#but then he’d be able to use moon magic without assistance from stones

[tahnotakeover]

Just a thought about why Callum can use sky magic, but we don’t know his bio father….. sky-elf perhaps?

[jeffreystewart]

Norsery Rhymes from A to Z Happy Thorsday - Eitri, Blacksmith of Poison Smoke and Sparks

Well here we are another Thor’s Day and another 20 min sketch of a Norse (and Germanic) mythological characters.  This week it’s Eitri / Sindri the Dwarven (Dverg / Dvergr / Dwarf).

Known as a ‘Great Blacksmith’, 'the one who forms’, ‘He Who Causes Sparks”, ‘The Spark Maker’. His name Eitri literally means 'The Poisonous One’, likely from the smoke of the forge, and ‘Spark’ from Sindri / Sindre. Also an allusion to the blacksmith creating sparks as they work.

Brother of Brokkr. Brokkr and Eitrri were renown as smiths and craftsmen. He is critical in co-creating three of the most recognizable magic items of Asgard.

While either visiting Asgard, or in their home amongst the Dwarves. Loki bragged that the Sons of Ivaldi were the finest, most creative, and most skilled blacksmiths amongst the Dwarves and all other Dwarves were incapable of making anything as spectacular and useful as they had. Loki obviously trying to provoke the other craftsmen present.

The Sons of Ivaldi were very skilled however, having made Odin’s magic Spear Gungnir (The Swaying One), Freyr’s ship Skidbladnir / Skithabthnir 'the ship assembled from thin pieces of wood’ that could magically fold up and be placed in a small pocket until needed. Considered the best, fastest and largest ship all at the same time. They also made something for Loki after Thor threatened him to make up for a prank where he sheared off Sif’s possibly magic golden hair. This prank led Loki to require a replacement for it, leading to the creation of a golden headpiece with gold hair for Sif.

Brokkr hearing Loki’s boasting challenging claims he and his brother can make things equal or better than the Sons of Ivaldi. Betting his head against Loki’s on the outcome.

Loki takes them up on the bet and The Brothers go to their magic forge to make items of beauty and power. Brokkr blowing the bellow continuously as needed and Eitri forming the items one by one. Loki never content on a fair contest turns himself into a biting Gadfly to bite Brokkr as he blows, trying to interrupt the bellows. First on the hand while the mechanical riding Boar Gullinbursti 'Golden Mane’ or 'Golden Bristles’ Freyr is made. That could run in air and water, see in the dark, and provide light from it’s mane. Then Loki bit Brokkr on the neck while the arm band Draupnir 'the Dripper’ was made for Odin. Which drips copies of itself every ninth night. Then on the eyelid while the hammer Mjolnir 'The Grindstone’ or 'The Crusher’ was made for Thor. The divine thunder and lightning weapon, that could banish chaos, never fail, never break, and if thrown would never miss and always fly back to him. While the first two bites did not cause Brokkr to falter, the third caused blood to go into his eye and a small gasp which cooled the bellows, causing the handle on Mjolnir to be shorter than a normal hammer.

When the items were presented to the gods and the time of judgment was at hand, they claimed them to be as equal or even more impressive than what the Sons of Ivaldi had accomplished. This may have just been a way to see Loki’s head separated from his body for them given all the trouble he’d caused. Loki first runs away, but Thor returns him to the proceedings. Loki then claimed that as his neck was never part of the deal, Brokkr would need to separate his head without touching his neck, a feat unattainable. For this Brokkr still claiming ownership of Loki’s head regardless of if it was attached to the body or not, used his brother Eitri’s magic Awl and the thong of fabric Vartari and sowed Loki’s lips shut, until the thread came free on it’s own to keep him from causing more chaos.

In the Thorsteins saga, to ask for advise defeating the invincible viking Otunfaxe / Otun Faxe, during his adventures, Thorstein is advised to travel to meet Sindri / Sindre on the Smaller Isle of Brenner where Sindri lives with his family in a stone home, or a home that’s a stone. There he finds Sindri’s children are seemingly playing by a stream, but on closer inspection they seemed to be more searching the stream. The boy introduced himself as Herraud and the girl as Herrid. Herrid was worried her father would be angry that she’d lost a ring he’d made for her. They were searching for it without success. Thorstein gave Herrid his own gold ring so that she would not get in trouble. Asking that when she show her father the ring that if he’s happy with the gift that he joins Thorstein by the stream so they could talk, and get some advise from him. Herrid told Thorstein that her father can’t deny anything to her Brother and that her father would be more likely to come if Herraud asked as well. So Thorstein gave Herraud his silver belt and belt and fine ornamented knife, and Herraud agreed to help convince his father to come.

After a long while, the brother and sister returned with their father Eitri / Sindri / Sindre who greeted Thorstein warmly. They talked of Otun Faxe and Sindri advised that through some magic, nothing could injure him, so Thorstein would be best served to take his men and boats and run. But if he is intent of trying he will help him with what he has. For his kindness to his children Sindri and his children give Thorstein first Herrid’s small belt dirk dagger that was likely family made, that if used skillfully can pierce Otunfaxe. Herruad didn’t have anything power enough so suggested that Sindri enchant Thorstein the ability to call on their family Disir, their female guardian spirits that will always follow and assist him.

Sindri would meet up with Thorstein on the bright night assault on Otunfaxe, shooting his own arrows, and dropping every one of Otunfaxe’s men that he launched an arrow at.

Once Thorstein and Otunfaxe finally come to individual battle swimming in the sea, both wrestling their way to the bottom, Otunfaxe was far stronger, and invulnerable, and was about to bite out Thorsteins throat, when briefly above the water, Thorstein called on Sindre’s protection. Otunfaxe seemed to be griped by invisible hands all around him. Being dragged down to the bottom again. Thorstein being held by Faxe and tiring, was able to reach Herrid’s belt knife, and plunge it into Otun and then slash him several times, defeating him, and freeing himself.

Once healed Thorstein visited Sindre on his isle, giving him many gifts and praise. Now lifelong friends.

Later on when Thorstein was captured, he called on Sindri again. This time, Sindri’s Disir put the men holding him to sleep. Sindri, or some casting of him eventually coming along while the men were still asleep to free Thorstein. Sindri Disappearing once complete.

Eitri / Sindri would go on to have many descendants. Some of whom will create a hall of gold located in ‘the fields of the new moon’ Niðavellir / Nidavellir in the land of the Dwarves. That will be a place for the souls of the virtuous to live after the events of Ragnaraok.

Reusing my joke for Brokkr:

Brokkr and Eitri having made many things, had many adventures, and had done the incredible by shutting Loki up, likely retire as there was nothing left to achieve in life.

[arthurjdrake]

Final Steps

PARTIES: Arthur & @eldonash

PLACE: Drake residence

TIMING: Prior to Carrington’s discovery.

SUMMARY: In search of clarity into the mysterious ways of the pie, Orobas makes a trip to the Drake residence in search of assistance and just so happens to make a new acquaintance in the process. 

Orobas pressed his face into the window of a particular house, causing a defined smudge on the pane of glass. It was pretty early in the night, he had actually darted around the city during those strange, ‘blinks’ of darkness that happened now, lucky for him. He made it here without major injury because of it. Though the slightest burns on his hands and cheeks weren’t predominate, they did ache a little for spending hours out. Now the moon was up, and he stared in the window believing this was the correct place. In his hand was a wicker basket filled with all the supplies, and Orobas-- he was determined to speak to this Arthur person for two very important reasons. One; pie help. Since it was his pie Orobas had to make for Lydia. Two: Arthur knew Carrington, and he had to know if he was here. When he saw he was in there he quickly walked around and knocked on the door.

All in all the evening had been relatively quiet. The tortoises were fed and the vivarium cleaned out, dinner was done and it left Arthur with some time to himself. He was in the process of putting on a documentary when a knock at the door caused him to frown, check his watch and pause the intro. “Weird time for cold callers,” he murmured as he padded over to the door and pulled it open to look at the man that stood outside. “Uh, hey- can I help you?”

“Evening,” Orobas recognized him as the right person, and relief actually settled strangely in the hallow points of his dead body. Carrington would befriend someone like Arthur, if by looks alone, their gentle features, and sleepy disposition was something easy to enjoy. “Is Carrington with you?” He blurted out without any filter, surprising himself when he had wanted to say, ‘will you help me make your pie’. Orobas’ dead muscles in his face gave nothing away to the clear mental crosswire of thoughts and with the picnic basket in hand simply continued. “I’m Eldon,” he offered, voice calm and with the softest tone that made it almost sweet to the ears. “I haven’t seen him in days. He’s not posting on social media. Is he with you?”

Arthur was half expecting someone else to be selling off eyeballs, it wasn’t the first person to come cold calling in the last week - everyone seemed to be out to profit. What he wasn’t expecting was for a man to introduce himself and promptly ask after someone he hadn’t admittedly seen in a while. A frown marred the warm expression that had previously been on his features. “Cari?” the nickname betrayed his fondness for the man, “no… I sent him a message the other day but I didn’t hear back.” Which was strange considering the man always seemed to respond rather promptly when he did message. “Arthur…” he introduced but the frown remained, “uh, come in. But no, he’s not here admittedly I haven’t seen him in a few weeks… When was the last time you spoke to him?”

The only time Orobas felt a shiver was when anyone gave him permission to enter their house. He savored it, even if feeding and domineering wasn’t on his mind tonight, and stepped through the front door with a gentle elegance. “Me either. I’ve actually come to also inquire about your pie that won second place,” gesturing to the basket which he set on the floor. “But, it seems Carrington is taking over my thoughts for four night in a row now. I have looked all over White Crest. In every little nook and cranny. I was hoping he was with someone, maybe stepping away for a small vacation, but you were the only person I believed he’d be with based off his social media and you say no as well.” Orobas clenched his fist lightly, “Something happened then--”

“My pie? Uh, sure - what about it?” Something about the way this man moved - effortlessly graceful like a predator yet without the intent reminded Arthur of Carrington. “Are you part of a clan or?” it seemed the most logical reasoning as to why this man that he suspected was like Carrington would be looking for him. The concern seemed genuine and in that regard it made Arthur a little less cautious than he might otherwise have been. “That would make sense, but he’d answer if he was going away wouldn’t he? He doesn’t strike me as the type to vanish…” which meant something had to have gone wrong. “You wouldn’t happen to know any witches would you? Maybe one of them could perform a tracking spell on him?” He couldn’t say whether it would work, but he wasn’t sure how else they might find him.

The pie seemed so unimportant right now, which, it technically wasn’t, he was promise bound to make this pie perfect, and he really wanted Arthur to taste the one he made to be sure it was exactly to a tee, how he made it. But Carrington was on his mind, has been for days on end, and he wasn’t any closer to finding him. “I actually just needed you to taste it and be sure its one hundred percent how you made it, taste, look everything.” Orobas opened the small basket and pulled out two pies, setting them on the counter in the kitchen. “We are at the beginning of a friendship actually. When I met him I felt like the universe had decided to place us together for a reason. Poetic I know, but I’m not often caught off guard by such a connection right away, it’s very rare. I am not quite ready to say goodbye.” Orobas tucked his palms together and behind his back. Standing still, without breath even with his clear distress, it was difficult to decipher on his unmoving muscles. “I’m reluctant to involve other species in our business if I am honest. People love favors, and having you owe them in ways you might not pick up on. I’m--” he frowned. “Actually, I’m not sure what to do. Perhaps, I’ll have a group go door to door and ask-- well, ask nicely.”

“Taste it? Oh, well sure I can do that.” Considering the time, Arthur wasn’t really sure if he was in the mood for making pie but he’d never turn down an opportunity to try some. “Who asked you to make mine anyway?” it was a curious request, and didn’t really make sense in his mind unless someone really wanted to try his pie… He’d happily make another if they wanted it. Still, talk revolved around Carrington and a wash of ice settled in his bones, the bottomless pit of uncertainty opening up regarding his friend’s welfare, a far more pressing concern. “Sometimes you just meet people like that, he’s quite an alluring individual.” Unfortunately, if normal methods didn’t work sometimes you had to resort to unfavourable acts to achieve your ends. “And if that doesn’t work?” he questioned “I’d rather expedite the process if possible and if it’s in their wheelhouse of skill I don’t mind owing a favour… I know a couple of witches.” He’d make a point to reach out in the morning.

Orobas pulled a knife from the block and carefully sliced one of the two pies. “It’s important that it looks exactly right and tastes exactly the same, please tell me..” Was all he said on it. The idea of involving witches in the past would have excited him. Orobas loved magic, he found it extremely interesting and the unsavory people who used it for their own benefits earned quite an enjoyment filled emotion from the old vampire. But for some reason, knowing that such a spell existed, and could possibly find them so easily made Orobas question that power and the invasiveness to their privacy. “Mhm,” Orobas’ eyes burned red subtly as he pondered, not realizing that he was just staring off without blinking, and stone still while he did it. “Okay,” he finally answered after an awkward stretch of time. “Have them give me the closest area, and I’ll go get him. If hes to ashes I imagine that it wouldn’t tell us that.”

Arthur stood by and watched Orobas cut the slice of pie, moving to fetch a plate from one of the cupboards and slide it over so the slice could be put on it. “Was it the sweet one you were trying to make?” he asked but judging from the decorations he figured it probably was but it didn’t hurt to ask just in case. “What recipe were you working to?“ he hadn’t published it anywhere so how Orobas or anyone else for that matter would even knew what it should taste like was a little bit of a curiosity in Arthur’s mind. The silence stretched on while Orobas considered the options but the more he pondered it, Arthur couldn’t see any other possibility if they wanted to find Carrington. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m not sure the spell would work if he is ashes… But here’s hoping he isn’t.”

“Weeks of trial and error. I found one of the judges and questioned them, mhm, I’m sure it’s wrong. At this point, that is the nonsense side of it. It’s taken me some time to find you,” he shrugged. “But I do need it perfect. So any help to it will be greatly appreciated or if you can point out what’s wrong. The recipe we’re roughly using is in the basket based on what the judge suggested.” Orobas wasn’t normally so bland with this type of conversation, but this week has been exhausting for him. He left the pie and the basket on the counter, settling on pacing lightly in the kitchen. “If you do, do this. I will only be able to give it tonight. Then-- well. Then other avenues will happen. Which is fine, both should transpire anyway. Have you experienced this before? Someone disappearing like this? You seem calm about it. Has Carrington done this before?”

“I see, and I’m curious - who put you up to this uh… nonsense?” It was easier to use Orobas’ own words than to try and come up with something else, clearly there was a separate instigator but Arthur couldn’t claim to have any idea who it might be or their reason for wanting his pie. “Well, the patterning isn’t bad on the crust” he admitted as he eyed the top though several lines were wonky. “Hm,” he used a fork to cut off a piece before testing it, his features growing thoughtful “it’s not bad but there’s something missing… Honey? Maybe some lemon… Hm.” Moving to the fridge Arthur pulled out a couple of boxes of berries he always kept stocked considering his habit to snack on them at all times. He spoke while he sifted through for the things he used and once he had them moved over to the hob. “Is there a reason for that?” he inquired looking over to Orobas wondering why there might be a timeframe all of a sudden. “Plenty of times, unfortunately I find panic only serves to further fog an already misty situation, a calm head often finds more answers” he admitted. “But Carrington? Not in the time I’ve known him no.”

