#of all the coven heads he could have chosen

[mariylle]

Not enough people talking about how Belos was almost scared of Raine's power. Called them "annoyingly powerful."

Like what does that mean???? How does he see the other coven heads?????? What makes them so resistant??????

What else could Raine do??????????

[saradika]

— JUST A TASTE

[bleed for me masterlist] | [fic preview]

vampire!boba fett x f!reader

rated e - 8k

tags: vampire!au, blood/blood drinking, vampirism, longing and pining, biting, masturbation, chosen mates (instead of fated mates), teasing, fingering, brief edging, mind-meld, implied aphrodisiacs, piv, marking

a/n: I thought it would be fun to write a halloween one-shot for Boba, in the same world as bleed for me. This is with a different Reader, so there are some references to the series, but you don't have to read to enjoy!

When Fennec Shand appears in town with her new red eyes, everyone knows it’s only a matter of time before the Daimyo will be seeking a new Companion.

Luckily, you think you know just how to make sure he picks you.

Heat still lingers in your neck, your cheeks, as you slip from your tiny cottage to rush to the town square.

Cursing yourself for almost being late to the ceremony - a long table already in place within the old tavern, moved to the middle of the room. The old wood and stone ceiling blocking out the setting sun, making it safe.

He’s there. Your eyes find him right away - all that green against the shades of brown and grey.

The Daimyo.

Positioned at the head of the table, that helmet fixed in place. Looking like a ruler with the way he sits - so strong and straight-backed in the velvet chair, brought out just for him. It sends a shiver up your spine as you slip to the back, to give your own offering.

A small goblet, brought from home. The carvings in the wood smooth, burnished from the press of your fingers over the years. Curving petals worn down at the edges - traced over with your thumb, again and again.

It’s dull, next to all the gold and glass. The candles glinting off the gifts that line the long table - an ache still throbbing in the crook of your elbow, as yours joins the flight of others.

It's warm, in the tavern. Fuller than you've ever seen - bodies packed together. Your back presses against the thick wooden wall, standing on tip-toe to see over the pair in front of you.

Wanting to watch when that helmet lifts.

The tanned skin beneath, those red eyes that flicker in the candlelight. It's a rarity to see him this bare. Something precious that you tuck away, as your eyes rove over every detail.

You think he must be starving, from the dark shadows under his eyes. You can count back two months as to when Lady Shand had stopped walking through the marketplace in the day. Appearing again in her oil-blackened armor - a new, deadly quiet about her.

Everyone had known she would turn.

It had only been a matter of time.

Secrets were hard to keep, in a town as small as this.

You still had some. Others had theirs. Most you did not care about, but when it came to the coven of vampires, in their looming castle at the top of the tall hill - it had always been a fascination.

How beautiful - how benevolent - they are.

A hush settles over the crowd, as the first cup is lifted. Restraint shown in the tip of the glass, the single bobbing swallow of his throat as he drinks.

He could gorge. He could swallow every drop, but there's a carefulness in the way he moves.

Continuing the old tradition of the town - one that the Mand'alor had not followed. But after hearing of his searching - the path that had been so set for him - none of you could begrudge his choice.

The first goblet is placed back down.

His methods are unknown - he had arrived at the castle with Lady Shand by his side, already his Companion.

Would taste from each one?

Or stop, if one is pleasing to him?

Your odds are not in your favor, with the amount of offerings. Nothing stands out about your goblet - you had no gold, no bronze. Only an heirloom and yourself.

Fifth from the end, of a line of people who all had their own reasons to want to uproot their lives. Fortune. Pleasure. Running to something, or running from.

But did any of them see him for who he was? Like you did?

You don’t really care that he was a Daimyo, not really.

He could be anyone - a lesser lord. A commoner, like yourself.

Your wishes would stay the same.

It was what he had done, that had made Boba Fett a fixture in your mind.

To him, perhaps it had been a small thing.

Not worth remembering, in the life of someone who has lived for so long, with such experiences. Barely a blip, compared to the stories you'd heard.

Bounty Hunting and Rancors and Sarlaacs.

But to you, it had meant everything.

He had saved you.

Not in such a way as the Mand'alor had done for his Queen. That sort of saving would be written in song or word, someday, with the way the story was whispered in the streets.

There had been no witches, no fated meetings. No burned towns for Lord Fett to pull you from, to whisk you away to safety. No enemies torn apart, in revenge.

But it had been no less chivalrous.

It had been early in the day, and luckily so. Mid-morning and he would not have been out, not with what he was.

A few weeks into Spring, when your little stall in the market should have been blooming with your home-grown flowers, baskets of vegetables from your leased garden.

A late frost and a family of hungry rabbits had you far behind. On goods to sell and your payment for your use of the space. The few coins you had from the week before clutched in your fist as Lord Gorian Shard had loomed over you, demanding more than what you could spare.

Cutting down your promises to pay him back, if you could just have another week - a day, even. Deaf to your pleas.

You knew what you owed, but it hadn't been fair. Everyone knew he charged far too much for his stalls. But you had been desperate then, almost as much as you had been now.

A shadow had loomed, as every last silver and copper had been shaken from your coin purse. Tucked away into deep pockets, the pitiful amount added to what he already carried.

"Is there an issue here, Shard?"

The voice had cut through the morning haze was one you thought of often, the low timber. Slicing, like a knife.

You're sure you looked pathetic. Shard's hand gripping your forearm, pinching. The half-filled stall, the dust covering your tunic - swiped across your forehead from the back of your hand, while setting up.

But, the grip had loosened. And for the first time, the Merchant had lost some of his aloof, elitist air. A flash of worry crossing his features, as a Mandalorian had approached from the shadows.

