#mirror magic might work a little bit differently in this wish realm than in the show

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (1 of 24?)

AO3 link Summary: After eight months spent separated from his daughter, trying every potential cure imaginable, Killian's heart is still poisoned and burdened with his every failure. An alleged cure leads him into an ambush and a grueling detour he did not plan on taking. Unlikely new allies offer a small glimmer of hope, but will it be worth all of the trouble in the end?

Chapter 1 notes: I've been working on this on and off (mostly off) for the past four years. Apparently pandemics turn me off of fiction for whatever reason? But I made a few breakthroughs earlier this year and finally believe I'll be able to finish this one! It's a little strange, but it is the wish realm after all ;) The first couple of scenes and cure idea are based on a dream I had, and later scenes were inspired by a segment of the TV show "What on Earth," where they featured a particular location and basically described it as a whumper's paradise XD I'll reveal the location in a note later on, once it becomes relevant. No sexual whump in this story, but plenty of emotional and physical pain for Killian, and healing methods appropriate to the time period, for the most part haha. Enjoy!

*****

No reasonable person would classify this as bread anymore, or anything even resembling it. Killian Jones would have brushed the whole quest off as a lost cause, except for the fact that the ceremonial cloth was exactly as described: woven, dyed, embroidered with specific patterns and symbols, and folded neatly. Or had been, until he had dug it up and peeled it open. In the early morning light, the contents of the cloth resting on his open palm looked like nothing more than a handful of powdery, gray dirt, or perhaps a rare variety of fine-grained sand he had once encountered on his travels. Grateful that very little breeze disturbed the dawn air, Killian gave the powder a dubious look as he carefully nudged it with the tip of his hook. This?! 

He felt rather foolish for having expected anything else, but in his defense, the witch doctor had called it ‘bread.’ Multiple times. 'Bread,' not 'decomposed spores of mold mixed with decades-old dust and grit.' How in blazes could this swill contain any magical properties whatsoever?

Perhaps he should expend the effort to search for another of this particular architect's buildings, one that was slightly newer. Allegedly, the designer in question performed the same ritual upon completion of every dwelling with which he had been involved. A blessing prayed over traditional flatbread, later buried against the south-facing foundation, would, according to this man's system of beliefs, bestow health and happiness on its occupants. And if consumed, its remnants could supposedly cure any ailment... including a poisoned heart.

That was all assuming that the local witch doctor could be trusted. And Killian had felt doubt about that even before digging up the handful of dusty crumbs he now sat examining. But he would try anything, no matter how unlikely, and eating dirt was hardly the worst thing he'd done in pursuit of a cure.

Hardtack in any variety was a challenge to swallow on its own; this powder would likely be doubly so. Good thing he'd come prepared... or had he? Killian laid the cloth on the ground by his knee, moving with extra caution, as if it held a gram of the world's most valuable spice instead of worm dung. Then he dug his flask from its pocket and gave it a shake. The damn thing tended to run on the empty side these days, for some reason. But no, from the sound and heft of it, it contained plenty of cheap liquor to do the deed.

As he popped the cork with an easy, practiced motion, Killian thought briefly of the mirror tucked away in an inside pocket. It would be significantly more fun if Alice could watch and laugh at the disgusted faces he would surely be making in the near future. And of course, he would put on a show for her, exaggerating his expressions in hopes of drawing out that sparkling grin which was becoming more and more endangered a sight within the confines of the beechwood-framed oval of reflective glass. But at this hour of the day, she would be tucked away, safe and sound in the bed he’d planned on enlarging soon, under blankets that probably needed patching, dressed in a nightgown too short for her blossoming figure…

He hoped she was there, at any rate. Listening to her body's needs and the common sense he'd attempted to instill in her, not reading half the night by the fire, which seemed to be her preference in situations lacking supervision. Not pacing, unable to quell her nightmares on her own, dealing with the same doubts keeping him awake most nights, forced to face a horrific reality that no one deserved, much less an innocent of her young age.

No. Alice was happily asleep right now, enjoying wonderful dream-adventures with the characters in her books that she loved so much, and it would be irresponsible of him to wake her for such a frivolous thing, no matter how desperately he longed to see her with every pulse of blood through his veins. Besides, though the dwelling beside him appeared unoccupied, he was technically trespassing. Probably stealing as well, so silence was the preferred soundtrack to this far-fetched hope.

Killian gathered a pinch of powdery grit and shoved it into his mouth, licking his fingers clean as bitter dust stuck to the roof of his mouth. A flavor faintly reminiscent of rancid goat's milk flooded his sinuses, and if there was magic there, he couldn't feel it.

As a young sailor, Killian had not always been fortunate enough to have anything other than filthy water with which to attempt to wash down the taste of moldering rations. He reflected upon this as he took a swig from his flask, then drizzled a measure of alcohol out upon the waiting breadcrumbs. A nasty paste would be easier to manage than fingerfuls of powder, and he feared the risk of losing the reported curative benefits if he missed any of the residue.

As he continued to choke down the supposed cure, Killian allowed himself to imagine their reunion and a sampling of the scenes that would take place.

They had 1 birthday and 262 unbirthdays to celebrate. Hugs to catch up on--those were harder to calculate, but must be well over 3000 by now. In between, he would share the properly embellished tale of how he’d achieved a cure for his heart, and gladly listen to plentiful imaginary exploits Alice had concocted to pass the time. And neither of them would ever again complain about their life trapped in the tower, because now they both knew how much worse it could get.

As a swig of burning liquid chased another mouthful of grainy mold dust, the distant rumble of hoofbeats drifted in from the direction of the road. Killian hunched closer to the building’s foundation, checking to be sure that no light source glinted off his hook, attracting attention. The road lay on the opposite side of the building from where he crouched, so in all likelihood, the approaching riders would travel past before noticing any hint of his presence.

But then a shiver of foreboding climbed his spine: the horses were slowing. Killian hastily shoved the remainder of the paste into his mouth and crumpled the cloth into a pocket, gagging and rising to his feet just as heavy boots dropped to the ground at the dwelling's front entrance. In a desperate attempt to clear the clay now sticking to the roof of his mouth, he drained the flask of its remaining contents, all while sidling along the wall toward the back garden and cover.

“Fan out,” commanded a stern male voice from amidst the new arrivals, and more boots trod the unkempt property. Several pairs in his direction. Whoever these men were, whatever they sought, they would see a running man as a guilty party to be chased, captured by force, perhaps even fired upon should they have pistols in their possession. So Killian took a steadying breath, suppressed an urge to hack up the sandy liquor burning the back of his throat, and dropped to his knees on the hard ground. 

Gods, he had to stop doing things like that; he did not have the body of a 30-year-old anymore. Fortunately, unlike the now-aching joints in his legs and back, his mind had retained its ability to work quickly. Just as three armored soldiers rounded the corner, Killian dug hand and hook into the dirt, pulling great handfuls aside to support the cover story he’d just invented.

The soldiers spotted him immediately and advanced with swords drawn, one holding a lantern to counteract the misty gray of early morning. 

“Let's see those hands,” another called menacingly. Killian obeyed, sitting back on his haunches and rolling his head from side to side as if experiencing a stiff neck. He allowed them to see his empty hand and his hook as he flashed a disarming grin.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Bit of a nippy one, isn’t it? Suppose we're coming to the end of the fishing season once again.”

The soldiers continued forward through his rambling, none of them showing any sign of relaxing. As the hook became more visible in the lantern light, the men exchanged glances. Killian noticed but decided to ignore it and continue to play the hapless fool.

“Not one sign of a single bloody nightcrawler, either. Do you reckon it's too cold for them already?”

The trio had now formed a triangle around him, a cautious distance away with swords at the ready. The one holding the lantern turned his face in the direction from which they'd come and shouted,

“Commander! We have him.”

Killian let his puzzlement show; if he were not mistaken, it sounded as if they were looking specifically for him. But how could that be? No one knew where he was, except perhaps the witch doctor, but even she couldn't have known the exact dwelling he would select for the experiment.

Killian kept up the charade of innocence. “Is there something I can help you lads with?”

Lantern smirked as he watched his commander appear around the corner. "Just sit there and don't cause a fuss…. Captain Hook."

Killian snorted a polite laugh, hoping it disguised his worry. “Nice one. Not the first time I've heard it.” He kept a wary eye on the swaggering officer, adding, “Although would you believe it, not everyone is joking when they say it? Which is absurd, of course. Who in their right minds... I'd have to be, what, 300 years old or thereabouts?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow, grinning up at the men surrounding him as if expecting them to laugh along with him and agree that those people were idiots.

The commander stopped a few paces in front of the group, holding a second lantern, although it was becoming less necessary as sunrise approached. He did not bother to draw his sword.

“Surrender your weapons,” came the imperious command. Slowly, Killian reached down and withdrew the small, tarnished dagger that was his only method of self-defense these days, apart from his hook. He kept the non-threatening, slightly silly smile as he laid the weapon at the soldiers’ feet.

“Sorry to disappoint, mates, but I can assure you I'm not the man you're looking for. I lost my hand in a farming accident, not one crocodile scale to be seen.” He huffed a laugh and tried to look pitiable. 

The commander’s stony gaze remained unchanged. “Is the hook detachable?”

Killian unscrewed the steel from its locking mechanism but kept hold of it momentarily as he looked up at the officer.

“I do hope you’re planning to return it,” he grimaced. “It's quite useful for digging up earthworms.”

With an impatient eye roll, the commander snapped his fingers and pointed to where the dagger rested at his feet. Reluctantly, Killian tossed the hook to join the other weapon. The officer nodded at an underling, who bent to take possession of both items.

“You can drop the charade. It will get you nowhere. Regardless of your identity as the Captain Hook of legend or merely a successor to the title, you are wanted for questioning concerning an illegal duel that took place some months back.”

Killian felt a shudder of fear rattle his insides; he'd hoped the matter would have blown over by now. 

“Preposterous,” he scoffed. “Do I look like the sort of fellow who would take part in something so unsavory?”

“The other party has been apprehended and is more than willing to identify you in person.” The man sneered. Then he addressed the second lantern-bearer. “Get him to his feet and search him for concealed weapons.”

Killian was gripped by the armpits and hauled up, shoulders and back protesting the harsh treatment. He knew that further lies wouldn't help at this point; neither would attempts to plead his case. So he kept quiet as rough hands patted him down and searched his pockets. They found his flask--"Bit early for this, isn't it?" taunted one, to which he replied tightly, "What's the old saying? It isn't early if you've never stopped?"--his treasured black rook, and the mirror.

The soldier who had found the mirror, who couldn't have been much more than sixteen, held it up with a leer.

“What's this for? An old man like you can't have a great deal to be vain about.”

Killian didn't want to attach too much importance to the item, for that would increase the temptation to destroy it out of spite. So he shrugged and explained,

“Just an old heirloom. Sentimental value only.”

The boy stashed it with the rest of Killian's confiscated belongings, and though he wasn't particularly careful, the glass seemed to remain intact. Killian could feel his heart pounding and cursed the fact that his one remaining link with Alice had to be so fragile.

“That appears to be all, sir.”

“Very good, soldier.” Their commander stood impassive, adding, “Now, as we discussed…”

Behind Killian came a brief clanking of armor. But before he even had the chance to guess at its meaning, the noise was drowned out by a resounding crack that rattled his teeth in their sockets, an explosion of colorful starbursts behind his eyes, a single heartbeat of crushing pain, and then a dizzying drop into black silence.

[thebluestbluewords]

HEIST HEIST HEIST

I saw this post today and got inspired, SO here is Descendants Could Have Been A Heist Movie, thebluestbluewords take :

(this is very much an outline and not a full fic yet, but I might yet write this someday)

Taking this whole heist movie idea very seriously, this would be (and might yet be if I have the time for it) a fic about how the first Descendants movie would have gone if it had been a heist movie, rather than a fairytale.

The main plot of the movie is no longer about learning to choose good and seeing that kids don’t have to follow in the footsteps of their parents- it’s now a high school political intrigue about stealing a wand.

(don’t worry about the larger themes there- the wand might be stolen for many self-serving reasons that go beyond 'doing what their parents say'. Maybe they’re stealing it to make a larger statement about opening the isle. Or about how treating villains as villains is wrong and they deserve trust because it makes things so much more fun for them in the long run)

(can you tell I haven’t decided on the overall tone of this AU yet lmao)

The story starts when the VKs are being told to get the wand, hand it over, it’ll be easy.

Sure, they say.

Sounds great, they say.

Give us your spellbook and magic mirror and whatever else you’ve got to give, and we absolutely won’t use them to betray you and open the isle on our own terms, they don’t say.

(this story ends before we get to that point, but the implication is there)

The kids arrive in Auradon, as in canon.

Unlike canon, they don’t immediately go for a break-and-enter approach to the museum, because if they’re going to heist this, they’re going to do it right. A good heist takes planning, and patience, and research.

What they do is wait until the weekend, and then inform the school admin that they want to get to know the culture of Auradon.

The museum seems like a great place to start, Evie says earnestly.

We didn’t have anything like it back on the Isle, adds Mal. It would be such a good learning opportunity for us.

And we could see the town. And the candy store. Say the boys.

The school admin caves, because it would be wrong to deny these kids a chance to get to know this history of goodness! They’re just teenagers, and they’ve been doing so well with their first week, and of course they can go into town, do they want a school car to drop them off?

They do not.

The museum is kind of a bust. They spend some time scoping out the security, but they’ve had a whole week to magically-google everything they can about this place, and it’s not much of a surprise that there’s a functionally unbreakable magical alarm system set up around all of the objects.

Time to reassess the plan.

(this is where the political intrigue comes in)

Ben is still a Fundamentally Decent (if slightly boring) guy in this.

Of course, he’s also the one on the line if this whole villainy exchange program goes wrong. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he would come to check up on his flagship students after they have a day out exploring the town.

Oho, Mal thinks. Here’s something they can work with.

Ben is sweet. He’s not terribly interesting, at least at first, but he seems like a guy who genuinely cares about the idea of bringing villain kids over, and can probably be manipulated to their purposes without too much effort.

So the VKs think over their potential plans to get the wand, and decide that yeah, if they can get an in with the future king of Auradon, that’s probably a pretty solid place to start.

Unfortunately, they decide to start this attempt by blatantly flirting.

Audrey is very much a political presence in this fic. She’s not evil by any means, but she is goal oriented and doesn’t necessarily love the idea of VKs coming in and altering her five year plan for herself and her boyfriend.

(I think Aurdey is an interesting character, and I wish she’d been given some better motivations in the first movie beyond ‘mean girl in a high school movie’. So in this fic, where they do still crown the incoming royalty at sixteen, they also believe in setting up children for advantageous marriages. Audrey and Ben have been pushed at each other since they were kids, and yeah, maybe there’s not a lot of actual love between them, but they’re friends and it’s way easier to just date each other and make their parents happy than refuse and risk losing the sway they get with their parents by being the good little obedient golden children who are happy to be put together if it’s what’s best for the future of the realm.)

The point of this is, the VKs send Mal in with her very best flirting, taught to her by Evie in a truly hopeless training montage, and it just-

Fails. Completely.

And now Audrey sort of hates them.

Great.

The other unfortunate piece of this heist is that the relationships between the co-conspirators, the core four, are….somewhat intense. Charged, if you will, with a certain kind of tension.

I’m not saying that Malvie hook up in their pink princess dorm room on the first night and then don’t talk about it for the rest of the story despite blatantly flirting with each other all the time, but yeah actually that might be what I’m saying.

This is the middle of the fic now, and there’s some kind of political drama that leads to the VKs finding out about the coronation.

Maybe it’s teammate bonding, because I think it’s tragically underutilized that Ben and Jay are canonically both sports bros and I want more of that sweet high school sports team drama content.

The point is, they find out about the coronation, and that the wand will be out and about during that day.

Oho, they say. An opportunity.

Building on the sports bros theme, Lonnie gets to be in this story! She’s a cool character and I have a couple of unfinished ideas for her kicking around my fic drive, so she’s going to be here too.

Lonnie finds the VKs in a somewhat compromising state of planning.

Uh, what the fuck is this, she says.

What do you THINK, says Mal, who is not known for keeping her mouth shut.

Looks like...some kind of statement that you’re going to make during the coronation, says Lonnie, who is a nice person and also didn’t hear/see all that much of the planning before she was noticed. (as I’m typing this up I am also remembering the School of Secrets shorts?? Lonnie is absolutely going in this fic as someone who spies on her new friends. It’s almost like canon. She’s the daughter of Mulan. She can sneak when she wants to)

Yes. Exactly. A peaceful political statement, says Evie, who is often a quicker thinker than the others. We are going to… sit at the front in protest. Of how we have been treated. As villains. We deserve the same respect as other students, regardless of who our parents are.

Lonnie is surprisingly on board with this, because honestly, based on some of her costume choices in d1, magical disney utopias seem to be overwhelmingly white for the most part and do not know how to support their international students very well.

(am I still mad about the awful dress she was wearing during the family day scene?? yes.)

So now they have Lonnie on board with their made-up protest plan, and they’ve got Ben and Jay being… actually bros, weirdly enough, and somehow there’s got to be high school political intrigue that I haven’t thought through yet (maybe a group who doesn’t approve of the villainy exchange program is trying to get Ben declared unfit?? Idk. Maybe it’s just different mini kingdoms angling for a good position, and it matters Very Deeply who sits where at the coronation and it’s a whole deal. That one probably works a bit better.) and it’s altogether getting Pretty Far Into Things.

Family day isn’t a big conflict in this AU, because the VKs don’t really care about the whole family gathering and party business without Mal being involved with Ben. They decide to have a chill time hanging out and plotting their heist instead. The wand is going to be taken out before the coronation, but rather than try and grab it in the middle of things, it’s got to be easier to grab it right before or after, while it’s in transport.

They have multiple people who can pick locks. People who can charm guards into letting their guard down for a bit. Ways of getting around even electronic lock systems, given some time.

They hang around the classroom a bit longer after their parent phone call, and get to talking with Fairy Godmother about how maybe, possibly, they could get a real place up at the front during the coronation. It’s a good distraction, and hearing more about the logistics of how things are going to go on the day itself is a perfect segue into asking more about the objects that are used during the coronation. It’s important to understand their new home! No other reason they’d want to know about the history and powers of her wand.

No other reason at all.

They learn that the wand is going into secure storage in Fairy Godmother’s office for the day before the ceremony. Of course, it’s going to be safe enough there. The magical wards at the museum are mostly there in case of emergency, and they’re really more about making sure none of the objects get damaged than they are about theft.

There are no more villains in Auradon, after all.

All things considered, it’s shockingly easy to break into Fairy Godmother’s office the night before the coronation. The wand is in a safe with some magic barriers around it, but Mal has her mother’s spellbook, and Evie has a magic mirror that can look up the answer to pretty much anything they ask, so it’s short work for a pair of magic users who have been practicing their spellwork since they day they left the isle to break the temporary barriers down.

There’s a regular human lock as well, and they give that one to Jay. He’s their lockpicking expert, after all.

And there it is.

Mal grabs the wand. There’s a surge of magical energy up through her hand, burning everywhere she’s touching the silvery metal, but in a way that feels like strength.

And all hell breaks loose.

[walker-journal]

Hell Can’t Have Us (Adam, Nell, Luce, Bea- POTW)

Characters: Penelope Vural (Spellcaster-Olivia), Lucinda Vural (Spellcaster-Cal), Beatrice Vural (Spellcaster - Finn), Adam Walker (Hunter-Tapir) 

Summary: After finding Nell, Adam, Luce, and Bea try to bring her home. But the even best plans aren’t ready for the Tree. 

Content Warnings: Gun Use, Allusion to Sibling Death, Allusion to Parental Death

They’d managed to find a way out of the poisoned world. It was the bare minimum Nell and Adam could have asked for, not dying via something they couldn’t even see let alone begin to fight against as their bodies had begun to deteriorate. They’d broken free of the realm, but not without its consequences. Nell’s own darkened veins had begun to spider across her skin before they’d found a way out, and her breaths were still shallow and labored, no doubt some form of lasting damage having been dealt to her lungs. Still— at least they’d found a world who’s predators were easier to avoid, even if the attacks had still been numerous. But she’d been right about the hope Adam’s presence provided, had managed to gain back the beginnings of her magic and heal over some of their more dastardly injuries with it. It was still low, but it was there, and that was far better off than she’d been before. Against all odds the smallest shred of optimism had begun to spring in Nell. She didn’t know how she’d thank Adam for all he’d done, for saving her life, but at least she knew she’d have a better chance of even getting the opportunity now that they were together.

They were walking across a seemingly endless, windless, and strangely soundless plain nestled against the side of a raging and amethyst-colored ocean when she felt it, a familiar tug in her gut. For a moment she’d thought it was her reaction to seeing a flipper the size of a skyscraper jut out from the crystalline waves of the water, but it called to her once more, and she knew she’d been right to recognize it. “Adam-” she breathed in apprehension as she reached a hand out to grip his arm, almost daring to call it excitement. “Adam- they’re doing it. They’re using the sigil- I can feel it.” Her sisters were calling her home, their magic as familiar as their voices would be. As if to confirm her words, Nell's childhood and fireproofed necklace began to shudder against Adam’s chest in its place next to the adder stone, the dolorphage bone he’d brought matching its frequency. In answer a rip began to jut out above the endless abyss of this world, a tear in the universe beginning to form no more than a centimeter wide. “Just a little longer. Just a little longer, alright?” She could practically feel Earth’s sweet air already against her skin.

Bea’s hand was cool in hers, but Luce’s magic was warm enough for the two of them. For the three of them, hopefully. This was the fourth large ritual she’d performed in the last year, but no amount of practice and preparation could ever make her feel truly secure in her understanding of how they worked. She had followed Bea’s instructions, uttered the words necessary to guide Adam home, carefully poured her magic into the ritual. Her flames obeyed her, and she thanked the stars and moon for that. If anything happened, if her magic flickered and dimmed and it cost them Nell? She didn’t know how she could live with that. Sweat was rolling down the side of her face as she kept an iron grip on her magic, controlling the flow of power. She couldn’t overload the spell, she couldn’t flood it with power. More power wouldn’t make this easier, wouldn’t make the magic work better-- she needed control, precision.

As she continued to fuel the ritual, Luce gasped as she felt something shift in the magic. A familiar presence. Nell. She could feel her sister’s magic rippling through the ritual, through the portal that was meant to guide her and Adam home. She could feel her. She could feel them both. “That’s them, that’s got to be them.” She said, breathless from the effort.

Bea, admittedly, tended to do ritual magic alone. Most of her necromantic work was best done with only her own magic supplying it, but that didn’t mean she was unfamiliar with group work. Her magic wove with Luce’s easily, their sisterhood, their bloodbond making this work easier than it would be for others. And while this was easier for them than it was for other’s, it was by no means a walk in the park. Tension held Bea’s jaw tight as she focused on how much of her magic she poured into this, she had seen what happened to her sisters and Winston when they hadn’t been careful enough. Her own gasp mirrored Luce’s as she felt the first thread of Nell’s magic join them. Each Vural had a different texture to their magic, each a distinct flavor and color. Bea knew her sisters’ magics, even at its weakest.  “He’s with her then,” After all their preparation, Adam had made it to her. They would get her back.

The eldest Vural dared to look up for a moment, staring at the car that was parked just at the edge of her vision. Nisa sat within there, waiting for her daughter to come tumbling through a portal, waiting to help them again. Bea wished they didn’t need her here. She would have to learn the art of healing to keep them safe. They might have come to an agreement of sorts here but Bea hated having to go back to her in need.