“Mhm, someone,” Orobas smirked. “They can have their fun. I believe they thought your pie was the hardest on the winners list. Which, probably, yes it seems so. Challenge me with something I probably can’t do since I don’t eat nor taste.” He rolled his eyes. Lydia Griffin and her games, so delightful and worth it when it’s his turn. Orobas didn’t often give all his hands out but Arthur wasn’t a threatening person. “I have intel he was in a fight.” Orobas’ words were haunting in sound, his eyes distant again. “I’m not going to play around with my words and assume you can understand. But such a fight usually leaves us injured beyond your imagination. It’s never an easy thing, not once. I’ve been cut in half, barely able to stand in the past from such moments. If he is alive, and he passed out from the injury, urgency comes from making sure he can feed or he will be stuck. Or worse, if he’s in a place that can have him caught in the sun. I've seen such things as well. Staking us just right so we get to watch the sunrise.” Orobas glanced over. “I don’t trust the outcomes. Never have. I have to find him swiftly. I have the means to do it. It does get messy, but it will work. Oh, how I had hoped he was lounging on your couch.”

“I see.” Arthur didn’t really see, but if this person wanted to put someone through the ordeal of making his pie the least he could try and do was help ease the struggle. “That’s fair enough, well, how about I make the filling - the actual pie itself you’ve got pretty down I’d say. So I think it’s just a matter of fixing the filling and you’d be in a good place.” He wasn’t sure that he’d be much help when it came to hunting down Carrington, “but if he’s been gone as long as he has… Then surely that would’ve happened by now?” But either outcome wasn’t positive, he worried his lip. “I’d rather find him with as little bloodshed as possible. Let me see what I can do.”

“Okay,” Orobas didn’t concede often, but with the pie, he had too. Which could have been the entire reason why he was tasked with it. “Thank you.” Orobas leaned against the counter to watch and help, he had to get this pie done eventually, and even with all present concerns this wouldn’t go away either. “Maybe. Carrington is stubborn and old, we can endure it for a bit. But it’s painful.” At the final comment Orobas glanced over, watching the other closely, and the gentle worry to his lips. “Mhm, I give such a vibe?” There was an inquiry in there but it didn’t translate well with his dead expression and unblinking eyes. “We’ll see... tell me Arthur, what would you do for someone you felt bound too? How far have you taken something?”

“No worries,” Arthur started setting out three bowls before instructing “fill each one of those with berries, one of each kind.” In the meantime, he went to fetch a saucer from the cabinet which he set on the gas to heat up. It wouldn’t take too long to finish up with the two of them working on it. “Perhaps. Something gives me the impression he’s survived worse though,” he couldn’t say what exactly, but something about him struck Arthur as a survivor of worse odds. “Not you specifically - your choice of wording though. Messy implies risks being taken that I’d rather not see come to pass.” There was a moment of silence that followed, “we’re not talking about me. You’re the one intent on finding him,” an evasive answer of choice. In all honesty, Arthur didn’t want to open up that can of worms, the truth of it making for an uncomfortable reality he didn’t wish to delve into too deeply especially with a stranger. There were lengths and darkness he’d succumbed to long ago that were not things that warranted further conversation.

Orobas chuckled at the evasive answer, and didn’t mind in the least. He was known to enjoy asking those uncomfortable questions and getting some form of answer even without them answering it directly. Everyone had a line with certain people, where the consequences of actions didn’t matter anymore. Had Carrington put himself on that side already with Orobas? Perhaps. Orobas walked over to stand by the Arthur’s side, determined to remember everything. Already seeing where they went wrong, but in the grand sense it was probably best he had handled it all this way. Never having made anything like this before, human food foreign to him for centuries. Messing up a lot for the passing weeks got a lot of the basics out of the way, and currently allowed him to understand these steps clearly. “Have you ever won a contest before?”

Arthur had made his choices in life, that didn’t mean he was planning to discuss them with a stranger. So he opted instead to direct attention to the filling of the pie. “So what you need to do is put all of the in a large saucepan - heat them up until they start to burst and get their juices out of them” he explained turning the gas on and gesturing for Orobas to add the berries. Once they’d gotten past that step, Arthur took a hand mixer with whisks attacked and plugged it into the power. “Then you blend it to smooth it out,” he instructed. Baking wasn’t hard so long as you could get the right measure of ingredients together in a bowl. “A contest? Sure. A cooking contest? This would be my first… Cooking contests weren’t really a thing people do back home. Have you?”

“My blood dolls made a pie for Walter and TaeTae-- they are my pet watermelon vampires and live in my garden,” he further explained as if that entire sentence made perfect sense. He took his phone out and typed quickly what Arthur was saying so he could show the dolls later and they could help him with it more. “I heard they submitted it for me, but I didn’t actually make anything food related until the request to make your pie.” Orobas shook his head, no, to the inquiry of winning a contest. “I’ve never cared about such things. I still don’t actually-- I am quite simple in my life. Lately, however, everyone is in need of me. It’s a very different thing-- worrying about others.” He compared what Arthur had in his bowl to previous pictures in his phone when they were baking and noticed the details missing. Good. If he could just get this done, it would be one more thing off his mind. “Thank you for this. How long did you cook it for?”

Arthur quelled the look of distaste that almost made it to his features at the mention of blood-dolls. He’d never understood the concept nor did he rightly agree with it, but he wasn’t typically the sort to voice such displeasure aloud; preferring to internalise and process it after the fact. “Do you have any idea where watermelon vampires originated? I’ve always wondered…” Arthur mused as they continued to work sieving the berries into another bowl and adding the lemon juice “next we make a bain-marie, melt the butter and sugar in that.” While the ingredients cooked through he took the time to study Orobas a little more closely, “it’s taxing, but the end result of keeping people safe is what matters in the grand scheme of things. That’s all the reward you really need in life,” it just sucked when it didn’t go to plan. “All good, and you blind-bake the crust first for about fifteen minutes then put the filling in and the lid on top. So in total about forty-five minutes in the oven should get you the result you’re after.”

“I don’t, but they are delightful. A good friend of mine gave me one from the market,” Orobas made a few more notes, making sure he didn’t miss any small thing Arthur added. ‘Keeping people safe’ Arthur suddenly spoke, and Orobas internally felt nothing over such a sentence. What did it even mean to him? How did that apply to this part of his life and existence now? He’s never had to worry about anyone or anything. Why now, was it that he felt those he wanted to be safe-- weren’t? Was he not strong enough to protect them? “Hm,” was all he could say on it. Maybe he couldn’t being this version of himself. “Alright,” he finished taking it down, and sent the text document to one of his dolls to get them to start pulling the correct ingredients. “I must leave, now,” he glanced up at Arthur, putting his phone away and tucking his hands behind his back with a gentle squaring of his shoulders. “I will be sure to repay you properly. I appreciate your assistance. Should you need me for anything, I will try to make myself available to you in the future.” He set a business card on the table with the name Eldon Ash on it and his cell number.

“Hm,” was a similar response Arthur gave regarding the watermelon vampires. They were curious things and he wanted to learn more about them. Perhaps he’d ask Orobas to study his … pets? “Wait,” he said when Orobas mentioned leaving holding up a hand. Taking the mixture off the hob he poured it into a mason jar and popped the lid closed. “Here” he offered the glass jar for the vampire to take, “it’ll save you having to make it yourself, then all you need to do is remake the pastry and you’ll have the pie sorted...“ But the favour, well, he’d take one of those any day of the week. “Alright, hopefully I won’t need to take you up on that but I appreciate the offer regardless.”

[crowsheadcaneandleathergloves]

Ferocious Zoya

Hogwarts AU

Zoyalai (Zoya Nazyalensky/Nikolai Lantsov)

Warnings: The Darkling’s real name, and King of Scars spoilers if you look really hard

Word Count: 3,820

Here’s another Hogwarts AU I wrote but with the crows: Impossible

Zoya Nazyalensky waited patiently with the other professors for the new professor. Or, rather, the assistant professor.

Nikolai Lantsov was his name.

Zoya knew quite a bit about him but right know all she knew was that he was horrendously late. While a couple professors were waiting patiently, Zoya had her lips pursed and was tapping her foot against the cold stone of the floor.

“Lighten up a little, Zoya,” Neville said, smiling at her. “With this new assistant, we won’t have to do as much work as normal.”

“We’re magical, Neville,” Zoya grumbled back. “If we want something we can use magic.” She hadn’t meant to sound harsh but she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and Nikolai’s tardiness just irritated her even more.

Zoya remembered Nikolai Lantsov from her time at Hogwarts. They had both been in the same year. He had been put in Ravenclaw while she was sorted into Slytherin.

She remembered crazy things happening in school. Once, someone built a small boat that would probably sink in water but charmed it so it would fly and soar. On the night of the Yule Ball, a masked person with hazel eyes charged one sickle per person to ride on his boat. Zoya did not remember who her date had been only that she had ridden that flimsy thing. They flew over the Great Lake and flew higher and higher and higher until Zoya was sure she’d be able to reach out and touch the stars. It was one of the only times the word magical ran through her mind.

Another time, an anonymous person with shockingly blonde hair began punching anyone who said the word “mudblood”. Milliseconds after the word was said, the cloaked figure would appear from seemingly thin air and sock the culprit right in the jaw. Mere five days later, no one dared say the slur on Hogwarts grounds. 

By that time, this mysterious person had a name: Sturmhond.

And then, during Zoya’s seventh year, on Valentine’s day every single student, teacher, and caretaker woke up with a red rose on their bedside table and personalized note expressing their undying love for the receiver. Zoya hated to admit it but she still had her note piled under all her things in her trunk.

Ferocious Zoya,

I do declare my love for you. You are clever and intelligent and determined to do you best! I have the utmost confidence in you that you will succeed in any career path you choose (however I personally see you becoming a famous auror one day!) Do manage to take some time for yourself, however! It never hurts to stop and smell the flowers! Stay strong!

Sturmhond

While no one seemed to know who it was, there were many theories. Zoya didn’t say it, but something had always told her it was Nikolai Lantsov.

But Nikolai Lantsov as himself was always intelligent, strong, and always had a student fawning over him. Teachers loved their prized student. Students loved how charming he was. Even Filch could not manage to hate him. 

Zoya was snapped out of her thoughts of simpler times when she heard heavy boots draw near the Great Hall. 

Nikolai Lantsov’s broad figure stood in the Great Hall’s massive double doorway. He had a grin on his face. “It’s good to be home.”

***

School started and Hogwarts was the same. Except for the fact that Nikolai Lantsov seemed busier than all the Hogwarts’s professors combined.

Hooch wanted him to teach her students the art of flying broomsticks. Flitwick wanted Nikolai to show his students the levitating and flying charms. Neville Longbottom, who hadn’t previously known of Nikolai before, wanted his help since he had “travelled far and wide and had seen many incredible plants”.

It wasn’t uncommon to see Nikolai grab a school broomstick and fly through a window and into a class because it was quicker than running through the halls. Sometimes he was muddy from Herbology, or stinking of whatever students were learning in Care for Magical Creatures. No one seemed to care, though. He was still Nikolai Lantsov.

Zoya told herself that if Nikolai asked to help with her Defence Against the Dark Arts class, she’d outright refuse. Nikolai, however, never asked. Good, she had thought one night before bed.

One encounter that stood out in Zoya’s mind was when she had been in the empty potions classroom, rummaging in the potion’s cabinet for a Confusing Concoction, planning to use it on her students to see if they could cast spells while under the influence of the potion.

She hadn’t realized Nikolai had even walked in until he had coughed and said, “hello.”

Zoya had spun around, startled. When she had realized it was just Nikolai she had turned around again, returning to her search of the potion.

Zoya hadn’t expected to hear him speak again until he said, “you don’t think Aleksander would mind if I glanced around in his potions cabinet, do you?”

She had finally found the familiar bottle and took it in her hands. She turned around to look at Nikolai and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Maybe. Guess it depends on what potion your looking for.” She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Nikolai scratched his neck. “Oh.” He let his arm drop and shrugged. “You know, just a headache potion.”

“To cure or create?” Zoya asked, stepping out of the potions cabinet and letting Nikolai step in and glance around. 

“To create,” Nikolai said easily. He glanced around at all the oddly shaped bottles, his eyes roaming over their labels. “Alina wants it.”

“What does the Muggle Studies professor want to do with a headache creating potion?” Zoya had asked incredulously. 

“Wants to show her students about muggle superstitions for curing certain ailments and whatnot.” He shrugged his shoulders and then they slumped. “Doesn’t seem to be here. I’ll go check the Hospital Wing I guess.” Nikolai had the walked to the doorway, turning back only to smile and say, “it’s nice seeing you again, Zoya.”

When Zoya had checked the potions cabinet after he had left, she had seen the headache potion right in front of the cabinet, perfectly eye level to Nikolai’s height.

As months went by, Zoya began to notice strange things about Nikolai. Like how he’d be sick every month and had to be confined to his room. 

As well, during the first few months of the school year, strange smells came out of his room. Soon, the smell was gone and Zoya noticed Nikolai speaking to Aleksander Morozova, the potions professor, more and more often. 

All her questions were answered when on one especially beautiful night, the full moon rising, Zoya couldn’t sleep. 

Ever since she had prematurely retired from being an auror, she could not sleep well. Before her retirement, she had slept like a log. But now, she couldn’t go two hours straight without waking up. Sleeping potions didn’t work; all she did was get horrendous, bloody, nightmares. Zoya would rather have bags under her eyes and feel exhausted than have nightmares. 

The stars twinkled outside her window and she was taken back to that Yule Ball when she flew in that rickety, flying, boat. 

Soon, Zoya found herself outside, drawing her cloak tighter around her body as the winds whipped around her. Her black hair was probably looking atrocious and she was without any makeup but Zoya couldn’t care. The cold brought her back to reality and out of her nightmare. It was like dunking her head in cold water.

Zoya’s hair on the back of her neck prickled as she head a loud howl cutting through the beautiful night like a knife. The noise startled Zoya and she gripped her wand from inside her cloak. It sounded like a wolf but it was incredibly close to Hogwarts grounds. Too close, she thought to herself.

Suddenly, Zoya caught a flash of brown fur and she jerked her wand towards the thing, thinking of the only spell she could think of: Petrificus Totalus.

A white light flew from the tip of Zoya’s wand. The thing whined softly before being temporarily frozen. 

Zoya edged closer to the creature and recognized it instantly as a werewolf. But who and how had it gotten loose on Hogwarts grounds, were unknown. The werewolf’s fur was slick and looked soft, the snout short. What really made Zoya take a step back were the eyes—human eyes. 

Zoya shivered and she was unprepared as the werewolf un-froze and snarled right into her face.

Zoya clamped her mouth shut, refusing to let the werewolf win so easily. She’d have to take the werewolf in after it transformed back to human to see what had caused the werewolf to roam Hogwarts’ grounds in the first place. 

The werewolf snapped at Zoya and then ran towards her. She cast her all-time favourite spell, Ventus, causing a strong gust of wind which made the werewolf slide backwards. She kept the wind going for as long as possible. She was horribly out of shape; Defence Against the Dark Arts was not suitable preparation for the real world and teaching it had made her grow weak.

Zoya cast Stupefy quickly, the wind dying down to nothing and the werewolf was knocked back at the power of the spell, out like a light in seconds.

She dragged the werewolf to the groundkeepers hut which was uninhabited since Hagrid left. It was dusty and unkempt and Zoya barely feel asleep before every two hours she woke herself up to stun the werewolf so he wouldn’t come to and kill her.