His face had been covered, since dawn had broken - but there had been no mistaking him.

Boba Fett.

"No issue, my lord." Gorian Shard had smiled, his voice changing from the sharp tone he had used with you, "Just business, I assure you. Far too small for someone as busy as yourself, I'm sure."

There was a rough buzz from the helmet, the sound of a hum.

"How much more is owed?"

It became clear he had been listening. You hadn't looked to the shadows, and your heart had sunk. Embarrassment creeping around you, tightening like vines around your ribs.

“Fifty more gold." Shard had sniffed, making a show of checking his pockets.

Another hum, "A little early to be collecting payments, isn't? The quarter isn't for another month."

Shard had frowned, "I collect monthly, thank you."

Silence lingered then, for a moment too long. That worn green helmet flicked you way - your eyes only able to hold it for a moment, before they dropped. Examining the worn toes of your boots, wondering what he must think of you.

"Give us a moment."

You had thought he meant you - getting ready to step away, to give them some space.

Not expecting the helmet to snap towards the Merchant, as another order was growled out, "Did you not hear me, Shard?"

He had been too happy to oblige, quickly finding another debtor three stalls over.

You had also not expected the soft pouch of leather to be held out, pressed into your hands from Lord Fett's own belt.

Far heavier than your own, and you had immediately found the strength to meet his gaze again - to hand the gift back.

"I can't accept this." You had protested, "It is far too much, I can't pay this back."

He had considered you, for a long moment. You had wished you could see his face - your own reflected back at you. Pinched and worried and tired.

Pivoting gracefully, as he turned to look at your stall, "If you will not accept my help, then I wish to purchase your stock. Everything you have."

It's an out, for you. Another gift, a way to accept with what little dignity you had left intact.

Even if you were both aware that he had no use for your ware. That vampires did not dine on the food of humans. That the kitchens within the castle were already stocked with the finest goods available.

The gold had been offered, again. His voice low - almost gentle.

"Please do me this honor, my lady."

This bit of kindness, his voice, his honorifics - as if your presence had meant something, as if he truly considered this a favor to him - had stunned you. Enough that you had allowed him to press the pouch into your hand.

Enough that you had allowed the woman that had stepped to his side to pack up the flowers, the vegetables. Every single piece until your stall was as empty as it was, when you had arrived that morning.

Shard had watched, with narrowed eyes.

But - your debt had been paid. This month, and then the next. And then the next.

You began to look forward to his visits. Not for the gold, of course, but for him. The snippets of conversation - the solemn way he checked on you, the low timbre of his voice.

“Have you been treated well?”

“Is this enough?”

You’re sure you had looked foolish. Ankles crossing as you leaned across the booth. Trying to hide your smile but failing, as you protested. A game, you had played.

Always the same questions, the same answers.

“I can’t stop you from buying my wares… but I don’t want a copper more, my Lord.”

His fingers tapping twice on the wooden stall, before his reply.

“As you wish.”

Boba's kindness had changed your life.

The coin used to buy better seeds. Your little, rented home slowly filling out with warm bedding and good food and sturdy clothes - things you had always scrambled to find. Luxuries, before now.

And for a while, you had entertained the thought of leaving town. Saving up every gold piece, starting a new life.

You almost had enough.

But that had been before Lady Shand had turned. Before the rumors had spread that Boba Fett would be seeking a new Companion.

Your heart had twisted, with the news.

Jealousy. Longing.

It could be you.

He had become a fixture in your mind. Your evenings filled with daydreams. Keeping you company as you worked, dirt caking under your fingernails, as you imagined another life.

You could pay him back, in a ways. Show him how grateful you were, offering your blood - yourself - in exchange. You never would have dared hope before but this… this was worth trying, wasn’t it?

So, you did something risky.

Hoping it would pay off.

Hoping that perhaps… your feelings were not so singular.

It feels like you're holding your breath, as Boba moves down the table. Those cups handed over so carefully. That same, single taste from each one.

There's a tick of his jaw, at some. A pink peek of tongue dragging over a lower lip. No tells in his expression, no indication on where his mind leads.

And then, finally - he's at yours.

The wooden goblet hefted in his hand, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the etchings, like yours always did. Your fingernails biting into your palms, your heart pounding in your ears, an ache settling low in your belly - much like the one before, as you had been preparing.

And with the tip of a hand, he drinks.

The goblet lowers, as he swallows. A waver of his hand, as makes to set it back down to rejoin the others.

But then.... he pauses.

A lift of his brow, a slow tilt back - as he indulges in a second.

Before his eyes are sweeping across the room. Halting, when they find yours. The smallest lift of his lips, with his look of knowing.

Your cheeks burn, as he chooses you.

Everything happens so quickly.

Before you know it, you’re hoisted into a horse - whisked off to the castle that looms at the top of the hill. A promise to bring your things to you, though you’re sure it would take less than a wagonful.

Barely able to glance down the long halls, the ornate, stained glass windows, before there’s a hand at your elbow, guiding you.

A woman, younger than you. Quelling some of the unease at being in a new place with her gentle tone, as she takes you deep into the castle - up a wide stone staircase, through an ornate wooden door, and into a room.

It doesn’t appear to be his room, and you don’t know if you’re relieved or disappointed.

Bathed in shades of green and red and gold. Dark velvet curtains against the closed windows, blocking out the last rays of the sun.

Your guide parts from you here, a murmur that the ceremony will begin at sundown - that she will be back then to help you get ready.

Leaving you on your own to explore the space, until then.

