only a small window of opportunity. As Esther’s spell centered around blood, so did Maja’s – her own. It only took a bit, not enough to kill her, spelled and mixed in with Tatia’s. In theory, it would provide a loophole specific to her. Esther’s spell may make her children invulnerable, but Maja would be their weakness. By consuming her spelled blood, all six of them would be connected.

    Sneaking as close as she dared to the fire pit outside Mikael’s home, near which sat a cask of wine she knew contained the magical elixir, Maja pulled a bottle of her own blood, previously collected, from under her skirts. As quickly as she could, she began pouring it into the cask, when Rebekah stepped outside.

    “Maja? What are you doing here?” Only half-emptied, Maja was forced to let the small vial fall to the ground, where she pressed it into the mud with her foot.

    “Oh, I was coming to say hello when I smelled your mother’s stew.” Luckily, any strange movements Rebekah might have noticed Maja making were hidden by the rather large spit and pot over the fire. “She really is the best cook in the village.”

    “I would invite you to have some, but my father will be home soon.” Everyone was afraid of Mikael, with good reason. After Henrik’s death, his temper had been even more uncontrollable.

    “I understand. Say hello to your family for me!” Walking quickly away, Maja prayed the amount of blood she’d gotten into the wine had been enough. 

——————————————————————————

    Later that evening, far too apprehensive to finish her supper, Maja stepped outside her home, hoping to find reprieve from the concerned looks of her parents and siblings. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of Mikael through the open window of his own home next door. She was just in time to see him drive his sword through Kol’s heart, an action that felt as though it were echoed in Maja’s own - Kol was, along with Rebekah, her dearest friend. The Sun for life, she chanted to herself, one half of her hoping the poor family would stay dead, the other pleading to see her Kol’s perpetually smiling face pop back up at the window. Mikael left, looking for something, and Maja stepped back into the doorway, hidden from him amongst the shadows. A few minutes later, Kol’s head did appear again in the window, along with the rest of his siblings, all looking bloody and extremely confused. Mikael returned, a sick-looking girl in his arms. Fresh blood. Maja didn’t want to watch anymore. 

    The next night, Maja was sitting under the White Oak in the middle of the village, one of her father’s hunting knives up her sleeve. The White Oak for Immortality… but if the spell had worked, would she be the exception? Mikael’s request, repeated to her by Ayana, rang in her ears. Stronger, faster, superior in power and senses. Perhaps, then, the trick wouldn’t be killing them, but getting to them. As Elijah walked past, off to do whatever errands he could no longer do during the day, Maja made her choice. Dear, sweet Elijah. The most mild-mannered, the most kind. The one least likely to snap her neck should he notice her intentions. 

    Knowing it was likely futile to attempt to be sneaky, as she and Elijah were the only two people out, she went for another tactic.

    “Elijah!” He whirled.

    “Maja? What are you doing out here so late?”

    “I just… wanted to see how you were doing? I know this transition cannot be an easy one.” She stepped closer and he stiffened.

    “No, no it… it is not.” Even now, his deep, calm voice soothed Maja’s anxiety, as it always had. “There are…unexpected challenges.” She imagined all of it was unexpected, but she knew what he was trying to say.

    “Like what?” She stepped closer again, now within striking distance. Elijah was clearly uncomfortable with her line of questioning.

    “Let us just say it is an exercise in control.” Suddenly, she lashed out, knife in hand. Had he been human, it would have gone directly into his heart. As he was not, however, he moved to the side in time to avoid most of the damage. She did leave a long gash across his chest, however.

    It healed almost immediately.

    “What are you doing?” Elijah demanded. Maja was numb.

    “It didn’t work.” She felt her lower lip begin to tremble with tears of hopelessness.

    “Of course, it didn’t work! You of all people should know better.” I meant the spell. But she didn’t correct him, and she didn’t seem to notice that she was being criticized, not for attempting to kill him, but for doing a shoddy job of it. We’re not connected at all.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [15/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Drunk Thor, Sad Y/N and unhappy Heimdall...so just melodrama

A/N: ...Finally all caught up with the ao3 updates. Now to disappear for a short time on my dash.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The tavern still kept that stale scent you’d first caught a waft of on your first visit. But the noise was different; less evenly spread out and more singular. In the centre of the room, Thor was raving in slurred speech like a man with a grievance against every single patron in the room. Except his grievance was personal, separate and alien to the other drinkers.

He would town an entire tankard of ale and then demand another with sloppy fingers hitting the poor wooden bench. Once he had a full cup again, he’d begin his lamentations that ranged from stories of his youth about Loki’s mischievous machinations to angry shouts of abandonment.

“He lied to us!” Thor spoke into his ale. “All of us!” He looked up to the disinterested people in the tavern. “Your King lies to you this very moment!”

“Telling all is well…” Thor whispered to himself as he stood, legs jolting up so fast he nearly lost balance. “Woah!” As he righted himself, he laughed into his tankard, ale pilling onto his chest. “Why did he do it?”

You chose to watch him for a while. The strangers in the tavern eyed you suspiciously. It was a new look you’d never noticed before. Perhaps it was to do with your appearance. It mattered not, they were not of importance to you. Nor was their hushed murmuring behind tankards of ale.

Suddenly, Thor’s eyes went wide, “Hammer! Hammer! Where’s my—Oh, there you are.” He ducked next to a leg of roast boar, grinning from ear to ear. “He was a fool! Only fools don’t fear my hammer…” His mouth drooped at the corners, a waver in his voice. “Only fools wield hammers.”

“Only fools…” Thor fell, but more out of exhaustion than a lack of footing. You moved from the doorway and went to his side, a weary exhale gracing your dry lips as you patted down the ale with your cloak’s end.

“Oh, you big lout,” you looked down at Thor. “So this is how you’ve been spending your days.”

Thor looked up at you and laughed in his drunken stupor, “Little Stormbringer!”

“Come on,” you tried to get him onto his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki turned into a snake?” His breath was ripe and hot across your cheek.

“Oof,” you choked back a gag. “No, but I’m sure it’s one for the ages.”

Thor began reciting the story as if it were one told a thousand fold. You struggled to hold him up, your body weaker than before; all the muscle of Sif’s training turned to softness around poking bones.

As you lost hold of Thor, sending him crashing onto an empty table, you waved your hand on instinct, calling forth that bristle of energy that used to reside under your skin at all times. But the even though the magic listened, it never answered you, and you were reminded for the second time that day, your magic wouldn’t help you.

You sighed, preparing to lift Thor and restart the cycle, but then a hand fell on your shoulder, the armour digging into your exposed shoulder.

“Let me,” Heimdall offered. He didn’t look you in the eye, he’d made a habit of not doing so since the leeching began. You didn’t blame him for that.

Heimdall reached down, and in one fell swoop, he hoisted Thor to his feet.

“Heimdall, old friend,” Thor beat him large hands on Heimdall’s armoured chest, letting out a banging noise. “Care for a horn of ale?”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Heimdall said with a sharp edge to his disapproving tone.

“Enough?” Thor shouted. “Yes, perhaps I have had enough.” His words were darker than they seemed. Lonesome. Sad.

On the walk to the tavern, Thor spouted more of his lamentations. To your surprise, no one around seemed to care for his words of kingly deceit and brotherly loss. Everyone skirted past with the expression one has when a drunk stumbles and yells nonsense; weary disaffection.

“Does no one hear him?” You asked as Heimdall led Thor up some steps. The stench of alcohol was lighter out in the open, but Thor’s voice became a frighteningly, loud echo.

“The All-Father cast an enchantment,” Heimdall said.

You swallowed the poisonous burn trudging up your oesophagus as the mention of Odin and more of his precarious magics. “An enchantment?”

“The Spell of Igneia,” Heimdall said. “Those who are ignorant to the source of the words spoken remain ignorant to the words. We can hear Thor because we all witnessed the same things. Others did not. And so—”

“They remain ignorant of it,” you finished for him. “Then what is the story being spun of the attack?”

“I do not know,” Heimdall’s jaw clenched down tight, the gold in his eyes flashing near coal-fire red.

“You’re lying,” you said softly. Not in anger or disappointment, just factually; the way Loki would murmur things that he surmised in a plain fashion, forgetting for the briefest second that manner and fact could rarely be separated in polite company.

Heimdall stopped walking then, turning with the bellowing Thor drooping his fighting shoulder, “You. The story is a half-truth—your magic. A tale easily believed given your current state.”

You could feel the brunt of his scowl hit like ice water in your veins. For some reason, you didn’t like the idea that he was upset with you. Heimdall’s eyes flickered to one red mark that peeked under your sleeve. His nose curled up in a would-be snarl had he been a wolf. A whisper under his breath going unheard. Then he continued on.

“It’s the only way,” you defended yourself against words you didn’t even hear.

“It was the easiest way,” Heimdall lectured over his shoulder. “No matter how you choose to spin this story, I do not believe that you made the right choice. Not what I am reminded of what the leeching does to you every—” He sighed. “We’re here.”

Heimdall waited for you to open Thor’s quarters. The room was in disarray; much like yours, except instead of papers and tomes, there was broken furniture and gutted down pillows. Rage lived in this room. Mjolnir had been buried under some broken furniture, as though Thor tried to make a perimeter of wood and iron around the weapon.

Heimdall set Thor on the bed and promptly made his way to the door. With his hand on the latch, he said over his shoulder, “Find a better way.”

“There isn’t one,” you rubbed at the leech marks as if doing so would make them disappear.

“You can’t be afraid of yourself forever.”

“I am. And so should you. You saw what I did. I won’t be anyone’s mindless weapon. If this is what it takes to stay as myself, then the price is fair.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Then see it in whatever way you please. My answer is final. Until a more effective method of nullifying my abilities is found, I will keep at it.”

“Then…” Heimdall breathed in, his body stretching out to its righted posture and high chin. “I shall have to find you one.”