As the moon began to lower beneath the mountains and the sun’s rays could be seen peeking out, Zoya tried to straighten herself out before opening the hut door and stepping down the steps.

Nikolai Lantsov was sprawled out in the old pumpkin patch, his eyes staring upwards towards the sky, his cloak muddy and wet. “You’ve got a strong stun spell, Nazyalensky.” He slowly lifted himself into a sitting position.

“Nikolai?” Zoya couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

“The one and only,” Nikolai grinned and winked as he heaved himself up onto his feet.

“What were you doing on the school grounds? You could’ve killed somebody! And shouldn’t you be under the influence of the Wolfsbane Potion?” Zoya asked, flaring up suddenly like a match.

“Always straight to the interrogation. How very Zoya of you.” Nikolai grinned and ran a hand through his messed up hair. Then, more to himself, “I think I might need that curing headache potion now...”

“Nikolai.”

Nikolai sighed and then said, “come on. Let’s go to the castle before the students wake up.

They made their way up to the castle in silence until Nikolai said, “I normally transform in the Forbidden Forest but I somehow must have found my way back...” he trailed off. “And Wolfsbane potion is an incredibly difficult potion. I trust Aleksander’s skills in potions but not as a person in general. One wrong move and the potion could be deadly.”

“You were trying to make the potion on your own,” Zoya suddenly realized, remembering those awful smells that used to come out of his room. “Those first couple of months.”

Nikolai nodded. “Yeah, I thought that I could possible create the potion myself but I don’t have any talent in potions.”

Zoya pursed her lips as they got inside the castle and began walking through the halls. “I could try to make the potion. When I was a student I had an O in potions.”

She didn’t mention the fact that that was probably because of all the secret practice she had done making cosmetic potions for herself. How arrogant and self-conscious she had been back in her school years.

Nikolai didn’t say anything for a long moment before shrugging and saying a “sure.”

Zoya could hear the doubt in his voice. “What? You don’t think I can do it?” I probably—” but she was cut short as she saw Nikolai’s grinning face. “What?” She frowned.

“You were always competitive.” Nikolai chuckled.

Zoya sniffed. “And what’s so wrong about that?” She asked snappily.

Nikolai didn’t have the chance to reply as they both caught sight of a young Gryffindor student further down the corridor. Once she realized she had been spotted, she scurried away.

“Who was that?” Nikolai asked, squinting at nothing as the girl’s footsteps faded away.

“Nina Zenik.” Zoya could recognize that girl from a mile away. Who knew what she’d say now that she saw two of her teachers roaming the hallways at the crack of dawn, noticeably mussed up and disheveled. 

A moment of silence passed through them before Zoya said, “there will probably be rumours.”

“I don’t care.” Nikolai said. He then turned to face Zoya. “And I fully believe in your potion skills, Nazyalensky, and I trust you more than Aleksander.”

“That’s not saying much,” Zoya huffed but she couldn’t help but let a small smile escape. She rolled her eyes.

***

The potion was difficult. 

But Zoya gritted her teeth through it all and trucked along, reading and re-reading the passages over and over again, even speaking to Severus Snape’s portrait in the Headmistress’ office, one of the best potion masters she could name that was at her disposal. 

She didn’t know what had caused her to decide to help Nikolai. Maybe she thought she was obligated to help a fellow colleague. Maybe she was doing it because it was her job to keep the students safe. Or maybe because Zoya actually cared.

Zoya had bought her own cauldron so she wouldn’t have to ask Aleksander and kept it in her private bathroom. More often than not, Nikolai would keep her company while she brewed the potion, her hair becoming fuzzy and her skin feeling dirty.

There seemed to never be a dull moment when Nikolai was there. He always seemed to be in the best of spirits, always smiling and laughing and cracking jokes. 

“Honestly, how do you always seem so happy?” Zoya had grumbled after one particularly hard day of arguing with Nina Zenik.

“You fake it ‘till you make it, Nazyalensky. I’m a rather convincing actor, even to me!” Nikolai had replied with his self-sure smile.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you frown. Don’t you get tired?”

“It takes more muscles to frown than smile.” Nikolai had joked back. He then suddenly turned serious. “Honestly though, it can get tiring. I guess I’m just so used to be seen as a emotionally strong person.”

Zoya suddenly looked mildly interested. She looked up from the potion book for a second. “How so?”

“After I was bitten by the werewolf, my mother and father begged me to hide the mark and to hide any thing that would make people come to the conclusion that I was a werewolf. So, I guess I just decided that I would act as who they wanted to see: a strong leader, a kind gentleman...etcetera etcetera.” Nikolai shrugged. 

Zoya stirred the potion three times counter-clockwise. She hadn’t thought about Nikolai past his outer shell. 

“I like to please people too.” Nikolai added in thoughtfully.

Zoya stayed silent and shook some white powder into the Wolfsbane potion. Then, she thoughtfully said, “perhaps you should take your own advice: Manage to take some time for yourself. It never hurts to stop and smell the flowers.” She hadn’t even realized what she had said. 

“What?” Nikolai asked, his spine straightening. His eyes widened just a bit.

Zoya straightened too, suddenly realized what she had said. She cursed herself. She had gotten too comfortable in Nikolai’s company.

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew. Are you daft?” Zoya snapped, her guard coming back up. “A blond haired, hazel eyed, boy anonymously going around school?”

“But I changed my appearance!” Nikolai looked amused.

“Not until Year 4, you didn’t.” Zoya said as she began stirring again. 

“Hmmm, Nazyalensky. Didn’t know you were paying attention.” Nikolai grinned and handed her a bottle. “Next ingredient.”

Zoya took it and rolled her eyes. 

***

“How about you, Nazyalensky?” Nikolai asked, the potion near done. It was close to cyan. “What happened when you graduated? Did you become an auror?”

Zoya’s shoulders stiffened. “For a short period.�� She then shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nikolai frowned and just silently passed her her wand, nodding understandingly.

***

Zoya gripped her wand anxiously, trying to calm her nerves. A goblet of lightly smoking, blue-green, Wolfsbane was in front of her and Nikolai. 

“You think it’s alright?” Zoya asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

“I trust you.” Nikolai said, looking over at Zoya with his easy-going smile. “I’m sure it’ll taste great.”

Zoya punched him in the arm lightly. “You know it’s not supposed to taste good! It’s supposed to be unpleasant.” She grumbled.

Zoya didn’t like this. Alone in her bathroom with the smoking potion in front of them. It felt ominous. She couldn’t take the silence. “Well then? What are you waiting for? Drink the darn thing. I didn’t brew the potion for eye candy!” 

Nikolai chuckled and grabbed the potion. Zoya noticed his knuckled were white from gripping the goblet too tightly. He downed it all in one gulp.

Nikolai made a face and Zoya wondered if she had actually concocted the Wolfsbane potion correctly.

“It’s...sweet...” Nikolai fell to the ground in a heap.

“Nononononono,” Zoya said, her voice becoming high pitched as she repeated the word. I poisoned him, she thought suddenly, her heart palpitating in her chest.

Zoya heaved Nikolai up quickly, casting a levitating charm and hurrying out of the bathroom and out into the hallways were students were milling about, about to head to their first class.

“Get out of the way!” She growled, the students parting quickly. Zoya dragged Nikolai’s floating body through the halls, hearing students beginning to murmur. “Get out!” She shrieked again. “Go to your classes!”

Madame Pomfrey quickly took Nikolai in, her face scrunched up and her movements quick. “Zoya, you should know how dangerous Wolfsbane can be when done incorrect—”

“—I know I know!” Zoya said, pacing the Hospital Wing. Her head was throbbing. He asked me to do it. He trusted me with his life...

The whole thing seemed outrageous now that she was looking back at it. How could she have thought that she could make Wolfsbane Potion? How had she been so stupid? Even Snape had warned her that he had found it difficult—

“He should have asked me to brew the potion himself. No hard feelings, Nazyalensky, but you’re hardly capable to brew one of the most difficult potions known to—”

Zoya spun to Aleksander, her eyes alight with distaste. “Well he didn’t ask you, now did he, Aleksander?” She knew it sounded childish but Aleksander’s words were true. She should have never let Nikolai drink the poison she had created.

Aleksander only smiled politely and Zoya hated him even more. How could he be so calm? He swept over to where Nikolai was laid and pulled out a clear liquid. “This should help,” he said with a pleasant expression masked on his face. “It should eliminate some of the poison. Mind it though, he’ll throw up.” He then left.

Madame Pomfrey didn’t even hesitant or ask about Aleksander’s motives. All she did was uncork the bottle and began feeding it to Nikolai.

Zoya clenched her jaw as Madame Pomfrey fed him the potion. What if Aleksander had poisoned it and was trying to kill Nikolai?

But the liquid went down easily and, just as Aleksander had predicted, Nikolai vomited up some of the poison.

“You may go now, Zoya.” Madame Pomfrey said, looking up at her. “Go teach your classes. Nikolai is in good hands.”

***

Zoya managed to get through one class. She almost strangled Nina Zenik and was close to cursing that blasted Kaz Brekker into oblivion. 

Eventually, Zoya got Alina to take over her classes. She just couldn’t handle it. What if Nikolai died while she was away?

Zoya sat next to Nikolai in the Hospital Wing, watching over him like a mother bird. She almost hated the way she felt about Nikolai. Why did she care so much? Zoya bit her lip and glanced over at Nikolai, feeling her eyes prickle with tears but refusing to let them fall.

Late at night, when Madame Pomfrey had retired for the evening, Zoya was looking out the window.

Madame Pomprey had said that there nothing left to do. She had given him healing potion upon healing potion and had given him poison extracting potions upon poison extracting potions. She was sure she’d seen enough vomit to last her a lifetime.

Now, it was just a waiting game.

The sky was clear and bright and Zoya was reminded of that night which seemed like ages ago but really wasn’t that long. 

Zoya sat back down next to Nikolai. She needed something to hang on to—anything except for the sadness that was filling her up and was close to reaching her capacity before it would leak out.

Anger. She needed anger. Zoya found it inside of her and gripped onto it for dear life. “Why?” She asked and she was glad no one was around to hear her voice crack. “Why?” She asked more quietly. 

Zoya hardened her voice. “Why did you want allow me to brew the potion?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not even that good at potions! Alina could have probably done a better job than me!” 

Zoya crossed her arms, feeling her fingers begin to twitch. She felt a sense of relief flood her as she noticed she was no longer on the verge of tears.

“I don’t know why I helped you either.” Zoya snapped, needing to fill the silence of the room and to keep her sane. “I don’t know why I decided to brew that potion. I knew it was difficult. I knew it was dangerous...” she trailed off as her lip trembled; just now realizing how this could have all been avoided if she hadn’t decided to help Nikolai.

Zoya put both of her hands on Nikolai’s cot. “It was stupid of you to even allow me to do it. I shouldn't have suggested and you shouldn’t have agreed,” she hissed.

That was when Nikolai’s mouth began to move.

Zoya thudded back in her chair, shocked. Her anger she was clinging to desperately to slipped away and she was left with utter bewilderment and the urge to cry.

Nikolai was trying to say something. “F-f-f...”

Zoya felt the tears well behind her eyes. This time, she didn’t blink them back. Instead, she let them roll down her cheeks. Her nose was stinging and she covered her face with her hands.

“F-f...Ferocious Zoya, I do declare my love for you.”

[inquisitorhotpants]

The Knight and the Prince

This remains one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Takes place after Aberration but before chapter 47 of Chaos & Opportunity. Kryn has a massive romantic streak and makes her sister cry. (the kinda-sequel, where scourge finds it, is here. the collection of kryn’s fam!fic is here)

-

Once upon a time…

in a land torn by war and strife and suspicion, there lived a brave knight named Semiri, with shining ebony hair and piercing sky blue eyes. She was bold of spirit and noble of heart, a wandering adventurer who valued freedom and justice above all other things, a welcome sight both to the weary and downtrodden, and on the field of battle.

One day, she chanced upon a glade surrounded by tall, sinister trees, untouched by the sunlight. In the center of the glade was a tower, its stones black as a moonless midnight, and it loomed over the too-calm clearing with a palpable air of malevolence. Semiri took a deep breath, drew her sword, and approached it, determined to face whatever evil surely lay within before it could wreak havoc on the peaceful village nearby.

The ornately carved wooden door swung open with a tortured groan from its rusty hinges, and a chill breeze rushed over Semiri, making her skin prickle. She crept through the deep gloom, tensed and waiting for a confrontation.

“Why have you come?”

She spun around, sword extended. In the central room, lit by candlelight, stood a beautiful man, strong and strapping. “Who are you?”

He offered her a courtly bow, but made no move to come closer. “I am Prince Scourge.”

“I … don’t think so," Semiri scoffed. "That's impossible."

The man blinked, nonplussed at her reply. “What?”

“Prince Scourge is nothing more than a story. The legend says he was sealed away from the world by the mad king Vitiate, who wanted to keep him all for himself. The cursed prince was made immortal, but doomed to an immortality of solitude, never knowing the small joys of the world or the love of another.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s an excellent summation of my current situation, yes.”

Semiri stared at him for a long moment, dismayed to find that she was more smitten by the minute. “And no one’s rescued you?” Her brows knit together as her outrage grew at this blatant miscarriage of justice. "You've stood here for centuries alone?" She drew herself to her full height, her voice cutting through the surrounding darkness. “Well, I, Semiri, vow that I will find a way to release you! Await my return, for it will herald your freedom from this horrific curse!”

She traveled the length and breadth of the land in her search. In each village she visited, she heard tales of the mad sorceress Kryn’la, said to be extraordinarily gifted, even in the obscure and forbidden arts. An aged hermit with a shock of snow-white hair, living on the edge of the Plain of Sorrow, told her of another like himself residing in the Seething Swamps, there to direct the true-seeking supplicant toward the sorceress. The second hermit, a veritable copy of the first, sent her to traverse the Lightning Lands, insistent that she would find the sorceress there, if her intent was pure enough and her need great enough.

At long last, after Semiri felled a great nightmare beast of horns and teeth and thunder and knelt gasping for breath upon the loamy ground, the sorceress’ home revealed itself, tucked into a nearby cliffside. The sorceress herself was seated on her porch, preternaturally youthful and ravishing, with vibrant scarlet hair and a sardonic smile. She looked up from her tome as the warrior approached.

“Ah, so you have come, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade."

Semiri stopped a short distance away, hands on her hips. "Sorceress Kryn'la, it is whispered far and wide that you are a master of arcane arts both common and inscrutable. Following the directions of your acolytes, I have sought you out to petition for your assistance in rescuing a man sorely cursed."

"Will you not bend your knee?" The sorceress rose from her chair, ebon robes flowing behind her as she closed the space between them. "Will you not prostrate yourself before me? Are you not frightened that I will also curse you?"

Semiri, being of stout heart, did not move, did not even flinch. "No, my lady. You will help me, or you won't, and I do not believe any amount of bowing will change what course you have likely already decided upon."

The silence spun out as the sorceress regarded the knight, the slightest of smiles curling her lips. "It is as I foresaw. If you can pass the trials, I will give you what you request, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade." She pointed toward an opening in the cave. "Your first trial awaits. Do not keep the Apprentices waiting." Without waiting for Semiri to move, she strode back to her seat, resuming her reading.