A tall bed takes up the middle of the back wall, the frame a dark, carved wood. Thick blankets in tones of ivory and a rich forest green, lit candles on the wooden tables on either side.

There’s long wardrobe against the wall, the mirror glinting in the light. A ceramic vase painted with swirls of copper, roses and wildflowers spilling over the brim.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that some of the flowers almost looked familiar.

A door is half-opened to the left, next to the fireplace, the velvet chaise sitting in front of it. Already a thought lingers about how cozy the space will be in the winter, as you pad over to glance into the next room.

It’s all ceramic tile inside, opening up to a bathroom, The claw-foot copper tub filling with steaming water, and you long to slip into it, to wash the morning’s dirt from your knees.

And so, you do.

Your stripped clothes lie in a pile on the floor. A pleased hiss as you step into the water, the temperature tipping towards too hot. Sinking deep, up to your chin, as your head tips back against the rim.

It gives you time to think, as you all but float in the water.

Giddy, at the replay of the afternoon. That it had worked.

The way he had gone back, an indulgence. He had liked it - the taste of you - and that thought was thrilling.

A warmth settling in your bones, that had nothing to do with the water.

Picking apart the look in his eyes, where you felt certain he had been searching for you. It leaves you confident that your feelings had not changed.

The water is cold and you’re scrubbed clean by the time you leave. Lotions found on the countertop smoothed into your skin, the tired joints of your knuckles.

Fingers trace over the rack of robes you find next to the door. Soft silks and thick cotton and gauzy, see-through chiffon. Your cheeks burn at the thought, as you pull one out to hold it against you.

Imaging the red fabric against your skin. How little of you it would hide, in spite of it swishing around your ankles.

Eventually, you settle on something between the two - modest enough that you won’t be embarrassed to see your guide again.

Intentionally choosing something that reminds you of him - shades of green with thin, gold trim. The tie knotted carefully around your waist, skimming your thighs. The sleeves gathered at your forearms, the silky feeling luxurious against your scrubbed skin.

By the time you make it back to the bedroom, the edges around the curtains are dark - the sun long set. The blankets soft - the mattress dipping as you sit down on the edge, still taking in the room.

A knock comes, soon after. The gentle rapping of knuckles against the door - heavy as you pull it open.

Something flipping low in your belly, when you see your visitor.

Not the pleasant girl, who had chattered as she guided you up the steps. Smiling, as she bid you farewell.

It’s him.

Boba lingers outside your door, so unlike you’ve ever seen before. Clothed in black robes, his Beskar chest plate fitted on top. Your eyes follow down, seeing gloves and gauntlets, but no helmet - before you realize you’re staring. Your gaze quickly snapping up to his, already caught.

There’s a twitch of his lips. His own eyes wandering, though you missed them in your own exploration.

His voice low, amused as he asks, “May I come in?”

Heat licks at your skin as you nod - nerves skittering down your spine, at this unexpected development. Stepping back to allow him inside.

Ending up at the end of the bed again, your palms pressing into the bedspread to keep you from fidgeting.

“Is this room to your liking?” Boba asks, conversationally.

So casually, so pleasantly, that you’re frowning. Confused at his appearance. Assuming that he had come to feed - that he’d grown tired of waiting, his patience now thin.

“It’s beautiful,” You answer, honestly. Far finer than any room you’d seen before. The bath already feels like a dream, even though the perfume still lingers in your skin, “You are again too generous.”

“It is my pleasure.” His voice is low, his hands bracing against the chaise he stands behind, “By far the least I can do.”

A nod to your new situation. This new connection, binding you together. You knew about the ritual in the tavern, from the whispers from the Companions that visited your stall.

Flowers woven into their hair as they gossiped, your eager ears picking up everything you could.

But this, now, was unknown to you.

Was he just getting to know you? Or was there another step you were missing?

“Thank you, Lord Fett,” You smile. Fingers pinching at the blanket, gathering your nerves. A breath, before you can ask, “Are we… are we to begin now? I was told there would another ceremony.”

“Just Boba, please.” He clarifies, after a beat of silence - those dark eyes still fixed on you. That eye contact still holding, as his head tilts, “And yes, there is a ritual. When conducted, it takes place in front of the coven.”

It’s not an unpleasant thought. There’s something primal about such a ritual - the thought of him claiming you in front of his friends and peers.

Images leap to your mind, unbidden. Your imagining of the throne room, filled to the brim. Gathered up in his arms, the expanse of your neck appears as he dips you. Baring legs, baring arms, baring throat.

The flash of teeth, as they sink into your skin-

It takes another second, before you can gather your thoughts. Clearing your throat, as you ask, “Is that what you wish?”

“That would depend.” His steps are slow, as he rounds the chaise. Hands clasped behind his back, the green armor accentuating his broad chest.

“On?”

There’s the flash of teeth as he smiles, “On if you’re planning on changing.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, at the thought of your appearance. Acutely aware of the single layer that covers you, just a loose knot keeping the robe in place.

Is Boba Fett flirting with me?

Before you can answer, his head turns, “This ritual is more symbolic than binding. Any true decisions are made behind doors. We can continue here, if you’d like.”

You nod slowly. The thought of having him to yourself appealing, especially for the first night. A twinge of worry about the feeding - the crook of your arm still tender from where you were pricked to fill the goblet.

Not wanting to appear weak. Not wanting your desires to be laid out, exposed in front of everyone.

“I would not mind that.” You confess, “What kind of decisions do you mean?”

“There are many we can discuss.” His look turns thoughtful, “For one, your stall. If it is gold that brought you here, I would purchase it from Shard for you. You need not do this.”

That makes you blink - the offer kind. An unexpected, altruistic turn.