With that, Heimdall left, and you were alone with Thor. His ravings had lowered to a sleepy-whisper now. That made it worse. Made him sound raw.

You thought of what Frigga would do to console him and then you helped him out of his boots before covering him with a blanket.

“You know, I always wanted a sister,” Thor said with a mild smile. “I thought—Never like this…”

He wasn’t making much sense, so you simply patted his hand and replied, “Sleep, you need it.”

“I could say the same for you,” Thor said, a look of expected pity in his eyes. “He liked you…Likes you. I don’t know which way to speak—past or present?”

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”

Thor turned to his side, away from you and sobbed, “It’s my fault.”

You brushed his arm, “And mine. And Odin’s for his secrets. And my mother’s for not telling me what I was sooner.” Your lips trembled at this part: “And Loki too, for trying to protect me.”

Thor kept still for a few moments, settling into your words. “How do you handle it…the guilt?”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, soulless eyes of a strange creature staring back, “I don’t. The only reason I left my room was because of Sif. I was happy to stay locked away, in my routine. For eternity if need be.”

“Eternity ends faster than we think, doesn’t it?” Thor sat up, soberness of the shared pain making him more alert, “Then let’s make a pact—to hold off on the end of Eternity for as long as we can.”

You chewed your inner cheek, correcting him plainly, “To end this, you mean?” You gestured to everything; you, him, the rage cluttered room.

“An end to an end,” Thor said, reaching his arm out for you to accept.

You locked your fingers around his forearm, Thor’s grip on your own forearm came off more powerful than you had anticipated. You worked around the wince on your face and said, “An end to an end.”

You walked to the door and wished him goodnight.

“Goodnight, Little Stormbringer,” he said with the affection of a brother.

On your way to your quarters, you heard the muffled sounds of healers near the healing chamber. Eavesdropping never bore you sweet fruit, but there was little that could change that now; so you listened in.

“Any improvement?” The head healer—the woman you had flung like a rag doll upon your first awakening—asked another.

“Physically, his wounds have healed,” there was a pregnant pause, prickling with anxious static. “I fear, this is beyond us. He should have awoken by now. If he has, I can only assume something is preventing him from regaining consciousness. Or…perhaps—” the healer’s eyes skittered about, hands twining and untwining.

“Spit it out girl,” the head healer demanded.

“A few of us believe it’s his own doing.”

The head healer scoffed, “Impossible, he hasn’t as much as twitched of his own accord.”

“Those with magic do not think alike to us,” the other healer whispered, closing in on her superior to say: “What if the rumours are true? What if he isn’t entirely Asgardian?”

“Hush, foolish girl, you speak dangerous words. Go now, leave for the night,” the head healer barked with authority before rushing away from the exposed hall ways.

The healing chamber was more claustrophobic than you remembered. For one, Volstagg was snoring in a corner, looking less beat up than before. Hogun was either sleeping on the chair or keeping very quiet in the night as he watched over his friend. A few guards from the night of the attack were also getting treatment.

You walked passed them, towards the back where a spiral staircase led up to a private healing chamber. The room was enormous and beautiful and cloistered. The kind of tower an ornamental flower was grown to die in. Overlooking the endlessly beautiful landscape, but unable to be touched by the waters of rain or the sounds of birds; a mausoleum of glass.

Loki remained in the same place he’d been since you woke up; suspended in that clear, golden curtain of energy, hovering like a beautiful painting lost to a world with no gravity. His hair had grown an inch or two longer, somehow the shine of the energy field made his hair look blacker as it moved like liquid. His jaw was set right again, a small scar under it left as a reminder. He was dressed in robes of emerald. Long fingers looking cold and untouched. Lips without colour and skin nearly grey—paler than ever before.

You walked over, quiet so not as to stir anyone else in the chambers, but there was no one else. You looked at his face and thought of him—the snake and the man—and the words that haunted you over and over: “Never leave my side again.”

You took his hand and never felt his finger tighten the hold. You leaned over and whispered: “You should have wished that my eyes to grow dark.”

No reaction. No flinch or tweak or tug and pull of a simple tendon. Blankness.

You sighed, “You asked me to never leave your side, and yet look at which one of us isn’t here…Look!”

Again, nothing.

“Open your eyes and look at me! Answer for what you’ve done!” You wanted to beat and pounded at his chest. To hear him let out a groan or gasp as he laughed into your ear and took your hands in his. “I bewitched you?” You were shouting at the air. At the empty spaces in between. At the Loki of the past.

“I bewitched you?” You shouted again. “Trickster! Tempter! Liar! If I bewitched you—truly—why can’t my enchantment bring you back? Why can’t you feel how much I need you?”

You let go of his hand, feeling the weight of it to be too burdensome. “Is it true? Are you not waking because you don’t want to? Because of me?” You crumbled to your knees. No tears came, only the sandpaper feeling of a dry throat. You looked at the red marks on your arms and said: “I can’t hurt you anymore, so please, please, come back.”

And for the grand finale, silence, yet again. Always silence. You fell asleep in that beautiful mausoleum, on the cold, hard floor, too listless to walk back to your room.

[shadowtongued]

long headcanon about the duality of love and the mahjarrat condition pertaining to it from his point of view. if you read all this babble i swear to god, i love you, i hope you have a good day. cw: sex addiction, child neglect, unhealthy coping, unrequited pains. reason for writing: hi i want to die bc of angst.

i think we all know even without playing medieval xp grind lore game, runescape, that sliske is old. very old. he tells us in endgame there's not much he hasn’t done with his life over thousands of years, even traveling to other planets and realms to just see what was out there and how far he could get. i’ve always projected his age as somewhere between more than 8,000 or even more than 10,000. we’re never given a timeline to how long the children of mah have lived. sliske has done a lot with his time; he’s killed a god, had quite a few elder relics in his grasp, SPOKEN to a elder god and managed not to die, mastered shadow magicks, has an excellent grasp on the shadow realm. he’s good with biology, chemistry, has a fair understanding of soul magic which is kind of a rare brand of knowledge, he’s tricked probably thousands into bad contracts to become wights in his army, understands the psychology and bad morals of people. he was a playwright, a high ranking officer, a spymaster. dude is just a determined polymath. you know what he hasn’t done? love. he’s never got to play with love.

mahjarrat are explained as having emotions, but dulled ones. they feel rage and pride apparently better than others. kharshai said after years of really believing he was a human, that when he came back to his true form he states “i  feel raw power coursing through my veins. i don't feel pain like i used to, and i'm sure my intellect has increased. but somehow there is something missing. a capacity for emotion that i can't quite put my finger on.” they aren’t equipped for the same range of positive emotions as others are. they feel it, but they don’t understand it fully, it has been said by developers. this whole bit is sadly funny considering in canon, sliske catches feelings. he doesn’t realize he’s attracted to the player character. it’s stated many times, in his journals, in dialogue, etc. he believes their fates are tangled no matter what. and the saddest bit is he probably doesn’t understand these feelings and it confuses him to the point of anger.  “ love! a mahjarrat in love? ... i almost wish that were true. it would certainly make the universe a more interesting place. ” “ so perhaps i have loved you. but that doesn’t mean i have to like you.”  sliske’s main goal started off as to take the players immortal, unable to be crushed by the divine, soul and give it to himself so he could live forever, as mahjarrats do not have afterlives, once they die they are done, evaporated into energy. but in endgame we learn something from him hidden in masks that refutes that;

“I love you for more than your soul.”

you STUPID fucker, you’re in love.

the remainder of this is a lot of NON-CANON, personal headcanon interpretation that pretty much only works on this blog. as a rough summary: sliske’s ol’ mum was not fond of her kids, half-brother wahisietel or sliske since she did not see them as powerful as herself and was disappointed that's what her legacy came out to. a short, beefy, average at magic son, she had another go and was still disappointed with this spidery, scrawny, gifted but absolutely annoying stick underweight child. his father, saw him once or twice in his life and that was it. dyeosuthua wanted nothing more than to make them disappear and try again until she got offspring she didn’t want to throw into a lava pit in secrecy, infanticide was against tribal law due to population issues. sliske’s mother’s neglect was so severe, ( by the absolute boundless joys of rp development and mutual heacanons ♥ ) that wahi and nabor had an attempt at raising him and keeping him from freezing to death. why is all this jargon important? because while all mahjarrats are raised by tough love, sliske’s attention deprivation from his mother was so severe, he grew up and still has a slew of reactive attachment, psychological, and social issues he still carries as an adult. several times she threatened to kill him and almost made good on it more than twice. when wahisietel had proven he was a survivor of the first ritual of rejuvenation, sliske became dyeosuthua’s  main target for abuse despite his gift for magic at a young age. nothing he did could impress her enough. and it left him constantly seeking approval and validation to an insecure mind.

the more he grew, the more confident he became mainly out of spite and to get attention. he’s loud, charming, makes you the only person in the room when he talks to you. he has an innate silver-tongued ability that persuades people to do just about anything. it was a front for his insecurities that he kept very very closed up. in the second age/senntisten capital, sliske had a pretty severe sex addiction as it was one of the few ways he felt validated and was able to get affection in a way he could digest. people with reactive attachment disorders often have sex addictions to fill the space of acceptance without having to commit.. easy, feel good intimacy without having to open up and let someone learn about your vulnerabilities and commit. it was pretty severe, considering mahjarrats find any kind of breeding or intimacies outside their ‘superior species’ as downright foul. sliske had always been the black sheep of the tribe and with his status as praefectus praetorio; head of secret police, really nothing put a damper on him trying to fill the void for affection he had. there wasn’t a species or individual he wouldn’t bed. he would easily take up propositions even for people who just wanted to fuck a mahjarrat because it was ‘exotic’ or because of his status as an officer, he now looks back on this and it bruises his insecurities even more that he allowed himself to do that. not out of pride for his species. but himself, being just a thing to be had because of rarity. azzanadra and his brother, wahisietel found out about it and while disgusted, partially understood what he was doing to negatively self soothe. at one point sliske and azzanadra, the champion of their god and head of the church, as well of one of the strongest living of their kin, had a lasting tryst for a few years and for awhile it made sliske feel very much self important in a way and alleviated his need to be needed so badly, this did not end well when sliske grew tired of their empire and wanted freedom. once childhood best friends and lovers had become absolute enemies once sliske became too unstable and azzanadra became too zealous. 