Semiri battled the fierce Apprentices to conquer the Trial of Strength, defeated the cunning Pirate at dice to win the Trial of Luck, impressed the learned Scholar with her careful reasoning to succeed at the Trial of Knowledge, and withstood the punishments of the stalwart Guardian to persevere through the Trial of Endurance, returning to the sorceress in high spirits. “My lady, I have passed your trials." She proffered her hand, revealing the tokens she had received. "I offer you the proof of my success.”

The sorceress turned from her workbench, pleased. “I knew you would.” She held out a vial, full of violet clouds and brilliant white lightning, a violent, twisting storm in a bottle. "Take this. He must consume every drop. The pain will be fearsome, nigh unbearable, for the curses of the Mad King are not so easily broken. But if he can endure it, and you can endure standing by as he bears this writhing agony, he will be free."

Semiri reached for the bottle, then drew back her hand. "And the catch?"

A wide, genuine smile graced the sorceress' face. "Clever girl! Such a simple and obvious thing, yet so many do not think to ask. There is a possibility the the curse will not be broken, but rather transferred to the nearest person."

"Me," Semiri whispered.

"Are you willing to pay even this price for your prince's freedom, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade?" Kryn'la asked solemnly. "Will you take his place, eons passing you by as you languish in the candle-filled room, the world's pleasures lost to you for eternity?"

There was not even a moment's hesitation. "Yes, Sorceress. I vowed to free him, and I will, even if it comes at the cost of my life and freedom."

"I expected as much," Kryn'la said, studying Semiri's face. "Perhaps what you are feeling is True Love, and it will aid in your endeavors." Her expression softened for the briefest moment before resuming its usual sternness. "Now begone, I must resume my studies and you have a prince to save."

Semiri thundered across the countryside, the vial strung on a length of leather and cradled against her chest, and last she arrived at the tower, unchanged from how she left it many moons ago. She leapt off her horse, heaved open the door, and strode into the oppressive gloom. "My prince!"

Scourge appeared in the same room he'd been in last time. "Semiri?"

She extracted the vial, cradling it gingerly in one palm. "I have acquired a potion that can break your curse. But the sorceress informed me it will be excruciatingly painful. Do you still wish to be free?"

"No pain can be greater than an eternal solitary lifetime. I will bear it, if it means being able to leave this room again."

She crossed the vestibule and handed him the bottle, then stepped back. He stared at it for a long moment. "Something so simple to destroy this curse," he marveled. "I would never have dared dream such a thing even existed." His hand paused on the stopper. "Will you keep watch, Semiri? If something should go wrong, for you never know with magic of this nature, will you end it?"

She took a deep breath, then unsheathed her sword and assumed her ready stance. "I will."

He uncorked the vial, the unmistakable smell of lightning filled the air, and he tilted it up, the last of the storm disappearing from the bottle.

Silence fell, briefly, over the tower.

Scourge's hands began to shake, and the vial fell to the blackened stones, shattering into a million pieces all winking in the candlelight. His hands tightened into fists, and he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest as though to hold himself together. A stomach-turning wail rent the unnatural quiet of the tower, bursting forth from his mouth like a loosed monster.

Semiri gulped, but stood her ground, when she saw the dark tendrils snaking out of his body, writhing, curling around each other, pausing to scent the air. She steeled her nerves, head held high, and silently reaffirmed her vow to take his place if that was what was required of her.

A keening, so high-pitched as to be on the very edge of hearing, filled her ears, and acrid smoke billowed out of the candlelit room as the tendrils withered away into nothingness. As it cleared, she saw the prince prone on the cold stones, and rushed to his side, relieved when she could tell he was still breathing.

"I think 'excruciatingly painful' was something of an understatement," he muttered weakly, opening his eyes. "But I'm glad you were here."

She smiled and extended her hand. "Shall we leave this awful tower?"

Outside, the door to the tower firmly shut behind them, she turned to look at him, grinning when she saw him standing with face upturned toward the azure sky, smile on his face as the breeze caressed his skin. "What will you do with your newfound freedom, Prince Scourge?"

He held out his hand to Semiri, pulling her close when she took it. "I will cross the land with a brave and beautiful warrior, and see what adventures await us." Their lips met as the sunlight broke through the trees for the first time in centuries.

--

"Hey, boss." Kira drops down on the couch and nudges Semiri. "What was in that package you got?"

"Oh!" Semiri starts, hurriedly swipes at the tears on her cheeks. "Just a fairy tale, that's all."

Kira's eyebrow shoots toward her hairline. "Someone sent you a fairy tale?"

Semiri nods. "It's a silly thing, really. My sister always has had a flair for the dramatic and ridiculous." She cradles the datapad to her chest. "I'm going to go put this away."

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Thirty-Seven.

Well, hi there!

Last time, we got to see a wonderful little bit of fluff with Okoye and M’Baku as they planned for the future! How lovely!

This time, the future gets disrupted when Thanos shows up. That’s right, folks, we’re at Infinity War time!

For the record: I haven’t seen Infinity War. I don’t plan on seeing Infinity War. I don’t care about Infinity War. I’m rewriting Infinity War because I know I can do a better job than the Russo brothers did. If you don’t like any of that, I don’t care.

Anywho.

Rating: T for language and general tone of plot, given the context of what we’re dealing with.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku.

@skysynclair19, @the-last-hair-bender

All battles are a choice. Whenever you decide to pick up your spear and fight, you’re making the choice to do so. You always have the option to walk away, even when you think you don’t.

Every life you take is a choice. This isn’t to say that you’d be guilty of murder when committing an act of self-defense; it simply means that you must be aware of the choices you make and why you make them.

Not every choice you will make will mean a victory for you. Absolute success is a luxury none of us can afford. Sometimes, you will walk into battles you know you won’t win, but you’ll walk into them anyway because you choose to, whatever the reason may be.

Think carefully about your choices, my dears.

Okoye was a firm believer that Bast gave her followers signs for when shit was about to hit the fan. Little precursors that alluded to the larger insanities soon to follow.

N’Jadaka’s uprising and the fight for the throne? They’d had to endure a crazy car chase with Klaue in South Korea.

The embassy explosion and the Accords debacle? Countless incidents with the Avengers causing swaths of collateral casualties had predated all of that.

The incident where Dewani and Shuri rigged every single door --every. single. door--in the palace with fireworks? Full blood moon earlier that week.

So, when two Asgardian demigods, an Asian man dressed like some sort of martial arts-monk fusion, a group of aliens that included a talking raccoon and tree-thing, a guy that looked like a Las Vegas magician with a cape that could actually make him fly, and Dr. Bruce Banner showed up on the landing platform outside the palace in a swirl of light, she knew the sense of foreboding that crept up her spine was going to be valid. Bast help us.

“He’s collecting the Infinity stones, and once he has them he’ll wipe out half the universe.”

Okoye cast a subtle, doubtful glance at Ayo, grateful to see her own wariness mirrored in the eyes of her second-in-command and friend. We’ve seen a lot over the years, but this doesn’t even sound possible.

If the green-skinned woman --Gamora--that had arrived with the group was to be believed, a tyrannical alien overload named Thanos was in search of ‘magical’ stones that granted the bearer unimaginable powers, and that once he had them he’d destroy half the universe.

Because... reasons. Apparently.

“We already have two of the stones,” the raven-haired Asgardian --Loki--said, holding up a glowing blue cube that she recognized from War Dog intel reports as the infamous Tesseract with one hand while gesturing to the glowing green gem held in Dr. Strange’s --she laugh over that choice of name later--amulet.

“Three,” Thor --he was easy enough to recognize on his own from all the mass media coverage on the New York and Sokovia incidents--corrected. “Stark’s and Banner’s creation --Vision--has the Mind Stone. But there’s no guarantee that Thanos won’t be able to take them if he accrues the other three.”

“And what do you want from us?” Nakia asked.

“Thanos has access to an unstoppable army,” the bald, blue-skinned woman --Neubla--spat out. “He’ll find a way to get the other three stones, and then he’ll come to Earth with the last three.”

“Wakanda has the most advanced weaponry in the world,” Dr. Banner added. “If we’re going to have a shot at stopping Thanos, we’ll need your help.”

Okoye watched T’Challa carefully as he sat back in his throne, gears clearly working behind his eyes.

On one hand, the story seemed almost entirely implausible. ‘Magical’ stones, a madman that wanted destroy half the universe without rhyme or reason, alien armies...

On the other hand, she’d seen a lot of weird shit in her time, and the group standing in front of them had nothing to gain by lying.

T’Challa looked at Nakia, who nodded, then looked over at Okoye.

She pursed her lips, but nodded as well.

“I need to contact some people first,” T’Challa said with a resigned sigh.

The reunion between Tony Stark and Captain Rogers went about as well as Okoye could’ve expected.

T’Challa had called the renegade Avengers as soon as the Asgardians, the group of aliens --who had named themselves ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ apparently--along with Dr. Strange, Wong, and Dr. Banner were escorted from the throne room. From there, Steve had contacted Tony and told him to come to Wakanda immediately, along with Vision and whoever else was willing to help.

She still couldn’t help but smirk, just a little, as she watched Tony and Steve glare each other down. “Men.”

“Tell me about it,” Ayo muttered back as she kept a careful eye on Natasha Romanoff, alias ‘the Black Widow.’ “Give them two years and they still can’t speak five civil words to each other.”

“And yet they call women the ‘emotional ones,’” Djabi added under her breath.

“Of course we are,” Aneka whispered. “We actually interact with our emotions, instead of opting to shove them down and hide from them.”

Okoye smoothed her expression out as M’Baku and the other council members walked into the throne room, along with--

“No! No, no no! What is she doing here?”

Jhanvi grinned as Tony yelled at her. “Stark! It’s good to see you!”

“Miss Singh is working for the Wakandan Scientific Outreach program,” Shuri announced primly as she walked into the throne room, followed by Dewani and her friends. “She’s been called in to assist with weapons development and systems monitoring.”

“‘That--’” Tony pointed at Jhanvi “--is a menace--”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Thor interjected, voice heavy. “Thanos is coming. We need time to prepare.”

Okoye grimaced as the groups of former Avengers and various heroes all started arguing with each other. If this alien overlord is actually real, we are screwed.

The look on Ayo’s face told her the Commander was thinking the exact same thing.

Fortunately, between Sam and T’Challa, the two men managed to get everything calmed down enough to make working through the facts possible.

Fact: Thanos was in possession of an item called the Infinity Gauntlet, which would allow him to wield the powers of the Infinity Stones once he had them.

Fact: They currently had three of the Infinity Stones in their possession, but no one knew where the other three were or how to stop Thanos from getting his hands on them.

Fact: Thanos would, eventually, make his way to Earth to procure the last three Infinity Stones.

Fact: Thanos would bring along his army and other warriors to help him procure the last three stones.

Fact: If Thanos managed to get his hands on all six stones, it meant the end of the world.

This is insane, Okoye thought as she listened to T’Challa, Thor, Gamora, and Tony talk back and forth. This is actually insane.

She’d been taught from a young age on not to assign labels like ‘impossible’ to a situation. Every obstacle was a problem waiting to be solved, and all one had to do was find the solution. Not always easy, but not impossible.

But she’d already calculated the odds. Run through possible strategies and scenarios over and over while listening to the others assess the status quo.

They were in over their heads. Way over.

Before she had a chance to voice the obvious --that things were shaping up for a brutal fight they couldn’t win--the windows behind T’Challa’s throne started shaking.

Her spear was ready and in her hands before a flash of gold light swept over the room.

A massive, hulking, purple-skinned alien dressed in gold armor stood in the center of the room, lips curled into a smirk as he assessed them the way a boy with a magnifying glass assessed a cluster of ants.

Even if the pompous armor and physical markers hadn’t tipped her off, the way the Guardians quickly made a barrier between the newcomer and Gamora and Nebula was all the confirmation Okoye needed. So. This is Thanos.

“He’s a lot uglier than I was expecting,” Dewani stage whispered to Izgebe, who had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a snort.

“I take it you must be Thanos,” T’Challa said as he eyed the intruder cautiously. “And that you must have good reason to appear in my throne room without warning.”

“I am.” His voice boomed across the room, deep and full of the type of pride that often accompanied those who had made their way through life with minimal challenge to their status or way of thinking.

It made her skin crawl with unease.

“I’m here to offer you all a chance to shape destiny. To play a role in weaving of the fabric of fate.”

“You want us to help you collect the Infinity Stones,” Nakia surmised, eyes narrowed.

“I am a reasonable man,” Thanos said with a nod. “I am not a lover of violence and senseless bloodshed. If you hand over the stones already in your possession, you have my word that I will not return to Terra or unleash my armies upon you.”

“And if we don’t?” Tony asked.

“Destiny has chosen me to bring balance to the universe. No one can stop it, not even me. I will do whatever I must to complete my life’s purpose.”

“Yeah, whatever, but what gives you the right to destroy half the universe?” Dewani asked with an impertinent sneer.

“This is not about destruction. This is about balance. The universe is expanding beyond what its finite resources can sustain. Life must be culled to ensure its survival.”

“Genocide in the name of survival,” Peter Parker --a teenager that had come in with Tony that Okoye recognized as ‘Spiderman’ from T’Challa’s recounting of the airport fight after the embassy bombming--muttered. “I’ve heard that before. It didn’t wind up working.”

“Wait, pause a minute,” Dewani said, pinching the bridge of the nose. “You’re looking for the Infinity Stones, which could basically make you all powerful. Why not just... make infinite resources?”

“Solve global warming,” Peter added.

“End world hunger,” Abayomi suggested.

“Make space travel and colonization more readily accessible and affordable,” Shuri said.

“Eradicate all known diseases, disorders, and disabilities,” Izgebe spoke up.

“Create world peace,” Fukayna said.

“Guys, I got it!” Dewani said with a dramatic gasp. She pointed at Thanos. “This guy’s a moron!”

Okoye kept her eyes carefully trained on Thanos while the teenagers cackled and crowed. They were funny, yes, but anyone who was willing to make genocide his first choice wasn’t likely to be fond of being mocked.

“I mean, what kind of fucking idiot--”

“Enough!” Thanos snapped, proving her theory. “I did not come here to waste my time with children’s foolish antics.”

“And yet you wasted your time anyway,” T’Challa interjected, voice sharp and posture tense, clearly ready to jump in if the purple madman so much as looked at Shuri --or any of the other teens--wrong. “You won’t find anyone in Wakanda who would help you commit genocide.”

After a quick glance at the others, confirming that everyone else in the room was willing to side with T’Challa, Thanos let out a huff of haughty laughter. “So be it. Since I am merciful, I’ll give you three days to reconsider. If you won’t by then, I’ll just take what I need.” He tapped at a device strapped to his wrist and disappeared in another flash of gold light.

“Merciful?” Nebula spat out, seething and visibly trembling as Mantis tried to soothe her. “He cut out a part of me every time I failed, and he calls himself merciful?”

“Do you really think he’ll be back in three days?” Peter asked, a little wide-eyed from the encounter.

“There’s no way he won’t be,” Gamora said. “He needs all of the Infinity stones to execute his mission.”

“Well, in that case, we better get busy,” T’Challa said as he stood. “Thanos has given us a deadline; we need to make sure we’re ready for him when he comes back.”

Everyone divided off into teams almost immediately.