Adam reached up to clasp a hand over Nell’s. Trekking through dimension after dimension would have killed him already if not for coming in prepared with talismans from the Vurals, the best equipment his own family could provide, and cheating with mutant physiology. But wounds, toxins, and exhaustion were making him feel dangerously featherlight as nerves died and fuzzy blurs seemed to crawl across his eyes. Desperation and hope had kept him going past where his body should’ve given out, but borrowed time was running out.

He’d promised Luce he would get Nell to Earth. Adam tried to focus on that instead of the chill slithering through his veins.  

Adam tried to swallow but there was no moisture beyond the sickly taste of his own throat bleeding. “Yeah, just a little bit longer,” he affirmed in a soft rap.

They were close. They were so close, as they stood there waiting for the rift to widen, to just give them a large enough gap to slide through. Nell waited none too patiently, a disbelieving laugh of relief finding it’s way past her lips while she shot Adam a weak and shaky smile. They were gonna make it. Against all the odds in the universe- in the multiple universes they’d trekked through they were going to escape, to be free of this literally hellish existence.

The tear grew longer, stretched far enough that Nell was certain her lithe arm could fit through it. Faster. Faster, it needed to go faster so that they could return to Earth, and Nell could tote herself and Adam straight to her mother’s front door, both of them in desperate need of healing. Leading Adam by the hand she stepped closer to the portal, heart in her throat as a familiar picture came into view on the other side of it. Bea. Luce. Her sisters.

“Adam- I can see them!” The wave of Nell’s relief bubbled into a near desperate cry, the hitch in her breath having nothing to do with her straining lungs this time around. “We did it,” she breathed, and her eyes would have glazed over if her body’d had any water to spare. “You did it,” she turned back towards her hunter, the man who’d earned the title of hero a million times over only to prove once more that she’d been right to fight alongside him since the beginning. He’d deserved to be saved just as he’d saved countless others, to realize in his own time that his life was his to have, not something to be thrown under the knife for humankind or anything else unless he and he alone was making the choice.

But it wouldn’t have been a hellscape if all hell didn’t break loose, and just was Nell was taking her first step through the portal towards the rest of her home with Adam’s hand in her’s, towards her sisters, a crack brok over the plain, the dusty ground splitting into two halves where the portal had touched down. “That’s alright- that’s okay-” Nell began, refusing to let something so little steal this moment from them. “We’ll just-” Her words were eaten by the inhuman screams of something crawling it’s way out of the fissure at their feet, and suddenly the slaugh she’d thought herself free of was appearing over her shoulder.

Luce could practically feel each exhausted, weary step that Nell was taking towards them. But, as she grew closer, she could feel the energy of her little sister’s magic growing stronger and stronger. She was coming home. They were bringing her home. Adam had found her, he was bringing her back. Luce spared a glance through the rift they had created and her blood ran cold. Nell was… dragging Adam. Leading him. Not the other way around. Was something wrong? Had something happened? Maybe it was that brief lapse in focus, maybe it was just the world roiling back against the unnatural state of being connected another dimension. Whatever it was, screams ripped through the air and something dark and cursed slithered from the portal.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Luce shouted. She wanted to let loose the flames and let them burn the portal clean. To purge it of the horrors that lay within. But she couldn’t. She had to hold steady. She had to keep her head and heart clear, to let the magic work. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to lash out at the things that tried to keep her sister from her. But, if she did… the portal could collapse. She couldn’t put them in danger. She couldn’t risk Nell, she couldn’t risk Bea. She couldn’t risk it. “Adam, Nell, get out of there!”

Adam drew the gore-caked remains of once state-of-the-art tactical knives that’d been eroded into rusty shadows of their former selves by the atmosphere and acids of distant worlds. The Hunter slashed out at the Slaugh that’d winked into existence beside Nell, the realization settling in like lead that the only reason why they could see the cadaverous spirits of rotting sinews was the swift approach of death.

They were so close. The vertiginous flicker of hope was almost as painful as the ache of his fading body.

The ground yawned open with a sound like an oil tanker being beached on a reef. The inside of the earth wasn’t soil. Adam looked down into a widening chasm of flesh, complete with oozing subcutaneous layers, cysts of pus, and meaty strands that slithered from one side of the opening of the other. Things stirred into the fissure and began long climbs up its sides, pouring out from hollows in the organic depths like maggots dislodged from a corpse.

At the bottom of the bleeding crevice Adam mistook a pale outcropping with precisely set holes for an enormous skull until he squinted to see a keyhole of bone.

The coral key grew uncomfortably hot against his skin.

Terror crept up Bea’s arms, burrowing her chest before she even had a chance to breathe in. She did not have to reach out with her magic to know what was with Nell and Adam was involved with death. She felt it, as goosebumps broke across her skin, and felt its connection to death. For a moment, she was sure she could control it, if she hadn’t been tethered to the portal. Her eyes darted back to the car and pride threatened to suffocate her, it’s greedy fingers going to drag down the words she needed to say. Bea swallowed and took a deep breath. “Nisa!” They would need her. They needed her. No matter where they were, what they were doing, it seemed that they would always need their mother.

“Mom!” She cried, hoping that the car door would open, praying that her voice carried enough. Death was creeping upon Nell again, Nisa wouldn’t let it take hold, Bea knew this. She wouldn’t let her daughters be taken again.

Nisa could feel the waves of magic coming from her daughters before she heard her eldest’s voice, and despite herself she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. Her daughters were powerful, a force to be reckoned just as most Vural and Akçam women had been in their primes. There was no doubt about that as they ripped the world apart to save their baby sister. The proud feeling in her chest was accompanied by a spark of happiness to see her daughters working together, restoring themselves to three just as they were always meant to be, but the two positive emotions were stolen from her as she heard Bea’s voice ring out. Something was wrong.

Her car door was ripping open in the blink of an eye, and she strode towards the spell-site, the spitting picture of Beatrice Vural approaching the magic give or take the thirty years that had formed an older and more mature picture of her oldest daughter. Wordlessly, she joined her magic with Lucinda’s and Beatrice’s, sliding in as effortlessly as a puzzle piece slotting into its proper place. “I’m here, sweetie.” She could see Penelope through the portal, could also make out the picture of the man who’d gone into hell for her daughter. Adam Walker. It must be. She’d only ever spoken to him online, but he had the build of a hunter, and the look of one as well despite his ravaged state. The two of them were nearly spent, and with the eye of an experienced healer she didn’t need a slaugh to tell her as much. Their lives were flickering like candles in the wind, leaving her to wonder whether this next gust of air would be the one to blow them out. “Get out, and we’ll deal with whatever comes with you!” she commanded, as if her determination alone could pull them from certain death. She couldn’t heal them until they were here. She’d let Beatrice die while she’d been away, had missed the shattering of her daughter’s life and she wouldn’t be witness to another. She wouldn’t let the Walker boy slip through her hands, either. Not when she hadn’t even gotten to invite him for dinner as of yet.

“Come on! Come we gotta- we gotta go through!” Nell urged desperately while the slaugh hissed away from Adam’s knife, regrouping now that its surprise attack had been foiled. “We can kill it over there! I’ll close the portal and-” And they’d be safe. They’d be sound on the other side, and finally free of this place, finally free to simply exist with each other rather than be forced to fight for their lives. They were so close.

An enormous and spider-like leg clawed its way from the break in the ground, stabbing out in an attempt to impale the couple. It’s aim was true, forcing Nell to separate herself from Adam so that she might make a faulty dodge of the attack. Her bad leg gave out with the move, sending her sprawling to the ground as she scrambled to recover. It wasn’t the practiced and careful movements of the Ring fighter or bounty hunter, but the death throes of a girl desperate to live. Her movements had brought her closer to the portal, with almost a clear shot out...but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave after all the times Adam had refused to leave her. Wouldn’t have wanted to when he was as close to being her everything as she’d let a person get. “Please-” And so began the first of her begging. She couldn’t recall a time she’d ever pleaded, having never done it before when it came to her own life, not even as Montgomery had lowered his blade for the kill, but she was more than willing to beg for Adam’s.

Adam carved his way through the giant spider leg but more hungry things scrambled up over the ridge, forcing the Hunter to retreat a few spaces back as he tried to fend off the growing river of chimeric predators separating him from Nell.

A searing heat against his chest made Adam reach beneath the tattered rags of what’d once been his shirt and pulled out a key made of veiny red coral. It was shining so intensely that Adam couldn’t look at it directly. As soon as Adam’s skin had brushed the living coral, the Hunter simply knew that it was responding to the keyhole down there. It wasn't an idea he came up with, but rather an exterior certainty that seemingly dropped into his brain from the key itself.

Adam’s bloodshot brown eyes looked down into the abyss crawling with roiling hordes of demons and then back up to the portal.

Adam had promised to bring Nell back home.

Just a moment longer and this waking nightmare could finally be over. The physical therapy he’d need to recover from slogging through these Hells might take years, but Adam’d retire his blades longer than that if it meant he could just live and love with Nell.

But Adam had also sworn to protect White Crest, to keep Earth safe from the Hellmouths and the hungry things of the void. There was no way they could get this deep into the Hells a second time. Could Adam really pass this by and just let the rifts tear White Crest’s apart?

Adam glanced to the sky where storms of coruscating energy raged with nameless colors that didn’t exist on Earth. Prismatic lightning continuously arched down from the eternal storm. Each blast of primal magic warped the landscape into new bizarre terraforms, raising up mountain ranges of crystal in an instant, blinking gelatinous oceans into being, sowing tropical forests of neon webbing, and even more otherworldly forms of terrain as the entire dimension boiled in a constant state of primordial flux.

Soul deep exhaustion throbbed rawly in Adam’s bones as he longed to scream Fuck You to this final tug of duty, a last command to charge into the valley of death for the sake of people who’d never even know his name.

There was a dark thought that slithered into the back of Adam’s head unbidden. Maybe all the people who’d talked down to him as a delusional zealot and monster might have to finally get their myopic asses off the soapbox when the ravenous hordes of the abyss showed up in their backyard?

Adam snorted at the clumsy attempt at telepathic influence. He spun around and sank both knives deep into a dragonfly-winged nautilus covered in multi-tongued mouths that’d apparently thought Adam was in low enough place to just let his homeworld get invaded out of petulance. “Yeah fuck off nice try,” the Hunter spat before tearing both blades outward in a waterfall of gory purple ichor.

Everyone back home deserved to be safe from this, even if they never knew they’d ever been in danger. That’s what made a true Hunter different, they didn’t make the hard choices so they could get praised in the headlines. A Hunter's reward was newspapers blissfully complaining about trivial things and “just another day” with no idea of how close everything had come to ruin.

Everything in Adam wanted to reject the call to be a Hunter one last time, but how could he live in peace with Nell after denying that safety to everyone else?

“Nell,” Adam said as he lifted up the incandescent key on its string like a lantern, its ruby light answered by a similar glow from the bottom of the swarming demon pit. “I ...have to help close the Rifts in town,” he said slowly, eyes beseeching her understanding as he asked for yet another unfair demand.

“I’m sorry.”

Adam had warned Nell that this day would come. Had made sure the witch had known it well the moment she’d chastised him for being reckless and shoving his arm down the maw of a lamia. So she’d known there was no avoiding it. But even an end that was inevitable was one that could seldom be prepared for. Just because she’d known that his duty might one day claim his life, it didn’t mean facing that day was any easier. This was what she’d agreed to all those months ago. Maybe she’d told herself that they had time to put it off, time to figure out how to prevent this before Adam had to make the choice to forfeit his own life for the ones in White Crest or more. A part of her had always been well aware that it was a silly thought. Adam didn’t solely save people because it was his duty, he did it because it was the right thing to do, because he didn’t know how to turn his back on the people that needed him. She knew it— had known it from the day he’d helped free the tortured souls in the Ring despite half of them being what he’d considered to be monsters. He wouldn’t have been the man she’d grown to love if he’d done anything else as he readied the key.

Nell looked from the glow of the key to the matching light in the depths of the fissure, and things began to click into place. Today was the day. They were out of time. Her bottom lip quivered despite her desire to stay strong, to not make this any harder for Adam than it needed to be, unable to fully muster her iron-clad determination when the hellscape had nearly stripped her of it. “It’s okay, Adam,” she barely managed to say, wondering if he could even hear the words over the whipping winds of the portal and gnashing of the hell-creature’s teeth. “But I’m going with you. I’m not- I can’t let you do it alone.” She knew what it was to lose someone, had learned it intimately when Bea had died, and if there was any single thing she could do to prevent another death she wouldn’t hesitate to take the chance. “Just let me- I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

So she fought her way back to the side of the drop off, one last surge of adrenaline barely managing to get her to the edge of the crevasse as she hacked through prying tentacles and claws. It looked hungry. That was all she could think as she reached for the fragile magic she’d managed to recharge. Taking his hand in hers she couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d done magic together, sitting under the full moon and wondering what their future would hold after they’d been bitten by the wolf with gold eyes. She used the very tip of her knife to spill what little was left of their precious blood, letting their life run together for another time as she poured pure love and her desperate desire to still have Adam into her spell— letting herself feel the feeble energy of his life- the life that’d been the brighter part of her last year and a half before letting it go.

A glowing thread appeared between their chests, no wider than a hair but refusing to give way as she gave it a hearty tug. “That’ll hold you.” She would hold him as he dived into the depths. There was no more time. The creatures were still tripping over one another in an attempt to have whatever part of delicious human flesh they could manage to get a hold of. Again she found herself saying the words like a prayer, not knowing how to say an actual goodbye. “I love you, Adam.” She was speaking them for only a second time, and even her first declaration of them hadn’t been given in joy so much as desperation, though both utterings of the three words were just as sincere as if they’d been said to him while he was walking through the door after a successful hunt with Nell greeting him back into a home they shared, a dream Nell hadn’t even let herself hope for all that often, but hoped for nonetheless.

She wouldn’t ask him to come back. Not this time.

“No matter what happens,” Adam promised as she wove the binding magic. “I will always love you Nell.” He drew Nell close, drinking the last comfort of her human touch before the predators bearing down forced them to part or get impaled.

Two rusted knives and two pistols with very little ammo left. Adam grimaced at the irony of having first entered the Hells loaded with enough equipment to fight a guerilla war, only to be caught poorly prepared in the final stretch that could’ve used overwhelming firepower the most. World by world, Adam’s state of the art rifles, armor, explosives, and alloyed blades had been eroded and been spent in the toxic alien environments. Until now he was looking down into a chasm full of writhing masses of hungry with armaments he wouldn't even trust on graveyard patrol.

Well, thems the breaks.

Adam looked back at Nell one last time, bruised and bloody face breaking to a sunshine grin as if they were simply flirting across the college commons, just letting her fill his vision and thoughts for every second that Hell allowed.

Time ran out. Adam reloaded his pistols, gripped the lucent key and sprinted towards the great chasm’s edge, launching himself down into the hell pit.

Adam plummeted down into the horde of maws and tendrils like a thunderbolt of bullets and blades, the key’s scarlet brilliance evoking a red comet hurling into a dark sea.

That bright red star seemed to cut a swath through the hungry ocean of oily aberrant things, growing steadily smaller as Adam descended ever deeper into the canyon whose fleshy walls quavered with rasping breaths and bled black ichor. Soon that spotlight of red had become just a distant pinpoint as Adam carved and shot his way too far down into the abyssal murk for sight to follow.

But the tide of otherworldly predators just kept crawling and squirming out of the canyon like a corpse disgorging worms from its rotting meat. The masses slithering over each other in a ravenous frenzy toward the siren call of a mortal soul. The pinprick of ruby light at the canyon’s nadir began to flicker as living tidal waves of eldritch things broke against the perimeter of Adam’s circle of death.

Inch by deadly inch that that red radiance was eclipsed by roiling shadows as the sheer weight of bodies bore down.

The depths darkened as that light snuffed out. There was only the sound of the walls breathing and prismatic cracking overhead.

Minutes dragged until there was a mechanical whisper that was soft, but yet drowned out of the storm with the sound of a key turning in a lock.

The ground shuddered and groaned in tectonic agony as if some colossal machinery had been set in motion. A choir of unearthly shrieks wailed from the pit as a wellspring of vermilion light erupted from the depths. The nameless colors of the storm paled and were downed out in a red dawn that bloomed like a wildfire across the sky.

Nell’s own smile had no choice but to answer Adam’s, doing her best to pretend like he wasn’t diving to his nearly assured death, like they were simply parting for an evening or so, and that she’d see that smile again when he rose from the depths of this final mission. Because after years of fighting for their lives, of fighting to be together, they at least deserved a split moment of pretending like they’d win those fights. That all of this had been for something, and they’d be granted the peace they needed. She held him until the world forced them apart, hell and its compatriots caring little for something as inconsequential and mundanely human as borrowed time. He leapt into the abyss, and a part of Nell went with him, already knowing she’d never get the piece of her that Adam held back. It was hers to give, and his to keep.

Nell saw the flash of red grow so bright that she could barely stand to look at it any longer, but she forced her burning eyes to watch Adam as far as her gaze would go, too afraid to look away, to accept what a part of her already knew was coming. Then it disappeared altogether. There was no seeing him anymore unless she too launched herself into the darkness below, and he was going where she couldn’t follow.

The red broke over the horizon, and the hellbeasts scattered. Nell didn’t see the slaugh anymore. Her lips began to whisper the second half of her spell of their own accord, reeling the line that connected her to Adam in like a fishing wire, wondering if the bait on the end of it had been taken or if…

He came back over the edge with a revolting thump, his body sliding across the dirt like a ragdoll while Nell’s breaths threatened to overtake her, coming fast and shallow. She’d done her best to be brave, done all she could to take this in stride, and she couldn’t lose it now. They still needed to get back to Earth. Adam had to make good one his promise to bring Nell back, too.

In a move that was sickeningly familiar she used her limited magic to bring a blanket into existence before rolling Adam onto it, knowing there was no hope of carrying him. Nell didn’t have enough magic to carry him back. She hadn’t been able to carry Bea, either. But she remembered the way Nic had switched Bea’s tarp for a blanket, something warm and soft and as a last gift. Adam deserved a blanket, too. More than that he’d deserved to live.

The journey to the portal was made of nothing but sheer determination, Nell’s grunts and gasps of pain the soundtrack to their homecoming, Adam’s labored and barely there breathing providing the downbeat. She stumbled through the tear in the world, her back turned on her family as she dragged him along. Familiar arms reached around her, and for a quick moment she thought about pushing them off, some strange part of her thinking that Adam’s last embrace would be erased by this new one, as if it would wash away her last pieces of him.

Nisa’s voice broke through the silence, and with it chaos began anew. “I’ve got you, baby,” the matriarch grunted as she tugged her daughter from the hells, and Nell tugged Adam, and Adam made it all possible by saving Nell in the first place, by saving them all. She laid them alongside one another, her hands already bursting with magic as she hovered over the pair of them, knowing there was only so much she could do.

Nell’s begging began anew, too. She’d tried to convince herself that she was ready for Adam to go, that she was in control of this choice as he was. But no human could ever be truly ready for death. “Please- please mom-” her broken and childlike cries made her shoulders shake. “Please save him, mommy- please.”

Nisa’s hands began work on her daughter, selfishly beginning on Nell’s more fatal injuries as she ignored her daughter’s pleas. “I can’t honey- I can’t- I’m sorry.” Her own voice broke, wondering if this was how Bea had looked when she’d been dying. She wouldn’t let another daughter die. Nell was certain it was one of the only times she’d heard her mother apologize, and she refused to accept it. “No!” she yelled, shifting to place her own hands on Adam’s body that was more blood than flesh. “I’ll do it- I’ll fix it.” She poured her magic into him, knowing too late that she couldn’t do this, couldn’t face the loss of another. The witch pushed past the point of her meager magic reservoir, pouring what little was left of her own life into the hunter.

“Penelope!” Nisa jerked her daughter out of the magic, already knowing how this would pan out if she was allowed to have her way. “You can’t, darling. You can’t save him. He’s gone, honey- there’s not enough life in you or me to save him.” She’d seen it countless times before as a healer, the one’s whose lives were already lost despite the breath they still held.

Nell’s hands came up to cradle her hunter’s face, pressing her forehead to his as she reminded herself that she’d been strong for Adam, that she wanted to make this as painless as possible, let his last moments be the peace he wouldn’t get. “I love him,” she told her mom, told the universe as if she were hoping it might hear her words and take pity. “I love him- I love you.” The world closed in on just her and Adam as the portal faded from existence, as all the portals in town did. “You saved me. You closed the portals- you did it. You can rest. You can rest now, alright?”

The spark of transferred life opened Adam’s eyes. His gaze was unfocused as dark spots and flares of light swam in his vision. They drifted over the Vural family and the familiar signs of Earth. Amongst them were other faces. Whether the dearly departed were merely hallucinations evocative as neural currents ceased or spirits who’d become visible as he teetered at the veil’s edge, Adam was well beyond the point worrying about. His bloodstained lips broke into a smile for Bea, Luce, Winn, James, Celeste, and Nisa.

Everyone was here, Nell assured him. Safe. Finally. 

He tried to thank Bea and Luce for everything they'd done, for treating him like family with their love and power, knowing how much those bonds meant to them. But only a soft sigh could leave his lips and a nod was all Adam could manage to the women who made this final mercy possible.

A tawny-haired man with a killer’s scarred muscularity but gentle brown eyes stepped unseen from among those gathered. He seemed suffused with the pure radiance of the hallowed dead, a single dog-tag hanging from his neck. Uri Walker took a knee beside Nell and his son.

Adam clung to Nell with what feeble strength remained in his shredded body, but pain was giving way to numbness. The agony of anything he’d suffered in the abyss yielded to a sepulchral peace that was worse than the suffering. Adam felt featherlight and his fingers lost the strength to grasp Nell’s hand. All Adam wanted was to stay here with Nell just a little while longer, but the undertow of quietus seemed to be ripping him away from her.

At last Adam looked up into father’s face and mouthed a question to empty air.  

Uri’s answering grin was like a sunset, a moment of radiance that beckoned toward darkness. He nodded. “You did good kid,” he affirmed gently, “mission’s over, everybody’s home.”

Adam nodded to no one and looked back into Nell’s eyes. He drew close with that last flicker of strength in him to whisper in her ear.

They were private words Adam wished he had a lifetime to show Nell day by day, but a moment was all they had.

The departed Hunter placed a firm hand on Adam’s bloody shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Time to go, son.”  

Adam grasped his father’s hand and let himself get pulled up to his feet and into Uri’s embrace.

Adam Walker’s eyes closed.

While Bea was connected to death, she had never seen it up close like this. Experiencing her own had not been as intense in the moment. It had finished in a moment, a glint of metal before she was gone. This was longer, if only by a few moments. Adam had done so much for her and her family in the last year. He had helped her defeat the Fext, yes, but his actions past that were far more impactful. It didn’t take a genius to look at her sister and know she had experienced love. That this man before her would do whatever he could to grant Nell happiness. He had done whatever he did for her sister. Adam Walker in so many ways was an honorable man, but here in this moment, he was the best man she had ever met. He had become something of a younger sibling to her. She looked forward to his messages, as random and strange as they could be. There would be no more messages.

Grief she had found, with herself, was as if someone sold the house they had always lived in and moved away. You could pass by that house everyday, but it would never be the same. You could have memorized every corner and hidden spot in that house, but that did not mean you could access them any longer. All you had were memories of who lived there and a wish that they were back. How would Nell survive that? She had too many people who lost their lives in front of her.

“Mom, Luce, take Nell.” Her voice cracked. “I’ll take care of Adam.” She would make sure he went home. Just like Nell had with her.

The portals had closed, Adam and Nell had returned to the world-- if life was a fairytale, it would have ended there. The monsters having been defeated and portals having been shut, would have thrown in the towel. Her sister would not be clinging to the lifeless body of the young man who had given everything to this undeserving town. Luce would not be watching the light fade from his eyes and his bloodied, weary limbs go limp into that final slumber. If life was a storybook, Adam and Nell would cheat death. They would defy the odds. They would get a cliche happily ever after.