sliske gave up his sexcapades for a long time, thousands of years, his libido dropped when he became interested in other projects and self healing when he was hit with the idea that he hasd essentially allowed himself to be an exotic fling and still burned over becoming his god, zaros, scapegoat after all he had done for him. love was a weird concept to him and still is. despite being adamant love doesn’t exist for his kind, and his belief that he is flawed, unstable, and embraced the idea of ‘you want a monster? fine! i’ll be the monster!’. he expects no pity, not be forgiven to things he has done and even in game when you sycophantically try to cozy to him, he straight up calls out your text choice was awful considering some of the shitty things he might have done to you. to sliske, all attention to him is attention, whether you’re praising or insulting him. he’s on your mind, he exists, that’s all he wants.

backstory aside the real part of this headcanon is that sliske actually wants love. it’s the only thing aside from an immortal soul he hasn’t had. sliske actually has an attraction to humans because they are empathetic, curious, passionate, and determined. he has an easier time assimilating and being around them since he has ALWAYS had a better sense of humor, socializing, and happiness than his kin. he feels emotions a lot stronger than his fellow mahjarrats. it allows him to talk to and connect to humans and humanlike species better. others of his kind have told him there’s “something wrong” with him for that. he’s actually a romantic, even if he’s just mimicking romance stories, movies, and actions from others. he thinks the idea of settling with one person and loving them is both mortifying and interesting. opening yourself up to someone and giving them the hammer to smash your cherry-red painted porcelain heart and seeing if they do, to him might be the ultimate form of trust and biggest gamble of russian roulette. the stakes are so heavy he’s high on the idea. but it’s also horrifying. mahjarrat are prolific for not opening up, not allowing others in, vulnerability out in the open is a death sentence. they live in a kratocracy/meritocracy where they kill off the weakest link. it’s not pretty. being soft is a useless, unnecessary, weak gene to them. it dampers survival. 

but yet sliske keeps reading romance novels, writing his own confused poetry, and getting into unrequited one sided loves but practicing a backstabbing betrayal when one gets too close. i have to hurt them before they hurt me, betray and cut them down before they can do it to me. i think he wants to be loved. i think he kinda wants to be taught to love, for the emotions and the sake of knowledge. ( brb james newton howard’s ‘true love’s kiss’ from maleficent just came on spotify and i think i’m going to die bc i did not ask for background music thanks!!! ) he wouldn’t be the best at it, maybe a little too possessive with you, codependent, but very nurturing and fun loving. will sepnd a whole week spooning you.. people who hurt you past, present, and future may end up dead in mysterious ways or turned into a wight for you to beat the shit out of. but he’d try. he’s still got a broken child sitting behind his third rib. i think he would snarl the first few times someone genuinely got close to him, it would terrify him, being known on such a skinned, raw level. having gentle touches that are real and not a come hither to the bedroom. being known for something other than the confident, ego he has is death. he could be taught to be gentle for a crumb of consistent attention. might even cut down the murders and god killing down by 15%. love is not going to fix him, it’s not going to forgive the actual shitty things he’s done. it should never do that. but it will turn the lights on in a dark house.

love could really break him. i think so. i’d type more but this has gone on too long and i feel sad-happies. 

[yffresbeard]

#TESOctober: Priestess

Part of Runa lamented her stubborn nature as she trudged through the blizzard toward the werewolves’ lair. If her fellows in the town guard didn’t believe her, she decided she’d go on her own. She refused to let Morthal fall.

Of course, it wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t make it there in time to stop them.

The steel of her battleaxe weighed heavily on her back and her breath fogged the air in front of her, she kept going until finally, she was close enough to see the mouth of the cave - and it smelled of wet dog. She was vindicated! And, quite suddenly, she wished she had been wrong.

Werewolves planned to attack her home.

She would not let them.

-----

The cave floor was covered in gore and fur - as was Runa herself. But she’d done it. Not one mongrel got past her axe-blade, and none would disturb Morthal this night. It made up for the deep gashes in her belly. If she was to die here, at least it would be in service to her home.

The dim light of her torch - barely burning - finally went out, leaving her in darkness with only her pain and her victory, and muttering in her weak voice a half-remembered prayer to Kyne.

Hear me, goddess of storms, and the bringer of rain

The Mother of Men and Shor's Warrior-Wife

Your Sons and your Daughters implore you again

Protect those that hunt, for they savor their life.

A little late for protection, Runa thought darkly, but it hardly mattered. She was content to find her way to Sovngarde now, and closed her eyes to wait.

-----

Her eyes opened, expecting the glory of Shor’s hall, her ancestors greeting her and congratulating her on a warrior’s death - but all she saw was low candlelight and a ramshackle hut, and a figure sitting in a chair by a fire stirring a pot of something that smelled wonderful to her famished stomach.

Her stomach. The deep lacerations across her stomach only faintly ached - none of the raw, oozing pain she’d felt in the cave. Gauze overlayed her abdomen, but no blood stained the white of the bandages - healing magic.

"Easy, now, girl,” the figure spoke. “I may have healed the worst of your wounds, but you’ll still need time to recover.”

Recover. Alive, then, surely.

She tested her tongue. “Where am I?” The words were slow and careful, but they came.

“My home, a way south of Morthal. My name is Nehilde - I am a priestess of our lady Kyne. It is thanks to her I found you in that cave. You need rest, so try not to speak too much.”

Sitting up in the small bed, Runa squinted against the dim light to make out the face of her savior. An older woman, to be sure - unless that slight body was hiding superior strength to her own, there was no way she carried Runa’s dead weight all the way here, but Runa thought better of asking.

Nehilde brought a bowl of a warm stew and a loaf of bread to the bed, which Runa hungrily wolfed down - she guessed horker meat and some foraged vegetables, but really she couldn’t care less what it was, only that it warmed and soothed her.

After a time (She fathomed a few hours, at least) resting and watching Nehilde read, Runa could no longer contain her questions. ”What did you mean when you said you found me because of Kyne?”

“I received a vision of you walking blindly to that cave and found a hawk alight on a tree outside when I arrived. Our lady protects all hunters.”

“Our lady?” Runa had never been terribly religious, or even faithful - but the way the old priestess said it made it seem personal.

Nehilde nodded, and gestured out of the small window of her hut to a bare, skinny tree. “Yes. Kyne has seen fit to bless you, apparently - that hawk there followed us the whole way here and a bear carried you here with me.”

Runa blinked. “A bear?”

“A bear. It hasn’t left, either. What is your name, dear, and why ever did you go to that cave with those beasts.”

After giving Nehilde her name, Runa replied as best she could. “I knew there were werewolves there, and that they would attack Morthal - but the other guards didn’t believe me. So I went on my own.”

Nehilde clicked her tongue, but said nothing more on the matter. “Rest, then, Sister of the Hawk. You are safe here.”

[forthehunger]

THE GIRL IS A GOD / THE GOD IS A MONSTER

NAME: Zisa ALIAS: The First Wood-Wife, The Devourer’s Bane, Zisa Foerster SPECIES: Goddess  ETHNICITY: Caucasian (German) YEAR OF BIRTH: Unknown ORIENTATION: Bisexual Biromantic (cis-female, she/her) HOMETOWN: Augsburg, Germany OCCUPATION: Tribal princess, forest born-in-training, goddess, the first wood-wife, forester (verse dependent)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: Anya Taylor Joy HAIR COLOR: Blonde EYE COLOR: Hazel HEIGHT: 5 feet 6 inches PIERCINGS: Ear lobes SCARS: A faint scar on her left knee, two long scars on her back (like claw marks), a ridged scar just above her right hip

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: Bluma † FATHER: Rolt † BROTHER: Tyr MENTOR: Old Mother Hunger †

TALENTS & ABILITIES

AS THE FIRST WOODWIFE -- According to Germanic mythology, wood-wives are female guardians of the forest who are known to be altruistic and benevolent towards humans. They usually ask favors from travelers in exchange for a handful of woodchips, which turn to gold the moment the traveler has left the forest. Wood-wives are also known to be adept at using herbs and plants to cure illnesses and ward off evil. Zisa is the first of the wood-wives and all the legends can be traced back to her. She has since shared this vocation with other wood-wives, usually mortal women who are then elevated by Zisa to become forest spirits to continuously guard the forest and those who reside or venture inside it.  

AS A FOREST-BORN -- Zisa was chosen to become a forest-born while Tyr was chosen to become the human vessel for the primordial evil known as The Devourer. Forest-borns are abominations, humans who succumbed to the power of The Great Forest, which is The Devourer’s domain. They have a bond with each other and with the Devourer, and some of his magic and malice are woven into their body, tainting their humanity. Zisa trained to become a forest-born under Old Mother Hunger, the first and most powerful of The Devourer’s forest-born. This taint in her humanity is what allowed her to confront The Devourer in his own realm and save her brother Tyr from possession, by containing the primordial evil in her no-longer-mortal form, until she found a way to defeat him. 

AS THE WIELDER OF DURENDAL -- While searching for a way to free her brother Tyr from the magical trance he was placed under by Old Mother Hunger, Zisa searches a field of bones to ask the dead for help. A pair of bones -- belonging to a brother and sister -- answered her plea, and she took them to the crippled smith, Volund, to be fashioned into swords in exchange for “the delights of her proud body, twice”. Thinking the swords would help slay the Devourer, Zisa agreed, and after the swords are made, she ended up wielding Durendal, which means endurance. Both Joyeuse and Durendal are capable of shrinking into bone needles, and Zisa usually has her bone-sword pinned on her somewhere. 