Jhanvi and Shuri immediately took off for the lab, taking Peter, Nebula, Dr. Banner, Vision, and Tony with them. “We’re going to need a mass amount of weapons,” Shuri had tossed over her shoulder as she’d darted out of the throne room. “The sooner we get started, the better!”

Dewani had also left almost immediately, heading back to the Jabari lands with Fukayna, Izgebe, and Abayomi. “I’ve got an idea, and they need you here for the bulk of the planning,” she’d said to M’Baku. “It’ll be fine; stop worrying.”

Shortly thereafter, Thor had left with Loki, the talking raccoon --Rocket, apparently--and the talking tree --which only said ‘I am Groot’ over and over--to remake his hammer that allowed him to wield lighting.

Because her day just couldn’t get any weirder.

That left the remaining Guardians, Captain Rogers and his group, Tony Stark and his friend Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, T’Challa, M’Baku, Ayo, and herself to plan the inevitable battle.

There are too many people in this damn room, she thought with no small amount of irritation as she listened to Star Lord and Stark argue about how to handle things.

“What do they even do?” Tony snapped, gesturing at Mantis and Drax.

“Kick names, and take ass,” Mantis said, too emphatic to be sarcastic.

“Bast help us,” Ayo muttered in Wakandan as she physically braced herself against a nearby chair.

They did, eventually, manage to work out a plan. Shuri and Jhanvi would spend the next three days mass producing as many drone weapons as possible, which Jhanvi would control from the lab. Shuri had her team working on making other weapons for Captain Roger’s team to use, while Tony was working on upgrading his, Rhodes’s, and Peter’s suit.

Sam, Rhodes, Vision, and Tony would be in charge of running air defense along with Jhanvi; take out as many of Thanos’s army without ever getting close to them.

Clint, along with the Wakandan snipers, would work on the back line; take out any stragglers or those that tried to breakaway, and generally keep an eye on everyone’s back.

T’Challa’s Border Tribe army, M’Baku’s warriors, the Dora Milaje, Dr. Strange and Wong, and the other Avengers and Guardians would take on the rest of Thanos’s children and the mad Titan himself, along with whatever army members the other groups couldn’t handle.

No one was sure when Thor and Loki would return, but everyone trusted that they’d fall into place in the battle when they did.

They’d done as much as they could to prepare for the onslaught that awaited them, less than a day away. Which was precisely why Okoye was knelt in front of a statue of Bast in Birnin Zana’s main temple for the Panther goddess.

She believed in doing for herself what she could --she’d always believe it. But she wasn’t about to leave the lives of her friends, of the people she loved, in her hands alone.

Be with us, Okoye prayed, head bowed. Ensure our victory over Thanos. We’ve done all we can.

A nagging doubt in her stomach told her it wouldn’t be enough, but she knew better than to entertain that thought for too long --or at all.

She stood, blew out the candle she’d lit before starting her prayer, and walked out of the temple.

“You should be in bed.”

“I could say the same about you.”

She shared a brief, wry smile with M’Baku that faded all too quickly, wicked away by the knowledge of what was coming.

For as much as dwelling on the possibilities didn’t help, it was entirely possible that one or both of them would be dead by the end of all this.

They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes burning with dread and foreboding, and then M’Baku was crossing the space between them, crushing her against his chest, kissing her until they were both gasping.

If this is my last night alive, I’m going to enjoy it, dammit, Okoye thought as M’Baku carried her to his bed. She broke the kiss long enough, planting a hand against his chest to slow him down, to look him in the eye and whisper the words “I love you.”

M’Baku let out a soft sigh, eyes closing as he pressed his forehead against hers. “And I love you. More than anything in the world.”

There wasn’t anything else she could say to that, so she yanked him back down to her and kissed him.

[dragonshost]

Back To The Start

Chapter 3: Complications And Missing Places

Pairing: Acnologia x Lucy

On FFN:

On AO3:

Summary:  Lucy has lost everything she ever cared for, all thanks to the black dragon of the apocalypse. So, with the help of two old journals belonging to her ancestor Anna and a dragon slayer 400 years dead, she will find out the secret to Acnologia’s defeat. No matter the personal cost.

Chapter 3 of the giveaway fic for @momocheww

Sorry this took so long to get out!  I finished it a while ago, but I only just got around to editing it.  Also, I cried while writing this chapter.  A lot.  Lucy’s still got some growing to do in this fic, but she’ll get there eventually.

Contrary to her initial hopes, it took Lucy the better part of the day to merely map out the layout of the Tower’s first floor.  It was best to know where things were, she had decided.  That way she wouldn’t have to keep calling on Crux every time she wanted to know where something was.  He had a life of his own in the Celestial World, after all.  It would be the height of rudeness to send him home only to drag him right back.  Now that she knew how the time flowed differently between the worlds thanks to the party her spirits had thrown her, she understood just how disruptive calling upon them could be for their daily lives.  Aquarius’s irritation at her childhood habit of constantly summoning her made a lot more sense now.

It was better for both her and Crux to just keep him summoned while they figured out where everything was, and then she could send him home once she had a grasp on the books’ organization.  She just hadn’t expected it to take as long as it did before she could do so.  Even the bottom floor of the place was massive. Furthermore, it was a veritable labyrinth that didn’t follow any convention of organization that she could readily recognize.  Whatever ancient correlation it had, it was beyond Lucy’s ability to intuit.  Which forced her to plot everything out in her journal as she went.

Then there was issue of the fact that Lucy couldn’t read half the languages that the books were written in.  It had been a depressing realization, to open up half a dozen books only to find herself incapable of discerning their contents.

She missed Levy intensely in that moment.  The blue-haired woman would know exactly what these books said, no matter the language. Loneliness welled up inside of her. The absence of her friends and teammates ached like a missing limb – a large chunk of her soul cut out and gone with them.

It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t find any information in the library without Levy’s help, she knew.  Several of the tomes were bound to have translated versions somewhere in the building.  And Fiore’s national language was one that had existed for at least four hundred years without too much deviation.  The question was whether she’d be able to find the books written or translated to it, and if their contents held what she needed within them.

She wasn’t placing much hope in her infamous luck to help her out in that department.  Besides which, it felt lately that her luck had long since run out.  Tenrou Island, the Neo Oracion Seis attempting to sacrifice her to a clock, getting the crap beaten out of her at the Grand Magic Games and being thrown into jail, a dragon invasion, and then… Tartaros.

Yeah… her luck had run out a long, long time ago.

Perhaps it had all been used up in meeting Natsu, and in joining Fairy Tail.

By the time she had to call it a day, Lucy had come to the crushing realization that even if the library held all the information that she needed, it was going to take her a lot of time to comb through it all.  Let alone discern what information was actually helpful for her cause.  Lucy highly doubted a book existed that would be so fortuitously titled: How To Defeat A Dragon King.

The bright spot in all of it was that while he’d helped her, Crux had also provided enough information for Lucy to write a preliminary article on the place for Jason to look over. She would organize her notes once she got home for the night, though, and then write it.  Skipping lunch while working in the archives had been a poor idea, and her stomach was complaining so loudly that it would have gotten her kicked out of a normal library.

“Is it alright if I summon you again tomorrow?” Lucy asked him, just before dismissing him for the day. “I think I’m going to need more help figuring out where everything is.  But if not, then I can work with what I’ve already got.”  She refused to be an imposition to him.  Not like she had been to Aquarius.

The spirit considered it. “I’m afraid that I’m unavailable tomorrow,” he said slowly.  “My apologies, Miss Lucy.  I would love to continue to assist you, but it will have to wait two of your days, at least.”

Crestfallen, Lucy nodded. “That’s alright.  You have your own life to live.  It would be selfish of me to take up too much of your time.”

A kind, if sorrowful, smile spread across Crux’s face.  “Miss Lucy, you aren’t an imposition to us.  I fear that Aquarius’s lack of patience is to blame, here.  Hardly any time passes in our world while we’re in yours. Our lives are not disrupted by any great account in being a part of yours.  We all knew what being bound to gate keys would entail when we agreed to be so. Truthfully, our lives are enriched for the experience – time moves so slowly in our world that it’s easy to become stagnant, to fall out of touch with what is happening on Earthland.  We take great joy being your spirits, and a part of your life and adventures, Miss Lucy.  Please take heart in that.”

Hot tears gathered in Lucy’s eyes at his words, and her cheeks and ears burned.  Shakily, she nodded her head.  “Okay,” she breathed out.  She furiously wiped her eyes with her arm and gave Crux a tremulous smile. “I’ll try to remember that.”

She’d keep his words in her heart, always.

“Miss Lucy,” Crux continued, his wizened face relaxing at Lucy’s response, “I am not the only one of your spirits that you can call upon to help you.  Most of your spirits will know at least one of the languages in these tomes.  Although they aren’t quite my advanced age, they’ve been around a long time, and served many summoners in the past.  Call upon whoever you wish, and they’ll keep you company for as long as you need them. And, I suspect, if you should want them longer than that, they’ll happily remain then, too.”

Lucy hiccupped, trying to force back a sob.  These were the things she’d needed to hear, she realized.  She hadn’t known that she’d needed them until they were already said, and yet they slid so easily into an empty place in her heart.  “I will!” she told Crux, her voice heavy with emotion. Lucy needed her spirits, and they needed her, too.  She would face them once more, and this time she would try to do it with love in her heart instead of sorrow.  “I promise.”

The library, true to Crux’s warning, did attempt to keep Lucy’s notes that night.  It took her the better part of a half hour to escape with her notebook intact, though Lucy couldn’t quite explain how the library was doing it in the first place.  One moment, the book was in her hand, and the next it was back at the table she’d been working at.  It played tricks on her mind – she couldn’t actually say for sure that she hadn’t left it there herself.  Multiple times.  But she knew enough of magic to know when it was trying to bamboozle her.

It was a minor blessing that it kept returning to the same table, all told.  Lucy wasn’t sure she’d be able to find the damn thing again if the library were to shelve it somewhere else in the building.

The whole ordeal rendered Erza’s previous success with removing the clock piece somewhat incredible to Lucy.

Early the next morning, an inability to sleep, despite how tired she was, drove Lucy from her bed long before she had intended to.  It seemed as if these days she was perpetually exhausted; on the verge of dropping off to sleep at any moment.  And other days, insomnia plagued her instead.  Her sleep schedule had gone completely off the charts in terms of predictability.  The odd hours she worked with Jason were also not conducive to a consistent night’s rest.

Lacking ought else to do, she found herself at the Library of Sorcery.  The world was still covered in blue, the morning songs of the birds just starting their first notes.

Maybe the early start would help her make more progress than the day before, or so she reasoned.  The stone edifice of the Tower was hard to pick out, somehow, in the predawn.  Like her eyes just… slid right past it.  Given the intricacies of the spells within the building, it wouldn’t be too surprising if there were spells on the outside of it, too.

In fact, that might be a large part of the reason it was still standing after four hundred years. Lucy knew from her childhood obsession with the ruins spoken of in Key Of The Starry Skies that very few buildings of that age remained intact around Fiore.  She wasn’t sure about Ishgar as a whole, but for Fiore it was definitely true.  Not even Cardia Cathedral came close to that age, and it was easily the oldest building in Magnolia.  Objectively, Lucy knew that countless wars and the early days of magic experimentation had a lot to do with that.  She couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, however.  How many libraries had disappeared over the past four hundred years?  Or libraries even older than that?  Lacking the extensive, mind-boggling protections that this building possessed, how much knowledge had vanished altogether?

This was the sort of thing that she would have liked to talk to Levy about.  Or maybe even Freed.  Warren knew a lot about this sort of thing too, surprisingly enough.  If he was there, he’d probably regale her with tales of other magical places he’d come across in his extensive traveling.  Freed would be over the moon in dissecting the spellwork that comprised the Library, and Levy… it would have been her dream come to life to read the ancient books stored here.

Stars above, she missed them.  More than she had words for.

She wondered where they were, at that moment.  Her friends were scattered all over the place, so it was hard to find them. There was a map, in her apartment; studded thick with pins and articles tracking individual guild members as they settled into new lives for themselves.  Originally Lucy had just been planning to write to them, to check on how they were doing.  A way to feel connected, despite the distance.  And maybe, if she had the time, she could drop in on them for a visit.

But the reality of her own busy schedule had come crashing down on her hard.  It was probably no different for them.  They had new lives and new concerns to deal with.  She’d just be intruding.

She kept adding to the board anyway, though.  It would be too painful to take it down now.  That would be like she was admitting that they would never be a family again.  Not like they were before.

Lucy swallowed thickly, her hands curling into fists at her sides.  With an abrupt turn on her heels, she strode away from the towering library. Lead sorrow sat in her gut, heavy in her chest.

She couldn’t do this today. She’d try again tomorrow.

When she returned home, she fell into bed, and immediately dropped off into a thankfully dreamless slumber.

Jason was more than pleased by how fast Lucy had gotten the first draft finished, nearly blowing out her eardrums over the phone with his excited shouting.

“This is fantastic! Super cool of you!” he crowed, as Lucy held the receiver at arm’s length away.  Much as she enjoyed working with the man, he was putting her hearing at serious risk.  He was capable of indoor voice, she knew that from experience.  But when he got excited it was as if someone had cranked his volume up to the max, and then broken off the dial.

“Thank you!  I’m glad you liked it,” Lucy told him, smiling broadly at the praise and flushing with happiness.  This was the best she’d felt in a while.  The past few days of research on her personal project, and the work she’d put in towards the article on the Library of Sorcery, had beaten her spirit into the ground, honestly.  Three days straight of painful quiet, with only Crux and Capricorn to occasionally break the monotony.  Three days where she failed to produce the results she wanted.  Three days of fighting with the building to let her keep her notes.  She was exhausted.

“Liked it?!  I loved it!  I think we can get this one into the next issue, for sure.”

Lucy’s eyes gleamed; Jason’s excitement was downright contagious, for all its volume.  “Thank you!” she said again, so overwhelmed that she couldn’t formulate anything more articulate.  “Thank you so much!”

“So on another note,” Jason said, his voice returning to a normal decibel, “I think I’ve gotten a pretty good lead on a possible interview for the magazine.  Something that would catch a lot of people’s attention.  Since you did so well on this piece, I was thinking you might be able to handle it.  Aside from which, the subject requested you personally.  Can you come into the office tomorrow, so I can give you all the details?”

‘The real world intrudes,’ Lucy thought morosely.  ‘Again.’

It wasn’t as if she’d been making much headway at the Library, though.  As much as she still thought it would contain the solutions she sought, they were proving difficult to locate.   Extremely difficult.  Capricorn and Crux had been a great help, of course. The two spirits had done everything in their abilities to assist her in her search.  The old goat had even left off comments about her weight and diet, which was nice.  Keeping them in Earthland for as long as she had was improving her magic by leaps and bounds as well, but it was probably high time she took a break.  The day she’d gone home and fallen asleep hadn’t really been much of a real rest.

“Lucy?” Jason voice came through the receiver, his clear concern shattering her thoughts.  “You still there?”

“Yeah,” she responded with a shake of her head that he thankfully couldn’t see.  “What time do you want me in?”

“Seven, please.”

“Got it.  See you tomorrow, boss!”

When she hung up, Lucy stared blankly at the wall for a long minute.  “I wonder who it could be?” she said aloud.  Shooting a glance at the map, bright with pins and cluttered with cut out articles, she let out a self-deprecating little laugh.  “Probably not.”  Lucy shook her head at her whimsy.  For all that she wanted to see them so badly, it was pretty clear at this point that the feeling was not reciprocated on their end.  They would have reached out, otherwise.