But life in White Crest was no fairytale. And there was no cheating death this time.

Luce sank to her knees next to her sister, joining Nisa at Nell’s side. What could she possibly say? What could she possibly do? If she could have turned back time, if she could have strengthened the enchantments, if she could have created more wards-- If. If. If. But the reality of the world lay in front of her. And there was nothing any of them could do about it. Adam was gone. Adam was dead. The stupid, jock-y frat boy who had done nothing but serve the town, who had done nothing but save the undeserving people of this fucking town, was dead. She put a hand gently on Nell’s shoulder, hoping to provide some… tiny amount of comfort. A reminder that she wasn’t alone. “Nellie, we need to get you healed up. Bea, she’ll take care of him. She’ll be here with him.” She said quietly, her voice as even as she could make it. “I’m sorry, Nell. I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke and she shook her head.

The glowing thread of magic still connecting Nell to the man she loved faded from sight, and with it went Adam. She felt his life wink from existence as their blood magic died, felt whatever soul or spirit that had been inhabiting his body go with it, and she was left with only a body. Adam was gone, and it meant that she didn’t have to hold herself together anymore, she didn’t have to pretend like death was peaceful and beautiful and that the living weren’t left to pick up their broken pieces. “No,” she managed to croak in response to her sisters, the word beginning to turn into a sob. She wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t leave him even when he was no longer here. “It should be me- I want to-” Let her take care of him, let taking care of his loved ones be the last gift she gave to Adam, the last action of love she could make.

“I have to- I’m going to help.” With another ricochet of pain making its way through her chest she realized there was nothing left to fix, nothing to distract her from her new reality. After losing Bea, after getting her back...it had taken Nell more than a year to learn that some things couldn’t be fixed. Some things would always be cracked and broken and surprise you with anger or tears when you least expected it. This would be one of those things. And though the holes the departed left couldn’t be filled, they could at least be managed, and their darkness didn’t diminish the thousand shining lights of the happier memories. “I don’t want to leave him- I can’t.”

Nell wasn’t sure the words were actually discernible through the wetness on her cheeks, the blackness that was also beginning to close in on her own vision. Her mother laid a hand over her eyes, shushing her with quiet words that she couldn’t make out as the blanket of Nisa’s magic wrapped around her, putting her into a sleep that was long overdue. The last thing she saw before the darkness enveloped her was the smile Adam had shot her before he’d dived to his death, blurring into the one he’d given her as they joked and memed outside her greenhouse about semi-satanic rituals, readying to finish the amulet that would be the keystone of their first mission together— the blueprint to everything that would come after.

And so the hero and prodigal son had returned her home, and then gone on to his own.

[itsthewickedwitchofthewest]

8 REAL Reasons Your Magic Fails and How to Fix It

What happens when your magic frustratingly doesn’t work? You put your intention out there, you gathered the ingredients, you timed it right, and then you performed the ritual. And then you waited. Nothing happened. OR the opposite of what you wanted was the result. There could be many reasons, but we teach you the 8 main reasons your magic fails PLUS how to fix it below!

1. No Follow-Through

Something I’ve seen a LOT in the online magical community is people who perform rituals, cast spells, and then wait for their intention to manifest. And wait. And wait. Then they ask if they can do the same magic again expecting the initial intended result. My question is – have you followed through with fueling your magic in the PHYSICAL realm? What I mean by this is – you can perform a new job ritual but if you don’t follow it up with footwork like applying to jobs, networking, etc. this is a reason your magic fails. Intention and energy in the spiritual realm must be mirrored with intention and energy in the physical realm. As above, so below.

2. Not Enough Energy Raised

This kind of goes along with number one, but sometimes not enough energy is raised during the ritual process. For example, how many times (honestly) have you made a wish and blown out the birthday candles and the wish ACTUALLY come true? Yes, there’s energy with the thought in your mind then the action of blowing out the flame, but is that enough to set into a motion a big wish? Learn how to fix this problem in the last section

3. You Second-Guess Yourself

Not knowing what you truly want and casting a spell or performing a ritual for your intention is a great way to have nothing happen. Or to have your magic do something different than you imagined. Make sure you know what you want before making magic to acquire it. If you think you’ll second-guess yourself, don’t do the ritual or cast the spell.

4. Magical Recklessness

It’s the new thing that everyone says. “It doesn’t matter as long as the intention is there.” Sorry, I hate to break it to you. But magic is more than that. Sure, intention is HUGE. But if you’re wanting to manifest real results, you’ll probably be calling on help from allies: gods and goddesses, ancestors, guides, angels, and/or energy from plants, crystals and the elements. Each have their own consciousness and energetic vibrations. Always acknowledge and understand the energies you plan to work with to make your magic. Don’t call on two goddesses from two different pantheons during a love ritual if you don’t know them intimately. Research the supplies and tools you plan to use.

Magical recklessness may make your magic go awry in many ways. Not to mention it can sometimes be physically dangerous – i.e. you ingest a plant that may be toxic or interact with a medication you’re taking. Or you didn’t research how to safely use charcoal disks and loose incense and start a fire! Do your due diligence, folks.

5. Attracting the Wrong Energy

The fact of the matter is this – there are entities out there that are attracted to magic. It’s like a bright light and they’re the moths. Don’t let those moths get into your sacred space. For this reason, I always remind people cleansing, sealing, and warding practices should be done on a regular basis. If you’re making magic and not cleansing before and sometimes after, you may attract the wrong kind of energies and they can mess with your magical results! It can get messy.

6. Not Understanding the WHY

This reason your magic fails goes hand-in-hand with being magically mindful (and not reckless) – understand the WHY behind your magical rituals, charms, etc. Why are you taking this ritual bath? Why are you smudging the house? How do these herbs work to open your third eye? Understanding the WHY is CRUCIAL to magical success and manifestation. Always question things – always question yourself!

7. Stuck in a Negative Mindset

If you’re making magic but you’re a negative person, and you’re expecting positive results, you’re probably going to be disappointed. Shocker, right? What we think becomes reality. If you’re constantly living in a state of fear, anxiety, depression, etc. you’re blocking your own magic! Fear disconnects us from the divine – from the universal energy that we tap into when we make magic. When we make magic and are overall a positive, forward thinker, we are connected to the divine and allow energy to flow freely. Therefore, manifestation baby!

8. It’s Just Not the Time

The last reason your magic fails may be a bit disappointing, but it’s true nevertheless. Sometimes you can do all the magical things right and still see no results or different results than you expected. It doesn’t matter if you did everything perfectly, the magic doesn’t work. This is because its just not the time for you to have that expensive car or move to a new state. The universe, your guides, your gods and ancestors, etc. all look out for you. And sometimes what you WANT to happen isn’t what’s BEST for your growth. So…MAGIC BLOCKED.

How to Fix Your Failed Magic

Addressing each reason for magic failing, here’s how to fix the problems:

No Follow Through: when you do something that sets your intention in motion in the spiritual you should feed or fuel your magic in the physical. Looking for a new lover? Put yourself out there! Go to social events, sign up for those dating sites, etc. Don’t be lazy, y’all!

Not Enough Energy Raised: just saying a chant over a candle and letting it burn might not be enough energy to manifest your intentions. Raise more energy by chanting over and over, by feeling the energy in you and around you and channeling that into your ritual. Dancing, singing, praying, and visualization are all great ways to raise energy for magical purposes. Then channel and release it!

You Second Guess Yourself: here’s how to fix this problem. Know what you want and why you want it, clearly. Then once you’ve made the magic, don’t second guess it. If you second guess yourself, maybe you shouldn’t have made the magic to begin with.

Magical Recklessness: there’s been many times I’ve intuitively put herbs and stones together for a ritual without looking up every single herb’s “properties” and the spell has worked. But this is also because I’ve already worked with these herbs and stones and understand their core vibrations. If you have no clue what an herb is used for or its energy, do your research first. The same goes with invoking gods and spirits – research and develop a relationship with those deities before invoking them into your inner circle. Just a little time and effort goes a long way magically!

Attracted the wrong energy: this is why it’s so important to set up a regular magical maintenance routine for protection! Magical maintenance should be done monthly including: a full house cleansing, self cleansing, sealing of thresholds, and warding (warding can be done every 3 months). When you make magic, ritual or spells, you should cleanse before the ritual and set up some form of magical protection (shield, cast a circle, call in your guides, something!) Otherwise you run the risk of letting the wrong spirits in.

Not understanding the WHY: if you don’t understand why you’re doing something, why do it? Just because a book or someone told you to do it this way? That’s a sure-fire way to miss an important aspect of magic. Always ask why.

Stuck in a negative mindset: this seems like a difficult one to break through, but it’s actually quite simple. Change the way you think. What you think, you create and become. Recognize when you’re having a negative thought and redirect your mind to something positive. Being stuck in a negative mindset will negatively affect your magic and your life! Also, meditation, exercise, sleep, and eating well help break out of negative mindsets.

It’s just not the time: recognize it might not be the right time for you to have what you are asking for. The universe has other plans. Try again later!

[notgalaxii]

Another Another Cinderella Story || Part One || Diavolo x Fem!MC

Hey guys! I'm sorry this one took so long for me to put out, I was so busy this week! I got a job and I just finished my virtual training but I was working on this with every free moment I had!! This will be part 1 most likely out of 3. Thank you all so much for reading and continuing to request amazing ideas such as these!!

Request Prompt: A Cinderella Story with Diavolo and a Fem!MC.

Word Count: 1.9k

    “You will not be attending the event, MC. Powerful demons will be swarming the castle and I can’t have my eyes on you at all times,” Lucifer’s words echoed through her head like her footsteps echoed through Purgatory Hall. After Diavolo had extended an invite to MC and all of the demon brothers to go to a masquerade, Lucifer had shut her down. He shut down what would probably be the best night of her life in the devildom. He shut down the mere possibility of her enjoying herself, looking better than she could have ever dreamed of, swaying with a beautiful stranger in her elegant ball gown. He shut down the possibility of her smile illuminating with the light flickering off of the chandeliers.  She had stormed off to go find someone else who she knew wouldn’t be going to the dance so that she could vent. MC knew very well that Lucifer was just looking out for her, but she didn’t know whether it was because he cared or because Diavolo would have his head if his exchange student was eaten. Sometimes Beelzelbub would try to reassure her that Lucifer really does care, but is too prideful to admit it. 

    “MC? Didn’t think you’d stop by here, I half expected you to be in a gown right now,” Solomon’s cocky smile played on his lips as he opened the door.

    “Lucifer didn’t let me go,” she brashly elaborated. A glimmer of shock seeped into his eyes before he pulled the door open just enough for her frame to slip through. MC immediately slumped onto the nearest seat once entering.

    “What was the noble excuse this time?” Solomon teased as he sat on his bed across from her, “Place your bets now, ladies and gents, does it have to do with Diavolo’s displeasure? Or, would it perhaps be about the tasks Diavolo assigned you?” 

    “Powerful demons will be swarming the castle and he can’t have me in his sight at all times. Oh, how disappointed Lord Diavolo would be if he finds his precious exchange student eaten by a demon! Lucifer would have to give him extra foot rubs after that, obviously,” MC mocked in her best posh tone, “What about you? Why aren’t you going?”

    “Too many demons I made a pact with are there and a few of them can’t stand each other. As much as I would love to see that go down, I would unfortunately be roped into the middle of it,” he sighed deeply.

    “Funny, I bet you would’ve absolutely adored causing some chaos at a noble event,” MC snickered as she crossed her legs. She had always known Solomon to be extremely mischievous. Just about every time he had used his powers around her, it was either to just “see what happens,” or to purposely mess with someone. However, there had been a few times where he’s gotten her out of some pretty sticky situations with his magic. 

    “There’s still a way, of course,” a playful smile reached up to Solomon’s lips, twisting the corners.

    “Bingo,” MC chuckled, “I was waiting for you to say something like that.”

    “And this way involves you actually being able to go without Lucifer on your tail,” one of his eyebrows quirked in her direction.

    “Oh? I’m listening,” she leaned in closer to him as if it would help her pay attention.

    “What better mask than an entirely new face?” Solomon inquired.

    “You shady bitch, I love you,” a bright smile stretched across her face. Solomon stood up and held his hand out to her for her to grab. When she did, he guided her over to a shelf full of spell books.

    “Satan let me borrow this book, there’s a spell in here that will completely change your appearance for the next  five hours. This means that when the clock strikes midnight, you’ll be back to your current form,” he elaborated, flipping through the pages of a large, dark green book.

    “This is nice and all, but I don’t even have anything to wear-”

    “Leave that to me too, I’ve spent enough time with Asmodeus to know how to make someone look good,” Solomon chuckled before putting his finger on a specific passage, “ Here it is, are you ready? I’ve never used this spell before, but I’m sure I can do it.”

    MC contemplated her choices for a moment. She knew that if it was Solomon casting the spell, there was almost no way that she could get caught. The only possible way she could think of was not being able to scurry out of the castle before midnight hits. Potential consequences of her actions raced through her head. MC knew better than to defy Lucifer but he was so irritating. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d be livid if he found out.

    Yet, what would happen if he didn’t find out? What would happen if she spent the night glissading across the ballroom floor, arm in arm with a handsome or perhaps beautiful stranger? She could have the night of her life, but it all depended on how much attention she paid to the time. 

    “Do it, Solomon. I’m ready," MC abruptly blurted after a few moments of silence. The next thing she knew, she was being enveloped in a waft of black smoke. It swirled around her vehemently, growing thicker with every ancient word that slipped Solomon's tongue. 

    Once the smoke began to settle and fade away, MC looked down at her hands. Her skin tone was a few shades darker than usual, her nails resembling long and sharp talons. Trailing up her arms, she saw the wavy lilac hair cascading down her shoulders like a mystical waterfall. 

    "That turned out better than expected, you look beautiful, MC" a small, cocky smirk creeped its way back up onto Solomon's expression. 

    "Thank you, is my face any different?" MC quizzed. In place of a reply, he gestured to a mirror near the door. Her face was indeed different. Her eyes sparkled a vibrant and almost intense green, her lips were slightly fuller than previously, her nose a bit smaller. They were the smallest changes but when they were all put together, she was a completely different person.

    Without warning, the smoke had returned to swirl around her body yet again, this time leaving her head peeking out. It left a crimson red ball gown to wrap her torso, coming down in a sweetheart neckline to show off her collarbone, the skirt slightly flaring out at her hips. The fabric was light and airy, allowing her to move with ease. 

    "You gonna turn a pumpkin into a carriage too, fairy godmother?" MC teased. 

    "No, but we are going to do something with that hair," Solomon scoffed, pulling the hair tie off of her wrist and beginning to take her hair into sections. He parted the top half of her hair up, twisting it into an intricately braided bun. Before letting her look back into the mirror, he pulled out a few strands to dangle in the front. 

    "Tricks from Asmo?"

    "You could say that," he smiled, placing a hand on her lower back, "Alright, get out of here and have fun. Set an alarm on your D.D.D. okay? 23:50 pm, get heading out when it goes off."

    MC nodded enthusiastically and thanked him for his support before grabbing a mask he had summoned. It was a bit of a trip to the castle, taking thirty minutes off of the spell. She had only been to Diavolo's castle once before, it was when she made her pact with Asmodeus and Solomon used his magic on her for the first time. Diavolo was quite the character in her eyes, although she hadn't known much about him besides that Lucifer was his little lap dog. He was charming, certainly, and seemed pretty kind for a Demon Prince. She thought it was special how he wished to construct a path between all three realms. After all, that path is what gave her the opportunity to make new friends and learn about new cultures. 

    The large, elegant piece of architecture was indeed swarming with demons, just as Lucifer had predicted. They were all dressed head to toe in formal attire, a few letting their horns, wings, and tails come out. MC carefully put her mask on and fixed her posture before striding into the house. Not many demons shyed from giving her strange looks. Large, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, illuminating the faces of all of them, especially one in particular, Asmodeus. Oh no.

    “Oh, hello there!~ I haven’t seen your face in the Devildom before, who might you be?” his sweet voice chimed with seductive notes lingering in the air. MC noticed the way his sunset gaze deepened immediately. He was trying to charm her, and she couldn’t let that happen. Asmodeus’ powers never worked on her and he would be devastated if they didn’t work on this random stranger. 

    “H-hi! I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I-I need to use the restroom,” MC sputtered out, but it didn’t seem like Asmo was taking no for an answer. She was now locked to him.

    “Your voice sounds so familiar. It’s very soothing, you know? Come, doll. I’ll escort you to the restroom,” he coaxed her with a warming smile. Knowing she wouldn’t win the battle of trying to run away from the Avatar of Lust without upsetting him, MC nodded in agreement. 

    Asmodeus guided her to the restroom and left her off at the door before giving a small wink and fading into the mass. She sighed with relief and walked into the restroom. Taking a glance in the mirror, MC re-evaluated her situation. Now she knew that her voice would still be the same, she wasn’t able to know anyone at this masquerade, and she still resembled a human, she felt like this wasn’t such a good idea. The brother’s most likely wouldn’t protect her if she got in a trifle, now that she lingers on the thought.

    A knock on the restroom door broke her thoughts. After sorting herself out, MC did her best to maintain her composure as she walked out. Even more demons were giving her looks this time around, a few of them even mumbling about her as she walked by. Asmodeus probably started to talk about the encounter to some of his “fans,” as he calls them. 

    Time began to run itself down the drain as MC consumed a few drinks and chatted with the passing strangers that prompted a conversation with her. Asmodeus made his way back to talk to her at one point and even tried to dance with her, but she was still scared of him finding out she couldn’t be charmed so she politely declined.

    “I’m a little bit too tipsy, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to step all over your toes,” she chuckled. Asmo understood, surprisingly and it wasn’t long before he wandered off to try to charm the next beautiful face he saw walking by. A few moments later, yet another hand tapped MC’s shoulder, beckoning her to turn around. She half expected it to be Asmodeus, but it was instead Barbatos, Diavolo’s poised butler. 

    “Lord Diavolo has requested for you to be his first dance partner of the night. Please, follow me.”

[thatonealise]

On Worlds.

We inhabit them. We've christened ours Earth, but there are some who call Middle-Earth their home. I've heard many dashing tales from the Borderlands, and on all too many occasions guested in Azeroth. All these faraway lands are unique in their own right, sporting flora and fauna so diverse it really does make one wonder how such things came to be, whether out of nothing, or out of the wilds of human imagination.

I've always been under the impression that it would take a person too much blood, sweat and tears to fashion one. But here I stand, alone, and I need a place to set my latest overambitious and never-ending enterprise. It's a habit I'd always detested deep down, but came to respect over time, and now I say it is the prospect of making something grand, chipping away at it day and again, that gives me one more reason (among many, mind you) to get up early in the morning, and wonder what aspect of it am I going to work on next.

So it is, that I've been pondering on the sort of a world I would want you, the Player, to quench your wanderlust, and perhaps take your subconscious somewhere it has never travelled.

My research -- that hunt for inspiration, artistically speaking -- took me to media I have and have never ever witnessed, or heard, or read, or seen. I've browsed art, played this game and that; I've watched film and series, and I've brushed the dust off some of my forlorn literature. I've even dared to show up in the local library for once in an embarrassingly long (by a reader's standards) while, and borrow a "manuscript" or two I thought had a few interesting ideas. But, I have to admit, Stack Exchange remains my personal favourite. There are so many great minds there, with an equal knack for world-building, and even more thought-provoking questions granted inspiring answers. I can't recommend it enough.

On to the point, though, and it is that I've compiled a list of "archetypes" to take into consideration building my own world:

Earth-likes

What a surprise, huh? I believe it to be the most widespread archetype, and it is rather self-explanatory. An Earth-like world is more often than not a carbon copy of the blue planet (or our rather milky galaxy), with oceans and continents shuffled a notch to dodge the cosmic copyright, so to speak. It is again most common, and for a good reason: we know plenty about the science that keeps such worlds (and, by extension, our own) spinning, and the life living the way it does. It is a solid point of reference, backed with facts and studies so easy to look up on the web, or anywhere bookish, and it is always oh so tempting to use.

A few notorious examples taken from modern authors include...

...a continent under the influence of Celtic and Germanic myths; known as Middle-Earth of J. R. R. Tolkien.

...the super-continent of Stillness by Nora K. Jemisin.

...the Present World, to some extent a mirror of ours, and found in Kentaro Miura's Berserk.

...or the unforgiving deserts of Arrakis, credited to Frank Herbert.

...or Faerun, the iconic setting of Forgotten Realms.

...or even the Journey, courtesy of thatgamecompany, and the dunes one has to slide down rushing to the mountain's peak.

If at least two of the above ring a bell, you may have an idea of what brings all these worlds together, and by extension, what I think constitutes an Earth-like world. If not, then let me illustrate my point instead:

Go on, draw a comparison! It wouldn't take a particularly perceptive eye to notice that even a seemingly outlandish example, the desert planet of Arrakis, shines features not too unlike those we may find here on Earth, albeit "turned up to eleven," for the lack of a better expression. They are planets filled with oceans, and continents in between the oceans, most of them, and in general they follow the same rules we follow in our universe: desert storms rise as the wind blows, plates collide to erect mountains, and sentient life is soon to usher in an age of civilisation. Physics and passage of time progress the world as you would expect them to.

Naturally, there will be a degree of variation between Earth-likes. George Martin's Westeros, for one, is an otherwise conventional continent subject to unconventional seasons, some so abnormal they shape entire cultures -- consider the Long Night, for instance, and the impact it had on the Westerosi folklore.

Let's touch on Arrakis again: it is too an Earth-like world at the core, that suffered from a speculated misfortune of a near-miss encounter with a comet, and what once might have been an arid and bountiful world has now been left a scorching desert inhabited by massive sandworms that have evolved to swim through the sands as though they were oceans, and gobble up the teeny-tiny human wanderers crossing their "soil." A few similar worlds come to mind: Kharak, just as extreme and featured in the Homeworld series, and the much more famous Tatooine, the brainchild of George Lucas.

This big quirk -- extreme weather, unpredictable seasons, or morphed geology, or fictional species -- I prefer to dub "the Twist." It is something, a phenomenon or fact of life, that sets this world apart from ours -- something you can use to suggest that the world at hand is its own, and not Earth put in an alternate reality. Extreme biomes of Arrakis or Kharak, and bizarre seasons of Westeros, are just two examples of the Twist. Magic and magical beings found on Azeroth, or in Faerun, is another.

While the Twist is found in all archetypes, I'm of the opinion that Earth-likes depend on it more than others. Take away the Twist, and you will be left with yet another exoplanet, abiding by the rules we all know and, to be frank, find them too mundane to entertain us, or to leave a lasting memory.

As you'd expect, this was the first archetype I visited and considered for my game. The Twist I wish to feature, to go hand in hand with game mechanics I have devised, is the marriage (or clash, depending on your point of view) of science and magic, and the many ways cultures practicing either-or-both would balance them out, or tip the scales in one's favour if they so desire. I'm also very keen on endangering the Player on their journey, which I want to be perilous, and for it to matter more than the destination. Think of it as a world of vagabonds and gallivants, travelling from one bizarre place to a place twice as otherworldly, and embarking on life-threatening quests.

I've considered several worlds, most notably Kharak -- whose native species, the Kushan, traverse it on trucks and jeeps and other sand-crawling machinery. Cities on that scorched planet exist as only safe havens around, surrounded with lifeless sands, and to make it from one city to another is a dangerous affair indeed. The theme resonated with me quite a bit, but I did not find desert planets a good choice for my game, for many reasons:

It is, as the name suggests, a giant desert. There aren't that many biomes (just two, in fact, if you count largely mechanical cities as one) for the Player to explore, and there is little challenge in generating them on the fly, as opposed to a more varied world.