“No. That’s not why.” Your head shakes, “I’m here on my own. I wanted to-”

Your words cut off, afraid to say too much. A breath, before you add, “I have little other ties here. It was not the stall that brought me to the tavern."

Something in his face changes, a softening to that ever-steady mark between his brows. Those hands still clasped, as if stilling them, as he moves closer, “Are you not bound to another, ad’ika?”

“Do you mean a soulmate?” The question makes you blink - a little frown forming.

There were no marks on your skin. No ties to another, painted where their body had first touched yours.

You could find out. You want to joke, but it stays trapped on your tongue. A moment, before you shake your head.

“No.” A small breath, as you steel yourself, “I don’t believe in them.”

His expression flickers now - you’ve caught him off guard.

“You don’t believe? The Mand’alor has often walked the town streets with his. Do you doubt their connection?”

Curiosity tinges his words, and your head shakes again, “They were lucky, I think. And I think fate works for some. Just… not me.”

It’s as honest as you’ve ever been. Maybe he’ll laugh at you… but just maybe - he’ll understand.

Perhaps it had been luck that morning, when he found you. But fate hadn’t made him kind.

That had been all him.

And perhaps luck had also turned Lady Shand before you left - but it was you who had gone to the Tavern, goblet in hand. You who had leaned into his visits, tucking away each one.

“I’d like to think that I make my own decisions. That my own choices determine my path.”

“And is that what you’ve done?” He rasps, his eyes dark, “Made your choice?”

Your breath hitches at his tone, smooth and low. Managing a short, little nod in answer - not trusting ability to keep your voice level.

“Not all bonding is mates, little one.” He’s closer now. Enough that you can see the fine weave of his robes - the chips in his armor where a sword had peeled away the paint, “You know that, right?”

Your heart pounds in your ears - ignoring his question, as you manage to ask your own, “What do you want?”

His head cocks, the candlelight catching his eyes. That burgundy shimmer darkening. You find yourself holding your breath as you wait for his answer. Watching the way his lips pull in a smile, revealing the sharp points of his teeth.

“Oh, what do I want?” He repeats, slowly, softly. “I want you to show me what you did to make your blood so sweet.”

His voice drops then, as he moves closer, “And then I want to taste you for myself.”

Your breath comes in a ragged gasp. He knew?

The whispered rumor about making your blood near irresistible had been trusted, but you never thought he’s be able to tell.

His laugh is soft, “Are you getting shy on me now, sarad?”

Heat licks at you, embarrassment and desire swirling together into a heady combo. Your thoughts slipping between your teeth on their own, “How did you…”

Boba clucks his tongue, “It’s been a while, little one. But not that long.”

That snags in your mind, your attention shifting. You frown, fingers twisting around the silk ties of your robe, “What do you mean?”

His eyebrow lifts.

There were rumors that Lord Fett and the now Lady Shand were not romantically linked. But it had never been confirmed, and part of you had worried you were going to end up in a precarious position.

Not that you minded sharing.

“You’re stalling.” He chides again, “If I misunderstood, then-”

“You didn’t.” You’re quick to correct, the band of silk pinching around your fingers, “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

His lips quirk at your answer, your boldness. An arm braces on the foot post of the canopy bed, close enough that your thigh brushes his hip.

“It has been a decade since I’ve drank from the throat of a creature as lovely as you.” His hand lifts, the back of his knuckle brushing against your neck.

No mark blooms under his touch, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t need one to want him, or to love him. All you need is your heart - beating so fiercely, as that knuckle drags down to the hollow of your throat.

His fingers unfurling until the tips drag against your sternum, as your heart drops to beat between your thighs.

In a moment of bravery, your fingers tug on the tie. The knot loosing, and then pooling around your hips as the edges of your robe part, falling open.

His eyes follow, tracing your curves as they come into view. The rich fabric like a caress against your bare skin as you shift further back on the bed. Legs uncrossing as he steps between them - forcing them to nudge wider.

Heat pools in your belly, with his proximity. The knowledge that he truly intends to watch - close enough that his fingers could brush your skin, with how he bends - pressing his palms against the mattress.

Framing your thighs, as you lower yourself to your elbows. Nearly on display, the fabric still bunching at your waist, keeping you hidden.

If you hadn’t thought about him so often, perhaps you’d be a little more shy. But there was something so intoxicating about this. So honest and earnest in his tone - making you believe that because he said it so, he truly wanted to see you.

And you wouldn’t deny your Lord of anything.

Your eyes flip up to his, watching how he waits. Those hands still pressed flush, as his eyes rake over your form - an attempt to keep his hands from wandering.

But yours are not to tied down. Yours drift - trailing along the soft green hem. Down, towards the valley between your breasts.

It has you wondering if he can hear the way your heart kicks up a notch. At your touch, your intentions.

You think he must, with the way he shifts between your thighs, waiting.

The silky fabric pebbles at the tight peaks of your breasts. Soft as your fingertips run across them - a creak of his leather gloves with your soft sigh, as his fingers curl into the bedspread.

His eyes darker still, as you let your robe part further. Knuckles pinching, dragging over bare skin before drifting towards your navel. An urge to press your thighs together, an ache at the thought of things to come. At his words, already given.

There’s a rough noise, something gritted out that you miss, when the robe parts fully. When Boba can see you fully, his eyes dropping to where you’re slick already. Swollen and soft and warm, a pink tongue peeking out between sharp teeth at the sight.

A half-formed thought to tease - fingers parting yourself open. Your strokes slow, to dip slowly into your heat.

But it feels impossible to do so, with him watching. The second you slip against your skin, you’re sighing - quick to press and circle, your hips jolting into your touch.