AS THE GODDESS OF THE DEEP, DARK FOREST -- Zisa eventually saved Tyr and contained the Devourer within her body. She hoped to expel him by sewing charms with red string using Joyeuse and Durendal in their needle forms. The charms were supposed to trick The Devourer to devour itself, and Zisa swallowed them so they can be transported to the Devourer’s realm. After succeeding to vanquish the devourer, Zisa held on to her immortality, and the power of the Great Forest remained inside her. Parts of the deep, dark forest still contain remnants of the primordial evil made of the same fabric as The Devourer, and it is Zisa’s responsibility to stand guard against those forces for the safety of humankind. 

NOTES ON THE PORTRAYAL

Zisa the Goddess barely appears on Germanic lore and her existence is often debated upon by scholars. This portrayal is largely based on the book Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge, and it’s fair to say she’s taken some liberty in explaining Zisa’s myth. For one, Zisa and Tyr’s story is supposed to be a Hansel and Gretel retelling (with Old Mother Hunger as the witch). She also portrays Zisa and Tyr as siblings, while some sources cite Zisa as Tyr’s consort. For this portrayal, I will adhere to them being brother and sister, a prince and a princess of a tribe that resided in what is now Augsburg, Germany.

The sequence of events are as follows ( tw: cannibalism, murder ):

A primordial evil called The Devourer threatened Zisa’s community. He was told to have “swallowed the sun and moon” and plunged the world in darkness. In his service were forest-borns who tormented mortals.

Zisa and Tyr’s father, a tribal leader, believed that this was the way of the world, the weak succumbed to the strong. He eventually offers up her children in the service of the Devourer and the forest-born.

During the ritual to denote the sacrifice, Zisa and Tyr were told by the forest-borns that the first to cut the other’s hand will become a forest-born, the one maimed will become the Devourer’s new vessel. Knowing that Tyr would never harm her, Zisa picked up the sword and cut off Tyr’s hand.

Tyr was then placed under a trance, his body and mind prepared to be possessed by the Devourer. Meanwhile, Zisa was training to become forest-born. While Old Mother Hunger slept, she would descend the basement of her house to speak to her brother, imploring him to remember her and his name, which the forest-born wanted him to forget. One day, from his trance, Tyr told Zisa “Only the leavings of the wolf can kill the wolf” which gave her the idea to search the field of bones of the Devourer’s previous victims.

Zisa brought the bones of the unnamed brother and sister to Volund, and the crippled smith fashioned them into swords that shrink down to needles, in exchange for the delights of Zisa’s proud body, twice. 

Zisa returned to Old Mother Hunger’s hut to find out that Tyr had been transported to prepare him for the possession. Old Mother Hunger told Zisa that if she wanted to be there for her brother, she had to kill her mother and father and bring their hearts back to the hut. She did as she was asked, and Old Mother Hunger asked Zisa to cook the hearts and eat them with her.

Afterwards, Zisa was eventually allowed to go where Tyr was. Before The Devourer possessed Tyr, Zisa danced for him, and so enchanted he was by her that she granted her one wish. Zisa asked to see the devourer face to face, and he breathed on her to transport her to his domain. From there, instead of seeking out the devourer, Zisa fetched the orbs that represented the sun and moon and released them back into the sky. The light from the moon immediately killed Old Mother Hunger.

Tyr woke up from his trance and Zisa was spat back out by The Devourer. The plan was that they each wield Joyeuse and Durendal to end the Devourer once and for all, but The Devourer informed Tyr of what happened to their parents, and told them that he had hold of their souls. In exchange for saving their souls, The Devourer wanted Zisa to go back to his realm to search for them, but it was a trick, and he ended up possessing her. 

Upon realizing what happened, Tyr stabbed Zisa with Joyeuse, incapacitating The Devourer and plunging Zisa into a trance. Zisa’s forest-born body was just barely enough to keep the power of The Devourer at bay, and his primordial evil continued to spill into the lands, despite the sun and moon being back in the sky.

Zisa dreamed and dreamed, and eventually realized how to defeat the Devourer. Instructing Tyr through writing, Zisa sew charms with red strings, using the needle forms of Joyeuse and Durendal. She defeated by the Devourer by swallowing the charms and tricking the Devourer to devour itself. The ordeal left Zisa her tainted humanity, the consequence of becoming forest-born, and the power of The Great Forest still contained inside her. 

Now Zisa is the Goddess that guards man-kind against the darkness of the deep forest. She continues to perform her duty as a wood-wife. 

Tyr, whose body was once prepared to become The Devourer’s vessel, is now also immortal, and his godhood has its own myths related to it.

It is important to note that in Crimson Bound, Zisa was not the one to kill The Devourer. This is something I am adapting in my own interpretation based on my own headcanons. 

REGARDING NORSE MYTHOLOGY: Tyr is more well-known as a Norse deity than a German one, and he is known to be the god whose hand was bitten off by Fenrir, a son of Loki. In a Norse Mythology setting, Zisa is still the sister of Tyr, which means that yes, she is an aesir (and a child of Odin), and Zisa still cut off his hand once to prevent him from making a decision she knew would weigh heavily on him. But Zisa mended him using her own godly powers after their ordeal was done. However, the second time Tyr loses his hand, she deemed it to be his fault (all of the aesir’s fault, actually) for binding Fenrir in a needless show of cruelty and superiority, and if he asks, she will refuse to heal him. It is important to know that Zisa resides in Midgard and has no interest in the politics of Asgard. Because the source material I have been exposed regarding Norse Mythology has a more sympathetic view of Loki and their children, so Zisa will adapt the same mentality. She is patiently awaiting Ragnarok, but she has no interest in taking a side in it.

EDIT: will incorporate this properly soon, but in a Norse myth setting, I will HC that “The Devourer” is a darkness that once resided in Niðavellir. It pit Zisa and Tyr against each other, saying that they have to cut off the other’s hand to decide who will became its new vessel and who will be its new lieutenant of sorts. Since Tyr hesitated, Zisa cut off his hand. The Devourer then sought to possess Tyr and make Zisa his foremost soldier, but not before Zisa defeated it by trickery. Tyr is released, but Zisa had to contain the Devourer in her own body, until she managed to weave the red yarns and swallow them, to compel The Devourer to devour itself. Afterwards, Zisa healed Tyr with her yarn. It is said that The Devourer’s power left remnants of itself in Zisa, and that she has become “tainted” by this eldritch horror. 

(If any of the Norse stuff is questionable, please let me know. I am still learning about it and has just recently finished three podcast episodes regarding Loki from Parcast Network’s Mythology.)

REGARDING MARVEL: The main points of the story are kept the same. Zisa is an aesir or in Marvel terms, is an Asgardian. She is the sister of Tyr, the one-handed and dual-natured god of bloodshed and order. They are Odin’s offspring of unknown maternal heritage, and are therefore, Thor’s half-siblings. Unlike other Asgardians however, Zisa resides in Midgard. This came after she and Tyr battled and defeated a primordial evil in Nilfheim (Niðavellir), the coldest and darkest region in the Nine Realms. Zisa contained an evil inside herself called The Devourer and then tricked it to devour itself. As a result, Zisa carries some of The Devourer’s power inside her which somehow made the rest of the gods suspicious of her. The goddess then decided to move to Midgard and reside in the deepest, darkest parts of its forests, protecting humanity from the evil that also lurked there using her powers as a divine entity and the residual power of the primordial evil she once captured inside her. IMPORTANT TO NOTE: The rest of the Asgardians have no idea where Zisa fucked off to when she left Asgard. All they know is that she has exiled herself and has kept herself hidden even from Heimdall. Only Odin (if he so chooses) can find Zisa whenever he is atop his throne, which makes him all-seeing.

IMPORTANT LINKS

Headcanons Pinterest Playlist

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Bailey!

You have been accepted for the role of ROSLALIA CLEARWATER with the facelaim change of Im Jinah! We were so excited to see someone interested in Rosalia. We think she’s such a multi-faceted character and you really brought her in life in your application. We cannot wait to see how her appearance back to the Order will change the dynamics here! Welcome to the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Bailey - she/her

AGE: 26

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I work full time so usually I’ll be on in the evenings and weekends. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say I should be able to get on around 3 times a week.

ANYTHING ELSE: triggers - animal abuse/cruelty/torture.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Rosalia Clearwater

AGE: 30 - December 12, 1951

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Female | She/Her | Bisexual

BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: Requesting a FC change from Jamie Chung to Im Jinah

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

 (tw: minor self harm)

PERSONALITY:

You know those girls you hear about - the ones that grew up with scrapes on their knees and branches in their hair, with wild smiles and honey sweet laughter? No concept of fear, the kind of girl who embraced everything the world threw at her with her feet planted firmly on the ground. Rosalia was once that girl - always ready to speak up and defend those that need defending, quick to fight and just as quickly settle down into a discussion.

She liked to have an understanding of those around her, how they thought and what drove them. It was maybe a more Ravenclaw trait but she found most confrontations didn’t escalate to the same extent if she heard someone out.

Not that she didn’t have opinions - she knew what she believed in and would do research to help support her ideas. Sometimes she’d get fixated on one idea and hold fast to it, that Gryffindor stubbornness settling into her veins. It would take examples and sources to change her mind at that point, not just an opinion. Of course, when it’s the minority (half-breeds and muggle born) there aren’t always the official resources to back up their experiences - biases run rampant throughout history.

She is a natural born leader and teacher - being the eldest of 4 definitely helped her develop those skills. It showed in her classes too - the ease with which she answered questions and how she would help others around her who were struggling, usually regardless of house. The Slytherin’s usually didn’t ask for help from her but if it happened, her answers were usually a little more clipped and there was a distrust in her eyes that wasn’t present with other houses.