Throwing in arid biomes we discover in worlds like Middle-Earth or Narnia, or Faerun, felt far too conventional to me, and in my mind there would not be much room for an apocalyptic event so crippling as to make exploring this world nigh fatal.

Even if I dodged the desert altogether and rolled with a different biome or biomes, I'd still have to balance between two problems I doubt are easy to solve: featuring more biodiversity in a fundamentally monolithic environment, or more extremes in an Earth-like world that would not fit in very well.

Banality. Banality was a major concern for me, as there are oh so, so many Earth-likes out there in the industry, and the last thing I wish for my little side project is to offer yet another one. No sir!

Scope was the last but nevertheless just as important. It is difficult to fill up a giant continent, or continentS, with enough quests and points of interest to keep the Player invested. It is hard enough to produce enough scripted content, a la World of Warcraft, and it is harder still to delegate the creative matters to an automaton (Talking about you, Left 4 Dead!). Earth-likes, to my understanding, necessitate imposing scale, that I can not hope to achieve neither alone nor in company.

So I scratched this archetype off my list, and again I went searching every nook and cranny of the game industry and beyond for patterns and clues to make into archetype...

Otherlands

Perhaps not the best title to describe a world so otherworldly as to defy all laws native to our universe, but I nonetheless thought it described what I had in mind for such worlds best. Exotics, Otherlands, Alternate Realities, you name it: they spit on the natural laws we've always known, and turn what we consider to be natural upside down, from a relative point of view (I'd image they'd think we earthlings bend their ideas of what is natural, vice versa). They more often than not have so little in common with a conventional; continental world, that as a Player, you ought to be born anew, in a sense, as you have to come to terms with the new reality, and learn the rules alien to your human brain-box.

While not so abundant in fiction or film, there is an unexpected plethora of otherworldly examples found in video games. I suspect, as little more than a humble writer and not at all a qualified game designer, that the blame (the reason, rather) is at least in part to be pinned on the freedom of mechanics worlds detached from all physical boundaries allow. You're no longer on Earth; seldom even in our universe, and more often in a dimension forged by game designers to fulfill a very blunt purpose: to serve the gameplay, in full. I'd imagine it is times easier to set a game built on mechanics hostile to laws of physics somewhere abstract; mallable, in a way, to the designer's whim.

Thinking of examples took me to these fine pieces of digital entertainment:

William Chyr's Manifold Garden is, to me, a quintessential Otherland. It is set in an abstract world wrapping on itself, juxtaposing impossible geometry against Euclidean space. About the only link to our reality it maintains is the presence of gravity. Look up and down, try interacting with the objects or solving the puzzles, and you will very soon understand this is NOT the realm accomodative of your earthly instincts.

Alice: Madness Returns, too, features an Otherland (not Otherlands, fellow Alice fans!), a level set among the clouds, far above in the sky -- none other than Cardbridge! Playing cards dwell there, and glide along the windy streams to form marvellous paper castles in the sky, and bridges, and gates for Alice to cross on her way to the evil (is she really?) Queen's heartful (quite literally) domain. Like in Manifold Garden, physics still permeates this world, but the only "actor" it appears to affect is Alice herself. All that surrounds her, on the other hand, behaves in a way we would think odd.

Oddly enough, Valve's Ricochet is one more example of an Otherland, the way I see it. It's set in a pitch black void, a pocket dimension of a sort, and constricts its gunslinging inhabitants to a small archipelago of quasi-futuristic-looking platforms. It is in many ways abstract and disconnected from what we would brand a "real" world; akin more to a simulation than something even an advanced civilisation would be able to orchestrate in the vacuum of deep space. It instead serves a solitary purpose: to be an open and clear arena for the Players to pull off dextereous ricochets and physics-bending leaps from one spot to the next. There are no other earthly rules to govern this world, and beyond the dark arena is the thrice as dark abyss.

Of course, by this logic, one could consider more abstract games along the lines of Tetris Effect or even Pinball Dreams, to also fit under the same umbrella of otherworldness, and I reckon they would be right. Both games take place in places foreign to our expectation for a, dare I say, traditional setting. This is not to say, oh no, that Otherlands belong to just the games -- far from it! Otherlands are to be found in many other media.

Off the top of my head, I'd count that one scene from the cult-classic 2001: A Space Odyssey, as a "classic" Otherland in a mind-boggling nutshell:

The message I'm trying to convey, if not clear, is that Otherlands are very stubborn, and insistent on breaking you as an earthly thinker; to augment your mind and let it comprehend and utilise the new reality and the rules it enforces, like one would use the laws of our universe. "When in Rome," is the mantra they will have you etch into memory, until you think and interact with it as though you had never known another home.

The entire world, in other words, is one big Twist, standing in stark contrast to the little twists applied here and there to an Earth-like dimension. Furthermore, one could even assert that the Twist in an Otherland is turned on its head -- whereas in an Earth-like Twists were other-landish phenomena many in number but little in scope -- the Twists in an Otherland are instead few and far between, and grounded in reality. They are the links linking an Otherland to the Earth-like law. Say, physics would be very much expected in an Earth-like world, but treated as an exotic Twist in an Otherland.

To be a little more precise, an Otherland does not bother to stay true to the mechanics we think mundane and natural. It instead moulds or kills them outright, and throws itself at the mercy of the designer's wants and wishes.

Otherlands were an option, but not the option, that I'd choose for my world. I cherish the freedom they bestow upon you as a designer, but it alone did not convince me to opt for this archetype. Simply put, the downs outweighed the ups:

The world I wish to create will host fantasy far too Tolkien-esque to distance so much from Earth and earthly law. There is, in my view, a strong pull among many dungeon-crawling aficionados towards fantasy, and fantasy I will deliver. My own strain of fantasy, to be clear, but it will nevertheless mandate a degree of reality deemed by me too Earth-like to belong in an Otherland. I just can not see, at this time, a world of fantasy that is also an Otherland, not if I want my world to radiate welcoming familiarity.

This game being an open-ended RPG, it is difficult for me to envision it in an abstract environment. It calls, as I see it, for landmarks sensible to someone never ever "tainted" by the quirks of Otherlands, familiar and homely in a way, based in laws of physics and around points of interest grounded in our reality. Elevating it to be the Twist of an Otherland, brings the latter much closer to an Earth-like, but not quite. Neither this nor that, if you will, and that in turn leads me to the next and last archetype...

Near-Earths

Should you ever run into the same predicament as yours truly did in the paragraph above, I'd strongly advise you to consider Near-Earths. Not entirely Earth-like, but also too Earth-like to fit as an Otherland, a Near-Earth world is based to some considerable extent in the laws and traits of an Earth-like. It takes the best of both worlds -- mind-boggling Twists of an Otherland and experiential familiarity of an Earth-like -- and mixes them up to shape up something in-between.

Near-Earth remains ultimately an extension of an Earth-like world at its core, but to set itself apart it puts an emphasis on large-scale Twists -- that would be considered too outlandish for an Earth-like. One popular trope among Near-Earths is to feature earthly topology, strewn around the universe in the form of isles or even whole continents. Fundamental laws that define an Earth-like it bends to a fictional degree, but preserves the essentials, such as planets or stars or faimiliar dimensions, that make up our universe. Thus the link between our universe and that lives on, and it's easy for a newcomer to the world to find their way around with little to no hand-holding required.

I can't help but conjure up a few shots from Treasure Planet, which I gather needs no introduction, to illustrate my line of thought. Take one of the more iconic stills from this flawed masterpiece, R.L.S. Legacy docked at the spaceport of Crescentia:

It is in many ways familiar, I think, to anyone who has ever been to any run-of-the-mill harbour, except that ginormous frigate appears to stay suspended mid-air, not even ropes to hold it in place, and not at all swaying side to side on the high seas as one would assume. No, in this universe carpenters and shipwrigts build 18th century vessels propelled by internal combustion engines to fly through the breathable expanse that they call Ethereum. Indeed, there it is possible to breathe in space, so long as one stays careful not to lean too much on the taffrail and fall into the Ethereum proper, doomed forever to be a cosmic castaway.

Treasure Planet is very representative of a Near-Earth world, as I reckon the aforementioned scene proves. While grounded in culture and (partly) science of our universe, it strays a lot from what our scientists would deem feasible, to the point that it is fundamentally different from our universe in some respect, such as there existing a breatheable atmosphere everywhere in their universe, but not so fundamental as to defy every law of science we know in our world. Physics, and planets, and other celestial bodies and phenomena still exist there, albeit altered in a variety of ways.

Another such example would the High Wilderness, that we're told to travel aboard a literal locomotive, in the brilliant game and one of my many favourites -- Sunless Skies:

It, too, features all the same biomes and structures and many laws with a basis in our universe, and like Treasure Planet, it introduces a major twist: the space beyond the confines of Earth (which does exist in Sunless Skies, and generally follows our history with significant deviations perpetrated by Masters of the Bazaar) is an intricate maze of seldom interlocked and often overlapping topology, stacked on top of one another, and filled with an atmosphere reminiscent of Ethereum, breathable but named a different name.

It is still familiar enough to us as earthlings, and it would not take a seasoned Otherlander to pick the thing up and know the rules of play by instinct. Sure, we are driving a locomotive through time and space, and pass by living stars that govern all, called the Judgements, but the spaces we traverse and people we meet and phenomena we witness are not confusing in the slightest. Shrouded in mystery, maybe, but ultimately sensisble if given enough thought. There is not another dimension for us to consider, and impossible geometry wrapping on itself to comprehend, as seen in Manifold Garden. Nay.

On the Judgements, as a side note, I've found them to be an interesting twist in and of themselves: they are intended to be the law-makers that decide what is real in this world, and what is not. Kill, or posses them, and the world will return to a chaotic state, easily a contender for the quintessential Otherland.

One last sample for you to taste would be the city-state of Sigil, the center of all planes in the planar world of Planescape (pardon the tautology!). Also an earthly world in many ways, it departs from tradition by dabbling in the ideas of interplanar travel, and whole planes of existence drifting from place to place depending on the belief of its denizens. Name me a single spiral-shaped medieval town suspended miles in the air:

I hope my criteria is now clear, or clear-er, better still if as a day. A Near-Earth has some of its fundamental laws thrown away, or meddled with, but there is always at least some foundation identical to that of an Earth-like.

Enter the Wild

In the end, I had a choice to make; a choice of three options, all of which bore pros and posed cons. Weighing all of them took me several restless nights, about a week in total, and some creative encouragement from a colleague, who suggested I turn to Sunless Skies-esque worlds for inspiration: islands floating in the sky, nurturing islanders and their peculiar settlements. I fell in love with the idea in a heartbeat, and on and on I went searching for references. It implied to me a Near-Earth, and all the marks of distinguishment I outlined before for other archetypes pointed to Near-Earths as the perfect fit for my world.

I settled for a few points of reference, among them...

Variably-sized islands and quasi-continents of Dragon Hungers, complete with pocket cultures and hosts of creatures that dwell there:

"Outdated" and outlandish means of transportation between the islands, like airships or fire-breathing dragons, a la Sunless Skies:

Celestial bodies of Treasure Planet, like black holes or nebulas, making an appearance, though toned down a bit to ditch some of their more destructive and lethal properties. A black hole wouldn't spaghettify you in the blink of an eye, but falling into one will nonetheless bring a swift (albeit not quite so fast and unavoidable) end to your career:

What they amounted to, ultimately, is an amalgamation of varied islands, some as big as a continent, others as small as my balcony, and all sporting ecosystems never-before-seen on most other islands. They are suspended in the sky, fortunate to have a man-friendly atmosphere, with a devilish twist I'd rather keep a secret for the time being.

Wannabe heroes make their living sailing through this sky aboard mighty airships or fire-breathing dragons (among many other means of transportation), from one island and on to the next, undertaking quests and accepting commissions from the locals to earn themselves some sustenance. It's a floating world of vagabonds, gallivanters, and legends-in-the-making.

OR! Those same gallivanters may find a particular island, or spot upon on the island, very tempting to settle on. Indeed, if they so desire, players would be able to adopt a sedentary lifestyle, and see what the wilds beyond the comfort of their heart might bring one treacherously blissful morning...

Us locals have entitled this universe the Wild. Enter at your own risk, traveller, for you may never return. This theme seemed to me like a good middle-ground between all the problems I've outlined reviewing archetypes:

Scope was confined to the typical bounds of an island. Some are bigger than others, no doubt, but all of them are a far cry from the usual dimensions of a continent. A narrow scope, as such, is a scope amiable to developers limited in number, or readiness to tackle an enormous landmass.

Narrowed scope in turn shortens the distance one must travel to leave one point of interest for another. We're feeding two birds with one scone -- there is no need for us, as developers, to fill up the lands betwixt with something for you to do, and you won't have to drag yourself through an overstretchesd piece of half-arsed (pardon my French) filler to finally reach the objective that caught your eye in the first place.

At last, as my colleague pointed out, islands in space are capital. Done before to be sure, that road has been travelled many times (and so were most others), but it is still the Earth-likes that proudly keep at the victorious spree as the dominant archetype among the developers. A Near-Earth to me felt like a fair and much-wanted change of scenery, for once in a blue moon.

A floating world shattered into many habitable pieces by far imposes so many more factors upon the cultures, languages, civilisation, technology, and nature of the wild, that to turn it down in favour of an all-too-researched Earth-like world seemed a lazy way out the massive creative problem, I think, many people of letters and pencil and other trades would be thrilled to approach.

P.S. I do realise all my scribbled judgements are arbitrary, and the lines separating Near-Earth from Earth-likes, from Otherlands, is apparently fine, and entirely subjective. These are little more than my five cents; my five thoughts on the subject, and I personally found grouping these worlds into archetypes a good "bookmark" that I've used and will likely come back to designing my own worlds. Peace.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 70: Azure Heart

Chapters: 70/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating:

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Has The Worst Time,

Summary:  Loki remains who he has always been

Thor was carefully working his beard into a braid when he heard the commotion at his door. Your voice frantically entreating the guard to let you in; which he did. You were one of a handful of individuals he allowed in here at will, and you'd never abused the privilege.

You threw yourself at him, terrified, clutching his arm and babbling about a Frost Giant in your bath room. It seemed you thought that the jotun child had been released from the ice early, and was running around unsupervised.

“Wait a moment.” He said, trying to slow the stream of words. “You saw a little jotun girl in your bath chambers? The ones you share with my brother?”

“Yes! She shouldn't be out yet, not without her guardian! It's not safe!”

“I just want to make sure. Did you see a little girl, or did you see a small Frost Giant?”

“I...well it had to be the kid, right? Frost Giants don't stay small!”

“Alright.” Thor said. “I will go investigate. You go and do what you are supposed to do today, and don't worry about this any further.”

You departed, but reluctantly, and with many entreaties to be kind and gentle to what you were sure was a lost and scared little girl.

Norns, but his brother was being foolish. So secretive, so terrified of the consequences, but he probably wanted you to know, deep down. Thor suspected that whenever Loki slipped, it was because he wanted someone to see, to know something that he was too afraid to say. That somewhere in his subconscious mind, he was tired of keeping this secret.

Thor wanted to build a realm where Loki could be comfortable with the truth of himself. Or at least where he could feel something other than hatred and shame over it. Thor was acutely aware of all the personal failures piled up on his shoulders over the centuries, where his brother was concerned. Some days he waxed furious at his own father, and sometimes even his mother, for keeping this from them both. All the things Thor had said and done pertaining to Frost Giants...and Loki had agreed, and internalized it all, just as Thor had. And it had all come down on him with the crushing force of an unstoppable glacier when he'd found out. And to find out while Thor was banished, and Odin asleep, all his support structures gone, and then to have the entire kingdom thrust upon him at such a vulnerable time...It was no wonder he'd fallen into madness. Would Thor have done any different, had it been him?

No, Thor reflected. No, he probably would have been much worse. Recklessness was a personal flaw he had not quite yet cured himself of. Combine that with madness, and the ultimate power of Asgard behind it...No, things would have gone quite terribly, if it had been him instead.

But if he and Loki had known since they were young...So many things Thor would not have said, have done. So much unnecessary suffering, undone. He dearly loved his father, but all of this had been so wrong.

He found Loki sitting in the bath room, in front of a mirror, blue face in his hands.

“Come to smite me, brother?” He deadpanned.

“Oh, a little bird told me there might be a Frost Giant running loose, but I see only my brother here.”

“So now she does what I tell her. Typical.” Loki grumbled. “She can run quite fast when she's scared, can't she? Then again, who wouldn't? If they saw...this.” He gestured to his reflection in the mirror.

“Actually, she was scared for you.” Thor said. “She though you were the little girl, running around on her own. She was afraid for your safety.”

“The child? Why would she think-oh. Hmph. I don't know if that's better or worse. At least she didn't set the Valkyries on me.”

It must have stung. Yes, he had told you to run, but it must have hurt to see you run from him. To think you were frightened of him. Yet he might still make the best of this.

“You know what you need to do.” Thor said.

Loki sighed. “I know.” He said. He sounded so small.

“You will do fine. I know it.” Thor encouraged. “Just get it out there. I think she will understand.”

“Oh yes? Tell me, how did your last relationship go?”

“Poorly. I made many mistakes, particularly in communicating. I encourage you not to do the same.”

“Hmph.” Loki had faded back to milky pale, and looked just as miserable in that shape as well. “But there's no way around it anymore. She's going to know that there was no child in here. She won't be able to stop thinking about it. If she begins asking around, someone will bring up the play, or just outright tell her. It should be me. I have to do it before anyone else does!”

“That's the spirit!” Thor said. “Now go out there and seize that day!”

“Oh, go away!” Loki threw a towel at him.

                                                                           ******

Bjarkhild dropped your hand and shrugged.

“It looks as if everything has gone back to normal.” She said. “The mark looks the same as the day you were brought here, even though it looked like a fresh brand last night.”

“Maybe because I was with Loki?” You ventured. You both knew that his presence had certain healing effects on you. Bjarkhild heaved a small sigh of frustration.

“I wish I had access to Eir's notes. I don't doubt she had information on magics involvement in healing. But Valhalla has received her, and her knowledge along with her. There is so much to relearn.”

“She was good at this?”

“The very Goddess of Healing. One of Hela's first targets...but I shouldn't speak of it. You are in fine health now, and that's all anyone can really ask for. Now, off with you. I don't doubt you have something to attend to.”

“Lessons, yeah.” You hadn't mentioned to anyone that you'd seen a Frost Giant this morning. Thor had seemed a little weird about it; kinda cagey. You assumed he had some kind of plan, so you shouldn't go around spreading panic.

Instead, you went outside. To the ox pens. There were several of the big animals in there, wandering around aimlessly without a care in the world. Even the crisp chill in the air didn't seem to bother them.

You leaned against the fence, and watched the biggest one, a huge, reddish animal, as he browsed the sparse vegetation. Soon, in just a few weeks, in fact, you would have to watch Loki walk up to this beast with a great big sword, and...

Bright red and bewildered eyes. Desperate red eyes, and bright red blood, and a blue head that rolled...

You turned away from the fence with your hand clapped tight over your mouth. Could you really do this?

You knew where your food came from. The leather you wore. You knew people who kept chickens and sometimes they became soup. You knew these animals were destined to become food-for you or for the worms, or both-but you'd also never been there for the actual moment. You'd seen livestock alive, and then you'd seen them in nice, neat, clean bits that in no way resembled the living animal they'd once been. You were disconnected from the part in between.

Maybe that wasn't such a good thing. You knew that disconnect was what allowed some of the more egregious abusive practices to flourish. You knew it would be better to know, to witness. That it would imbue the seriousness of it all, the respect for the lives in front of you.

Maybe that was why things like this were done? The common folk, the farmers, and hunters, and herders, they would all have that kind of understanding and respect already. They were the ones who looked those animals in the eyes and knew them.

But the merchants and traders, the craftsmen and nobles, the royalty, they would be removed from it. Animal husbandry was unlikely to be part of their daily lives, after all. Was bringing them all together to witness where their feasts came from some kind of attempt to teach them? Was making their royalty act like their farmers a way to remind them what the building blocks of a kingdom really were? Was it a humbling act? A reaffirming one?

You didn't know. Whether it was better or not, you couldn't stop thinking of how much blood there was going to be. Beheading was the quickest, most painless way, you had read. The most humane.

You shuddered, then squeaked in awkward surprise when someone dropped their yellow cloak over your shoulders.

“You shouldn't come outside without one anymore.” Andsvarr said, leaning against the fence next to you. “Last year, it got very, very cold. Too cold for a human or an Asgardian, if you ask me. But the wool they make here is very good. I assume it has to be.”

“Oh, thank you.” You said. “We get blizzards and stuff back home, but nothing like what I assume they get here. Did it snow on Asgard?”

“Yes, but not often, or much. Not like here. How are you feeling? You look unhappy, if you will forgive me.”

“Not great, to be honest. Been dealing with some things.”

“You certainly seemed to be in a state last night! Were you hurt? Bjarkhild didn't tell me. We got your room gathered up, by the way. Your plants will be fine I think, and we even found your little worm friend. He has cocooned himself.”

“Oh good, I'm glad he's okay. I'm glad you're okay too. No, I'm not hurt.” You sighed. “I think my problem is deeper inside. It's him.” You gestured at the huge bull. “I don't want to kill him.”

“The sacrifice? I see. Well don't worry!” Andsvarr began earnestly. “You won't be the one to do it. That will be his High-”

“It doesn't matter! I'm the one who'll be distracting him! He won't even see Loki, he'll be looking at me. And I won't say anything, I won't warn him...”

“Um...The bull would not understand you, even if you did.”

The bull. Right, of course, you were talking about the bull.

“I guess I just feel bad for him. He didn't deserve this. Doesn't.” You were talking about the bull.

Andsvarr gave you an expression of bewildered support. “Would you like to come back inside? I can get you a warm drink? We have that chocolate powder that you put in milk.”

You shouldn't stay out here staring at oxen. It was getting you nowhere.

“Yeah. Some hot chocolate sounds good. I just...I don't want any more shocks for a bit. I just want a moment's calm.”

                                                                       *****

Loki barely ate. Everything tasted like sand and emptiness. Tonight was the night he lost you.

You were in your room right now, helping to clean up and reorganize. A team had already been in there, salvaging what they could, cleaning up the broken glass. They had patched up the wall, but it would need to be repainted, and a new window pane would need to be added to their next order of supplies.

He'd told Brunnhilde to keep a bed ready with the Valkyries. You couldn't sleep in your room until the window was repaired. The temperature would dip to well below freezing in there. And when you inevitably ran from him tonight, like you had this morning, you would need a place to rest.

All he could really hope for was that you would be able to overcome your disgust enough to continue acting as his Seidkona, even if he could no longer hold you, or touch you, or revel in your love.

“You know, she might not even care.” Thor had told him. “Humans can be unpredictable about this sort of thing.”

It hadn't helped. He couldn't dare to hope for that acceptance, not since the broken Bifrost. He had to be ready for the end.

He'd taken this meal alone. As coiled up as his innards were, he couldn't possibly have even faked a conversation. It was like going to his own execution, and he'd already done that!

He let his fork fall to his plate, unable to finish.

He should have told you from the start. Then you would have never loved him, and would feel no betrayal. And without seeing your soul as he had, he might not even have fallen for you. But when would he have told you? When was ever a good time for this confession?

He could hear you down the hall, lamenting a tear in your stuffed fantasy animal. The power of that blast had thankfully not carried far. It had tossed a few things around in his room, and the blast itself had woken him up, but it hadn't reached Thor's chambers. Mostly, it had destroyed your own little room.

He'd see to it that the doll was repaired. You loved the little creature, even though it wasn't real.