He knows it’s for him. You can’t even pretend you’re still wet from before - those hours and that long, warm bath passing between then and now.

No, it’s his words. His voice, those suggestions.

Him.

From this angle he can surely see how you shine already. Knees pressing into his hips as your muscles clench, toes curling.

Can he see how your pulse thuds? How your blood races down, to where you ache?

The press of your fingers makes you whine, eyes taking in the expanse of his chest. Flicking down to where his hand rotates, gloved fingers touching down on the bed - moving to press against the curve of your thigh.

He watches your fingers, the way they press. Memorizing what makes your muscles clench, the soft sounds of your sighs.

You want his hands on you - to feel the strength of them for yourself. Molding you into his image, to touch you however he wishes.

To take you, as he tastes you.

It has your leg pressing into his touch, teeth biting into your tongue to keep you from begging.

“You want something.” His voice is soft, his eyes unreadable, “I can feel it, radiating from you.”

The air hisses through your teeth, sparks of pleasure pulsing where your fingers press. Slowing and stuttering at his words.

“You,” The word is sighed out, your eyes meeting his dark ones, “I want you.”

He smiles then, and it’s almost cruel. Teasing.

His hands curving around your thighs, moving slowly against your skin. Up until his thumbs are brushing against your inner thighs, nudging them wider apart.

“You managed just fine, before.” There’s a lilt to his voice, the raise of an eyebrow, “Or did you have some help?”

Your fingers slow as your brows knit, distracted by his question. How his fingers bump against yours, so close to where you burn - but still not touching.

“No,” Your head shakes, “I didn’t.”

I just thought of you, you want to tell him. I thought about this.

“Good.” He husks, and his hands leave you. A little whine slipping past your lips as he brings a hand to his mouth - using his teeth to rip the gloves from his fingers, “I only want your blood singing for me.”

It makes you clench, lips parting just in him for him to arch over you - a bare hand flattening against the bed near your ear. The other dipping between your lips when they part for him, sliding past blunt teeth.

You groan around him, cool and solid as they slip across your tongue. His eyes growing darker as your lips close around to suck, his thumb stroking the underside of your chin.

It’s bliss. Your mouth so beautifully full and busy as your fingers work, aiding your steady ascent towards euphoria.

All too soon they slide from you, leaving your lips glossy. Trailing down your chin, before dropping to fit between your thighs.

He didn’t need to, you’re already so wet. The tip of index finger slipping beneath yours, teasing at your opening. Sliding into you easily as you arch into his touch, feeling the fullness of having him in you. Already a bit of a stretch, and you squirm at the thought of more.

“So warm and wet.” His tone is almost reverent, his eyes dropping to your mouth, “I’d almost forgotten.”

Watching how you pant as his finger plunges deep, the pull of your brow as he slips from you, only to fit two inside with his next thrust.

Angling his wrist so he can curl them inside you, stroking against slick walls - finding a place that had your breath coming in a ragged gasp.

You’re close already. It had been easy, with him so close. Looking at you so hungrily, as you brought yourself closer. The feel of his fingers, filling and stroking you, teasing against that spot, has your muscles winding tight.

Boba shifts, leaning back. The hand pressing against the bed moves to wrap around your wrist, halting the needy circle of your fingers.

Your mounting pleasure plateaus, a frustrated sound in your throat. His fingers still fucking you, but that sharp edge slips from your grasp.

“Slower.” He rasps, pinning your hand down. Only allowing the tips of your fingers to each, “Need to get you ready for me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” You moan - automatically, without thought.

The thought makes you tighten around his, squeezing his fingers. His smile pulls to show sharp teeth, the slick slap of his fingers loud where they press into your pussy.

“Gods, I can feel you. Do you want it that bad, ad’ika?”

Your mind swirls, the weight of your tongue making it impossible to answer. Even with the tiny flick of your fingers, you can feel the pleasure in your belly start to crackle and burn.

That pressure increasing, each breath no more than a high gasp. Your vision starting to grow blurry, eyes heavy with lust, all of your concentration focused on the sweet spot between your thighs.

His name is torn from your throat, as you come when three fingers fit inside you. Crooking and stroking against your walls as you bear down around them, as he can feel how you pulse.

It drowns out your pleasure from before - hurried movements in the privacy of your home. You’re alight now - basking in the low hum of his words. Blurring at the edges, slipping through your fingers.

Fuck, that’s it.

My sarad, bloom for me.

Can’t wait to taste you.

The hand lets go to press against your hip, pinning you down. Making you take the steady pump of his fingers, as he draws it out.

“You can. Can taste me-” You gasp, your own fingers now still. A twinge that tips towards too much, as you grasp at his wrist. His hand staying buried in you, as his other curls around the back of your neck.

You brace for the bite, as your head tilts to offer your throat. Know it was coming from the start - eager to offer yourself in every way you could.

Not expecting the way he leans over you again. The ghost of warm breath before the press of his mouth against your pulse. Inhaling your scent as your heart flutters in your throat, the haze of your orgasm settling over you.

A rough sound as you moan, as he moves higher. Teeth nipping at your jaw. Realization swirling as there’s the hungry press of his mouth against yours - your own hands scraping across armor, grasping at his robes.

Curling around his shoulder to hold him to you, as you melt further. His lips are soft - yours are already parted, welcoming the dip of his tongue. Your legs hitching around his waist as his weight presses into you.

It’s comforting. It’s enveloping - your sigh swallowed as his hand slips from you. Pulling back from your mouth, as your head rising to chase after him.

Meeting those fingers instead - slick with your release, pressing against your lower lip. His own tongue swirling against one, as you share the others.