Rosalia could definitely be rash in her decisions, jumping into a fight or conversation without knowing all the details. Most of the trouble she landed in was because she didn’t look before leaping.

She has learned over time to not only listen to what people are saying, but what they are not saying. Gaps in information and missing links usually mean something is fishy and she will never hesitate to prod a little if she feels there’s more to be said.

What do they struggle with?

As a child, she would ask question after question, regardless of how appropriate they were and without any regard for tact. The teachers in her muggle schools tried to train her out of it but it wasn’t until she went to Hogwarts that she truly began to see people from all walks of life and how her questions might affect someone. It was also the first place where her punishments stuck - detention in the muggle world would never compare to scrubbing out cauldrons for hours on end or polishing trophies until her hands were red and raw.

Over time, those relentless questions turned into a love of debate and she would eagerly

argue wixen politics or the rights of certain people or why the colour purple was clearly superior over all other colours. It was fun and it always felt like a contest and she did have a love of winning.

Her biggest struggle came around after she was hit by the curse. It wasn’t like breaking a bone, where the pain was immediate and overwhelming and recovery was slow going but the healing was obvious. No, this curse was more insidious - a dark mark forming on her bicep and over time spreading down to her fingers until her veins were dark and her fingertips black.

Slowly losing the mobility of her wand arm was debilitating - the magic thrummed in her veins but she wasn’t able to cast it, to release it to the world. And then one day, she woke up and couldn’t feel anything where the darkness was - no fizzy thrum of magic, no pinpricks of her sewing needles, not even the sensation as she dragged her sharpest knife along her forearm.

After fleeing Britain and the war, it took a very long time for Rosalia to be able to sleep through the night without dreaming of the night that sent her life into a tailspin. Even now, after all the work she put into her rehabilitation, a big part of her still doesn’t believe she will be able to be of use to the Order. What good is a wix with one good arm and unresolved trauma to an organization that is trying to save the wixen world?

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

Growing up, she never knew her father. Her mother, Vanessa Clearwater, rarely talked about him other than to say that he was a muggle and they were better off without him. It was the same with the rest of her sisters - all of them had a different father, always muggle, and never present. Any time they would ask after any of their absent fathers, Vanessa would snap and send them off to do chores until they were exhausted.

It was a strict upbringing but not unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination. Vanessa instilled in each of them a sense of worth and confidence that would be hard to shake. Magic was intermittent among the girls: Rosalia was magical from the age of three, Violette didn’t manifest anything until her 8th birthday, Alysum was the late bloomer of all of them - her letter came as a surprise and her first year was a struggle, but she did manage to manifest magic. Her magic was always the weakest. And Poppy never showed any aptitude for magic. This meant that her entire family doted upon her and did their best to include her whenever they could, but there were some times that Poppy was excluded despite their best efforts.

Vanessa Clearwater: Mother

Rosalia Clearwater: Eldest

Violette Clearwater: 2nd born

Alysum Clearwater: 3rd born

Poppy Clearwater: 4th born

OCCUPATION: 

Rosalia doesn’t currently have an occupation. Before she fled Britain, she was a full time member of the Order and devoted all her time to the cause. Once she was set up in Brazil, she picked up a waitressing job in a muggle restaurant to pay for her rent and food. Now though, as she steps out into the familiar gloomy atmosphere of London, she has nothing. No occupation, no home - she’s not even sure if she’s still a member of the Order.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER: What is their purpose in the Order? How do they feel about the organization within a failing war? Remember, the Order is also an illegal vigilante organization and that can be difficult for characters to navigate.

It was her home. She was a defender, a light against the evils of the world and now she was nothing. A burden to the people she once called family and a liability if she were ever caught. The guilt haunts her - knowing the risk her actions and memory could have.

And still…some part of her wants to be welcomed back, to rejoin the people she loves. Time is short and survival isn’t guaranteed - the gut wrenching article she read in the Prophet confirmed that. The darkness was spreading and she had to get back out there on the front lines…even if it meant her death.

Penance by sacrifice - could she ever make it up to the Order for leaving? If not..she would give her life for those that hadn’t fallen. She would do all she could to pass on what she’d learned to other members of the Order but, as far as she was concerned, her life was tainted and although she was ready to fight, she knew that her life wasn’t worth the same as someone like James Potter.  

SURVIVAL: 

She fled to Brazil and for a while, could not practice her magic at all. Each spell was a fight and every time she reached for it, it felt tired and lethargic. She got set up in a muggle beach side town and started working in a restaurant to make enough to live. She’s going back to Britain now and to be honest, doesn’t intend to survive. Her survival is no longer on the table - the survival of the Light is all that matters now.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Fragile, non-existent, shattered - coming back, she doesn’t expect any sort of warm welcome. She misses them all though, her heart aching every time she thought of back home, thought of sending another owl, of just picking up and going back to the friends and family she once knew. But her dreams are haunted by their scorn, by their betrayal and she finds herself cowering away in her small bachelor room.

Moody - he was her friend, suspicious and rough and always on edge but someone she could trust with her life. And now….well, if he didn’t hex her on sight, she would think it was a miracle. If she could just talk with him, explain why she left how she did…maybe he’d at least give her the time of day.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: 

Note that there are no planned endgame ships set in this roleplay. There are a few characters who are in romantic relationships at the start of the game, but it will be up to players to decide if those relationships can survive the war. This question does not guarantee that any ship will happen, it is merely for fellow players to see where your interest might lie.

Really, anything organic. Will have to work through trauma - doesn’t intend to survive war - why make long term commitments? Open to old flames/exes as well, if we want to establish something from Hogwarts time or from before she fled the country. Could be almost anyone in Hogwarts time and after that time, anyone who was part of the Order. Would never have a relationship with a known death eater - I am down for twists and subterfuge and betrayal though along those lines.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Rosalia definitely has some biases that she got while attending Hogwarts. Competitive by nature, it only made sense to her that of course Gryffindors were better than Slytherins. You only had to look at how the Quidditch games went or where the Slytherin common room was located - the dungeons were creepy and gross and those thoughts just translated over to the students who lived there.

As time went on and she slowly had smaller courses with more classmates from different houses, her immediate disgust and distrust began to go away. She was more likely to treat her fellow Slytherin classmates with respect and even joked around with them, but if she ran into unfamiliar Slytherins in the halls, her gaze would harden and that suspicion would filter back in.

She’s grown a fair bit since her school days and having travelled, does understand that you can’t judge someone based on how they were sorted or who they were at a young age. Still, there are some microaggressions she can’t shake and it takes a purposeful thought process to correct herself when she notices them.

Muggles - Rosalia has two different trains of thoughts when it comes to non-magical folk. The first one is based on Poppy - the baby of the family and someone who needs to be protected. She doesn’t have the luxury of magic to rely on and she struggled a little more compared to the rest of her family. If Rosalia had to compare, she would say it was most similar to seeing a puppy on the side of the road in a box that needed a home.

The other train of thought stems from what Vanessa has told her about her father. How he didn’t want to be a part of her life, how unreliable he was, how much better off they are without him. It’s normal for muggle parents to be absent from their child’s life and Vanessa didn’t want that for any of her kids.

Living among muggles hasn’t warmed Rosalia’s heart to them. If anything, the resentful side of her has grown - working in a customer service role has shown her the worst side muggles have to offer.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 

Honestly, I was looking around different roleplays on tumblr and I really loved the premise of this group. I also liked how the plot drops really incorporated all characters involved and seems to include everyone.

I’ve also kept thinking about this group after I messaged the main a month ago about the potential FC change. I literally couldn’t get Rosalia out of my head.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I really like the idea of exploring the trauma and PTSD that Rosalia has and how this will affect her return to the Order. I also like the idea of her not succeeding when she initially returns and forcing her to deal with some of the trauma she’s been avoiding.

I also love the idea of getting her to a place where she can produce a full bodied patronus again as she hasn’t been able to since she was hit by the curse.

[imagine-loki]

Gifted

Title: Gifted (Sequel to Giftless)

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 40/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

Imagine that you are Stark’s niece and you secretly share a strong relationship with Loki since he entered the crew. One day you get hurt so bad during a mission that you are about to die.  Loki knows a spell that will save you and share his immortality with you but you and he will be linked forever sharing thoughts, pain, emotions…

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

“I knew you would come back to my domain, little pet,” Balder’s voice greeted you with a seductive purr that made you want to vomit. You knew in that moment that you were asleep. This was a nightmare. Shit. Loki must’ve thought you were safe from Balder when you had passed out from exhaustion in his arms. “You cannot fight me here. Just do what I say and I will not hurt you,” he promised.  

His voice was full of lies.

You would know. 

The scene around you focused. You were in a throne room. Balder was standing before the throne, as if he had just stepped down. You were in the middle of the room. In your pajamas. Why did you always have to face him in your pajamas? He took a couple steps toward you. You stepped back automatically. You did not want him touching you.

“Don’t bother trying to run, pet. It is quite useless while you are asleep,” Balder told you with a smirk, stepping even closer, closing the distance between you impossibly fast.  Stupid dream physics. 

“What do you want from me?” you asked. There had to be a reason he kept attacking your dreams.

“Simple, pet,” he said. “You are going to take out all of your superhero friends for me. They are so very in my way.” You wanted to kill him for that stupid superior tone. 

"No,” you told him, taking another step back. You had to get out of there, had to wake up. Now.  You tried to feel for your body, your powers, your daggers, Loki, anything, but you were cut off, trapped in this dreamscape with nothing but your wits.

You were doomed.

You had to calm down. Your wits had gotten you out of trouble before. You could find a way out of this too. You just had to wake up.

This was a dream. It was just a dream.

“Whatever you are planning, pet, it will not work. Just do what I say. You will be safe and well taken care of in my kingdom. Look how those awful humans treat you. They use and use you with no regard to your well being. They take and take, and what do they give you in return? Guilt for not helping them more, for not giving more of yourself to them. I know, pet, you feel like you cannot say no to them. Healers are always the same. Let ,e say no for you. Join me, pet,” he purred, his tone seductive and persuasive.