Just like you loved the false face he presented to you.

You were leaving now, to fetch dinner with Andsvarr and the maids. You did that occasionally, taking a meal, usually lunch, with the servants, or the cooks, or Frigga's former handmaidens. It seemed that, unlike all the peasant princesses of the tales, you didn't want to forget where you came from. He could respect that; he, and much of Asgard was in a similar situation. Besides, it was good for you to get to know the people, and for them to get to know you.

But what if one of them told you before he did? Frigga's handmaidens especially liked to talk among themselves, and between them, they knew practically everything about every Asgardian alive. But you understood a great deal more of the language now, and if one of them let it slip in idle conversation, you might be able to pick it up.

He wanted control of this situation. At least the tiny amount of control it took to be the one to say those words to you. He wanted at least that.

There was a tiny knock at his chamber doors, just barely perceptible. The only one left, Loki answered it. As if summoned by his thoughts, Lofn stood in the hallway.

Loki eyed her warily. Of all his mother's handmaidens, Lofn was the hardest for him to understand. She seemed to him to perceive two different worlds at once, the world of the soul revealed itself to her as to no other. She saw all the intricacies of emotion and the truth in people's spirits, though she seldom said much, and what she did say didn't always make immediate sense. Still, it was always best to heed her advice.

Also, she was sometimes just compelled to do things that seemed odd or random, and right now she was holding out a long coat in a style he preferred. It was blue, however, the sky blue his mother used to wear.

“I have made this for you.” She said, with that dreamy, yet cunning expression of hers. “It feels like there are things you need to remember. That you have always been you, no matter what coat you are wearing. And that every crawling, wriggling, screaming creature is born worthy of love and care. I held you, as a baby, though you don't remember. But I saw it.”

She shook the coat, urging him to take it. He did. It was light and warm as he slung it around his shoulders; a perfect fit. Somehow, she always knew.

She didn't wait for thanks, or any answer at all really, just nodded and walked away.

How did she know these things? Did she look across the world and see his distress? How long had she been working on this coat?

He had always been him. Well, of course he had. He hadn't ever stopped being a Frost Giant, no matter what shape he took. That was part of the problem.

The mirror in his room had broken, but hadn't been replaced yet. He looked at himself with his new coat, his reflection shattered into many facets. All those faces, but only one of them was real.

The light blue didn't really suit him, but he liked the coat anyway. It reminded him of his mother, how she used to hold him, envelop him in the folds of her dress and make him feel safe. Of the books she read to him, and the stories she told. The magic she taught him and the little jokes.

If he squinted just right, he could almost pretend it was her in the myriad panes of mirror, drawing him into warm memory. Dinners together, as a family, when he was just a boy. How she knew all along, but had loved him anyway. She should have told him, they should have told him, but her love was never in doubt. She wanted to protect him, and had made the unequivocally wrong choice in her attempt to do so, but she did love him.

He even remembered the way Odin used to hold his hand with the same care and pride he had for Thor, all three of them walking from corridor to grand corridor, to meals, to classes, to bed. How he spoke to them of so many things, trying to raise them both. Like a real family.

Loki's eyes burned, his throat tight. He wanted it. After everything that had happened, he just wanted that more than anything. Why couldn't he have had that? What had changed?

Odin had been his father, had acted like it, at least when he was young! What had changed? Was it disappointment at the emergence of his Aesir nature-as god of mischief, deceit and lies? Was it that Laufey had failed to die or be deposed by his people after the war, thus making it more difficult to install Loki as a suitable replacement? Odin had raised him too, to be a king. Had he simply grown frustrated that he would be saddled with a tiny, deformed Frost Giant for longer than he had anticipated? Had he grown too competent? Or not enough?

He had always been him. Even before he knew. Running around the palace as a little boy, chasing after his big brother almost from the moment he could walk. Filching snacks from the kitchens, and crying over scraped knees. Trying to climb on things he shouldn't. Practicing his magic by changing Thor's clothes into dresses, attempting to elicit any kind of reaction from stoic Hogun, causing strange odors to arise from Fandral's ever-flapping mouth, teasing Volstagg about his increasing waist and family size. Even attempting to cut Sif's hair as a prank. Oh, he had known woman's wrath then!

All follies of youth. He missed them. Maybe they had never truly been his friends, but he missed them all the same.

He missed you too. He missed you, and he hadn't even lost you yet. He was mourning for you, for what was about to happen. When you saw who he really was.

Who he had always been. You didn't even know. In the run of things, you barely knew him at all.

You barely knew him. Who he had always been. You didn't know.

You didn't know about Frost Giants.

You didn't know about Frost Giants like Asgard thought it knew about Frost Giants Didn't know about him, about who he'd always been.

About a little boy who chased a little girl with a pair of scissors, until she punched him in the face and knocked him down, and he laughed to be beaten at his own game. A youth running from his enraged older brother, who tripped over his own skirts in the attempt to catch him. Who burned with a touch of envy when his chubby friend married young and had babies on the way almost instantly. Who always looked upwards and forwards.

He had always only been him. Frost Giant or Asgardian, always him. Loki. Always Loki.

You knew Loki.

You would come back tonight, and he would tell you this terrible thing. He was still terrified that you would leave, but you deserved to know. You knew the side of him that wanted to provide what you deserved. You knew that part of him, and more importantly, you trusted that part of him. He cherished that trust, and wanted to reward it with trust of his own. He would tell you, and accept whatever came of it.

He would be who he'd always been.

[twistedintern]

Kyuu’s Chronicle - Entries #1-6

Entry One

“Everything happens for a reason.”

...That was, up until recently, a favorite adage of mine. Through good times and bad, I would think back to those five little words.

Everything happens for a reason.

Struggle.

Success.

Waking up inside a sealed coffin after an unremarkable night’s rest.

...Hello, Lady Fate? Might I be able to file a tiny complaint? WHAT THE FLYING EVER-LOVING F*CK? 

You don’t just up and isekai a normal adult woman into the middle of some Harry Potter-grade magical college without providing her with purpose, know-how, and a means of returning home! I am NOT the token light novel hero with a personality that screams ‘lovable fish-out-of-water,’ alright? SHEESH. I could’ve been injured, kidnapped, or worse....

Fortunately--yes, there’s always a silver lining, Kyuu. Remember that--while I now know I could’ve ended up as mincemeat at the hands of delinquent students, I was first happened upon… by a cat. That cat was accompanied by a pair of men. Well, I knew one of them was a man. I couldn’t make out his features clearly in the dimly-lit chamber before he left, but he sounded and held himself like a middle-aged man would.

His companion, though? Different story entirely. When he lifted his lamp to get a better look at me, providing me with some much-needed light with which to take in my surroundings…

Feathers. Gaudy shiny things. A suit, tie, cloak, a grand hat.

Two piercing yellow lights shining from a beaked half-mask.

...Mere inches from my face.

I had never fought so hard to suppress a scream in my life.

Entry Two

A bit of time has passed since that, um, eventful night. Because I’m really bad at keeping diaries, I’ll just give a recap:

I have never wanted to go home so badly in all my life.

The individual I met back then--he introduced himself as Dire Crowley, by the way; a fitting name if I do say so myself (I still flinch whenever I see him or hear him call my name. God, he’s so weird)--turned out to be the headmaster of this place. ...Um, what was it called again?

...Right! Night Raven College. He tells me nonstop how prestigious this place is. He’d better not be exaggerating, though that seems to be his general way of talking about things that matter to him.

(I hope he’s telling the truth: if so, it’s only a matter of time before word gets out that I don’t belong here. He won’t believe me whenever I tell him I’m from another, altogether separate world.)

In the meantime, Crow Man has me holed up in a rather spacious (and quite homey) tool shed a short hike away from the central plaza of the school.

I wish I knew why he’s always so hellbent on emphasizing how terribly kind he is when it comes to doing things for others. Normally, I’d consider that sort of behavior to be incredibly suspicious. I mean, I know administrative heads of these kinds of institutes have it tough and are largely underappreciated, but it really feels like he’s hiding something...

Entry Three

Crowley invited me to his office today, and for once, he was the least remarkable thing in the room.

I have never been so shocked in all my years. So much so that I fainted as soon as I processed what I was seeing. (I don’t faint.)

Portraits flanking his seat, seven in total, suspended midair by magic forces beyond my understanding.

The no-nonsense Queen of Hearts

Scar, the usurper lion king

Ursula, the sea witch

Jafar, the sultan’s scheming right-hand

The beautiful and vain Evil Queen

Hades, lord of the dead

Maleficent, the preeminent sorceress of all that is wicked

When I recovered consciousness, I nearly shrieked. 

“THEY’RE YOUR ‘MAGNIFICENT SEVEN’?”

Crowley responded with a simple nod of the head. Hadn’t I seen their statues on the main street? He wished to know why I was surprised.

“I… KNOW THEM.”

Crowley blinked before affirming that yes, I ought to. Very few people in the world don’t. Then I reminded him I wasn’t from this world.

Fast-forward, crow man drags me to some grandiose “Hall of Mirrors” and asks the principal spirit what my deal is. (Why didn’t he do that sooner…?) The spirit (which also looks eerily familiar) validates my entire argument: that I’m a magic-less adult from outside their realm.

And Crowley? Crow Man? He and the mirror spirit might as well have been discussing the weather, because he didn’t seem bothered or troubled by the revelation in the slightest!

Entry Four

A few days later, Crowley made a formal announcement that I would be joining the staff of the college. …As an intern of sorts.

Huh? Excuse me? Did a bird man really just make an executive decision to take me on as his servant?!

For some reason… I’m not as pissed about this as I feel I could be. After all, I’m painfully aware of how I have zero business at Night Raven; it was well within his rights to kick me out. The least I could do is make myself useful.

Crowley (I never thought I’d be calling a bird my boss, but here I am!) sat me down later over a light lunch to tell me about the men I’d be assisting in the days ahead:

Mozus Trein, Professor of Magical History

Very serious, highly respected. A good judge of character with zero tolerance for poor work ethics (yikes!)

Divus Crewel, Professor of Alchemy and Magical Sciences

Exacting, charismatic. A celebrated fashion designer (???) whose wrath has earned him admirers and foes alike

Ashton Vargas, Professor of Kinesiology (I guess he’s the PE guy)

Passionate, persistent. Is known for his narcissism, but is a dependable team player when it counts

Sam, Proprietor of “Mr. S’s Mystery Shop”

The go-to man for all your buying needs. Is a bit on the eccentric side, but that’s part of his charm

Maybe this won’t be such a lousy arrangement after all....

Entry Five

Allow me to amend my earlier statement ever so slightly:

THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST ARRANGEMENT IMAGINABLE.

My first day on the job has been nothing but one disaster after another. These men are unreasonable, larger-than-life characters with the most obtuse expectations and tendencies I’ve ever met! Why oh why couldn’t I have been made younger in the process of this whole isekai-ing business? A great many students, as I’ve now come to learn, aren’t half bad. (The remarkable ones among them certainly left a lasting impression…) What’s more, they actually seem terrified of these fellows birdbrain assigned me to aid.

Divus Crewel is not my type of person AT ALL. He’s vain, cold, and completely unforgiving. He tore at me from the get-go, his cold grey eyes boring into me as he informed me how drab my sense of style was. The headmaster spoke so highly of me; he thought it fair to assume that I would be a remarkable presence having come from a world apart. I know well his type: petty and shallow. (Bastard thinks he can wear fur like that in his line of work? Tch.)

Ashton Vargas was, unsurprisingly, the textbook definition of a musclehead. He chewed me out for my poor physical constitution and demanded that I join him for early morning jogs around campus followed by intense cardio. Not for nothing, but exercise is not my thing. Naturally, he’s so into himself that he didn’t bother listening to me when I tried to politely turn down his invitation.

Sam… where do I even begin about that piece of work? ‘A bit eccentric’? Only a little? Way to downplay things, boss bird! The guy is a bonafide freak. He’s all about making sales and nothing else, and he’s as sketchy as rotten fish smells. And get this… his shadow? The thing has a mind of its own, and he does nothing to keep a reign on it. I couldn’t tell if he was joking, but as soon as he started talking about his “friends on the other side” with a snicker and a twinkle in his eye, I hightailed it out of there. I am never going back to his place of business ever again, even if it kills me.

I haven’t even met the last person the Headmaster told me about, but if he’s anything like his colleagues--or worse--Crowley might as well throw me to the sharks and put me out of my misery. Going by the information that… crow so generously shared with me, he doubtless feels like someone who’s going to see right through me and utterly crush what little self-worth I have left.

Please, I just want this nightmare to be over already....

Entry Six

So… um, hold on. I need to gather my thoughts. Deep breaths, Kyuu. Deep breaths.

Today was… nice. I can’t believe I’m saying any of this but… I’m kind of happy.

Although I had initially considered skipping my appointed first meeting with Professor Trein, I decided to suck it up at the very last minute and take whatever fate had in store for me head-on. I do not regret my decision in the least.

Where do I begin? I was so damn nervous when I knocked on the door to his office. A voice urged me inside, but the first thing that greeted me wasn’t the voice’s owner… but a cat.

This fluffy black and white feline, its expression demure, ran up to me immediately and took to rubbing against my leg. It was the cat from that fateful night I woke up inside a coffin! He held still and stared at me expectantly before issuing a rawl. I looked up to find a stern man, dressed in antiquated robes, regarding me with an unflinching glower. I was paralyzed with fear--I’d screwed up, hadn’t I?

Then he smiled at me. “It has been a while, Kyuu. I was expecting you.” He was the other person from that night! I just nodded my head dumbly and followed him inside. I could see how one could find him intimidating, what with his piercing visage and strict, commanding aura, but for me there was something almost comforting about his olden mannerisms.

We had a delightful talk over freshly-brewed tea. He asked me about myself, and I was stunned to learn that he and I had many things in common! He was positively amazed how quickly his beloved cat (who’s name is Lucius, by the way) warmed up to me. All the while, I was fondly reminded of my university days where I would spend hours on end talking with one of my favorite history professors after class.

I eventually opened up to him about my catastrophic first day with his colleagues. He expressed sympathy, but at the same time he was quick to point out that perhaps I was taking things too personally, and that I had jumped to conclusions without putting things in perspective. Knowing my tendencies, I conceded that he was probably right.

[morris-magus-merry-miller]

Chapter 1: Explosive Beginnings

The day began like any other on the road. I was of course upon my trusty steed, Nathaniel, as we made our way on what was to be our greatest venture yet. For you see, I had decided to undertake the most perilous journey across the desert to find the Undiscovered Realm.

Only one teeny tiny little problem stood in the way of myself and my dear companion Nathaniel…we were lost. Horribly, terribly…lost. Not a speck of sand in sight. In fact, quite a few trees instead. It makes sense, since the town we were approaching was called Dualwood.

Oh and there was a mountain. Hard to miss the mountain. Big old thing. The guard at the front of town called it “Mt Terminus”. It’s supposed to be some sort of big important proving point for adventurers. A big important dangerous deadly proving point I had no intention of going near, for you see I already had my own important dangerous and daring quest to venture forth upon, so I hardly needed to add a mountain to that. I was certainly not afraid. Just because the mountain is huge and high up. And supposedly there’s two-headed banshees and other such terrifying monstrosities lurking in wait for the next adventurer who willingly walks straight into their jaws of defeat. And the town guard make regular journeys to clean up the bodies they can safely retrieve…

 …Note to self, maybe edit this part before the final draft…

Note to self 2: less fear, more Big Adventurer Gusto

Of course, flying off course wasn’t going to put a damper on my mood. Oh no. So I found the most lovely bakery in town, ordered some local delicacies which I absolutely whole heatedly suggest if, dear reader, you ever pass this way. Splendid woman, and her bear claws are to die for. Only maybe don’t word it like that, since this town takes that kind of terminology quite literally what with the giant killer mountain looming above them every moment of the day and all that.

With a full belly and a new spring in my step, I stepped I strode boldly into town to find someone with the know-how to point me in the direction of the nearest desert so that I may truly begin my grand adventure to the Undiscovered Realm.

And there, in the center of town, I met a man of great wisdom. He was clearly a storied and well-traveled adventurer himself, for he wore the most splendid dress. Colored in majestic bright hues of reds and oranges, with a grand hat to rival even mine atop his head. It even had not one, not two, but FOUR bells upon each of its grand little horn-like protrusions. He was granting his wisdom in the form of riddles that I didn’t much understand. “Urgathoa? I hardly knew her!” Why and how would one know the Goddess of Undeath? Unless he was himself a zombie…he didn’t look it but you never know these days…

My ramblings aside! I spoke with the wise gentleman, asking him if he knew where the nearest desert is. He seemed to be under the impression I was sent by some guild or another. Perhaps, recognizing my adventuring gear, he believed me to be from the same adventurers’ guild as he? But alas, I am very much a lone wolf upon this adventure, taking to the road with none but Nathaniel for company. It’s a lonely life, especially since Nathaniel can only be summoned for about six hours at a time. But that is the lot in life of an adventurer, and so it is my burden to bear until I have reached my grand journey’s end.

Anyways, the wise man of many bells pointed me in the direction of a nearby temple. There he believed the learned clerics and holy travelers who pass through may be able to grant me guidance in my travels, and return me to my rightful path to the desert, and the mysterious land that lies within it.

 Within the Temple (mysteriously named “The Temple” and even more mysteriously with a sign out front that said, and I quote, “‘Clerical’ services available”. How ridiculous is that? Nobody will believe you’re providing clerical services if you put it in quotation marks as though it is a front for something!)

Author’s note: Oh my Shelyn I think it was a front for something.

 Within the Temple, I met with a grand group of lovely adventurers. There was Miss Candy, a bright and cheery human chef who also on an unrelated note looks like she could break me in half. Snap me like a twig. Probably with just her legs.

Oh dear this is starting to sound like a sex thing. Note to self, do not ever describe it like that again.

There was Miss Candy, a bright and cheery human chef with a love of pink and a surprising talent for kicking things to death. There was Sir Vigo, a mighty and powerful goblin wizard with a knack for fire and animals. Strange combination to be sure, but it works for him. Speaking of animals, there was also Issac, a druid half-orc who is so tall I have not actually gotten a good look at his face. It’s just way up there in the sky somewhere. But of arguably greater import, there was his companion, a bear named Peanut. And I do mean a bear. A literal black bear, just hanging around inside the temple, gentle as a dog. He and Vigo had a rousing conversation, although I know not what about as I cannot speak bear myself, but it would seem the magics of the universe granted Vigo such an ability. Where was I…? Oh, yes. There was also John Smith, a human many years my senior who I suspect has lived a very storied life, although he has not let on just what that story is. He said some rather off-color things in our first meeting, but I do believe there is more to this gentleman than meets the eye. (Not that I can easily meet his eye either, while he is not so tall as Issac, he is a human which generally means ‘much taller than even a really tall halfling’, and I am not a ‘really tall halfling’. I am ‘a very medium halfling’)

Here we met one Cleric Ringwald. Although the more she said, the more it seemed like cleric was an overstatement. She said she worshiped something called “The Creator”, and that the only magic she could do were some simple tricks like magic missile…which looking back, I don’t believe is even a divine spell! Regardless, she told us of a rat problem they were having, and since we were all clearly of the adventuring variety, she wanted to offer us some money and five magic stones to clear the rats out. Only it turned out quite quickly that there weren’t REALLY rats in the basement. Oh, no. When pressed about some rather odd choices in her inflection, she admitted that the creature in the bowls of the temple was a mass of slime, gore, limbs, eyes, and mouths.

For those familiar with earlier works in the M Merry-Miller collection, you may recognize such a description. In Night of the Hallowed Moon, the brave sorceress Emilia faced off against a similar such creature. A gibbering mouther. Disgusting creature in person, I must say. Its sounds alone were enough to make me wish I had not eaten just before hand.

We made our preparations. The grand team of newly acquainted adventurers burst forth into the room, where the beast awaited its demise. As a mysterious fog began to fill the room, the adventurers rushed forward, ready for what was to come.

The fog was, by the way, an ingenious ploy by dear John, who used it as a means to protect us all from the creature’s attacks. Unfortunately it also meant that hitting the creature was a bit more difficult—the fog was, after all, quite difficult for us to see through as well. But for all I know he may well have saved Miss Candy’s life, as the creature tried and failed to bite at her a number of times.

Knowing from past research that this creature would not be affected by my magical talent, I went for the next best thing. A crossbow. With a steady breath despite the (rather cigarette smelling if I’m being honest) smoke, I took aim, and infused my bolt with a nice little punch of my arcane magics. I fired with a flourish, and while I feared from the fog and the creature’s writhing that it would not strike, it struck true, sticking into one of the creature’s many eyes. There was blood everywhere. It was horrific, quite frankly.

Fortunately, Vigo used that moment to slip in closer to the writhing monstrosity. With a shout of some clever words (note to self: think of clever one-liner since he didn’t say any at the time), the feared and powerful wizard evaporated half of the creature’s body with a single lightning strike.

 And this is when things started to get out of hand.

As my gallant companions went to check on a hole in the floor that seemed to be how the wicked beast had entered this fair establishment, there was a commotion outside. Myself, John, and Candy were nearest the door at the time and went to investigate. We found Cleric Ringwald packing in a frenzy within her surveillance room. She tossed some coin to her acolyte Amelia (a skittish elven woman who had apparently directed some of the other adventurers to this location) and told her to get out of town.

Ringwald turned to us when we entered and told us the same, to get far away from here. She tossed us the magic stones she had promised as payment, and said that ‘if we survived’ she would pay more for further services if we met her in Port Town. Then she cast some rather powerful magic on us which made each of us feel revitalized, and she disappeared in a flash of awe inspiring arcane might the likes of which I had never seen.

But oh, I was about to see so much more, dear reader.

You see, I mentioned we were in a surveillance room, yes? By that I mean a room with a number of scrying mirrors which all permanently showed different sections of The Temple. And into the front room stepped a man. I say a man loosely. There was something off about him. He looked like a man, yes. A man with black hair, purple eyes, and robes depicting the butterfly of Desna—which my companions later revealed was a glamour, for it actually depicted a dragonfly symbol of some unknown origin. The reason I question if he was truly a man in the traditional sense was a strange segmentation in his hands at the joints. At first glance it could be mistaken for scars, as one of my companions later stated. However something about them was off. It was less a scar in the skin and more actual barely noticeable separate segments. While my genre of choice is not science fiction, I have read my fair share, and it brought to mind stories I had read in the past of humans created from technology and steel rather than flesh and blood. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. The closest thing we have to such a thing are golems, and they are never so realistic to be mistaken for a living breathing creature. How could such a being truly exist? Quite frankly, dear reader, I know not. But I do know his power was beyond the natural order. We were about to see that first hand.

 The man walked into The Temple’s entry, calling out to Ringwald. He just wanted to talk. Don’t make this harder than it needed to be. She had forced his hand. He began scattering orbs about, while humming a tune I’m unfamiliar with. John tugged at Candy’s sleeve and insisted we had to go. Now.

“Why?”

“Those are delayed fireball charges. He’s about to bring this entire place down!”

We ran, making a beeline for the hole in the basement, which we hoped would lead to safety—or at least shelter from the explosion that was to follow.

Candy quite kindly carried me, Peanut, and Vigo with her much faster legs. We leapt down the hole, and followed a tunnel that led to a ladder up. Looking back, that’s rather strange. I wonder if someone planted that gibbering mouther in the first place. But at the time we were far too busy running for our lives to think of such things. Candy practically flew up the ladder, along with John who was in a mad dash to get back to the stables. It would seem he had paid a stable hand to watch over his daughter while he was in town buying supplies, and he needed to get to her in case the explosion reached that far. Once we made it back above ground Vigo, Issac, and Peanut went with John to check on the stables, as Vigo’s trusty mount Gordon the Ram was stabled there as well.