Your teeth graze, bite down on his fingers. His groan low as mouths meet again - with your taste on his tongue, with his hips pressing down against yours. Grinding himself against your bare skin, where you can feel the hard curve of his arousal.

“See how good you taste?” He rasps, lips brushing your cheek. “Fuck, can’t get enough.”

His arm curls around your waist, slick fingers shoving between mattress and your back. Lifting you like you’re nothing, with his enhanced strength. A flip in your belly and a little yelp, before you’re set back down.

Boba’s back rests against the ornate headboard. Your thighs spread wide around his waist, straddling him. The soft robe you wear dips down across your back, the fabric nestled in the crook of your elbows.

Hands splay across his chest, cool skin and hard muscle beneath. His eyes on the expanse of your skin - the slope from your neck, to your bare breasts beneath. That hand anchoring the back of your neck again, thumb sweeping the soft spot beneath your ear.

His eyes burn. Glittering embers in their depth, the sharp points of his teeth showing between parted lips. Something inside you stirs - know deep down that he truly means to taste you now.

To drink from you, as your head tilts back to offer the soft skin of your throat.

“It will hurt, a little.” He warns, voice low. Rough, as if he’s holding himself back, “But I’ll make you feel good. I promise, mesh��la.”

Your fingers twist in his robes. Eyes fluttering shut, as you wait for it to come.

But he has one last request, an edge to his voice that that fixes your attention.

“Keep your eyes open for me.”

It’s your last warning, before he’s leaning forward. The soft brush of his lips against your jugular, before he’s biting down.

There’s twin pinches, as your skin gives beneath his teeth. A burning throb as you gasp - unable to help the way you flinch, stiffening in his arms.

He groans against your neck as you flood his tongue, and there’s the sensation of pulling, the soft suck of his mouth.

But the pain does not linger. It soon bleeds into something more, that sharp edge twisting and transforming. That thudding in your neck tipping downwards. Past your chest, past your belly.

Nestling between your thighs with a very different kind of ache. One that has you shifting against him, the roll of your hips as he keeps you pinned with his teeth.

The robes he wears are thin. Not ones that go beneath his armor during the day, or to travel. Soft and fine as your fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulders.

Not at all concealing his need for you, something that stretches deeper than the urge to drink. Boba is stiff beneath you, his hardness trapped beneath the layers of cloth and your bare cunt.

Each squirm presses him against you. Something flickering in your mind, a sort of mirror to your pleasure. It feels like it strings out, wrapping around your limbs, tethering you together.

His teeth unlatch, when you reach down. A desire from deep inside to touch him, fingers sliding against fabric. Dampened from you, from the slide of your hips, the way you feel like you will burst, if he’s not inside you.

“Taste so godsdamn sweet.” He groans, tongue tracing over the marks on your neck. Where the blood still beads out, sweetened by your orgasm, “Knew it was yours, the moment it touched my tongue.”

Pulling back, to bring his mouth to yours again. He tastes like iron, like you - as your hand curls around him. Achingly hard under your touch, as your fingers trace down the curve of him, finding the edge of his robes.

“Fuck. You can have it, ad’ika. It’s yours if you want it.” His eyes are brighter, those shadows under his eyes less defined.

Hips lifting so you can draw him out, so smooth and heavy in your hand. On another day you’d want to stroke it yourself, feel the weight of it on your tongue. But you’re too desperate now. Already rising up on your knees, the robe parting like curtains at your hips.

The kiss breaks and there’s a soft protest as you line yourself up. Not for you to stop, for you to slow - merely for to take your time.

Though there is no desire to. The time you’ve already taken feels far too long, in this moment.

His hands move - sliding down to your hips. Resting there as you take him, the sharp stretch has the thick head parts you, as you slip down onto his cock. Even with the stretch of his fingers, it still feels like too much. A ragged gasp as your nails sink into his skin, though the fabric of his robes.

It twines with the pulse in your throat. Your fluttering heartbeat, the way you make room for him to fit inside you. His thick fingers flexing against bare skin as he bottoms out, as your thighs finally rest against his.

“Gods, you feel so good-” You keen - as you go still, for a long moment.

Breath caught in your throat, eyes widened as he watches. He shifts beneath you, the flexing of his legs as they stretch out beneath you. It moves him - a shallow thrust deep in your belly. That pleasure sparking, blending with the buzzing of your blood in your veins. Another roll of your hips, and then another.

Hands unfurling, slipping up to brace on his shoulders. Using them to aid your movements - the slow lift and drop that speeds up, as you get used to the feeling of him inside you. The way each stroke sends him against your walls.

His eyes are hazy - blood-drunk off you. Muscles strung tight as he lets you set the pace. Bouncing on his cock until you tire yourself out, until you beg for him to help you. Holding himself back, as your blood lingers on his tongue.

Your thighs burn with the effort. Head dipping down to see where he watches, the lounge of his shoulders against the headboard. How pretty you look, stretch around him. Something so fitting about how bare you are, against his layers - the edge of his armor, that bites into your wrists.

His fingers drift down from your hip, around the curve of your thigh. The pad of his thumb pressing against your clit again.

Following the rise and fall of your hips, circling against you the way he had watched yours move.

You swear you feel him throb in you, when his eyes raise. Lingering on your chest, the sticky smear of crimson against your skin - an errant drop from his eager drinking.

It’s then, that the scales tip. His body moving against yours - a hand wrapping around your back. The shift of his hips as he lurches forward, until it’s you that is pinned beneath him, back pressed against the mattress.

He’s deeper like this. Hips snapping into yours, as you cry out. Head dipping down, his tongue dragging against your clavicle. Down, to lap the trail blood from your skin as he groans.