“Never,” you snarled at him. You turned to flee again. This was a dream and you imagined a wall of flames between you and Balder as you ran. He appeared in front of you and shoved you backwards, hard. You fell on your ass just as hard.

“You will not win, pet. I have far more practice in the dreamscape than you do,” he purred. “And I will hold you here until you do as I wish. See?” he asked with a flourish of his hands as you scrambled back to your feet. Your skirt threatened to tangle around your legs as you did. Skirt? You had been wearing one of Loki’s tunics. You looked down and growled.

“When did you watch Star Wars?” you demanded as you recognized the certain gold bikini that he was making you wear. “And you do remember to the last asshole who forced someone into this outfit, right? Huttslayer Leia killed his ass.” You snarled at him, remembering Space Mom. Space Mom would not give up. You weren’t going to either. You focused your imagination. Imagination was the power in the dreamscape. You were in your jeans, your favorite old t-shirt, and your ever-present converse a moment later. Old things, familiar things, were easier to imagine, easier to control in this world.

Familiar things.

Balder picked you up by the throat before you could think, before you could plan. Your wits were being so useless here. You reached automatically for the dagger sheath at your back. Familiar things. You pulled a dagger and slashed it viciously across Balder’s face.

He howled in pain and dropped you. You drew another dagger, thanking Loki for the hours and hours and hours you spent practicing with them. Pulling one was such second nature that you could do it even in the dreamscape.

“Enough!” Balder roared. He rushed you. You ducked and dodged. You were small and light, your fighting style was to be out of the way and not get hit. You relaxed into the feeling of zen that came with a sparring match. This, you could handle. You had been practicing with the daggers since before you got your powers. You ducked and spun and sliced at Balder while he roared and clambered after you.

You were doing well until Balder cloned himself. You were outmatched in seconds when there were five of him and only one of you. You couldn’t match that power here. Two of them held you while the original one came over, leering at you as he towered over you. “That was a valiant effort, pet, but the game is over. You will scream for me. You will scream, and you will take out all of your super friends while you do. Just give in. Scream now before I make you,” he purred, running a hand over your cheek, tucking your hair back away from your face. 

You spat in his face with all the viciousness you could muster.

“How many times do I have to tell you never?” you demanded with a snarl, as you struggled against the too-tight grip of the clones holding you.  It was no use of course, but you weren’t giving up without a fight.

“Very well. Let us see what horrors you have in your past to scream at,” he said and placed a hand on your forehead as he drew his magic.

You woke to heat, to an orange light, to the smell of smoke in the air. The house was too warm, even for a summer night. You heard laughter outside and a crackling in the house. Your eyes snapped open and you sat up in bed, panting, though you could barely breathe. Some part of your brain realized that the house was on fire. You had to get out of there, now! You panicked, a terrified child surrounded by flames. You managed to get out from your tangle of covers, then fell to the floor of your bedroom, coughing from the smoke. You half-stumbled, half-crawled from your room. You had to get downstairs, had to get out of the house. 

The hallway was a wall of flames. You stumbled through them as fast as you could, trying to make it to the stairs. You crashed down the stairs, coughing from the smoke. You could barely see anything, but this was your home. You knew where every footfall went, each creaky step, and the exact fasted path out of the house. You just had to get there.

You were so scared that you could barely move.

You collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, coughing your lungs out. You had to get out of there. You were going to die. You were just thirteen. You couldn’t die. 

You somehow got back to your feet and made your way to the foyer. You were almost out of there. You were going to make it.

You stopped dead when you saw your parents, tied to your dining room chairs. Your dining room chairs didn’t belong in the foyer. Your brain refused to comprehend what you saw, though you should’ve understood. You ran to them, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Mom! You have to get up, Mom! We have to get out of here!” you told her, trying to pull her from the chair. It was useless. They were both dead already, shot in the head before the fire even started.

“No!” you snarled, fighting through Balder’s dream control. You weren’t that scared little thirteen year old girl anymore. You had magic and super powers and fighting skills. You spat blood onto the ground between you and Balder.  You had bitten your tongue to keep from screaming. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t hurt your friends.

“Hmm. That one is not strong enough anymore? Mother really has helped you heal. Maybe a different memory.” Balder mused. You were prepared this time, prepared to fight with everything you had. He couldn’t be allowed to win.

Your body froze around your while your mind was trapped inside. Your limbs weren’t responding and it was getting worse and worse as the seconds passed. You didn’t have time. You managed to reach into your pocket. Fumbled and fumbled to get your phone out. You fought with everything you could to force your numb fingers to type four little letters to Loki ‘help’. One more button push and the phone was locked. Arms grabbed you, steering your useless body upstairs.

It was a memory. Just a memory.

“Get out of my head!” you snarled at Balder.

“Just scream for me, pet. One scream and this all stops,” he told you. His eyes lit up with an idea. “Of course, you will not scream for yourself,”

No

With a flick of his hands, a bound Loki appeared in front of you. “Scream for his life,”

“You won’t kill him,” you protested. “If you kill him, I die,” you reminded him. Loki looked so scared and confused. You struggled against the clones holding you. They didn’t budge. Balder produced a dagger.

“True, but there is a lot of damage I can do before he will die,”

“No, don’t!” He ignored you and drove the dagger into Loki’s chest. You heard Loki’s howl of pain and echoed it with a howl of your own. “NO!” you shrieked, throwing power at the clones holding you. 

They flew away with the force of your powers

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Balder backhanded you, throwing you across the room before you could reach Loki.

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

What was that annoying noise? It sounded so familiar.

You hands were already glowing blue to heal Loki.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Balder plunged the dagger into Loki again.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“NO!” you shrieked, loudly enough that the windows in the throne room all shattered

“A fire has been reported. Please exit the compound in an orderly manner”

You ran for Loki.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Balder held the dagger to Loki’s throat.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

Water? Where was that water coming from? Hands? Hands on you? Lifting you?

FALLING! You were falling falling! Wake! UP!

[thepineapplejuicer]

Imagine...Loki choosing you as his queen because of your understanding and talent of magic

Words: 1551

Warnings: extremely slight sexual mention. Mostly fluff

The violin orchestra livens up the room and the colors of the shimmering stained glass windows bounce off the golden drapes, sending the candlelit ballroom floor swirling like a kaleidoscope. The gem incrested chalices are filled to the brim with aged wine that stains the teeth of the guests, who are too busy foolishly laughing with rival families to notice. 

This gathering was for the eligible princesses, and their parents, of Asgard to be pinned against each other in beauty and skill to win the heart of Sir Loki and Sir Thor. The families of each royal tree thought it a great honor for their daughter to be chosen so they flocked to Odin’s castle to ensure their family place on the throne. 

You stood with incredible posture, burned into your spine by tedious balancing exercises. Your corset squeezed your small body, keeping your breathing slow and quiet while giving your form the most beautiful shape. Your eyes droop from the exhaustion of the journey and the slight sting in your kidneys. You listen to the girlish whispers gossiping about the princes and wondering about their interests, their fancies in a woman, and... more risque topics.

“I hear Thor is incredible in bed!” 

“No, I hear Loki is!”

You roll your eyes with grace as you try and tone out the inappropriate squeals of the princesses you once grew up with. 

“Would it kill you to smile, Y/N?” Your mother whispers while trying to keep her own well placed wrinkled smile. 

“No, but this corset might.” You groan, picking at the wire digging into your hip.

“Don’t you dare, that took all day to get you in.” You mother swats your hand, “Have you practiced what you are going to say?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good, do not ruin this. Either one of the princes will do, so long as you act accordingly. And please, no magic. He can find out after the two of you wed.”

You sigh quiet enough so it sounds like you are only trying to breathe. Your magic had manifested as a child, but you were forced to keep it hidden- along with most of your personality- to assume the persona of the perfect bride. You always had a way of scaring off suitors; their fear of witchcraft was more powerful than their desire of your beauty. 

“All bow before the princes of Asgard.” A woman says as she leads the curtsy.

You feel like your ribs will snap if you move, so you hide behind another princess to shield your fake curtsy. 

Thor walks in first, smiling pridefully from all the attention and the women at his becking call. His long red cape is grazed by dark leather boots, seemingly fighting the urge to stomp on the fabric. 

Loki’s dark hair sways slightly, falling from behind his ears. His brow arches as he doesn’t really look at the women, but mostly at the spaces between them. His long green cape drags behind him, somehow evading all dust and grime. His long-horned helmet has been shinned and his thin armor looked painted on.  

The princes take their place in front of the young women who desperately try to catch so much as a glance from them. They all stand perfectly still as Thor and Loki walk around each of them; examining them like fine art, and appreciating each of their assets as someone enjoys the smell of sweet wine. 

Thor smiles at each of the ladies in order to gain their smile back and see them at their happiest. He stops at each one, dancing with them and thinking very intensely at his options. He knew that his future queen must be strong, beautiful and above all intelligent. 

Loki, on the other hand, hated this. The ladies looked to Thor instead of him. His broodish demeanor frightened them and made them self conscious enough to fix their hair or their dresses. He tried to smile as Thor did but always seem to time it when the ladies looked away. The way the princesses moved subtly towards Thor made Loki tighten his jaw, holding back his insecurities. He looks down, now drifting pointlessly between the women who wait for Thor to display their strengths and talents to him when he asks them for a dance.

Loki begins to walk towards you unknowingly, his mind somewhere else, until he stops, his chest nearly touching yours. “My apologies.” He whispers in a breath that smelled like hints of wine mixed in with licorice. “Think nothing of it, my prince.” you smile.

Loki smiles back, finally able to show a beautiful woman his true nature. It disappears just as quickly as Thor makes several young women giggle with joy. “I will... get out of the way.” He whispers as he sees Thor moving towards you.