This left myself and Candy to see when the mysterious dragonfly man descended from the exploding Temple and to the center of town. A storm had whipped up, with a fury of thunder and lightning positively cracking open the sky—but no rain to join it.

The man was chanting in tones that I recognized as Celestial, but I am unfortunately not well versed in that language. However it would seem John was. Over the magical stones his voice spoke to the rest of us, and he told us that the man was about to do something terrible to the entire town, and to get out of there.

Candy had other ideas.

With me still upon her back, she ran at the villain. She leapt forward, posed to kick him and interrupt whatever terrible spell he was weaving.

The storm grew more violent, the clouds swirling and turning an unnatural pink hue. Then everything went black.

 And then we woke up, on the ground before an empty town square. It was dark and silent. The stars were above us in a clear night sky, but the stars didn’t twinkle. Birds and butterflies were frozen in place in the air. There was no breeze, and the grass beneath our feet remained static with each footfall, frozen into whatever shape our feet pressed it into. The people in town were equally frozen. Not a breath, not a blink between them. Candy and I were the only ones in sight still moving.

We made for the stables, where we knew our fellow adventurers had gone. There, they were moving as well. But John’s daughter was not: frozen in a moment of fear, with the stablehand shielding the young child from harm, equally frozen. Somehow Vigo’s ram Gordon was fine, still moving and ‘baa’ing as a ram should.

We tried to brainstorm why we were able to escape the effects of this spell, which the more magically inclined members of our group identified as a potent mixture of a Stasis spell on a massive scale and Miracle—the most powerful of powerful divine magics. The best we would think of was that whatever spell Ringwald had cast upon us had also protected us from the spell that had otherwise pulled an entire village out of the natural flow of time.

As if to prove our theory, Ringwald’s acolyte Amelia pulled herself limping from the nearby rubble of the Temple, the only other person we’d seen in town left unaffected besides ourselves. She needed a moment to catch her breath, so we continued to brainstorm while she did.

Vigo wanted to climb Mt Terminus, believing the treasure at the top would be necessary to make us powerful enough to face the monster who had done this. Issac was in disagreement—he’d been living in this town for months, and had seen first-hand how deadly that trip is. According to him only one single group of adventurers had ever reached the top and lived to tell the tale, and they were the best of the best. Our inability to face this monstrous man was proof enough that we would die upon the peaks of the mountain long before we reached the treasure—and with us, all knowledge of what had happened in town. The rest of our band of adventurers believed that tracking down Cleric Ringwald would be the ideal next step. She seemed to have some mysteriously powerful magic of her own, and a history with this individual. Vigo wasn’t happy with this plan, as it might be putting us right back into the line of sight of the man whose magic broke the natural order.

Issac was finally able to talk Vigo into it, promising to join him on venturing to the top of the mountain after we got Ringwald and unfroze the town. None of us had any intention of facing this man again if we could help it—except for possibly John, who sounded rather keen on punching him in the face. I can’t blame him, his daughter is on the line after all. I can think of a few faces I find rather punchable myself that would probably come back to bite me afterwards. But that’s neither here nor there.

Once it was agreed we would head to Port Town to find the cleric who may or may not really be a cleric, who has some connection to the man who may or may not really be a man, Amelia asked to tag along since she had nowhere else to go. We happily agreed. While we prepared to set out, Amelia showed us how to use the magic stones—called the Stones of Far Speech—which we could use to talk to each other from a great distance, as John had done when trying to warn us about the dragonfly man’s spell.

On our way out of town I summoned Nathaniel, ready to head back out onto the open road—this time with a number of companions and a new destination in sight. It wasn’t quite the adventure I’d been looking for, but it appears adventure found me none-the-less. And really, isn’t that what being a daring adventurer is all about?

(note to self: you used ‘adventure’ 3 times in 2 sentences, find some synonyms before the final draft)

[livvywrites]

Wellsprings

Magical theorists believe that Eldora’s core is made up of molten magic, known as ‘miasma.’ Raw and unfiltered, in it’s purest and most dangerous form. It travels up the ground, entering at points called wellsprings. Magic that has been used travels back down, where it is purified once more. These exit points are also called wellsprings.

Entry wellsprings are often fantastical places. Because the magic is still raw and unfiltered when it enters the air, its manifestation is also called miasma. The appearance of miasma, though, varies by wellspring. There is place where it hovers through the air like tiny stars. Another, where it takes the form of something that could almost be a tree—with plasma pulsing through the trunk and limbs, and leaves that look like bulbs of light. Another, where a giant crystal glows. Another, where there is a pool of bubbling plasma. Sometimes it feels as if each sight is more fantastical than the last.

However, as beautiful as these sights are, they are also deeply, deeply dangerous. Touching the miasma can have dangerous consequences. At best, you might end up with a few burns. At worst, you could end up missing entire limbs, going mad, or even dying. As such, these places are watched over by nymphs—one of the few beings able to withstand the presence and touch of miasma.

Despite their danger, people often visit wellsprings—though generally the easier to reach ones, which are apt to look a bit more ‘normal’ if very thick with nature. They call them divine, sacred places, and often build temples or cities nearby. Which divine the wellspring represents, however, is typically decided by which nymphs watch over it. As such, neither Order nor Fate have any wellsprings, as neither of their nymphs walk on Eldora’s surface. At least, not any that have been found.

Magic is at its natural strongest near an entry wellspring—and at its natural weakest near an exit spring. Exit springs seem to suck up all the magic in the area. While magic can still be used there, spells fade quicker; are prone to failing; and much more difficult to cast if one doesn’t have an internal supply of magic. These springs are more likely to be watched over by a draconic presence alone, rather than dragons-and-nymphs, as nymphs are highly magical beings who have a hard time surviving there.

People don’t visit exit springs as often as they do entry springs, though they are still considered an important part of Eldoran life.

Casters & Mana

The people of Eldora are gifted with a sixth sense. Often called an other-sense, or magic-sense, this allows people to sense the magic in the air around them… and also to draw upon it. Because of this, everyone on Eldora can use magic. Some, however, are born with their own internal supply of mana—miasma is theorized to be a stronger, more potent version of mana, though this theory has never been tested—which allows them to cast a larger variety of spells.

People without mana make up a little more than half of the population. They can use the magic in the air around them to fuel small spells, usually referred to as cantrips. A few examples of cantrips:

A small appearance changing glamour (generally used on hair or eye color, can also mimic makeup)

Magelights/witchlights

Lock/unlock spells (keyed to magical signatures. Everyone’s is unique, much like a fingerprint!)

Small bursts of sound or light

Some people are capable of more feats than others, as some are better at drawing magic out and getting spells out of that magic better. However, cantrips are still very limited spells.

Those with mana, often called mages, are able to cast far more varied spells—though even they have their limits. These limits are characterized by three things: intelligence, willpower, and mana.

Intelligence has to do with how well you understand the spell and of how it interacts with the world around you. Willpower has to do with the understanding of yourself, your mana, and your control over both of those things. Mana, of course, has to do with how much mana you have. Intelligence and willpower are both increasable, but mana is not.

Except in the case of Slaeyr, who can increase their mana—but this has severe consequences, however, as it generally results in the death of the person who’s mana is being stolen. As such, it’s forbidden—or, is supposed to be. The Slaeyr being so young and scattered, it can be hard for the people as a whole to keep up with that, so it still happens. The punishments for doing so are severe, however—and will only get more severe should the Slaeyr ever find a place they can organize as a people.

Some races (the Elenai and the Slaeyr, to name two) are all born with an internal source of mana. There is one race with no internal mana (halflings). Most races are more or less evenly divided when it comes to such things, with about 55% of them having no internal mana, and the other 45% being mages.

[Specializations and more under the cut!]

Specializations

Most spellcasters will choose a category of spell or magic to excel in.

Every now and again you’ll find someone who is naturally talented in a category of spell. These people seem to take to magic like fish to water, excelling without even trying. These people aren’t common, however, and most people will spend years studying their chosen specialization.

While in no means an exhaustive list, a few specializations are listed below.

Enchanters can be mages or not, and will be covered more in depth when I talk about the world’s technology.

Illusionists are masters of illusion. These mages use magic to craft spectacular scenes straight out of one’s imagination. Some illusionists favor hyper realistic scenes, some more abstract, and still yet others something in between. New styles of illusion emerge all the time, and their popularity can differ. Illusionists are also popular among rogue groups, such as thieves guilds, due to their invisibility spells, smoke screens, and sophisticated glamours.

Healers are the rarest type of mage. Healing is an art that requires much discipline, study, and self-control. It can take years for a healer to truly master the art. Most can’t do more than heal surface wounds or patch up broken bones—and while neither of these things should be taken lightly, there are those who are capable of more. It’s rumored that with enough study, one could even learn to cure diseases, from the inside out.

Necromancers focus on the study of the dead. Most of the time this means encouraging spirits to move on, when they’re stuck to a place or person. This can mean fulfilling their last wishes or even casting a banishment spell—though the latter is something most necromancers try to avoid. Sometimes necromancers will consult on local cases, speaking with spirits so that their murderer can be found. Still yet others specialize in offering people closure, giving them a chance to say goodbye to their loved ones, or make up for an argument. These types of necromancers are rare, however, most tending to focus on the other two.

Summoners excel in bringing things from other planes. Usually from Death’s Forgotten Realms, where there are many horrid things one can bind to fight for them. One has to be careful, however, as these things can turn on a dime. They can also summon Infernalis, Ethereal, Reapers, and other celestial beings. Or celestial creatures, like Death’s Hounds. Summoning celestial beings, however, doesn’t typically end well. It also doesn’t always end well when it comes to the Forgotten Realms, especially not when one tries to summon something more powerful than a wraith or revenant.

Elementalists typically specialize in one of the divine elements—plants, stone, spirit/lightning, water, fire, or air. These mages can use those elements in a variety of ways, depending on their control. Most use them in battle, working as battlemages with the Syndicate or among royal guards. There are many farmers and construction workers that use them as well, however—supplementing their other, more physical abilities with the magic. Most Slaeyr are elementalists, though not entirely by choice.

Alchemists are people use science and magic to create potions and poisons, among other things. Their potions can also imbue items with magic—albeit temporarily, unlike an enchantment. Alchemists generally live outside of towns, as their brews are occasionally prone to explode. Some of them also work at breweries, and almost all of them tend gardens.

Seers are a mixed bag. Most seers use mirrors or crystal balls to scry on the present, though some have learned how to look into the past as well. Others claim to be able to see Fate’s threads, thus able to predict the future. These are widely regarded as hoaxes or scammers, with the exception of Mynera’s Sage. And even then, the Sage is only believed by the Elenai. (Though many of them don’t believe in the Sage’s powers to see the future.)

Forbidden and Impossible Magic

Bringing the dead back to life is an impossible magic. While summoning ghosts or even their bodies isn’t—as the necromancers prove, daily—restoring them to life is impossible. One famous healer once claimed to bring the back the dead—though in truth, she just brought them back from near death.

Time travel is a forbidden magic. Forbidden by the gods, specficially. Those who dabble in it quickly find themselves faced with Order’s Justicars—and they are quite unforgiving of transgressions. Simply studying it is fine, though it does mean you’re watched. As such, most people tend to leave it alone, but every now and again who get some desperate or arrogant fool who believes they won’t be affected.

Mind magic is outlawed in most countries, though it’s been a growing problem in some areas for a while now. While it can be used for good things—such as helping people recover or face down a trauma, or assisting with troubled dreams—it’s more often used for manipulative purposes. People who dabble in mind magic can read minds, send thoughts, and even control others. Some thrones will hire them in secret—particularly those who have become paranoid and suspicious.

A branch of the Syndicate was formed to hunt down and stop these practitioners—named sorcerers. Sorcerers are often called hexers.

Slaeyr Magic

Having been created to guard Eldora, Slaeyr are very powerful beings. They do have some handicaps—for instance, each Slaeyr is born being able to wield one element, and no other. They also have a harder time specializing outside of that element, as most of their other spells are limited to cantrips. These cantrips are cast with mana, instead of the magic in the air, making them slightly more powerful—but it doesn’t change the fact that their spells are very limited.

This handicap pales in comparison to the fact that they can steal mana, however. Especially as this typically leaves the other party dead. Stealing mana not only boosts a Slaeyrs mana pool… but it also increases their lifespan, as how much mana one has can affect how long one lives.

Slaeyrs do have another unique ability—though very little is known about it. It’s said that, much like a siren, a Slaeyr’s singing voice is magical. But rather than cause compulsion, as a siren does, a Slaeyr’s voice-magic is capable of casting spells. What range of spells is unknown, as most Slaeyr use it simply to create shields or protective wards around a place.

Slaeyrs also have a natural healing ability. It makes them highly resistant to most poisons and illnesses. A scrape and minor fracture will heal up very quickly. Broken bones, especially those broken in multiple places, can take longer, depending on the location and size. The healing sensation has been described as “itchy” and “somewhat uncomfortable” but is also lifesaving on many occasions.

There is one final ability Slaeyrs have—though it is less unique. Slaeyrs are among the only race in the world to openly practice mind magic. However, they don’t do so as a way to read people’s minds—at least, not exactly. Slaeyr form mental bonds with one another. There are different levels of bonds.

The first level is the most common—and isn’t so much of a true bond as it is gentle brushes against another’s mind. These can be used to share surface thoughts and feelings, or pass on an image.

The second level is also common. It keeps a surface bond open at all times, allowing Slaeyr to share thoughts, feelings, images, and even memories on a whim. This bond can be undone at any time, however.

The third is uncommon, but not rare. It’s a mental tie between two people. It cannot be as easily undone as the second level, and is mainly used between couples and partnerships. When this is open, one can constantly feel the presence of the other, always sensing their emotions, though you have to actually ‘look’ to see any thoughts. This can be used to take someone’s pain away onto yourself. At a distance, however, this bond will shut or sever on it’s own. How far this distance is varies between Slaeyr.

The fourth is rare. It occurs naturally in twins, particularly identical twins. It’s often referred to as a “soul bond.” One it’s done, it cannot be undone. One cannot have more than two soulbonds at a time. Soulbonds, like the third level, are always there. While you can ignore them, you always feel your Other. It’s something that relationships strive towards, yet also shy away from. No matter the distance, this bond remains open.

Spell Components

A spell is made up of runes. Runes are like a language themselves, with each symbol having a contained meaning. A spell can be made up of a single symbol—most cantrips are, actually—but it’s best if a spell has three runes. It makes the spell more stable, making it less likely to fail and easier to cast. One doesn’t have to know the runes to cast a spell, but not knowing the runes makes it more likely the spell will fail.

There are lots of different kinds of runes, some of them meaning the same thing, but with different nuance or inflection. Magical theorists study all runes, not just those that go with a specific specialty. People under a specialty mostly just study runes that will come up a lot in their spells.

Other spell components can be various types of plants (herbs, fruits, vegetables, flowers); bones; rocks; gemstones; blood; and other such materials. Most of these are generally used by alchemists or seers, with the exception of gemstones. There are some gems that can be used as magic receptacles—storing a spell for later, or even being used to conserve extra mana or spell power. Others can be enchanted or spelled to absorb the magic in the air around them, so a caster can draw on them later.

Education

Most children are taught to use their magic by their parents, schoolteachers, and/or other adults in their hometowns. However, mages require a little bit more specialized education. Most towns have a mage on hand that can teach children the basics, but more specialized learning has to be done with either the College of Magus or Circle of Magi. Which one people attend often depends on location.

The Circle of Magi boasts small class groups and hands-on learning. They primarily excel at summoning; elemental magic; and necromancy. The Magus College boasts larger class sizes and a focus on the theory. They primarily excel at alchemy, illusions, and seers. Healers can attend and do well at both—and anyone who displays the aptitude for healing is given their education for free.

The Circle of Magi will give education for free if one agrees to join them—which means joining the Syndicate. While plenty of people join on as researchers, joining the Circle often means heading out into the thick of trouble and fighting. The Magus College offers several opportunities for reduced tuition and scholarships, particularly if one does well on their entry exam.

To get into the Circle of Magi, all one has to do is display an aptitude for magic. Their tuition is also much cheaper, even without joining on. The Magus College is more expensive, and also has an exam that one must pass—though the exam isn’t overly difficult, and has little to do with magic. Because unlike the Circle, the College teaches things outside of magic.

If neither the Circle nor the College is available, some cities and towns also have a few mages that might be willing to offer apprenticeships. Apprenticeships can also be found within organizations that use magic. For instance, many farms use plant magic to help speed up plant growth and keep their plants healthy.

Slaeyrs are taught by their tribe. When they’re first claimed, they’re taught the basics by the tribe’s teacher. These basics involve cantrips; the music magic (called majera); their healing magic; and also how to control their mind magic. (As this is something that can be used unconsciously by Slaeyr.) This is done alongside lessons to do with history, reading, art, science, math, and combat.

Once a Slaeyr turns about 16 or so, they start working with their element. They learn about what it means to be connected to a specific element, how to use it, and the different specialties within an element. For instance—water Slaeyrs can also manipulate ice, mud, and plants. (Though not to the degree of a plant Slaeyr.) Some water Slaeyr can also manipulate blood, though this is something kept under wraps outside of the tribe. People already don’t like them, after all.

taglist: @quartzses; @idreamonpaper; @runningonrain; @witchywrite; @queenofsquirrelsstuff; @margaretcroftwrites; @purpleshadows1989; @klywrites; @she-writes-love; @sixstepsaway; @neptune-nereid; @firesidefantasy; @joshuaorrizonte; @waterfallwritings; @languageisbae; @lady-redshield-writes; @luciellesgarden; @dogwrites; @quilloftheclouds; @natalierosewrites

[sieben9]

“the final battle” impressions

{Quick request to anyone reading: I’m watching OUaT for the first time, and I want to avoid spoilers. So, if you want to discuss something spoilery, I’d be grateful if you could start a new post for that. Thank you!}

Ah Once, what am I going to do with you?

I mean, this episode was definitely an Experience™, that much is certain. Just… ::sighs::

Look, if I try to sum it up, I think the best I can do is “this was twenty minutes of a really good finale stuck inside a rushed ninety-minute wtf-fest. Also, those twenty minutes belong to a totally different season.

this is the sort of thing you’ve got to foreshadow at least a LITTLE

The acting was pretty damn good, though.

(Fair warning: don’t open this on mobile, there’s a ridiculous amount of pictures under the cut)

OK. So. Couple of things that I really liked up front, so I can gripe in peace later on. (And readers can skip whatever part they wish ; )

First, and I realise this is a weird thing to enjoy, but I loved how utterly despicable I found Fiona in this one. She may have hung around like a bad smell for most of the season without really doing much, but she sure stepped up her game for the occasion.

Seriously, if Rumple hadn’t killed her, I would have found a way. “Our son”, indeed.

Though, please, have some pity on the poor guy. At this point, he has killed both his parents, and one of them twice. That can’t be good for anyone.

oh look the wall robots are still there

And speaking of Rumple… dang, that was a good scene in the mines. What I loved most about it was that this was literally all him. Nobody would ever know what he did in there if he didn’t tell them, except for himself, and he still made the right choice. Despite being offered everything he ever wanted, despite being under the influence of his curse just as much as ever…

before you ask, yes, my mind did go Places

…and more literally than it’s usually shown. Well done, pal. I should probably be more excited about this, but despite the tense buildup, I feel like the scene kind of fizzled as a whole. Maybe because he already made the exact same choice earlier, and was just confirming that he really meant it, too. Still, it was a good moment, and I was very proud of this walking human disaster by the time it was done.

Some more on the topic of Rumple: congratulations on his acting skills. Rumple’s, not Robert Carlyle’s, specifically. Because there’s no way in hell I could have seen these photos…

…and kept a straight face. Honestly, I’m half convinced that they were a test by Fiona to see if he was awake after all.

Oh, and the book!

The book made it across! And you know why? Because Belle and her son have True Love, even if Gideon cannot remember that, because Fiona is The Worst. And Rumple worked so hard to make Gideon remember; it was heartbreaking to see. I mean, he had to do that for… what? Five hours? And he still couldn’t stand the thought that Gideon might believe his mother didn’t love him. It was a good scene, OK?

On a sillier note (but still unambiguously positive): Emma’s wardrobe came back for the finale!

I don’t know, it’s just nice to see.

Other things I loved a lot:

Any and all interactions between Regina and her now-settled other half. Just. Pure joy, even in the midst of the wtf-ery. And with the obvious standout-moment when the Queen goes and sacrifices herself to give the others that tiny bit of time they need to get back to their world and help Henry (and Emma, but I think we all know who the priority was in this case)

Just… damn. I’m still worried about this woman’s self-destructive streak in general, but this was a good moment. (It also helps that she got better. ‘cause that could have been really depressing otherwise.)

Oh, and since we’re speaking of Regina (or the Reginas, plural), I absolutely adored the speech she gave Emma. Just… I mean, I expect the hope speeches from Snow (and that one was pretty good, too), but this? I mean… wow. Please compare and contrast with season 1. Except you don’t have to, because Regina already did that, and it was beautiful.

Then we have an actual mirrored TLK (see below for a botched version…) in this very good moment:

Like, yes, I love bookends, and this was a great one. Calling back to the “holy crap why didn’t I see this coming” kiss in s1 worked surprisingly well, considering how little interaction Emma and Henry had this season, but there’s enough material in the show in general to make me buy into this. Like I said: sucker for bookends.

In general, I feel like this episode was at its strongest whenever re-focused on the family relationships between the characters.

And to close it out, the ending montage.

Just... it’s like Snow said. They get to live their happy endings now. Snowing finally have the time to be a proper family (and David got a dog!). Regina is accepted and loved by her people (and the Queen gets to have a completely “new adventure”, as Robin so aptly put it.) Snow can do what she loves and doesn’t have to fight all the time anymore. And Emma finally has a place in the world; one where she can settle and be comfortable and doesn’t have to be alone anymore... and I’ll just leave it at that. It’s a good ending.

And no, I haven’t forgotten it--obvious special mention to this bit here:

Yup. Killed me dead. And I died happy, thank you very much. They’ve been through so much bullshit, and now they can be together, and raise their son in peace, and won’t be really worried when he doesn’t stop growing, either.

I also want to give a special shoutout to the five six people who immediately made sure that I knew that 1) the kiss wasn’t scripted and 2) we, as a fandom, are extremely lucky to have Robert and Emilie. (For those who haven’t seen the interview in question, it’s here, and here)

The finishing dinner was nice, too, even if I’m not sure what the whole Last Supper imagery was supposed to do.

Listen, I’ve been going “just let them be happy!” for way too long to complain much when they finally are. Also, I could write an essay on the range of emotions Rumple goes through when he comes through that door and people are actually happy to see him and his family. Or about that look that passes between him and Regina, because I caught that and it made me cry! I don’t think either of them ever imagined they would really be this happy again when they first met and they’ve been through so much crap and just... guh. I like this. It’s a good closing shot.

And now, the rest.

Because frankly, this wasn’t a great finale. It wasn’t even that good of an episode. It was everything wrong with the 4B finale, only more of that.

For example: What was the deal with making Emma lose her belief? Since when was her belief required for the magical realms to exist? The only person who’s ever had even something approaching that function was Henry. She didn’t need to believe in magic to keep it alive, she needed it to break the curse.

And this was never set up as the Black Fairy’s plan. Not even a little. This came so out of left field, it wasn’t even in the same stadium! And it’s so frustrating, because this wasn’t a bad plot, as such, but there was no build-up, no real payoff, nothing. Or, let me put it differently: this was a perfectly fine plot resolution, it just had no business being attached to this season.