Calling it an early night, Lucy put herself to bed before the sun had even fully set.  She would need the extra rest, after all.

For once, her dreams were peaceful.

[jarienn972]

Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter 14

As real life has been a bit hectic lately, I haven’t had a lot of time to spend in my fictional worlds to get some writing done.  Finally found some time to get this chapter finished up and while it’s a bit shorter than prior chapters, it has some important interactions for Emma: one with Grandmother Bending Willow and one with Killian. She knows that some big decisions will need to be made soon so this chapter gives a peek into her state of mind.  Just a little dash of fluff and a little dash of angst here...

AO3  FF.net  

From the beginning on Tumblr: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13

After a lengthy but ultimately successful argument with Regina, Emma had the Queen's promise that the dagger would soon be on its to Arizona. Emma's explanation as to why she needed it hadn't been particularly easy; their theory was certainly far-fetched at best but it was the most plausible reasoning they had and thankfully, Regina was persuaded to humor Emma's crazy idea. Now, half an hour after the conversation with Regina ended, Emma and Grandmother Bending Willow sat in Killian's sharing their own quiet repartee until the vibration from Emma's cell phone interrupted them. Glancing at the screen, Emma could see that it was a lengthy text from Regina informing her that the courier had just departed Storybrooke and was now heading to Portland to put the package on a plane bound for their distribution center in Philadelphia. From there, the package would be transferred onto another aircraft to Phoenix and was expected to arrive there approximately 6:30pm Mountain Time.

Still wishing there had been a magical (and faster) way to get this incredibly important package here, Emma typed out a brief response, knowing in her own mind that these next few hours would be an anxiety-ridden waiting game. She could only imagine what story Regina had given the courier upon handing over a package containing not only the potion which was cleverly concealed inside tiny plastic prescription bottles Dr. Whale had provided but a very old and very sharp ornate ceremonial dagger. Hopefully, Mayor Mills had stressed the importance of the contents enough to impart a little fear into the courier – enough to ensure a safe, timely arrival. Regina had advised earlier that she had prepared enough potion for two doses and each was disguised as cough medicine should there be any scrutiny. The dagger had been identified as a historical object being sent for authentication through the National Parks Service representative who had located it through the assistance of the Storybrooke Historical Society. The latter organization didn't actually exist, but it provided a legitimate cover story to convince the courier to accept the weapon.

So now it was all about waiting. Emma was no stranger to waiting around, having spent many a sleepless night staking out a skip, but this experience was testing her patience. Killian's life was being threatened, both by the very real physical wounds as well as magically through the effects of the dagger's dark magic and there was no easy way to help him. Even with Grandmother's offer to stay and keep her company, Emma was anxious and this was going to be an aggravatingly long day, especially if Killian didn't wake soon. The longer he remained unconscious, the more Emma worried he might not wake at all. She'd honestly been surprised that he was already back in the room when they returned from the garage – even more so to discover that the doctors hadn't put the breathing tube back down his throat. Not being intubated made it slightly less of a battle to get the potion into him but he still had to actually be conscious to drink it.

Grandmother had done her best to help quell the evil spirits she sensed surrounding Killian. She'd added an additional turquoise stone and a few additional items to the medicine pouch including a tiny bundle of dried leaves bound with a thin piece of straw and another carved amulet, although Emma didn't get a close enough look at the stone to see what it resembled. The old woman drew the leather cord tightly closed again and repositioned atop Killian's chest.

"He is weak right now, but he still has much fight in him," Grandmother insisted as she hovered above his slumbering form. "These spirits have not been kind, but their time will soon pass. Time is short however as the Blood Moon will soon rise."

"It's tonight, isn't it?" Emma asked aloud, even though she already knew the answer.

"Yes, only a few hours from now," the elder woman replied.

"So, if we calculate that it's been three days since Yzma started all of this, then we've got three days left in our window of opportunity to re-open the portal," Emma thought out loud. "Assuming we can locate the right spot out in the vast expanse of desert and mountains where the magic might be strong enough…" Her sleep-deprived brain was running on overload as she contemplated all of the possibilities and probabilities that needed to align just perfectly to activate the portal. Not exactly as simple as tossing a damned bean. "And this is assuming that I can somehow summon the magic out of the mountains too and magically repair that broken dagger… Who am I kidding? I could rent a car and we'll be home in three or four days… but…"

Grandmother had a faint smile stretching across her lips as she placed a reassuring hand atop Emma's shoulder. She sensed the younger woman's apprehension and didn't envy any of the decisions Emma would need to make, but she knew her place was to guide Emma toward the right choices. "You've not made that decision because you fear he wouldn't survive the journey." She wanted Emma to know that she understood her hesitation to use such non-traditional methods – such untested methods. "I do see how these decisions are vexing you. No journey will be without risk, but I have felt a strength in you that is unlike any other being I've encountered. Listen to your heart. Listen to Killian's heart. There, you will find the answers you seek and you will be able to chose the correct path."

Emma tipped her head upward so that her gaze met the Navajo woman's warm and understanding brown eyes. Almost at once, Emma no longer felt the same insecurity and sadness. Something about those wise, knowing eyes filled her aching soul with a few moments of peace.

"Thank you," Emma said as she wiped at her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand. "I honestly can't thank you and Carlos enough for all you've done for us. You opened your home to a couple of strangers and believed my crazy stories about who we are and how we got here. I feel like we've known both of you forever and somehow, you seem to know me so well."

"I have always believed that people are brought into our lives for a specific reason. It may not always be clear what that reason may be at first, but there may always be some greater purpose." Grandmother's words certainly spoke to the wisdom of her years, yet while she couldn't quite figure out why, Emma's head told her there might be some other unknown connection. No matter what they might share though, nothing could disguise Emma's obvious fatigue and Grandmother's maternal instinct took over. "Now, I know you must be exhausted, child. It may be a while before your husband wakes and you should use that time to rest. You sleep for a while and I will wake you when he does."

"Okay," Emma replied with a weak nod of her bedraggled blonde head. "I'm not even going to argue." She sank back into the chocolate colored vinyl armchair trying to find a comfortable position. "I don't know if I'll actually sleep, but I'll still try." Grandmother grinned at the younger woman as located the spare blanket in the cabinet and handed it to Emma. There was no fooling this old woman. She knew Emma would be sound asleep in a matter of minutes – and she wasn't wrong.

The gentle nudge barely registered to Emma. The sensation of a hand upon her shoulder dissolved into her dreamscape until the sound of her name being called at last roused her from her deep sleep.

"I'm awake…" Emma stammered. "I'm awake…" She repeated the mantra as she stretched her cramped legs and twisted her torso as she attempted to work out the uncomfortable kink in her spine that came from sleeping in a chair with her knees nearly drawn up to her chest. She tried to remember if Storybrooke had a chiropractor because she was definitely going to need one once they returned home.

"Good afternoon," Grandmother's soft, calming voice replied. "I hope you had a good rest, but I knew you would like to know that your husband has awakened as well."

"Killian's awake?" Emma bolted upright, aches, pains and lingering drowsiness forgotten as her eyes darted immediately to the bed to her left.

"He is indeed, but he is still very weak," Grandmother warned. "He's been drifting in and out of consciousness for about an hour, but he seems to be coherent now. His mind is much sharper than you described earlier and he even remembered my name, although perhaps the spirits reminded him of that. We will not worry about those spirits right now though and I will give the two of you some privacy. Would you like me to bring something back for you later? You must be starving, child…"

"Coffee would be wonderful," Emma responded with a gracious smile. "Not sure about anything else… I haven't really thought about food, although I'd never turn down a good grilled cheese sandwich."

The old woman grinned, happy to see Emma's spirits lightening somewhat now that Killian had awakened. His battle was still far from over and Grandmother had made a vow that she would remain here to aid this couple until the evil was dispatched.

Killian had only heard portions of their conversation, his eyes still closed as he forced himself to remember where he was and what he'd been through. He was struggling with the tempting pull of the darkness and its pain-free bliss, but he knew he needed to be awake. Needed to let his wife know that there was still plenty of fight in him. "Swan?" His voice may have been raspy and barely audible, but it was a sound that didn't cease to make Emma smile.

"I'm right here," she replied, grasping his trembling outstretched hand. His skin was still far too warm and as he turned his head toward her and allowed his eyelids to open slowly against the assault of the bright overhead lights, Emma was heartbroken to discover that his eyes didn't seem as blue anymore. They were dull and greyish, lacking his usual spark. She squeezed his fingers tightly as she hopped out of the vinyl chair and moved to join him on the narrow bed. "Are you still hurting as much as earlier?" Oh, what a dumb question to ask, she chastised herself as the words rolled off her tongue.

"No, Love…" he assured her with a feeble attempt at a classic Killian Jones smirk. He didn't want her constantly worrying about him, but she wouldn't be easily convinced. "Still a few aches and pains, but it's not so bad…"

"You're a lousy liar, Killian Jones," was her response to his statement. "You're still way too warm and you're recovering from a very real stab wound while simultaneously having to fight the supernatural effects that the damned broken dagger left behind, so please, will you just be honest with me?"

"Not sure what you want me to say…" he said, not really knowing where to even begin. His skin may feel warm to her, but he in fact felt chilled clear to the bone. Half of the tremors in his limbs were caused by shivering, but the pain was still a very real factor as well. Whatever drugs were coursing through his veins merely dulled the constant discomfort. His entire torso ached with indescribable variations of agony – part searing, part throbbing and part crushing. How did he dare attempt to put this into words without horrifying the love of his life? "Yes, I'm in pain, Love, but it's no worse than anything I've experienced before and I've no intent to give in to it."

"Regina's potion will be here in just a few more hours," she reminded him. "If we can get the dark magic blocked, it should help you regain some of your strength and hopefully, get rid of the damned fever. Have you remained any movement in your legs yet?" She'd been assured by the doctors that he'd suffered no permanent damage from the broken dagger tip and that as the swelling decreased, he should recover normal movement but as she watched him squeeze his eyelids closed to concentrate, all she saw was complete and utter frustration etched into his features.

"It would appear not," he replied in a dejected voice and she immediately lowered her body against his, hugging him as tightly as she could without injuring him further.

"It will be alright," she assured him, resting her head on his shoulder even as she raised up a bit, feeling the pressure of the bag of rocks squished between their bodies. She intentionally turned her face away from his, not wanting to upset him with her now steadily flowing tears.

"I know, Swan," was all he said. She may have been shielding him from seeing her tears, but it didn't mean he couldn't feel the dampness soaking through the thin fabric of this awful dressing gown the hospital had put on him. "You're so tense, Love… Have you slept any?"

Seriously? Emma thought to herself as she tried to stop the waterworks, a tiny smile stretching across her dampened face. He was the one lying here feverish and in pain, and yet he was worried about her? "I got to sleep a little," she insisted. "It wasn't easy, but Grandmother can be very persuasive…"

"Good. 'Knew I liked that old woman…"

"Okay," she grinned, lifting her head so she could once again meet him eye to eye. "Don't you worry about me, Pirate. You just concentrate on getting yourself better…"

"That sounded like an order…" he teased.

"Did it need to be?" she laughed, thankful that he was in good enough spirits to taunt her with a joke. "Look, you just worry about getting some rest because I want to see you back on your feet and out of that bed…"

"Too tempting to not take advantage of me?" Killian asked with a devilish smirk, nearly convincing her that he was back to his normal, saucy swagger but it was too blatantly obvious that the amorous grin was merely a façade.

"Hardly," she chided with a small, unamused shake of her head. "Although you do cut quite the figure in that blue and white hospital gown… What exactly is that print? Paisley? No – are those little crescent moons?"

"Can't say I've been bothered to notice," was his reply, not even caring what design the ugly garment possessed. "What is the purpose of this bloody garment anyway? Scarcely covers anything and it's godawful scratchy…"

"I'm not even going to attempt to give a response to that because honestly, I don't really know. I'd say modesty, but since they tend to leave your backside hanging out, who the hell knows? I'm just glad to see your sense of humor returning. Makes me feel a little better…"

"Nothing to fear… I may be temporarily incapacitated, but that does not mean I've lost any of my charm or wit…"

"You're incorrigible," Emma chuckled. "That's what you are." He could joke all he wanted, but it was becoming evident that he was extremely tired. "Anyway, I know you're exhausted. I'm going to go find Grandmother. You just sleep…"

"So, was that an order?" he asked, eyelids already drooping.

"Yes, that was an order, Deputy. Love you." She wasn't certain he even heard her reply as his body had already gone slack with sleep. "Love you," she repeated, pressing a kiss into the back of his hand before replacing it at his side while she stood, eyes drawn to the clock on the wall next to the sink. It was now nearly 3pm. Just a few more hours to go and things should get better.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Six

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4 5

Chapter 6: Just As Well Be Blind 

Summary: A conversation.

MINERVA McGonagall is not at all surprised when during dinner, Albus asks her if she would join him for tea in his office later. She doesn’t need him to expand into the reasoning why, only agrees once she’s ensured that her prefects have the first years well in hand, she will join him. They discuss the upcoming school year briefly, he mentions some new ordinances the Board of Governors were considering, and just general things, but all the while she knows what he wants to discuss is one of her newest lions.

    Once the students are dismissed, she goes to her Gryffindors, instructing the prefects to lead the first years up. She stands in the Great Hall as the students disperse, going off to find their own houses, and is equally unsurprised when Severus Snape comes to stand at her side. Neither says a word until the last of his Slytherins has gone down the hall leading to the dungeons.

    “Mr. Potter has followed in his father’s footsteps,” is the first comment from the Potions Master.

    “And his mother’s,” she reminds him. “Albus wishes me to join him for tea.”

    Snape looks over at her. “To discuss the boy, no doubt.”

    She nods her head in agreement. “Almost certainly.” She starts to head for the stairs, and he follows. “He and Draco Malfoy seem to have remained friends. I thought he might end up in your house after all.”

    “Yes, well it may have been better for their friendship if he had,” Snape replies. “We both know they’re unlikely to remain friends.”

    “You’re too much of a pessimist, Severus,” she admonishes. “They might surprise you.”

    He looks unconvinced, but changes the subject. “Have you spoken with him about the stone?”

    “Yes.” McGonagall’s frown makes it perfectly clear how that discussion went.

    Snape notes it, and adds, “I take it he is determined to keep it here at the school.”

    “He isn’t entirely wrong; it’s likely safer here than anywhere else,” she concedes. “But I’m not keen on the idea of bringing something to a school that is likely to attract dangers that might harm the students.”

    Snape’s reasoning is different. For him, it’s just stupid to try to protect something that they would be better served to just destroy. It is the more logical solution, in his mind, and would save them all the trouble of having to worry about safeguards at all. He doesn’t share that, though, knowing the deputy headmistress is a true educator, through and through, whose students would always come first for her. He doesn’t quite share that passion.

    “Yes, well, the man rarely thinks himself wrong,” he says instead.

    “That’s the problem with rarely being wrong. You don’t recognize when you are.” They reach the gargoyle statue on the third floor that guards the entrance to the headmaster’s office and McGonagall gives it the newest password. “Curly Wurly.” The statue jumps aside, revealing the moving staircase up to the headmaster’s office, and McGonagall turns to her colleague. “Care to join us?”