“If I may be so bold, my prince. I’d rather you stayed.” You take Loki by surprise, but this does not scare him off. He wanted to ask you to dance as Thor did with the others, but his self-esteem was too low that he’d rather carry our conversation to break the ice. 

“What Family do you hail from?”

“The Andels, My Lord.”

“Ah yes, the Andels own mining land. We use some of their Ores for many things around the palace. You are their only child?” 

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard rumors that no one has ever been able to court you for long. Your beauty is unmatched, but I do not see why you still have not married.”

“My talent is... unconventional.”

“Oh? Might you show me?”

You look around the room at the parents lined near the wall, your mother trying to get a view of Loki’s reaction to you.

Loki turns and sees your mother’s performance, “Perhaps if we went somewhere private?”

You could not resist, something about Loki’s gentle nature that hides a fierce and deadly type of ecstasy, fascinates you.

You follow him to the balcony, away from the party, your mother close behind. You turn and see her mouth quietly, “No magic!” you tighten your grip, sending the glass doors to shut in a white and pale pink glow. 

Loki turns, alarmed by the sudden bang.

“Must have been the wind.” you shrug.

“Yes..” he trails off knowing very well that there is not even a breeze during this lovely sunset. “Is your father present tonight as well?”

You look away from Loki, “My father passed away some time ago.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It is alright. Many would prefer I not speak of him.”

“I remember the rumors. He was a sorcerer?”

“Yes, he duplicated most of the Ores in our mining caves to help stock neighboring kingdoms.”

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t only inherit his kind nature?”

You hold your hands behind your back instinctively.

“Tell me. What do you think about being the queen of Asgard?”

“It is a great honor to-”

“No, no, I did not ask what your mother thinks.”

You clear your throat, “I think,” you decide to throw your script away. “I think that magic has been shunned enough in our lands and must be embraced, even taught to the children. It could be used as a line of defense or a way to teach our community how to socialize without the need of brutish force shown in the arenas.”

“An interesting view, not many people share.”

Loki shifts closer to you, pinning you carefully against the stone balcony. You press your hand on the stone, but wince as a rose thorn pricks your finger. Loki grabs your hand in his. His Ice-y cold touch shocking your fingers numb. A green flare strings around your wound and Loki brings your finger to his lips, laying a single kiss on it as the skin heals over.

“Not all magic is a curse...” It seems like he is saying this to himself rather than to you.

You can see the hurt in his eyes, perhaps he knew what it was like to be outcasted because of magical superiority. Perhaps he had the same aches and pains in your wrists from long periods of time without spell casting. Perhaps he knew the same look of fear others gave you.

You cup his hands in yours and allow the pale pink and glittery white magic to whisp like sand above his hands, letting him feel your power. You control it calmly and create a ballerina, twirling and leaping across his palms before curtsying. 

He looks at you with eyes filled with acceptance, something you’ve never seen. The ballerina takes a still form in your hands before a green shimmer of dust creates a small man dressed in the clothes of a prince, asking for her hand. The two small, magical figures dance across your palms, pieces of their ashy bodies thrown into the wind as they twirl. Finally, the pixelized figures mimic how you and Loki are holding hands, and the male figure cups the ballerina’s face, kissing her gently.

Loki looks up from the magic in your joined hands and stares deeply in your eyes.

He cups your cheek and snakes his fingers behind your neck, pulling you into a cold, gentle kiss.

“Asgard will be lucky to have you as its queen, Y/N.”

-Thank you for reading and your support.

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness Chapter Six (of Six. Work safe)

I only tweaked it, but I feel this is the worst chapter out of the story’s six chapters...Maybe someday I will try to go over it, and do a total overhaul....My main complain with going over it NOW< years later, is...i feel like this particular chapter relied more on telling instead of showing. I feel like the quality took a nose dive in comparison to the first five chapters...

Still hoping to someday get the sequel story out!

Mary Margaret had been the one to suggest that they all make themselves comfortable. The others could only agree, what with one look at Emma and the exhaustion she had tried unsuccessfully to keep hidden. She had almost flushed in embarrassment, knowing what a sore sight she must make. With her blonde hair wild and tangled, actually swaying on her feet, with bruises exposed on what skin wasn't covered by the shirt borrowed from Hook. No one was asking why she was practically naked, nor were they asking why certain bruises looked more like bites given in the heat of passion. But Emma knew what they must assume, and it was worse because they were half right. She had had sex with the pirate, had in effect bought them time to do what was needed with her body. They just didn't know that she had enjoyed herself for the most part, that Emma would do it all over again if the choice was presented.

Wildly embarrassed, she pulled free of Mary Margaret's arms, before her mother could stop her. It was a mistake, her body rapidly giving in now that she had exhausted the adrenaline she had been running on for the past hour. With a muted cry, her legs started to give out from under her, and not even Emma's determination and strength of will could let her catch herself in time.

Hook was suddenly there, his arms around her. Righting her fall, holding her steady. Emma knew it was weakness, but she leaned into him anyway. Gratitude flushing through her, Emma pressing her back into his front. For one frozen second, they had that moment, no danger or dire desperate circumstance between them.

And then David was there, the ever over protective father. Not that Emma had much experience with the man in this way. And certainly she had never had a man with her that had made her father feel the need to glare at and threaten. Emma wasn't sure she liked this side of him, and she certainly didn't like the fact that Mary Margaret was once again pulling her from Hook's arms.

"Keep your hand off of my daughter." David spoke in a low, threatening voice, his hands curling momentarily into fists.

Emma gave a side long glance at Hook, expecting the pirate to smirk and say something provocative. Something that would make the situation worse, with lewd comments that weren't all fanciful insinuations drawing David into another brawl. But Hook surprised her, merely giving David a dark glower of his own, jaw clenching noticeably as he took a step back.

"He was just...."

"I know what he was just trying to do." David interrupted Emma, never taking his eyes off of the pirate. Emma frowned, wanting to say something more, not knowing how to diffuse the situation, and feeling oddly compelled to defend the pirate.

Her mouth opened and closed several times, Emma wanting to say that they were wrong about Hook. But was it the truth, or just her mixed up feelings getting in the way? Was Emma already forgetting the events of the day, and a good portion of its night, had all been sent into motion because of Hook's desires? Because he had sought the dagger, and had used it to kill Gold, and she didn't even know why! Had he really just been power hungry like they all had first assumed, or was there something more to it then that?

Emma shifted to turn and look at Hook, her eyes troubled. He looked at her, and it wasn't the Dark One that looked back, nor was it the man she had spent hours having sex with. It wasn't even the agonizing Hook, the pirate simply looking cold. As if he was locking down his thoughts and feelings, hiding his true self behind a wall.

This Hook was a stranger, and this too was their reality. Because they hadn't been friends before this had all started, had actually used and manipulated the hell out of each other while in the fairy tale world. With a thumping of her disappointed heart, Emma realized they didn't know nearly enough about each other, had only that wild passion between them. Without the threat of their life and death circumstances, it suddenly seemed insane to think she could have wanted the chance for more.

Emma had thought she hadn't been confusing lust and love, but now she wasn't so sure. Now Emma was realizing she had been so addled brain by all that had been happening, so mesmerized by the dark seductive beauty that was a cursed Hook, that she had been thoroughly lost in a fantasy that couldn't possible be real. Because here in her parent's apartment, with David glowering, Hook distant, and Mary Margaret holding her, reality was hitting. She was a mother for God's sake. She had commitments and responsibilities, a life of her own. She couldn't, shouldn't be falling for a pirate, wanting something more from him than what they had already shared.

Her feelings didn't give a damn about the couldn't and shouldn't, about the reality of just how unsuitable a partner Hook would make. Her feelings just cared that she had come alive in his arms, that Emma had finally let down some of her walls, to actually feel something primal and wild.

It was extremely tempting, wanting to feel that way again. And if he had allowed just one uncertain emotion to leak into his expression, Emma would have thrown caution to the wind, and gone for him. But he didn't, so she didn't, allowing Mary Margaret to half carry her over to the couch.

Hiding her upset hopefully better than her exhaustion, Emma sank down into the cushions. A blanket was brought forth, Emma using it to cover her legs and half of her waist. She was simply too tired to consider a shower, and to change into her own clothing. Emma had a feeling it would be days before she even tried to get up from this comfortable piece of furniture, her body ready with a petition of aches and pains to make her stay right where she was.

Mary Margaret joined her on the couch. David sort of perched on the arm rest, keeping a hand near Emma's shoulder, but his eyes were still set on Hook. The Mother Superior got to work in the kitchen, brewing Emma a cup of tea, which the blonde woman accepted with a grateful smile.

"Thanks." Emma said, watching as the Mother Superior took the seat opposite the couch. She seemed unconcerned of putting her back to the Dark One, smiling soothingly at Emma.

"There's a pinch of magic in that tea." She said, holding up a hand to stave off Emma's alarmed protests. "Just a bit of healing herbs, that will work wonders to soothe and mend your injuries."

Again that embarrassed warmth flooded her cheeks, Emma taking a quick sip of the tea to avoid commenting. She needed the healing, but Emma didn't like that everyone knew, that everyone was making assumptions about the type of injuries she might have.

There was a few minutes of silence in which Emma realized Hook wasn't joining them in the sitting area. He stood on the fringe, a clear outsider looking in. David probably would have attacked him if Hook had tried to come near, his dislikeso apparent, the man in no way ready to welcome the pirate as part of their group.

It was just another reason why Hook wouldn't fit in her life. Her parents didn't approve, David could barely control himself to pretend to be civil. Emma inwardly sighed, but out loud her voice was steady, the woman asking them again to tell the story of what had happened.

What followed was an adventure, Mary Margaret talking about how relieved she had been when David had woken up after Hook had sent him flying into a tree. Emma's father had been beyond livid when he had learned Emma had basically sacrificed herself to give Mary Margaret the chance to get away. And he hadn't even known the nature of the distraction his daughter had tempted Hook with!