You back arching into his touch as he presses open-mouthed kisses against your breast, a soft cry as his fingers find the other, trapping the tight bud between his knuckles.

“Could feel how much you wanted this.” His voice is a low rasp. Your thighs wrapping around him as he ruts into you. A circle of his hips grinding against your clit, slick and swollen from your connection.

Feeding off him, in your own way. Something sweet and heavy slipping through your veins. Your skin feels too sensitive - all your nerves alight under his touch. Head tilting back against the blankets as his weight settles over you.

As that feeling builds up again, faster this time. Racing, with the stretch of his cock. The way his hips roll back. Leaving you to clench around the tip, before plowing back in.

You’d never considered your mortality before, but it flickers in your mind now. Just how delicate you feel. A true vampire lord, able to crush you if he wanted.

Instead, he touches you gently - as his hand finds your wrist, his fingers curling around. A swipe of his thumb against your skin as he reaches to pin it against the bed. The other tucking beneath you, cupping the back of your neck again.

It sends another wave of heat between your thighs. The pound of his cock even louder than the press of his fingers, your slick arousal audible - layering with your cries.

There’s a warning on the tip of your tongue - the words coming out slurred instead. A soft, panting groan. Your heels digging into his lower back, eyes fluttering shut as he grinds himself against the spot he had found with his fingers.

“Twice wasn’t enough, ad’ika? Going to come again?” You can hear the grin in his words How it’s an inevitability, with the way he moves in you.

Unable to look away, with the way he holds you. Not that you’d want you, you think - even if you could. The fix of his gaze feels like a gift, bestowed upon you.

Captivating, with the way he soaks in every minute movement. The sweep of his eyes as he watches you start to fall apart beneath him.

You want to feel him again. That pounding surge inside your veins, that sensation of feeling even more connected than you already are.

So, you beg him for it. Eyes heavy-lidded where they find his. Your words punctuated with the hitching of your breath as you guide him down to your throat, with eager hands.

“Bite me. You can, I’m yours-”

Your pleas are impossible to resist, when his own pleasure thrumming in his belly.

He bites higher, this time. In a spot that even your tallest collar won’t hide, teeth pricking skin. Your cry turns into a groan as the rapture courses through you, seeping into your veins. Flooding his tongue, as he drinks again.

You shatter. Caught in his grip, unable to squirm with his teeth in your neck. His weight pinning you down as you pulse around his cock, your cry high and broken in the castle room.

He groans into your skin. The suck of blood over teeth, tasting how it turns sweet. Flushed with your ecstasy, an endless loop between his teeth and the tight clench of your cunt as you come.

For a moment, your eyes flutter closed. Images flicker behind your eyelids - shown as if you were outside yourself.

Red petals against green. Your perception darkened, as if behind a visor. Visions of you, leaning over your stall. Surrounded in a wreath of flowers, hand-picked from your garden.

A throb in your chest, one that blooms - skittering down your spine, settling low in your belly. Almost like butterflies, with how their wings feel like they flutter.

The sensation disappears too fast to make sense of - breaking, as he lets go.

Red smeared across his lips as the steady thrusts become short, messy. Fingers biting into your skin with the slap of his hips, the harsh grunt that turns into a ragged groan.

Hovering over you, as he notches himself deep, one last time. The column of his throat lengthening as his head tips back - it takes everything to resist the urge to make your own mark, as he spills messily inside you.

Throbbing, chasing the high with the grind of his hips.

His eyes losing that sharp edge, when his head tips down. Soft and warm, a sunrise welcoming a summers day.

Everything moves slowly, after. The lazy relaxing of muscles. The tilt of his lips when you whine, when he slips from you. His fingers slow, sweeping - as they dip down. Teasing where he drips from you, as your mouth finds his again.

Tender, as the robe is fully stripped from you. Boba’s words coaxing and patient, as he shows you the strap of his armor. How to take him apart, until you match - a perfect pair.

The aches that linger in your muscles are soon soaked away in the bath he draws. Your second today - a true luxury. The ceramic tub large enough for your back to cradle against his front.

You don’t think you ever want to leave.

Drowsy and content, his cool fingers welcome against your neck. A salve smeared carefully over the marks from his teeth. A promise that your skin will heal by morning, soft and smooth again - unmarried by his touch.

You think next time… you’ll ask if they can stay.

You’re warm against him.

Boba hasn’t been warm in years. Too used to his skin, carved from stone. Forever unchanging.

But you - you’re supple. Soft in his hands, molding yourself to fit the curve of his chest, where you cheek nestles. A thigh splaying over his waist, fingers splayed out against his stomach.

There’s much he should be doing. The sun has set some hours ago, and there’s a long list of things that need his attention.

But for now, for this moment, he will stay. Just a little longer, before he’ll slide out from beneath you, slipping away like a shadow.

You stretch against him, calf pressing into his thigh. Words heavy with sleep and exhaustion, so soft in the night air.

“‘m glad you picked me.”

There’s a stirring, in his chest. Where he thought he was long-dead, his palm pressing down where it rests against your back.

The briefest moment before he’s answering, an idle threat as a deflection.

Hushing you instead, his voice low, “Sleep, little one. You’re mistaken if you think I’ve had had my fill.”

You can’t help the smile, even as your teeth bite into your lip to stifle it. Squirming against him, the press of your center against the curve of his hip.

A low hum of amusement in his chest, as the arm that stretches beside you curls up - tucking around your ribs, nestling you a little closer.

He listens, as your breathing grows slower. Until you’re drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

Only then, does he let his mind wander. Back to the place where it had been earlier that evening. When he teeth were bared, that moment where his armor had been so thin.