    Snape shakes his head. “No, but I admit to some curiosity. Let me know what happens.”

    She nods her head in agreement then bids him goodnight as she heads up the stairs. She enters the circular room, eyes moving as they always do over the tables about. McGonagall recognizes the Pensieve tucked away in a recess between shelves of books. There is an identical recess on the other side of the room between more shelves, this one with a moon globe. The nearest window to that has a table next to it with a lunascope atop its surface, and some papers. The rest of the tables, of which there are probably about a half dozen or so in varying sizes, hold various silver instruments, many of which are constantly spinning or emitting the occasional puff of smoke, and almost all of them unrecognizable to McGonagall. She assumes more are for show than anything. Granted, Dumbledore knows many people, so perhaps some were inventions he’d been gifted or older magical items generally no longer in use, but her curiosity only goes so far as to wonder the point of having them, as she has yet to ever see him actually use any.

    The man himself is standing at his desk, a pleasant smile on his face as she meets his gaze and he motions for her to take a seat across from him. There is a cup of tea waiting for her, steaming rising gently from it as she takes a seat.

    “Thank you.” She picks the cup up, sniffs the pleasant aroma and takes a sip. She doesn’t say anything, curious as to how he’ll bring the subject up, and not inclined after this summer to make it easier for him.

    He took a seat as she did so, and now picks up his own cup of tea. There’s quiet for a moment as they both drink some of their respective drinks, before he finally sets his cup back down and speaks. “I thought Harry might end up with you in Gryffindor. The boy would be the spitting image of his father were it not for having his mother’s eyes, and the scar, of course. Uncanny, the resemblance.”

    “Of course. Although I’d say he favors his mother’s personality more,” she tells him. “Even made friends with one of the new Slytherin students. Can’t say that’s something James Potter would have done his first year.”

    “I did see he was standing next to Lucius Malfoy’s son,” Dumbledore notes. “Friends, you say? I thought they had simply ended up next to each other coming in from the train.”

    McGonagall nods her head. “Oh no, the boys met in Diagon Alley when Severus and I took Mr. Potter to get his school things. Hagrid got him an owl for his birthday, so I imagine they kept in touch.”

    “Ah, interesting.” He seems to think about this for a moment, before he continues. “In any case, I wanted to speak with you on another matter concerning Harry. More specifically, his magical guardianship.”

    McGonagall sets her cup down. “Yes? What about it?”

    “I believe it would be in his best interest if I remained his guardian, considering his unique circumstances.”

    “They’re hardly that unique,” she argues. “Hogwarts has had orphaned students before, and their Head of Houses have stepped in as magical guardians since the early days of the school. I am surprised, though, that full guardianship didn’t go to his Muggle family. Shouldn’t that have been the case, with the Ministry assigning someone to assist in any magic related circumstances, like helping them access Mr. Potter’s Gringotts vault and such?” She has had a month to wonder about these things. Nothing about Harry’s situation seems to adhere to how she knows these things are supposed to be handled.

    “Minerva, you have met Harry’s family; would it have been wise to give them access to the Potter fortune?” She can’t argue that he has a point there, and he takes her silence as agreement so he continues. “Cornelius and I discussed it after placing him with the Dursleys, and since we had no way of knowing if Voldemort was truly gone, we thought it best to keep Harry’s whereabouts on a need-to-know basis so if he should return, the child would be safe.”

    “And after? It has been a near decade, Albus. I have never understood the decision to leave him there indefinitely. There’s been nary a sign of him ; the Ministry could have resumed their responsibilities to the boy. Even so, James and Lily Potter surely named a magical guardian if he was going to end up with her Muggle family; why not have them check on him if neither you nor the Ministry could?”

    Dumbledore sighs. “Unfortunately, Sirius Black was the appointed guardian. You know he betrayed the Potters. Even if he were not in Azkaban and therefore incapable of performing those duties, he clearly would be unfit to do so. There was no one else named, so I stepped in.”

    It all sounds so reasonable, but McGonagall can’t help the feeling that things were not done the way they should have been, and thus Harry had suffered the consequences.

    “Very noble of you,” McGonagall finally says, and if she sounds a little sarcastic, well, she is around children all day. “Well as you said, you’re a busy man. So respectfully, I think it best I take over his guardianship as his Head of House as I’ll have the ability to take on a more active role than your duties have allowed. Especially since as deputy headmistress, it is in the school’s best interest that you continue to be able to perform all your duties as headmaster. Unless there’s another reason you feel I am not up to the task?”

    It is so rare for them to disagree like this, that she’s not sure she’s ever outright challenged him on something the way she is now. In fact, Dumbledore is no longer smiling at her, and instead seems to be studying her, taking her in as he forms a response.

    Everything from her tone of voice, to the way she’s seated in her chair ramrod straight, to the very tilt of her chin makes it obvious that this is a challenge she will not back down from. Whether it’s the approach he’s miscalculated, or simply the level of which her visit to the boy’s family this summer upset her, he isn’t sure. One thing is certain, though, and that is that as he was not legally appointed by the Potters, he cannot override the old magical laws that govern the school and is upheld by the Ministry without additional intervention that would require the involvement of the Board of Governors, the Department of Magical Education, and either the International Magical Office of Law--which technically was also the Domestic Magical Office of Law--or the Wizengamot itself, if not both. It would turn into a grand spectacle and raise questions as to the necessity of it, and would it really be worth it in the end?

    McGonagall meets Dumbledore’s piercing gaze, unmoved, and unbothered by the silence. Her intention is not to question his motives; the man is powerful, not perfect, and things were getting dark by the end of the war. Whether what he’d done was actually for the best is debatable, but she thinks he truly means it when he says he believed it was. It just wasn’t enough. After all, she had seen with her own eyes the conditions Harry had been raised in. On the surface, from the outside looking in, it seemed fine. But a closer look revealed an upbringing no child should have to endure, famous or not, whether magical or Muggle. It is unconscionable to her that Albus, her one-time mentor and friend, continues to make excuses as if she hadn’t already told him what her and Snape’s visit had revealed. That his pride would come before that knowledge, keeping him from seeing why things had to change for Harry’s sake, frustrates her to no end.

    Finally, Dumbledore smiles at her. “I would never question your ability with any task, my dear. If you are certain, I will say no more on the matter.” With that, he picks up his tea and seamlessly changes the subject.

Story Notes:

Chapter title is from Billy Joel's "Honesty".

[crystallinekingdom]

"Are you scared? ... Then why won't you look at the screen?" (Prompt)

hey this got a little long… also im sorry it took 2 days

Movie Night

Taako’s sprawled out on the couch in their suite, painting his nails a shimmering blue and watching the world below through the now-exposed porthole that makes up most of the living room’s floor, when his Stone of Farspeech starts ringing where he left it on the coffee table.

He had expected this to be a quiet day. Apparently, in the aftermath of saving the world, nobody cares if you take a few extra days off work - Merle was planetside visiting his kids, while Magnus had gone to spar with Killian and Carey.

Whilst attempting to grasp for his Stone with semi-wet paint all over his nails, Taako drops the bottle of polish onto the counter, and the device is suddenly covered in tacky blue sparkles. He curses three different gods as he brings it up to his ear, inwardly praying that the person at the other end isn’t Brad ready to lecture him for thirty minutes about his use of expletives and how it isn’t beneficial to a teamwork environment.

It’s not. His sister’s voice crackles through the speaker, muffled by bad reception but still audible, and a grin spreads across his face.

“How’s it hanging, dork?” Lup asks. Taako can hear gravel crunching under her feet as she walks.

“Just chilling up here. What are you and the nerd up to, do-gooding in some random village again?” Lup and Barry had not been as blasé about the aftermath of the apocalypse as him and the boys - every day they were assisting a cleanup effort somewhere, trying to get areas that had been hit hard by the Hunger back in working order.

“Not today, actually, and that’s why I called. We aren’t scheduled to be in Goldcliff till Wednesday morning, which gives us, like, a day and a half free. Figured we’d drop by the moonbase and say hi. Want to hang out, or do you have better things to do?”

“No can do, sis, I’m busy curing cancer and making shoes for orphans - of course I’m down to hang out, who do you think I am? What time are you gonna be up here?”

“I just summoned a sphere, so.” The audio crackles a bit as she pauses, presumably to check her watch. “Around six, give or take?”

“Hell yeah. I’ll be in the suite. See ya then, goofus.” Taako puts the stone in his pocket, taking care to cap the bottle of blue polish on the table before hefting himself off the sofa.

The glass face of the clock on the wall has a large crack down its middle, but he can still make out a time that’s somewhere around 4:50 p.m. Enough time to whip something quick up, he thinks as he makes his way over to the kitchen.

Taako is halfway through mixing a bowl of dough for a yet-unfinished batch of glazed lemon cookies before he hears a light knock at the door. It’s much earlier than the ETA Lup had given him, but he trudges over, leans against the wall with one batter-sticky hand, and looks through the peephole.

In the hallway is Angus, newsboy cap slightly askew and clutching his wand to his chest. Taako is momentarily taken aback until he remembers what day of the week it is. Oh, shit. Monday is magic day.

He unlocks the deadbolt and pushes the door open with a flourish, feigning ignorance as to why the kid is here. “Hey, Django. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Hello, sir!” Angus shifts from one foot to the other. “Uh, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I was just wondering if our magic lessons are, um, still a thing that’s happening? I mean, I totally understand if you’re busy, or if you’re finished training me now that I’m done being a Seeker and not really useful to you guys anymore, or-”

Taako cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Sorry, kiddo. Don’t think we’re going to be able to do a lesson today.” Angus’s face falls and he opens his mouth to say something, but Taako continues, “Lulu and Barold are coming up for the day. Want to stick around and ask them all those nerd science questions you’ve been asking me? Might even be some baked goods in it for ya.”

He leaves the door open and turns around to retreat back into the kitchen, catching Angus’s “Th-thank you so much!” and the sound of the door shutting, then small footsteps following him inside.

“Now that you’re here, bubbeleh, I’m gonna have to put you to work. Child labor isn’t illegal if it’s on the moon,” Taako says, lightly clapping Angus on the back. “Want to go grab me a half tablespoon of vanilla extract so I can add it to this sick batter?”

Lup and Barry open the door an hour later to the sight of cookies left to cool on the stovetop and Taako sitting on the couch with Angus, teaching him some particularly nasty Fantasy Yiddish curses.

After a bout of small talk (considering the twins have fallen back into their old habit of constantly keeping tabs on each other for blackmail material, there isn’t much catching up to do) and a brief trip back to Lup and Barry’s makeshift moonbase quarters, Barry lays out a stack of old DVD cases on the kitchen table in front of Angus.

“It’s my movie collection from back on the Starblaster”, he explains. “First thing I salvaged once we got the ship back up here. We haven’t seen any of these in at least a decade, so take your pick, kiddo.”

Angus takes his time opening each plastic case and reading the blurb on the back. By the time he’s done, the other three are in an angry debate over the Fantasy Star Wars prequels (“They give context for episodes four through six, you uncultured swines!”), and Angus has to throw the case he’s chosen at Taako’s head to get their attention.

Taako looks at the case - Fantasy Alien. He briefly questions whether the whole chestburster thing is too frightening for an eleven year old boy, until he realizes that said eleven year old boy has fought eldritch abominations and been thrown off the back of a moving train. So much for childhood innocence.

“Good choice, Agnes,” he says, twirling the case in his hand.

Twenty minutes later, the lights are off and they’re all piled onto the couch under a knit throw covered in yellow embroidered ducks. Barry’s got an arm around his girlfriend and is staring at the screen with an expression of childlike wonder, Lup is whispering suggestive comments into Taako’s ear between mouthfuls of cookie, and Angus…

As the characters onscreen argue about what to do with the young halfling lying on the operating table with a squid-alien-thing on his face, Angus’s eyes are anywhere but on the action. The blanket is wrapped tightly around him up to his chest, and he’s staring directly into it.

Taako wrestles his right arm free from where Angus had pinned it while leaning on him and uses it to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Are you scared?” he asks softly. Maybe Angus is more squeamish than he’d thought.

“Oh, no, sir! If this were a real mission, they would have listened to containment protocol and prevented all this from happening. This whole situation could have been avoided if not for the sake of dramatic irony!” Angus responds, without looking up from his blanket cocoon.

“Then why won’t you look at the screen?” Taako lightly noogies him, then tugs on Angus’s piece of the blanket.

Out falls a small spiral-bound notebook with blue and silver trim, hitting the floor face-up with a small thump. Honestly, Taako doesn’t know what else he expected - he reaches down to pick it up, and surveys the page it opened up onto.

Below some indecent Fantasy Yiddish phrases (he’s both proud of the kid and terrified Lucretia will come after him once she hears Angus using said phrases in conversation) is a detailed sketch of a spacecraft. It’s surrounded by liner notes, detailing the workings of each part of the craft, its name - SS Nostromo - and physics equations describing what looks to be its capability for interstellar travel.

“Woah, is this the ship from the movie?” Taako asks.

“Yes, um. I’m sorry for not paying attention, I just thought it was a really interesting concept and-”

“Angus. It’s really dang good. Consider me thoroughly impressed.”

“Thank you!” Angus grins. “I’m just wondering, I know the Starblaster was made for hopping between dimensions, but did it have the raw power required for regular-old third dimensional travel on a larger scale like in this movie? Like, interstellar spaceflight?”

Lup, who has apparently been paying more attention to this whisper-conversation than Taako would have thought, turns towards Angus and wipes a few stray crumbs off her face. “See, the thing with bond energy is that because it’s freakin’ everywhere, it only takes a small core to process a huge amount of it. That’s how we could use such a small exploratory vessel. Of course, traveling in five dimensions takes a lot more power than in three, but if you factor in gravity and antimatter-”

Taako cranks up the volume on the television just as Barry shifts to face them, presumably to point out some obscure law of astrophysics. Adorable. They should set up their own little think tank. Taako smiles fondly at them as they continue their conversation, his face lit by the dim glow of the screen, then turns back around just as the alien bursts out of the halfling’s chest.

By the time the credits roll, both Angus and Barry are out cold - Angus holding his notebook and curled up against Taako’s chest, Barry clutching a throw pillow with a picture of a corgi on it. Lup has extricated herself from the cuddle pile and is raiding his pantry, and Taako is trying to figure out the best way to reach for the remote without waking up the two nerds asleep on his couch.

“You know,” Lup calls out from the kitchen, “I still feel kinda bad about blowing up his macaroons. He’s a good kid. You think it’d be cool if I made it up to him by baking him some more?”

Taako looks down at Angus, takes off his glasses, and places them on the coffee table. “I think he’d like that a lot.”

[mousedetective]

Never Will I Forget The Deep Shadows, Never Will I Waste The Moon’s Light (1/15 or 16)

So yes, I did not finish it last night. ::hangs head:: I will finish it today, though, mark my words! This is a very Sherlock-centric story, but there is also a ton of Molly (though not Sherlolly...we’ll leave that for a possible sequel, as I wanted to leave this semi-S2 compliant) and an epic magical confrontation with Moriarty and...

Oh. Did I mention that Sherlock is a magician? Because he is.