Emma realized with shock that David had taken one look at his daughter's disheveled, near naked appearance, and had assumed the worst. Even without Mary Margaret telling him the explicit details of what she had seen Emma do, David had put together a nightmare of a situation. It was no wonder David hadn't been able to control himself, why he had attacked Hook, why he kept on bristling with anger even now. Worst yet, neither Emma nor Hook had explained what really had happened, and unless the pirate chose now to break his silence, David was going to continue to be kept in the dark. For there was no way Emma could talk about what had happened, not to her own father, and not with Hook standing there!

She might have been willing to tell Mary Margaret. She might yet still tell her mother at least some of what had happened. Some but not all, as some things were best kept private. That included her feelings, her wicked wishes, and unrealistic longings.

"It took all the magic dust in the mines, along with nearly all my fairies to mount a working offensive against the evil queens." The Mother Superior was saying, and Emma realized she had zoned out of part of the story.

"But how did you know you were needed?" Emma asked, puzzled and hoping it wasn't something that had already been covered.

"Your mother has friends in high places." David murmured in answer, which only succeeded in confusing Emma more.

Mary Margaret actually chuckled at her daughter's confused look. "Disney didn't get all the details wrong."

"And Cora couldn't shoot down every bird that took flight in the sky." added the Mother Superior.

Emma blinked repeatedly. "Are you saying you can talk to birds?"

"Is that any harder to believe then the magic you've already seen?" Mary Margaret asked with a gentle smile.

"When you put it like that, no...." Emma admitted slowly. So her mother could talk to birds, and possibly furry small creatures. She'd really have to look at Henry's book, study up on the fairy tales that were actually part of her birth world's history.

"It was a relief when we finally got the dagger from Cora." Mary Margaret said, to fill the silence that had formed. "At once we put an end to the command she had given to the Dark One, but it had taken time to catch and subdue the queens."

"How much time?" Emma demanded.

"No more than two hours." The Mother Superior said. "It took time to enchant the collars that would strip the evil queens of all their magic."

"It was even harder to get close enough to put those collars on them!" David added, and Mary Margaret actually groaned at the memory.

Emma glanced at her mother. "Did they hurt you?"

"We're fine." Her mother assured her. "It was nothing the Blue Fairy's magic couldn't heal."

Wondering how much of the Mother Superior's tea her parents had had to drink, Emma looked up at her father. "Where are Cora and Regina now?"

"If they're smart, they'll have crossed the boundary."

"The boundary!?" Emma exclaimed.

"They were given a choice. To stay in Storybrooke without their magic, and face the wrath of the townspeople...or to risk making a life in the outside lands, without memory of who they really are."

Emma couldn't help the shiver that went through her, both choices seeming terrible. How much worse would it seem to Cora and Regina, women who had prided themselves on their magic and power, their ability to bully and terrorize a whole kingdom of people. People who might be quick to repay the favor, now that the strong had become the weak.

"And what will you do with that?" Emma asked, having finished her tea. The Mother Superior looked down at the dagger, actually caressed fingernails over the name carved into the blade. Hook immediately tensed, as though he could feel that touch on his body, which turned Emma's gaze troubled.

"I think it should be up to you." The Mother Superior announced, rising from her seat to walk towards Emma.

"Me?" Emma squeaked out in surprise. This she hadn't been expecting, but it was welcome all the same. "Why though?" The question came out wary, Emma not yet reaching for the dagger that the Mother Superior was holding out to her.

"You did so much."

"We all did." Emma protested. "Every one had a role to play, a part in defeating Regina and Cora."

"True, but you are the Savior. And you sacrificed so much this day." The Mother Superior's reminder was gentle, but it brought the embarrassed heat flooding through her. Emma nearly mumbled something about it not being much of a sacrifice, but a literal biting of her tongue kept her from making such a shameful admission.

"Once again you helped save us." Mary Margaret said, and she shone with how proud she was of her daughter.

"This town would have been lost, ruined under the rule of two evil queens." The Mother Superior added. "Take the dagger, it is yours."

Aware of Hook, his dark gaze not on her, but on the dagger, Emma hesitated. "Can...can you give us a moment?"

"A moment..." Mary Margaret frowned, but David was already shaking his head no.

"That is not a good idea."

In exasperation, Emma grabbed at the dagger the Mother Superior held out to her. "I'll be fine!" She snapped, and practically waved the dagger in her agitation. "With this at my command, he won't be able to hurt me...."

"There are more ways to hurt than just physical..." Mary Margaret murmured.

"I know what I am doing." Emma insisted, and gave her mother a pleading look. "Just let me...look, just five, no ten minutes. That's all I ask."

It was clear they didn't want to, but eventually, under Emma's relentless insistence, Mary Margaret guided a still protesting David out of the apartment. The Mother Superior followed behind them, and then Emma was alone with the pirate.

"So what ARE you doing?" Hook asked, and Emma flushed in response. It figured he'd be the reason behind the cause of her blushing this night. Hook AND the things they had done, together and to one another. Things her parents and the Mother Superior suspected, things they actually felt bad because of.

"Time is a wasting." Hook added when Emma did nothing but fidget in place, her fingers playing with blade in nervous agitation. A sharp hiss issued out of Hook, when she caressed fingers over the inscription in the metal. Emma looked down, and saw his name, his REAL name, engraved there.

"Killian Jones." She said out loud, and felt the magic take hold. Hook seemed to freeze, and for one second the stranger was gone, a frantic, hurt man gazing out in his place.

"Emma, don't." A desperate plea, and one Emma ALMOST listened too. But the power was too much, her need too great. Emma HAD to know, and she realized using the dagger was probably the only way she'd ever get the truth out of Hook.

"Tell me why." She said at last, her voice soft but commanding. "Why you did what you did. Why you went after Gold and his power."

"It was NEVER about his power!" Hook all but snarled. "I just wanted him dead!"

"But...but why?" She asked, doing her best not to flinch in place in response to the way that Hook had shouted at her.

"Why do you think?" He spoke in terse tones. "For revenge."

"Revenge?" echoed Emma, and her mind started to take dark turns, wondering at what Gold could have possibly done to make Hook embrace such a killing vendetta.

"Her name was Milah." Hook's tone softened slightly with the name issued. "She was the love of my life."

Emma's lips had parted in surprise, Hook having said the last thing she had been expecting. Her shock showed, Hook giving her a bitter look. "Is it that surprising, that I could have been in love once?"

Again she turned red, Emma shaking her head no. "What....what happened to her?" She asked, after a few seconds of tense silence.

"Rumplestiltskin killed her." And from there, the whole story came tumbling out, Emma learning about the woman that Hook had loved. The MARRIED woman that he had run off with, and about the coward who had risen to power, and then murdered his cheating wife in a fit of insane jealousy.

Hook kept the tragic past short and to the point, only elaborating when Emma asked him too. She didn't ask nearly enough, frankly too shocked and horrified by what she did hear. She was given a brief history on Hook's quest to find something, anything that could ruin, even destroy Rumplestiltskin. She learned Hook was a lot older than he looked, having spent several hundred years in Neverland. She found out he had returned to the Enchanted Kingdoms just in time for Regina to cast the curse, Hook quickly allying himself with Cora, all in the hope that the Queen of Hearts would one day make good on her promise to bring him to the land that Rumplestiltskin had fled too.

But the single most important, most relieving thing she was told, was that Hook had gone after the dagger without knowing the full repercussions of it's use. That he had been tricked by Regina and Cora, the two allowing him to read a map that would lead to the dagger. They then had pretended not to need him, had gone so far as to knock him out when he had tried to insist on being part of their scheme. They had watched and waited, letting him find and dig up the dagger, and ultimately they had kept Emma and her parents at bay long enough for Hook to stab the cursed blade into Rumplestiltskin's heart.

Hook hadn't gone after Rumplestiltskin because he was greedy for power. It was simply a revenge that had gone horribly wrong, Hook paying a steep price for his hate. Emma couldn't entirely fault him for it, understanding that revenge was a negative but powerful motivating force. And love lost bloody hurt, no matter the circumstances that had it taken from someone.

The painful truth, as awful as it was, became the deciding factor in what Emma would next do. She glanced down at the blade, at his name inscribed there, then bid Hook to approach her. His stiff, awkward way of moving spoke strongly that he was resenting the order, Hook angry that he had been forced to share such a private, personal pain. He loomed over her, his eyes absolutely furious, not flinching as Emma reached up to cup his face, the dagger laying across her lap.

For one moment, she just touched him, staring into his eyes. Now was not the time to speak of uncertain feelings, to wonder if fantasies could be made real. He was angry, and she was tired, and neither could afford to build the other's hopes up. And still Emma had to remind herself of what could not be, to tell herself not to hope that they could have anything more than a quick fling. Lust wasn't love, and Emma was too scared of being burned by the attempt to hope for, to try for more.

Telling herself she would get over this hurtful infatuation, that it had been nothing more than mutual insanity, her voice still broke when she talked. "Take the dagger, Hook." Emma urged. "Take it and be free."

His look of clear surprise was a bitter reward, reminding Emma that Hook didn't know her any better than she him. Emma watched him first hesitate, then snatch at the dagger, as though he feared she would change her mind in the seconds gone by. He stared at the blade, actually closed his fingers around it, then shimmered. Emma blinked her eyes, and found Hook had vanished, and she wasn't entirely surprised that he hadn't bothered with goodbyes or thank yous.

Sighing, she fell back against the couch cushions. The time she had asked for was almost up, and Emma wasn't looking forward to her parent's return. To David's predictable anger over what she had done over the fact she had given up the dagger and set Hook free. But she would endure it, for even a father's anger was a gift to marvel at, to a woman who had almost died and lost everything this night.

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The End of the first story in the series.....