Everything felt rushed, there were about five dozen plot points, none of them with any time to breathe and somehow, we still got that terminally boring climb up the bean stalk.Sorry, David, you know I love you, but what was the point of that sidetrack? Nothing happened. There was no try-and-fail cycle (because there wasn’t time for one) and honestly, if you needed a handwave for how they got back from the magical realms, maybe you could have gone with a less time intensive one?

And that moment where Snow kisses David back to life? Yeah, unearned, again. And dear show: the cut-in from the first episode worked for the split-heart curse, because you were subverting it. But here? It just didn’t do anything. This wasn’t a parallel. David wasn’t cursed, he was crushed by a beanstalk.

And speaking of things that don’t make sense…

For the love of fuck. Her ankle? Really? This is such a cliché that even the slasher genre doesn’t do it anymore. And it’s a dumb cliché, too. It’s rooted sexism and it makes it look like you didn’t have any other ideas. I get it, you don’t want Belle with Rumple at that final point so she doesn’t influence his decision. Here’s a thought, then: let her stay behind for a good reason! Or, hell, if you don’t want to write a scene for her (the writers sure seem to be allergic to giving Belle any screentime), let there be a fork in the road! They don’t have the time to check each one, let Belle go one way and Rumple another. It’s still a lazy plot excuse, but at least it’s not the stupidest cliché in the book.

And one more thing…

::sigh:: I have such mixed feelings about this?

Because on the one hand: Gideon had a life that nobody would want. He was kidnapped, imprisoned, kept in the dark and abused for all of his twenty-eight years, and even if he got free, he would never get that time back. Nobody would ever choose that for themselves.

At the same time… Gideon died. The person I got to know over the last half-season is no more. He’s gone. And he never had any say in the matter. Hell, he didn’t even get to say goodbye. It’ just such a messed-up way to get a wonderful thing.

(Also, while I’m on that topic… yes, I did notice that Rumple didn’t recognise his very tiny son at first, and I realise that it’s because he’s never seen him before. It prompted a particularly long “oh noo…”, too.)

And finally…

… that cliffhanger/teaser, though, huh?

I have so many questions. Why was Henry in that monster forest? Why is he now in an apartment and doesn’t remember his daughter? When did he get a daughter? (Also, who with? Enquiring minds would like to know.)

So. I know, like, three things about s7, and one of them is the cast list. Please try not to spoil anything else, because that’s already way more than I wanted to know going in. Seriously, I’m a reasonably grown adult. I can deal with a couple of surprises.

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

Til the End of the Night / Ch6: In which Roman has company

Previous / Masterpost / Next 

Summary: The Dragon Witch finally shows up in person.

Warnings: manipulation, breaking things in anger

A/N: Roman wanted more page time. And by wanted I mean demanded from me. So I gave it to him. :)

Read on AO3

Roman watched through his full-length mirror as his friends entered the forest.  All the walking wasn’t very exciting, but watching it was better than doing nothing. He had finally worked out how to zoom in on the stupid thing after tinkering with it (and shouting at it) for most of the day, and jeez was he ever gonna have to have a talk with those three about their clothing choices.  Virgil at least looked the part, although it was the wrong part.  And, okay, yes, Patton was freakin’ adorable, that was a given.  Logan, uh… yeah, he had nothing there.  Even his face- which was, of course, identical to Roman’s own face, and Roman looked good in anything- still couldn’t save that outfit. Back to the point, though, if they were going through the forest, that meant they were taking the same route he himself had a few days ago.  Which meant… hmm.

He flopped on the bed to think, staring up at the ceiling. When he traveled that path, he was always presented with challenges- three of them, to be exact.  Adventuring was his way of testing himself, making sure his improvisation skills were kept sharp, as well as his swordsmanship.  His friends probably wouldn’t be fighting much, though, given that they had no weapons and wouldn't know how to use them if they did.  No, they were more likely to face obstacles suited to their individual strengths.

“But what might those be?” he mused aloud.  Not that he didn’t know what their strengths were, but how did, say, Patton’s emotional intelligence and caring nature translate into anything that might pop up in the normal course of a heroic quest?  He tried not to dwell on the fact that he should have known, that he seemed to be losing control over his own dreamspace thanks to their presence and truly did not know what would happen.  “I mean, I’ve certainly never heard of anyone defeating a dragon with hugs.”

“Have you ever tried?”  He sat up in surprise at the sound of another voice, light and teasing, yet underlaid with a dangerous sharpness.  The Dragon Witch herself, stepping through the mirror.  He dismissed the images quickly and laid a hand on his sword, jumping to his feet.  “It’s been a while, Prince.”

“Not long enough, witch, and I believe the attempt would only earn me a knife in the back,” he pointed out, eyebrow raised.  She laughed, tossing her intricately braided dark hair over her shoulder.

“You know me too well.  How are you faring, all alone in here?  I know it must be difficult for you, what with the lack of adoring imaginary subjects and all.”

“You’ll be disappointed to hear that I am perfectly fine.” Actually, he had never been so bored in his life.  Now that the reality of his situation had really settled into the Imagination’s framework, he couldn’t conjure anything fun anymore.  “Enough small talk, what are you planning?  You must have a reason for wanting me out of the way.”  His weapon was drawn now, and they circled each other, Roman holding his sword at the ready, the witch’s hands giving off a warning glimmer of magic.  They both knew better than to attack first, so a wary peace existed for the moment.

“Oh, taking over your kingdom, terrorizing the populace, the usual.  I do wish you’d give me more complicated motives once in a while.”  The witch was one of Roman’s earliest creations.  He wasn’t entirely sure when she had become self-aware.  It was a bit worrying, if he was honest; sometimes he wasn’t sure if she was really under his control or just playing along for her own amusement.

Roman bristled at the insult to his creativity, clapping a hand over his heart in offended shock.  “You dare presume to tell me how to craft my stories?!  I wish you wouldn’t imprison me in my own architecture, but we can’t always have what we want, can we?”

“Point taken.  But that reminds me, I didn’t just come to indulge your love of antagonistic banter.”  She took a step towards him and he raised his sword defensively.  “Oh, put that down, I’m not here to fight.”

“Maybe I am,” he retorted, and, well, with an opening like that, what was he supposed to do?  He lunged at her with a shout, only to find himself suspended in midair, surrounded by green and gold light.  Stupid magic. His sword floated out of his hand and over to her while he was immobilized.  She finally released him from the spell after catching it and he thudded onto the floor in a very unprincely manner.  He glared at her and stood up, brushing himself off and trying to look at least a little bit dignified.

She responded as if nothing had happened between his last statement and this one.  “No, you’re here to wait for someone to save you from my evil clutches, but since I doubt that will be happening any time soon, right now you’re going to help me with this.”  She produced a rolled-up parchment and showed him a vague drawing of a castle.  “I mean, it’s definitely missing something, right?”

He blinked, taken aback and briefly forgetting to be angry. “Pardon?”

“The design of my castle,” she said, as if it should have been painfully obvious.  “How am I to take your place as ruler of this realm without anywhere to rule from?”

He really shouldn’t be helping her with that, but dangit, the temptation of having something to do was too strong.  It wasn’t as if she would have time to actually construct the thing, after all, he certainly wouldn’t be lending any assistance there, so there was no harm in merely planning it as a mental exercise.  And he really wanted to draw a castle, okay?  He snatched the paper and spread it out on the table, conjuring a pencil.

“Alright, you’re definitely going to need more spikey bits here… No, no, this is all wrong-” he erased an entire section of the building- “this should be over here, and then maybe some spires… Oh, and of course there’s got to be a wall with a nice, intimidating front gate…”  Without her noticing, he also scribbled in a small back-door entry.  No impenetrable stronghold would be complete without a way to sneak in, obviously.

Soon he was flipping the paper over to sketch different angles on the back, and then unconsciously summoning up more, so absorbed in messy floor plans that he didn’t notice when the sun went down. The witch watched over his shoulder as he muttered to himself, smirking at how easy it had been to get him going. Eventually, he finished off one last illegible annotation with a flourish and stepped back proudly. “Done!  Beautiful, right?”

She stepped around him and shuffled through the papers. “Oh, yes, you’re so talented!”  He preened.  She glanced sideways at him, a glint in her silver eyes and a smug smile tugging at her lips, and he faltered, realizing he may possibly have made a slight mistake.  “And so, so incredibly easy to manipulate.”

Her eyes flashed green.  He gasped and braced himself on the table.  It felt as though someone had wrapped a hand around his internal organs and given a sharp tug.  Something was torn from him, forced violently out into the world.  His closest reference point was a dream gone wrong, the feeling of nightmares forming themselves from his creative power against his wishes, only so much stronger. He couldn’t breathe for a second, and then the witch flicked a hand at him before he could try to move, walking away and leaving him frozen in place.  He could only watch as she oh-so-casually opened a wooden door that definitely had not existed before, on the opposite side of the room from the window, and stepped out into a long torch-lit hallway, taking his sword with her.  “Thanks for the castle, Princey,” she sang while closing the door.  There was the metallic sound of a key in a lock, and he stumbled a bit as her magic dissipated from the air around him.

“No,” he said out loud, surprising himself with how angry he sounded.  “No! How could I be such an idiot!”  He swept the papers off the table in frustration, and the look he gave them as they fluttered harmlessly to the floor should by all rights have burst them into flame.  “I finally get a chance to do something in this story, the story I was supposed to be the hero of, might I remind you-”  He appeared to be reminding the lantern.  “-and the one thing I’ve been able to do in like a week, it all goes completely flipping pear-shaped!  It’s not fair!”

He was vaguely aware that this was the literal definition of throwing a tantrum, but given that no one could see him anyway, he didn’t particularly care.  In fact, he decided to go ahead and throw a pillow, too, while he was at it.  Then he accidentally knocked the lantern off the table, again, while pacing angrily around the room, and then the pillow he’d just thrown was on fire and so were the drawings, and the lantern survived but he burned his hand retrieving it and at that point he was too frustrated and tired to clean up properly, so he didn’t. He just fell into a convenient chair and glared at nothing in particular, trying to get himself under control before his burning anger morphed into hot tears.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He couldn’t tell how long it took him to calm down.  When he felt like sitting up properly again, it was really dark outside, and that was all he knew.  The lantern was flickering, because a lot of its oil was now pooled around the charred remains of paper and fabric and fluff.  He simply snapped his fingers to get rid of that mess, now that he was stable and not at risk of making it worse instead.  While he was at it, he cleaned himself up and changed into some more comfortable clothes for sleeping, red flannel pajama pants and a soft t-shirt.  He sat on the edge of the bed, dropped his head into his hands, and sighed.

“Am I… losing control?”

The room didn’t respond.  His own thoughts tried to answer him instead, and he didn’t much appreciate what they had to offer.  The evidence was beginning to add up, as Logan would say, probably while dressed as Sherlock Holmes for some reason.  Getting stuck here in the first place could be dismissed as a fluke.  The others having influence over his realm, well, that made sense, given the way it responded to his thoughts, although that didn’t mean he liked it.  But the Dragon Witch hijacking his power to bring an entire castle into existence?  That should not have been able to happen.  He created her.  She was a figment of his own imagination.  Why was she suddenly doing things he didn’t expect, or understand, or know how to stop?  It was… scary.  He had never been genuinely afraid of anything here, always knowing on some level that none of it was real, but this scared him.

He wanted to conjure up a new pillow, but was hit with the probably-irrational fear that it wouldn’t work and he would have proof that his power was fading.  Maybe leaving him entirely, stranding him here, never to return to Thomas except in dreams, where he would desperately try to get a message through each night only to have it forgotten upon waking and okay no this was not a hypothetical narrative he needed to follow to its conclusion, that was only making things worse, stupid brain seizing on anything it could turn dramatic and taking it way further than necessary.  This was exactly why he needed the others to get here soon.  Logan would bring him back to what was real and actually happening when his thoughts ran away with him like that, and Patton would surely give him a hug and believe in him so hard he’d forget he ever doubted himself, and Virgil would make him feel better just by being there, ready to stop him if he tried to do anything else stupid for the sake of showing off.  He and Logan were basically 85% of Roman’s impulse control, but Virgil was the one willing to literally tackle him to prevent a bad decision.  He’d never expected to miss that.

This wasn’t getting him anywhere productive, and he couldn’t sleep with his thoughts in such turmoil.  He gave up after fifteen minutes of trying and sat up.  The room was nearly pitch-black, but there was a dim sliver of light coming through the crack under the newly-extant door, making the mirror appear to glow.  Maybe he would just check on them once more before going to sleep, just, you know, to see how far they had gotten since last time.  They were almost certainly asleep by now, but still.  He felt his way carefully across the darkened room and pressed a hand against the cold glass of the mirror, focusing his thoughts on his friends.

[officialleehadan]

Over the Edge

I’m falling.

If there’s anything I hate about fights on high places, it’s getting thrown off them.

Like now.

My attacker is a demon. I’ve been hunting him for a while now, and he’s got height, weight, and, well, everything really, on me.

I caught up to him on the edge of Hell, about where the mortal realm ends and the demonic one begins. Probably should have waited to jump him, but there wasn’t time. In the mortal realm, he’s a serious problem. In Hell, he’s damn near invincible and I don’t stand a chance.

Probably should have waited anyway. Maybe planned things out. That option stopped being an option when I finally caught up with him. See, the bastard had two kids with him. Human kids.

No human survives in demon company for long. I had to get them away before getting them away stopped being an option. My life is… well, it’s complicated, but I’m hard to kill. Even if I lose this fight, it’s worth it. I’ll put myself back together eventually.

But I still wish I had a plan.

No time.

Story of my life.

I got a few good hits in on him at first. Made him drop the kids, at least. Never would have gotten any more hits on him if he hadn’t, because everything I have that will bring him down would kill them too.

I did get one small victory. Or maybe not so small, since it means I win, even if I lose. While he was trying to get me with illusionary terrors, I managed to get a portal up, shoved the kids through it and closed it behind them.

Just me and him now, and he’s pissed. He’s gonna kill me in nasty ways if he can, and really, he’s got me seriously outgunned. I may not win this. Hell, I may not survive this.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve died.

Did I mention how fucking strong he is? Seriously, I’m no slouch, even by demonic terms, but he blocked my punches like they were nothing, and then tossed me over the cliff.

It took a minute for momentum to kick out and gravity to kick in.

Like I said. I’m falling.

It’s a long way to the ground, but not far enough to kill me unless I really screw the landing. Of course, there’s a big difference between ‘probably not going to kill me’ and ‘probably going to end in serious injuries’.

Broken bones will not make this fight easier to win. Depending on the damage, it may end this fight before I get a chance to really make a stand. That always sucks.

Fucking gravity. This is going to hurt.

Hitting the ground felt about like I thought it would. For a minute all I can do is try to breathe, because my lungs have decided not to work.

A few gasps later and I pull myself together enough to take stock of my injuries, and the stock is not a good one.

My right arm is broken in two places, whole right side of my ribcage is damaged, but I won’t know how badly until I try to move.

Right leg is hurt but not broken. Head… well, I’m woozy, but not unconscious. Probably just a concussion, and I can work around that now that I know it’s there.

The good news is that my demon pal isn’t sure exactly what I am, and hasn’t come down to check whether I survived that fall or not.

Yet.

As soon as I move, he’ll be on his way, and once he’s coming, I have about ten seconds- thirteen on the outside edge- to figure out a way to kill him.

No time. Again.

My original plan was to throw a bunch of grenades at him until he was a bloody smear on the rocks, but then there was the kids to deal with and that plan went out the metaphorical window and over the not-so-metaphorical cliff.

My handguns didn’t do enough damage to be worth trying again. All they did was piss him off more. I have a bigger gun that will probably kill him if I hit him right, but using it will hurt like a sonovabitch.

Modeled on a double-barrel tyrannosaur gun, this gun packed a hell of a punch before I customized it. I had to call in a bunch of favors to get the parts made, but it’s worth it. This baby has saved my life a bunch of times, and it’s worth every drop of blood I spent having it made. Not long after that, I learned how to make rounds designed with demon-hunting in mind.

They work on angels too, but it’s been a while since I had to shoot an angel.

None of that will matter if this guy kills me before I take a shot at him and I’ve gotta get the gun off my back and pointed at him before he takes my head off.

This would be easy, if I hadn’t just gotten thrown off a cliff.

Well, life’s full of little challenges.

Actually scratch the little. I’m pretty sure that Big, Green, and Evil has decided to make sure I’m dead, and is on his way down. Guess I better get my gun out.

Sitting up is hard when you’re hurt. Hardest part of fighting is always getting back up to keep going, and if I didn’t have a pretty good idea of what this guy was going to do to me when he finds out I’m not dead, I might just let him kill me.

Problem is he really wouldn’t just kill me. I hurt him. He’s gonna torture me before he kills me, and it will take a while before he goes too far, and I die.

Torture. Not my favorite. I mean, I’ve been there, done that, and gotten the tee-shirt, but I don’t want to do it again. Demons are good at making death a long, slow, painful process.

Painful deaths always suck more. It takes a long time to heal up after I die from torture. I’ll have to spend favors to repair whatever damage they inflicted before they got around to killing me. See, the magic will only fix the death-blow. All the rest I get to deal with the slow way.

Stupid demons. Them and their pride. Bastards.

I manage to get my gun into my arms and braced against my good shoulder, my busted ribs scream with every breath I take and I ignore them. I’ve got maybe nine heartbeats once he sees that I’m still alive and shooting.

In addition to being bigger and stronger, he’s also faster than me. God I hate fights like this.

He appears in front of me, big, bad, and bleeding. Nice to know he’ll remember my hard work for a while even if I don’t manage to finish the job.

I start to count my heartbeats.

One.

I aim, take the time to aim because I’ve only got one solid shot at him before he sees the gun.

Two.

His eyes widen, and he reflexively blasts me with pure terror. Adrenalin roars through my body.

My vision becomes sharper. I’m deaf to anything but the pounding of my own heart. My mind clamps down on my emotions the way it always does when I’m scared and fighting.

He doesn’t realize it, but he just did me a favor. Adrenalin screws everything up, except for the rare moments when it saves you. Fortunately for me, this is one of those rare moments.

Three.

I squeeze the trigger and the gun goes off like a thunderclap and echoes off the cliff above us.

The recoil slams my shoulder like a battering ram, and I try not to scream as it twists my broken parts in bad ways. This isn’t a gun to use when I’m this hurt, but I’m out of options and it’s now or never.

Four.

He wasn’t expecting the shot, and the double round gets him good. The blast throws him back nearly ten feet, gives me maybe another half-second to aim again. He’s bleeding a lot, and a big piece of scaly green chest is missing.

He’s dead already, just doesn’t know it yet.

If he kills me now, it’ll be a clean death because he doesn’t have time to draw it out. His own kind would tear him apart if he went back to Hell.

Small victories I guess. I keep counting heartbeats. This fight isn’t over, and now it’s a matter of ‘who dies first’.

Five.

Crap, he’s on his feet again. I was hoping for longer, but I’ll go with what I have. I fire again, and this time I do scream as my gun breaks my collarbone. There just wasn’t time to brace it right. I’ll pay for it if this shot didn’t kill him.

Six.

I got him in the head this time, and he’s down again. From where I’m braced, I can see part of his brain. I’m glad I can’t see more. He’s leaking something green, and it’s nasty.

Yes, I still get grossed-out by demon ooze. Four hundred years of demon-hunting and it doesn’t stop being icky.

Seven.

He hasn’t moved yet, and I inch my way into a sort-of stand against a boulder. There’s little bits of blue bone and green whatever-the-hell-it-is all around him, and a good bit of his head is missing.

I’m still counting heartbeats. He isn’t dead yet.

Eight.

He’s still not moving, but if I remember right, he’s supposed to be ‘devoured by flames’ when he dies. So he’s not out yet. Just down.

Maybe I’m gonna win this one after all. Who knew?

Nine.

I lean on my gun and hobble over, somehow managing to get one of my swords out as I do. I might have misidentified his type, but I don’t think I did, and there’s no reason not to make real sure he isn’t going to get up again.

It’s the work of a couple solid blows, but I cut his head off, and drop a grenade onto his chest. If he won’t provide his own flames, I’ll make some myself.

The explosion range isn’t all that far. I just have to get behind that boulder and get my head down. Not far, except that I have a bad leg and not long to get there.

It takes me two seconds to get behind the big rock. Would have been less if I was whole, but I’m not. Despite how much I hurt, I curl my body down as far as it’ll go.

Getting blown up only sucks a little less than demon torture.

Four seconds after I pulled the pin, and the grenade goes off. There’s a lot of smoke, and after a few breaths, I peer over my rock to see what’s left.

Little bits of demon are everywhere and they’re burning away in purple flames. Looks like I didn’t misidentify him. Good to know. Guess he’s really dead.

Yay.

Go me.

Ow.

+++

Demons Abound

Accidental Oops

Bloody Mirror

Blue Frosting

Brimstone Portal

Burn My Body and Bury Me Deep

Holy Protestation

House of Demons

On Repeat

The Gunsmith

The Wrong Victim

Vigilante Vampire

You Scratch my Back

+++

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[gray-autumn-sky]

After the Coronation

For Happy Ending Week, Day 7 (Sunday).

After getting the happy ending she allowed herself to wish for, Regina gets the happy ending she didn’t dare to wish for.

Taking a breath, Regina closed the door behind herself, kicking off her shoes and rolling her shoulders as she made her way up the stairs and out of the foyer. She moved carefully, holding onto her skirt as she ascended the stairs--and when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile.

That morning she’d been crowned as Queen--an elected and chosen Queen.

Already, it’d been such a perfect day, and save one exception, there wasn’t anything about it that she’d change.

In a lot of ways, it was hard for her to believe that it had happened. She’d spent years trying to prove herself--years of struggling against her inner demons followed by years of unleashing them. She’d cast a curse that sent everyone into a sort of limbo, giving her a fresh start that she’d squandered, and then, finally, she’d learned to make amends.

A little giggle escaped her as she considered her family and friends ready to celebrate her coronation at City Hall, and she’d almost hated to pause the festivities and leave them waiting, but she’d needed a little time to herself. She needed a few minutes to process everything that had happened, time to relish it and savor it--and though she’d never actually admit it, time to wonder how things might have been different had Robin lived. So, she’d made a flimsy excuse and told everyone that she wanted to go home and change into something more comfortable and sensible; and while everyone knew that she could have easily changed her clothes using magic, no one questioned it. They’d just nodded and told her not to be too long, promising to wait for her before letting the reception begin.

Her throat tightened at the thought of him, standing there at the front of the crowd beside her son, watching as she knelt down and allowed Snow to crown her. She imagined his smile--warm and bright--as she turned to face the crowd, and she pictured him, scooping her up and spinning her around as he told her that he was proud of her.

Taking a breath, she looked away from the mirror, slowly ascending the stairs as thoughts of Robin flooded her--his sparking eyes and dimpled smile, the way his arms felt when they wrapped around her, and the softness of his voice when he told her that he loved her.

She felt tears welling in her eyes as she reached the top of the stairs, and drawing in another breath, she pushed all thoughts of him away--and then a smile edged onto her lips as she gave him one final thought, as she considered how proud he’d be of the person she’d become.

She’d thought of him when she made the decision to cast her last curse, thinking about what he might have done if he were in her place--and it worked out better than she could have ever anticipated. To him, it would’ve just been the right thing to do, given the circumstances, and for her, it’d been one final act of penance. Of course, she knew that not every curse had been her fault, but nonetheless, it was something she’d started and others abused--and one thing that Robin taught her was that it was never too late to ask for a second chance.

So, she brought together all the fragmented pieces, mending the realms that were split apart by curses and created out of thin air to appeal to some higher powers’ whims, and though it was a little confusing and a little messy, and much of the damage couldn’t be undone, she brought them back together as best as she could, and allowed them live the remainder of their lives in peace.