Anyway, I’m reposting the existing chapters leading up to the reveal on WIP Big Bang, along with the new chapters, so it’s all starting over on AO3 so new people can discover this story.There is also pretty art by Red Bess Rackham that I will have properly linked on the first chapter hopefully soonish, so please enjoy!

~~~

Never Will I Forget The Deep Shadows, Never Will I Waste The Moon’s Light - The Holmes brothers come from a long line of powerful magic practitioners, but they are forced to keep their skills a secret. When Molly accidentally finds out about Sherlock’s powers and doesn’t turn away from him he slowly realizes that this pleases him, but soon enough he gets careless and is put in a position he would rather not be in, especially when others find out that she knows and attempt to use her as a pawn in their own games and machinations.

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Mycroft stood regally by the fireplace in his study. ”You know you have to keep it a secret, Sherlock. No mortal can know.”

He was lounging in the chair he favored, his leg over the arm. Only when he really wanted to annoy his brother did he toss all sense of decorum and propriety out the window, especially since the chair wasn’t that comfortable to begin with and the position made it less so. ”Easy enough for you to say. Your assistant who’s tied to you nearly twenty-four hours a day is one of us.”

“Well, that’s what you get for going and getting attached to a mortal army doctor, a mortal pathologist and a mortal inspector at Scotland Yard,” Mycroft said, a hint of snideness in his tone.

“And a mortal housekeeper,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know. I set myself up among mortals. I purposefully chose to live among them. It’s my own fault for that. Etcetera, etcetera. You’ve had this tune for years.” He couldn’t stand the position anymore so he put himself to rights and then simply slumped to the side, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and settling his cheek on his knuckles. “At least I didn’t become a hermit like Sherrinford.”

“Sherrinford had no other choice,” Mycroft said quietly, gazing into the fire. “Not after the incident.” He lifted the snifter of brandy in his hand and took a sip. “And if you aren’t careful, Sherlock, with your continued pushing yourself to your absolute limits, you might be next.”

Sherlock bit back a sigh. His brother had always felt himself his keeper, ever since he was young. It appeared that would never change, not in a million years. He wondered when he would ever get out from under his brother’s thumb. Possibly never, he supposed. Perhaps if Sherrinford…no, it didn’t do to dwell on that. No one in the family talked about it. No one admitted that Sherrinford existed, for the most part. He was an afterthought these days, as though he had never really been a part of the family.

He supposed if he wasn’t careful, one day, he might be an afterthought as well.

The world knew he was different. They knew he was a genius, a man who could solve the trickiest of tricky crimes. The ones that were deemed unsolvable by most. His reputation had grown steadily larger as time had gone by, ever since John had come into his life and started keeping the blog. The Detective and the Blogger, the Crime Fighting Duo. Oh, there were so many monikers for them, so many names. He was someone the world thought they knew every fascinating tidbit about, and what they didn’t know they wanted to learn.

But there was one secret they absolutely couldn’t know, as his brother was just now reminding him.

He, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, had been born with the ability to do magic.

Not the cheap parlour tricks that stage magicians could do, the illusions meant to wow and mystify and audience, the type of stuff that could be easily debunked. No, he knew real magic. Old magic. The kind of magic that traveled through bloodlines as old as time immortal, the stuff Druids talked of long ago. He could do almost anything, really. For one as young as he was, for someone who honestly didn’t study ancient texts half as hard as his brothers had or practice anything near as much he was twice as powerful as they were.

He just…didn’t care. It made him different, even more different than he already was. His brilliance had set him apart in many ways; being able to do magic, being something separate than mere mortals had been icing on a cake he had simply not wanted. When he had been a young child he had reveled in it, but when he got older, when Mycroft pressed the importance of hiding his abilities, hiding the truth about himself, when he saw what happened when someone trusted the wrong person…he was more than eager to do so. Being seen as just a cold, egotistical genius was fine by him.

And yet when Donovan had called him a freak he’d hated that term so much. He’d always kept that icy demeanor when she said it but the words hit like a blow to the gut. It was the worst thing to hear, the one insult that actually hurt. When the children he’d been around growing up had called him that, he’d held back tears until he had absolute privacy, then let tears fall. When he’d heard it as a teen, and later in his university years, he’d turned to heroin to numb it all away. By the time he was an adult he’d swallow it down and let it sit there, cutting on the way down, making him hate the world just a little more.

But his friends had healed those bits of him. It was true they didn’t know they whole truth, they could never know the whole truth, but over time, John and Molly and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson had made him feel…normal. Or at least more normal than he had ever felt in his life before. He appreciated that more than he could tell them. He wasn’t great at showing it, unfortunately; the Christmas party had made that abundantly clear, but he was willing to try harder. He supposed he could say it was a New Year’s resolution, if he actually believed in that type of twaddle. They had done some good for him; he supposed he should be better at showing them that they were important to him.

Even if they were mortal, and that meant he had to listen to his brother make snide commentary on the fact.

Mycroft turned to him. “You can’t afford to go into withdrawal, Sherlock,” he said. “I do not have the time, energy or resources to bring you out of it without questions being raised.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You’re worried I’ll get careless and get caught because I’ve surrounded myself with mortals,” he said. “Mycroft, it’s not as though I spend my evenings in the sitting room. I do happen to have a bedroom, which is fitted, if you might recall, with a very good lock. Even you have trouble picking it.”

Mycroft glared slightly. “Still. You have a tendency to be reckless.”

Sherlock shook his head and stood up. “One day, brother dear, you’ll realize I am fully capable of living a life without your constant observation and interference. When that day comes, I’m sure I can have a list handy of other hobbies to catch your interest.” He made his way to the door of Mycroft’s study. “Good night.”

Mycroft said nothing and Sherlock opened the door and let himself out. He glanced at the large clock in the foyer and saw that it was only eleven thirty. So. It was still the old year. At least he didn’t begin the new year listening to his brother berate him for sins of the past and mistakes he’d never be able to fully make up for. That would have been tiresome. Anthea stood by the door with his coat and he took it from her, slipping it on before leaving Mycroft’s fortress and going out into the night.

He was not one for celebrations, not one for good signs and good omens, but the fact that he could start this new year on his own, breathing in the relatively fresh air of the city, taking the essence of London into himself led him to think that, perhaps, 2012 would be better than he had expected. As bad as some of the glimpses of possible futures he’d been given indicated it very well might be, there had been good things as well, images of laughter and love and warmth, and that had given him hope. After all, no one’s future was writ in stone. That was something he had been taught from a very young age, when he first learned about the art of divination. There was always room for interpretation.

And as he had decided at a very young age that no one was going to decide what happened in his life other than himself, he was going to be damn sure that if there were bad things to come, that their impact was far less than the good things.

Mark his words.

[bowerstonepolice-archive]

The Mystery of the Cult of Blades Massacre

“Well, Inspector, what do you make of it?”

Chief Inspector Collin McCready ran his hand over the thin sparsity of hair atop his head, his expression grim as he surveyed the carnage that surrounded him. Torn limbs and severed heads, bodies with their innards spilling out onto the dust-covered ground, and the blood, all the blood painting the walls of the catacombs, mingling with the bones of those long since laid to rest. He cursed softly and shook his head.

“No human could have done all this. At least, not alone,” he said finally. His eyes fell upon the corpse of a young woman slumped haphazardly against the wall, her body crushed by some immense force. She stared back with soulless blue eyes. “These people were killed by something large and powerful.”

“Maybe a balverine?” the officer suggested, his face covered with a handkerchief. He looked a tad green and a sheen of sweat dampened his brow.

“Have you ever seen a balverine attack?” Inspector Felix Darby piped up as he approached them. “There would be claw marks and signs that the bodies have been feasted upon. There is none of that here.”

The officer about wretched. McCready frowned. Perhaps this man wasn't cut out for police work after all. “Why don't you step out for some air, Peter? You look like you could use it.”

As the officer gratefully took his leave, Felix cleared his throat. “I did find something interesting, though.”

It was then that the chief inspector spied the heavy tome firmly grasped in the young man's gloved hands, and he perked up. “What have you got for me?”

“This book is one of seven,” the boy explained, hefting it up and open so that he could thumb through the pages. McCready drew closer. Colorful pictures and diagrams he hardly understood fluttered past, accompanied by strange symbols of an ancient language he had never seen. “It would seem that these people were a part of a cult—the Cult of Blades, specifically. It was open to this page.” The book fell open to a diagram of a human body upon a stone slab, strange runes painted upon the corpse with what the inspector guessed was blood. “They were trying to resurrect someone—or something—that has been dead for a long time.”

“You can read this?” McCready questioned, glancing up to Felix. The boy nodded. “Some of it. Enough to get a rough understanding of what is written here. It's ancient Alban, from before the Old Kingdom. It's a lost language that most scholars don't even know.”

“How do you know it?”

“When I studied at the Academy, I managed to get my hands on some old texts from the Reliquary. Taught myself from them.” He stuck his chest out proudly. “Got into some trouble with Miss Brighton for rooting around where I oughtn't, but--”

“Focus, Felix, Focus. What does this mean?”

“Well, sir, I think they were successful, the consequences being what you see here.”

“Any idea as to what they were trying to bring back to life?”

“I couldn't say for sure, but if it's the Cult of Blades, then it's nothing good.”

McCready considered that. He had heard of the Cult of Blades before, but they had never truly presented a problem prior to this event. The majority of them were nutters, prophesying the return of the Court and the end of days, and doing not much else. He'd never thought they had the power to do something like this.

Gently, he took the book from his assistant, turning it over to gaze at the blood-soaked cover. A symbol was etched there: a planet with four moons, he surmised. Interesting... Where had he seen that before?

“Where did you find this?”

“Over here, sir,” Mr. Darby directed, leading his superior to the spot while carefully stepping over and around corpses and pools of blood. The chamber they soon found themselves in was large and cavernous, a stone slab at its center, candles strewn about on the floor and on candelabras. This room, too, was bathed in blood and littered with gore, but not to the same extent of the outer chambers. The two men approached the slab, boots crunching on scattered bones. McCready knelt to study the fresher remains.

“This is all from just one body,” he said after a moment. “It looks like whoever this was... exploded...” A glinting in the light caught his eye, and his fingers found an amulet amid the flesh. It was gold and heavy, set with rubies to form the same symbol that was on the book's cover.

“That's the medallion of the cult leader,” Felix stated. “He would have been the one leading the ceremony. This book was here... with what's left of him.”

“Or her,” McCready reminded him gently. “I think this person died first.” He nodded to a spot on the floor near the entrance to the chamber, where the dust had been greatly disturbed. “The others ran, but they didn't get far.”

“Do you think anyone got out of this hell alive?”

“Unlikely. This thing was thorough. It didn't want anyone leaving this place.”

Felix shuddered. “I need a drink.”

“Do you know what significance this emblem bore to them?”

“No, sir, only that the Court reportedly wore it, too.”

Collin rolled his lips inward. So that was where he had seen it: depictions of the Jack of Blades and his gold and ruby brooch. He silently wondered what it could mean, which planet it was that was being depicted. It was none that he knew of.

“One has to wonder where this creature went. We need to find it before it does more damage.”

“Further into the crypt, maybe?” Felix suggested, sounding hopeful, though not convinced.

“Maybe.” But the chief inspector knew better to believe in such a scenario. They had to be prepared for the worst, and hope for the best. His job had taught him that much.

“You said that book was one of seven.”

“I did, yes.”

“Where are the other six?” His eyes flicked around in search of them. “They are not here.”

“No, no, the books are scattered about Albion. Most of them have been lost, while some of them, such as the Normanomicon, are kept locked away at the Academy. They are all considered dangerous, and full of powerful magic and rituals. This book deals with soul transference, as far as I can tell. I'll need to study it further before I can tell you more.”

“Is it possible the other books would be able to tell us anything useful?”

“Maybe? I could see about having a look at them at the Academy.”

“That would be a good idea, I think. And we should try to find out exactly how they came by such a tome, too. I don't think they've always had it, or else something like this would have happened sooner.” He didn't know much about the occult, but magic was always dangerous and unpredictable. Unless one was a Hero, one could not hope to control it. It was too bad these poor sods didn't get the memo.

Rising, he spent a little more time observing the room further before deciding there wasn't anything more he could learn. He headed back towards the entrance of the catacombs themselves, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Eventually, just short of the way out, he stopped.

“There are no foot prints leading out,” he mused before turning and heading back the way he came, stopping again just before leaving the bloodbath behind to descend further into the darkness. He knelt again, studying the floor. “And none leading further in, either...”

“Are you saying... it's still here?” Felix whispered, his face growing pale.

“That is a distinct possibility, but if so, what is keeping it from attacking? It clearly has the power to annihilate the lot of us in a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds.” He shook his head. “And unless it's hiding in a coffin, we'd have found it by now.”

“Well, what other explanation is there?”

McCready shrugged. “Maybe it flew.”

~<>~

A thorough search of the area and opening coffins proved fruitless. The men grew uneasy disturbing the dead, but no curse befell them, and the departed remained at rest, peacefully shut away again once it was discovered that they harbored no monstrosities. McCready was frustrated. Whatever had done this had left virtually no traces behind, not even a single footprint! How was he going to find something that was as invisible as the wind, and how was he going to catch it when it could rip him in two without so much as batting an eye?

Gone were the Heroes of old. There was no one powerful enough to take on this kind of monster save for the king, and he was busy enough as it was. The chief inspector would have to do this without the help of a Hero... somehow. He'd figure it out later. Right now, he needed to find out just what he was dealing with.

“Felix, how long do you think it will take for you to study that book of yours? I have a feeling that the answers we need are somewhere in there, or in one of its sisters.”

“A few days, a week at most. If I go to the Academy, though, it will take longer. Traveling, and all that.”

“See that it's done as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to know what this thing is, where it is going, and how we can stop it.”

“I'll do my best, sir.”

McCready heaved a great sigh, looking at the devastation once more. Lords above, what a mess! The flash of the camera, and it was preserved forever. A nightmare that would never end.

As the photographer began to set up for the next picture, the inspector signaled to Felix to follow him outside. He needed some air and a good smoke. As soon as they were outside, a cigarette was betwixt his lips, a match in his hand.

“Well,” the younger of the two huffed, “this is officially the weirdest case I've ever seen.”

McCready grunted, taking the first drag of his cigarette. “I don't know what to make of it.”

“Do you think all the missing people are accounted for?”

“We'll see, won't we?” The bodies had yet to be identified, and many were not identifiable. But his gut told him that yes, everyone that had gone missing were here, slaughtered like pigs or worse. There had to have been at least twenty cadavers in there, maybe more.

“You alright?”

McCready looked up to find the boy studying him carefully. There were few things that could shake the chief inspector. He'd seen so many things between the wars and his job. He'd thought he'd seen everything under the sun, every cruelty man or beast had to offer. But today had proved otherwise. He finished his cigarette, stomped it out, and pulled out another.

“I'll live. You?” He was more worried about Felix than himself. The lad was only twenty-two. He hadn't the experience of his superior, had not been hardened to the world's horrors.

“I'll have nightmares, probably, but it's nothing I can't handle.” He might not have looked like much, skinny and gangling as he was, with soft, boyish features and hair hopelessly sticking up in all directions, but Felix was a brave soul. This wasn't the first dark corner he'd found himself in, and it would not be the last, and he bore it all with a shrug and a smile. McCready wondered if he had anyone to talk to about these things, or if he kept it all locked away in a metal chest at the back of his mind.

“Bring the carriage around,” said the older gentleman, smoke streaming from his nostrils like an angry dragon. “There's nothing more we can learn here.”

“Righto.” And the boy was off, leaving his boss alone with his thoughts.