Once the curse was cast and realms were united, she thought her part was done--and she was content with that. So, when Snow proposed that this newly united realm would need a leader, she hadn’t even considered herself. She’d resigned herself to the fact that not everyone could get past her sins, and while they’d somehow managed to forgive her, they wouldn’t be able to trust her.

And that was okay. Forgiveness was all she’d wanted.

She’d tuned out of the conversations about electing a leader. Snow White seemed the natural fit, and she supported that--it seemed selfish to ask for any more.

Instead, she busied herself with helping people to adjust to live in Storybrooke. She focused her attention on her family--after all, they were the real prize.

She helped Henry and Ella find an apartment and jumped at the chance to teach Lucy to ride and care for horses. Roland found his way back to her and she took immense pleasure if spoiling him with his favorite meals and desserts, despite the fact that he was a grown adult. Robyn asked her to help plan her wedding and put her in charge of keeping Zelena under control, and there was another version of Henry running around Storybrooke that she couldn’t help but love.

She was happy--happier than she had any right to be--and that was enough.

Then, Snow had knocked on her door one morning, giddy and beaming as she explained the election results had been counted--and they’d elected her.

Everything that happened after that was a blur--from that moment on her doorstep to the moment Snow set her crown atop her head--and all throughout, she reminded herself that what she had was far more than she deserved, and wishing for anything else would be selfish.

Reaching behind herself she undoes the clasp at the back of her dress, sighing in relief as she heavy fabric loosens around her shoulders, and as she lifts the crown from her head, careful not to mess up her hair, she stiffens at the realization that she’s not alone.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” She freezes at the sound of his voice, her heart aching as a little laugh escapes him. “Though, waiting a few hours is nothing in comparison to--”

“Robin--”

She breathes out his name as she pinches her eyes closed, a rush of emotion suddenly overtaking her. In the years since his death, it's never become easier to be reminded of him. So many times over the years, there’d been countless times she thought she saw him in a crowd or heard his voice calling her name, and sometimes, she even felt him near her. But each and every time, it was nothing more than her emotions toying with her--and each and every time, that realization knocked the wind out of her.

“Hey--” She tenses as a hand--his hand--presses to the spot between her shoulders. “Its okay--”

Drawing in a shaky breath, she finds herself nodding. He feels real and he sounds real, and desperately, she wants to believe that. “Robin,” she says again, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “You can’t--”

“Can’t be here?” he asks as her voice fails. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re--” She swallows. “You’re dead.”

“Not--not exactly,” he tells her, sinking down beside her on the small bench in front of her dressing table. “Open your eyes and see for yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he tells her, his voice soft and full of assurance. “Come on,” he says, nudging her, “see for yourself.”

“But--” Her voice halts as her eyes press tighter. She watched him die. Years ago, she’d stood there, rooted in place and watching him sacrifice himself for her. She’d held his lifeless body and planned his funeral, and after it, she’d pressed one last kiss to his forehead before his casket closed. “You can’t be alive.”

He sighs, and she feels his breath on her cheek as his hand pushes against her back--and he feels so real, so alive. “Come on, love, this would be a lot easier if you--”

Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, all she can do is stare. He’s there beside her, looking at her in the way he always did when she was being a bit too dramatic, but also in a way that’s supportive and kind, in a way that makes her heart thump a little faster.

“You’re… you’re really here?”

He nods. “I really am.”

“But you died,” she tells him, still trying to rationalize it. “I watched you die.”

“You did,” he agrees, a soft laugh rising into his voice. “It’s complicated.”

“But--”

He shrugs as his hand falls way from her back, falling loose around her waist in a way that was once so common. “I tried to reach out to you, but it never quite worked the way I wanted it to.”

“I thought those were dreams.”

“They were,” he tells her. “Sort of.”

“I don’t understand,” she says, her voice shaky as tears fill her eyes. “Where have you been all this time?”

His eyes narrows as he grins. “Like I said, that’s complicated.”

“So you weren’t-- I mean, you didn't go to--”

“The afterlife?” She nods when he supplies the words she can’t quite find. “No.”

“Oh--”

“I was somewhere in between,” he tells her. “Waiting.”

“Waiting--”

“For you.”

Her eyes widen. “Me?”

“Wherever you ended up, that’s where I was meant be.” He grins as her eyes widen--that’s such a terrible thought, that his fate was linked to hers, that he might pay for sins that didn’t belong to him. But before she can say anything, a smile stretches across his lips and his fingers press into her hip.  “Then, you cast that curse.”

“Th-the curse brought you back?”

He nods. “The world I was in merged with this one.”

For a moment, she considers it--and then, she feels her indignation flare. “But that was weeks ago, Robin.”

“I know.”

Her eyes widen as she feels her jaw tightening. “Where have you been?”

He laughs at the accusatory sound of her voice. “Well, finding my way back wasn’t all that easy. Unlike other curses, I wasn’t just dropped off where I was supposed to be.” At that, her brow furrows as she considers it, wondering if there are other lost souls from other realms, displaced and confused, and she feels a pang of guilt. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. But before she can dwell on it, his fingers again press into her hip and a grin edges onto his lips. “And then, I thought maybe it was better that you didn’t know I was here.”

“Why on Earth would you--”

He laughs, not letting her finish. “I might’ve stumbled upon someone who looked an awful lot like you in the arms of someone else and--”

“Oh.”

“It took me awhile to understand.” Her cheeks flush, as she thinks of her other half--the half of herself she ripped away and tried to rid the world of. “I didn’t want to disrupt your life.”

“You could never--”

“I know that now,” he tells her, his grin brightening. “I saw my children. I spent some time getting to know them again.”

Her heart aches when she thinks of all the moments he missed. “You saw Roland and Robyn? They didn’t--”

“I asked them not to,” he explains. “Henry, too,” he adds as a grin pulls onto his lips. “Both versions of him.”

“Oh--”

“That’s when I realized something was horribly amiss.” His eyes narrow as she draws in a breath, slowly finding herself getting used to having him so close, slowly allowing herself to trust that he was real. “And, at another time, that is a story I’d love to hear.”

“Not now?”

He shakes her head. “You’ve got a party to get to.”

“Oh,” she breathes out, suddenly remembering that this was supposed to be a quick trip home to change and compose herself. “I don’t--”

“No,” he cuts in. “You’re not going to miss celebrating you own coronation.”

“But--”

“And neither am I.”

A smile spreads across her face as he rises from the bench, holding out his hand to her. “Shall we, M’lady?”

Her throat tightens and she nods, slowly standing up as she places her hand in his, and when his fingers fold around her palm, she feels her heart flutter. He leads her out of the room and to the stairs, and then suddenly stops. Her heart beats faster as he lets go of her hand, and for a split second she fears that once more he’s going to vanish. But instead, he circles around her and fastens the clasp at the back her dress--and when she turns to face him, she sees that he’s holding her crown.

She looks down at it as he laughs softly, and before she can ask when he grabbed it, he lifts it over her head and slowly places it down, crowning her as he presses a kiss to her cheek. He takes her hand, giving it a little tug as he leads her down the stairs, her heart fluttering and her eyes teary, at the realization that this truly is the happy ending she’d always wished for.

[spartanguard]

Head canon that when the curse breaks, KR goes back to SB w/ Henry. Alice eventually looks at our Killian as an uncle, and she develops adorable relationships with all the SB residents. Even David. She looks at him as an adopted grandfather after a few years.

Ohhhh my goodness. Can you imagine? (Apologies for the delay on this but it kind of ran away from me and turned into Captain Charming, but David and Wish Killian/Rogers. and it’s 1.3k because I lost all my chill.)

Because Charming would be completely exasperated with Alice. She obviously likes a fair bit of harmless mischief, but just enough to toe the line of legality. Even if he’s not technically the sheriff anymore, he’d still keep a watchful eye out—and it would be hard not to shake his head when he sees his apple trees growing oranges instead, or portals just popping up wherever and her tumbling out of them. She almost reminds him of Will Scarlet, in a way, with the way she seems to flout the rules when it comes to normal business hours.

Snow tells him to calm down and that the girl isn’t causing any real trouble (as she stands by the stove with a pot of orange marmalade cooking). But the day he sees a nest of white rabbits hopping through the alfalfa field, he decides enough is enough and goes to have a chat with her father. And considering he has the day off, David decides to pay the man a visit. The loft had still been empty when they arrived in Storybrooke, and there was no hesitation in offering it to Alice and “Rogers”, as he was going by here.

And honestly, David hasn’t spent much time with his son-in-law’s doppelganger. He’d been giving the man some space to get acquainted with town; it was a far cry from the Enchanted Forest, and even farther from the busy city life of Seattle. They’d crossed paths at Granny’s a few times, but it was always in the company of extended family. So this is probably an overdue visit.

And yet, as his hand hovers over the door that used to be his, David is suddenly struck by the potentially awkward situation he’s headed into. He knows Hook—his story and history—but this one has lived a whole other life that he knows very little of, other than the fact that it involved different magic and, obviously, a daughter. It was weird to know someone, but not actually know them. But he realizes he wants to, so he knocks anyway.

“Your Highness,” Rogers greets him a few moments later, clearly not sure if he should be offering some other acknowledgment of fealty to the man who gave him a place to live or if he should stick to his pirate ways and ignore royalty as he’s done for the past couple centuries. (David, on his part, is still getting used to someone who looks like Hook but a) isn’t wearing a hook and b) is wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, with nary a chest hair in sight.) Rogers settles for stepping back and gesturing to invite David in. “To what do I owe this honor?”

David ducks in and glances around. He hardly recognizes the loft at first: the decor now wanders closer to nautical and the furniture is a bit more plush. Lingering paint fumes and the stark white of the walls indicate that these Joneses have been making the space their own, and it feels larger and airier than it had under Mary Margaret’s touch. It’s nice, and distracts David for a minute as to why he’s there.

“Please; call me David. And, um, I was wondering if we could talk about your daughter for a minute?”

Rogers sighs and David watches as a familiar weight settles on the man’s shoulders. Even though he’s physically identical to David’s son-in-law, Rogers’ reaction in this moment sets him apart; David can just see the extra years he’s lived settle on his frame and in the fine lines of his face. It’s a look he sees in the mirror after a particularly rough night in getting Neal to bed, or when worrying after Emma—the look of a father.

And suddenly, it feels like maybe he does know this guy, but not in the way he expected.

“I apologize for whatever damage my spirited daughter has caused,” Rogers answers, heading into the kitchen. “Believe me, I’ve tried getting her to calm down just a bit, but given her childhood…” He trails off, shaking his head and looking suddenly morose. But it’s gone in an instant and he looks up at David from the other side of the counter. “Might I offer you some tea? In exchange for your troubles?”

“Sure,” David replies quickly, the offer of tea throwing him slightly off; he’d definitely expected rum to be involved, but thinking about it, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Rogers with booze. “You got Earl Grey?”

“Of course.”

Rogers sets about making the tea while David takes a seat at the counter, and things are quiet for a moment. So David ventures, “Has Alice always been this…adventurous?”

Rogers places the kettle on the stove and smirks—a familiar gesture, but not in this context. “Aye, as much as she could be. Her mind wandered where her feet couldn’t, and now that they can, I suppose it’s hard to keep her contained; and I must admit, I’m a bit loathe to.”

“I get that,” David agrees; he felt much the same way once Neal started walking. But he gets the feeling that he’s missing part of the story. “When you say ‘couldn’t’…”

Rogers leans forward on the counter, resting on his forearms, and that serious look overtakes his features again. “How much has my ‘twin’ told you of our tale?”

“Nothing, really.” Killian had introduced Rogers as his alternate self from the weird Wish realm, and said they were more or less twins and that was how they were going to be. And, given the odd nature of life in Storybrooke, it had been accepted and everyone moved on. But that was it.

Rogers nods, and while the kettle works, fills David in on his and Alice’s life. It’s a story that David finds hits a little close to home, and also fits perfectly with everything he knows of Killian Jones’ character. Everything about this man suddenly makes sense, as does a good deal of everything about Alice. And, David realizes, he just might have found someone who understands him.

The kettle hisses, drawing Rogers’ attention away. But as he pours tea in their mugs, he apologizes. “Sorry for the long-winded explanation; you didn’t come here for a sob story, I’m sure.”

“No, I’m glad you told me. And…I get it.”

“You do?” His eyebrows are near his hairline with incredulity.

“I know what it’s like to be separated from your daughter, and I know the relief of being finally reunited.”

A tiny, shy smile softens Rogers’ face as he hands David his tea, and David can tell he’s standing just a bit straighter—just a bit stronger; he gets the impression that this is the first time Rogers has also found someone who understands his life. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, mate. I wouldn’t wish that on…well, maybe my worst enemy, but certainly not an average one.”

They chuckle for a moment—it’s no secret that Rogers has been avoiding Gold—and take long drags from their cups.

“The important part is,” David starts, “that we’re back together now.”

“Aye.”

They continue to chat until the tea is gone, and make plans to badger Killian into a sailing trip soon—Rogers has yet to be back on the ship and they’re sure that Killian needs a break from diapers. (“I really don’t envy you having to do that the old fashioned way,” Dave observes; Rogers just cringes.) And then before David leaves, they exchange numbers and leave open invitations for tea in both homes.

“And I promise—no more rabbits in your garden,” Rogers assures him with a cheeky grin.

David laughs, but after this little meeting, he finds that his initial concerns don’t matter so much. Shrugging, he says, “There are worse things than some runaway rodents.”

They farewell, and when David gets home, he makes sure to give Neal an extra hug hello. And when he sees Alice at his kitchen table, eating a marmalade sandwich with Snow, he joins right in.

tagging some people I think were waiting for this (and might just like it): @kat2609 @optomisticgirl @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @shipsxahoy @cocohook38 @bleebug @queen-mabs-revenge @leiandcharles @lillpon @killianmesmalls @nfbagelperson @annytecture @gusenitsaa and everyone else who I know i’m forgetting 

[mayhemories]

Braids & War Paint (Part 13)

Notes On:

Part 1: / Part 2: / Part 3: / Part 4: / Part 5: / Part 6: / Part 7: / Part 8: / Part 9:/ Part 10: / Part 11: / Part 12: / Part 12.5 (smush, not smut, not fluff but smush) 

The darkness of the night suited Lorcan, he enjoyed laying and listening, even though Lorcan wasn’t full Fae his hearing was ever so slightly different to that of a human. He could hear the owls cooing, the untamed waves casting themselves upon the stone cliffs. The smell of salt, sulphur and the tang of so many bodies and blood. In the distance Lorcan could just grasp the twang of the Bane and their fires, crackling and causing gaudy songs of white stags and victory to shrill out into the night.  

Their vigour was something Lorcan could barley comprehend, they had ridden for a day or two, then gone into battle and then built an encampment the same size as Maeve’s own in record time. All this work, and yet they still won’t shut up.

A shudder ripped through Lorcan’s body like a rabid animal. His godly advisor, Hellas, had Lorcan on high alert. His left hand slithered under his pillow drawing the sharp blade out from underneath it, blade in hand, Lorcan quickly got to his feet.  

Lorcan was in the middle of tying his boots up when he felt it. Gods above, he felt it before he heard it.  

It was a tremor or a crack. He couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling, an earthquake wrapped in magic and evil. It threw Lorcan onto his back, as he lay there groaning as the sound followed it. Like thunder after the lightning, it roared like a tortured beast, clawing its way into Lorcan’s mind. Lorcan winced at the intenseness of the roaring surge of evil.  

As it clashed into the night Lorcan struggled back to his feet, knife in hand, he ran out of his tent.  

Soldiers, page boys, cooks and healers ran frantically. Lorcan had one location in mind. The Cliffside.  

“Lorcan! Where are you going?” Fenrys grabbed Lorcan’s arm as he tried to push past the commotion.  

“Cliffside, better view.” Lorcan gruffly spat as he wrung his muscle-corded arm from Fenrys’ grip and continued his trek to the edge of their encampment.  

As Lorcan neared the tree line a small silhouette caught his eye.  

Small in stature, female, defiantly not from Doranelle. Lorcan sniffed the air, trying to grasp anything of her scent, manoeuvring his blade as he did so.  

She smelt of cunning and intelligence, human and yet not at the same time. Lorcan felt his eyes narrow as he realised, she is defiantly not Valg.  

She watched out at sea, obscuring any view of the Valg ships from Lorcan.  

“At ease, I belong to Her Majesty’s court.” The woman said, still not turning to face him. Lorcan balked at her tone before he swiftly emerged from the shrubbery and stood alongside her. The accent gave her away, she was of Aelin the Fire-Breathing-Bitch-Queen’s court. Of course she was.  

Lorcan could not see much out at sea, save for a large pale light on one of the Valg ships. It was enough to ensure Lorcan’s suspicions were right- The Valg have already used their countermove against them. They have played their move, whatever it was, it would be catastrophic for Wendlyn as well as Aelin’s people.  

“You heard it too?” The woman asked, finally she turned and looked up at Lorcan. She was very… pretty. It wasn’t that Lorcan hadn’t had experience with women, gods forbid he’s had his fair share, he just didn’t care too much for harlots or nobles.  

“It was like nothing I have ever heard before, I came to the-“ Lorcan was cut off by the pretty woman of the Terrasen court.  

“High ground to get a look,” She smirked at him, crossing her arms across her chest and quirking an eyebrow. Gods, were all women in that court so… entitled? “Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth, Her Majesty’s tactician.”  

Lorcan glanced down, one of her legs from the knee down was made of metal clogs and bronze bits and pieces. Elide Lochan, the half-human blushed at his inquisitive glare.  

Lorcan flared his nostrils a little as he met her eyes again.

“Lorcan Salvaterre, Commander of Queen Maeve’s blood-bound.”  

“Lorcan,” Galan came storming through the bushes before halting at the sight of his cousin’s tactician. “Lady Elide, excuse me for the interruption but Queen Maeve has requested your presence, Lorcan.” Galan said, standing awkwardly.  

“We shall continue this conversation later-“ Lorcan had nearly finished his sentence before Elide cut him off yet again.  

“If your queen is calling on you then my queen will most certainly expect my attendance.” Elide said as she walked away, Galan and Lorcan trailing in her wake.  

She was quite like thunder, herself.  

Lysandra quickly removed her hand out of Aedion’s as they approached Maeve’s war tent, luckily the General and herself hadn’t removed their battle leathers.  

The shapeshifter had been asleep when the roar from the earth sounded. She hoped wherever Aelin was Rowan was with her too. Aelin had always been a risk taker, had always been incredibly smart and most of the time her plans went perfectly, since the King and the Crown Prince and Crown Princess all passed into the next world Aelin had become wilder than ever before, more willing to risk, more willing to gamble her life. Lysandra had no idea how Rowan did it, but he settles Aelin. She gains all hundred percent of her rationale back when she is with him. Lysandra hadn’t seen Aelin this… happy since Sam, even then, Sam never caused Aelin to want to turn every ocean’s tide, Sam never made Aelin want to turn back the hand of every clock, sharpen every arrow, polish every boot, tame every stallion, count every grain of sand or wish on every star.  

Aelin had found her soul bound and Lysandra couldn’t be happier for her queen, for her flame-cloaked empress. Her friend.  

Aedion and Lysandra opened the heavy linen flaps to the war tent. Maeve was red in the face bent over maps and Aelin was grinding her teeth.  

Lysandra opened her mouth to ask about the situation, however, Elide caught her eyes and the look on her face said it all.  

They were done for.  

“And what do you suggest, Aedion?” Galan asked chewing his lip in anticipation, struggle was written all over the young prince’s face.  

“I suggest whatever my queen believes is the best cause of action.” Aedion answered curtly, placing a gloved hand on his sword’s pommel. Aelin’s haunting Ashryver eyes flashed towards them.  

Maeve looked just about ready to snap.  

“It is not enough, come sunrise we all perish.” Maeve stated, running a milky hand over maps and papers.  

“No.” Was Aelin said. She stood straight, jaw locked. That’s when Lysandra knew. Aelin had her hair braided, a leather band wrapped around her forehead. Her fighting leathers still strapped and all her weapons were strapped to her body. She had a plan all along. Aelin had anticipated this, whatever this was Aelin had counted on it happening.  

“Aelin-“ Rowan said touching Aelin’s shoulder in a questioning manner. Aelin looked Maeve in the eyes, a young queen and a queen of myth, face to face.  

“Come sunrise I call on those who are willing to lay down their lives to end this before it truely begins, come sunrise those who have offered me their swords will come and will perish, come sunrise we shall devour those who stand in our path.” Aelin reached under her fighting leathers and pulled the Amulet of Orynth.  

Maeve’s eyes widened at the sight of it.  

“You have one.” Maeve stated, Aelin nodded. The Wyrdstones.  

“You also have one, do you not?” Aelin asked, looking pointedly at the bronze ring that sat on Maeve’s right hand.  

Maeve stiffened, yet looked back down at her papers.

“Yes, I don’t know where the last one is.” Maeve stated. Lysandra expected annoyance and agony from the thought of starting a fight they could not win.  

But Aelin just started laughing. It was low and rough and it unnerved Lysandra.  

“You might not, but I certainly do.” Aelin said, her grin almost canine as she relished in out smarting the immortal queen.  

“Our queen doesn’t appreciate your games, Aelin Galathynius.” Said the tall, dark and handsome commander of Maeve’s sniffer dogs, Lorcan Salvaterre.  

“If I was playing a game you’d know it, Salvaterre.” Aelin said, quirking an eyebrow before laying a nail on the bay on Maeve’s map.  

“Sunrise. Here. Tomorrow. Terrasen plays no games, we paint the brushstrokes of war.” Aelin stated. It was the kind one, Gavriel, who spoke up next:

“You believe that Terrasen will be able to defeat the Valg?” Gavriel questioned, his bright hair fell out of his bun and into his eyes.  

“No, but anyone who dons a braid, anyone who fights with war paint. They will be blessed and they will fight well.” Aelin answered, Lysandra knew that passage all too well, Brannon’s Promise To Elena. A famous poem within the realms of Terrasen and Adarlan alike. Lysandra knew what that passage meant, for all of them.  

Lysandra slowly placed her hand into Aedion’s again, she sent a prayer to every god and goddess, she sent a wish to anyone or anything that would listen that the reward would be worth the carnage.  

That passage held a promise Lysandra cringed to think about.  

As soon as Elide was alone in her tent she checked them. She quickly pulled the latch open on her trunk and unwrapped them from their cloth coverings.

The witch mirrors that Manon had given her at the ball, all were intact, not a single chip or a crack in their frames.

If Aelin heeded her counsel, then the mirrors would be ready. Elide was afraid, so terribly afraid that she wouldn’t be strong enough. Even though there was blue somewhere in her blood, she bleed red. Gods, Elide prayed to the Three-Faced Goddess and to Anielle and she prayed for Manon and the thirteen, she prayed for Aelin, Rowan, Aedion, Lysandra, Nox, The Adarlan allies, Nehemia and those Aelin had became friends with in the desert, she prayed for those of the wastes. Elide prayed her plan went well.

Elide knew that too much blood on her conscious would tip her off the moral scales.

Gods, if she could be granted one wish, is that their plan would work. That Elide wouldn’t have to carry the imagery of innocent blood.

Elide climbed into her cot, and excepted the fact she wouldn’t be sleeping.

I’m sorry this probably isn’t as good as you guys would’ve expected. And there’s shite editing because I re-wrote half of this chapter at 2:00am. So please don’t hate me.

As always this part was written for: @bbyshadowbat @aelin-and-feyre @rowanismybae @sparkleywonderful @cassiancalore  @igniscorde7112  @illyrian-high-lord  @daughterxofxnight @bigsis227 @crazybookladythings @gcarroll @sugarcoated44 @wolffrising @notjustanyoldfangirl @bluephoenix222 @readinglikewildfire @fck-tamlin @and-re123

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