“Don’t close your eyes.”

If you had, you would have seen.

Peeling back his memories, discovering just how often he had strayed down to the marketplace, after your first meeting. Not for gold or for payment. Only to catch a glimpse at the girl that had burrowed under his skin.

Somewhere along the way, changing from a casual observation - making sure Shard kept away - to something far more intimate.

Something akin to longing, if a man like Boba Fett could feel that way.

You would have felt - when the goblet raised to his lips for the second time…

Just how much he had hoped it was yours.

ad'ika - little one | sarad - flower | mesh’la - beautiful

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 🥺💕 I wanted to explore some of the same themes but in a new way for Boba (rejection of fate, the intentional in the way they seek each other out, instead of the pull of soulmates) - I just thought that would be so fun. I hope you liked this! 💖

tagging some pals!: @margofiore, @marieg, @wingofshadow, @reaperofmen, @bobaprint, @phoenixhalliwell, @csboz, @imarvelatthestars

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 13/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

There was no snow on the ground, yet, but Evan’s breath came frosting out in clouds of vapor as he stood in the middle of a field on his coven’s land, hands braced on his knees as he heaved in gulps of air. The remains of a few bales of hay smoldered merrily a few dozen yards away from him, black smoke billowing up into the crystal blue sky. There were still about five bales scattered around him that were untouched, though.

Again, Evan.

The calm, gentle voice echoed around him, accompanied by the surge of electric power that always signaled a familiar casting. The smoldering bales of all hay went up in crackles of white-hot flame, fresh clouds of smoke billowing up and swirling in miniature tornadoes around them. A few seconds later, the smoke scattered as though blown away by a fierce, sudden wind, and when the air had cleared, all of the bales were restored to pristine condition. And now even farther apart than they were before.

“Sally, come on,” he whined. He knew he was whining. He couldn’t help it. He’d been out here since school let out almost three hours ago, he was cold, he was hungry, he was starting to get a headache from so much casting…and he knew that his familiar absolutely was not going to let him go home until he’d performed the exercise exactly how she wanted him to. He turned to look at her anyway, pasting his best puppy-dog eyes—the expression that always worked on Maddie—across his face.

Sally was perched on top of part of an old stone fence, her tail twitching back and forth as she observed the field like a queen surveying her kingdom. Her mangled ear—a battle souvenir she’d earned back before Pennsylvania had ever even been a state—flicked towards him, and even from across the field, Evan could see the amusement on her face. Most of the other kids in the coven thought it was so cool to have such an old and powerful familiar, that it must be amazing to be taught and trained by someone who had so much experience. And sure, yes, it really was. He loved Sally, and was so grateful that she’d chosen to bond with him, especially after going so long without bonding with any other Buckley witch.

But sometimes, being taught and trained by someone with almost three centuries of experience really sucked. He couldn’t get away with anything!

Again, Evan, she said, picking her way over to another moss-covered fencepost and lazily starting to groom her rough, calico coat. You’re still not dispersing your magic properly. You should be able to hit at least three more targets with the same spell.

If it had been either of his parents saying something like that to him, a hot flush of anger and embarrassment would have swept through him. The black cloud of their disappointment (God, Evan can’t you do anything right? How can you mess up something that simple? I don’t know where your father and I went wrong! Don’t you dare embarrass us in front of the coven.) would have pressed down on him like a physical weight, driving all his self-control and concentration right out of his head.

Sally’s criticism never felt like that, though.

Mostly because Sally was never disappointed in him. She was firm, and no-nonsense, and never let him get away with being lazy or taking shortcuts…but he never doubted that she believed in him with all her heart and would never ask him to do something she wasn’t absolutely sure he could do. Her patience with him never ran out, and even in just three short years under her mentoring, his power and control had improved a lot.

The only other person who ever made him feel so loved and supported was Maddie.

So, despite being hungry, and cold, and tired, he pushed himself up straight and walked back to the spot that would give him the best line of sight to all of the haybales. He stretched his arms over his head and shook the tension from his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he started chanting.

This time, all but one of the bales burst into flame.

Excellent! Sally’s voice was filled with pride, and she vanished from the fencepost, reappearing seconds later at his feet. Her slightly ragged tail flicked back and forth as she once again smothered the flames and restored the haybales to pristine condition, this time all stacked together.

Evan looked down at her, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?” he sighed. Sally sat down primly and licked one of her paws.

Last exercise for today, she promised. This time I want you to do it without reaching through your coven bond.

Evan startled at that, looking down at his familiar in surprise. “Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked, like dispersing the strain of casting through a coven bond wasn’t literally one of the first lessons children learned when they started training with their magic. No matter how powerful you were, casting was difficult. It took a ton of energy and focus, and channeling magic—especially into more complex spells or multiple spells at once—could be exhausting. Drawing on your coven bond to alleviate some of the strain was an essential skill. While magic could be cast without the aid of a coven bond, it was like trying to lift something extremely heavy by yourself…the risk of injury was higher, and the longer you did it, the more dangerous it got.

I won’t let anything happen to you, little love, Sally replied calmly, and Evan scoffed.

“I know that,” he said, the idea of his familiar ever letting any harm come to him if she could prevent it so utterly ridiculous as to be a complete non-issue. He knew Sally would always protect him just as surely as he knew Maddie would. “I just—why practice that?” he asked, honestly curious. Sally never did anything without a purpose.

Strangely, Sally seemed to hesitate, looking out over the frosty field and wrapping her tail around her feet. I would see you prepared for any eventuality, she said at length. Even if it’s no longer a customary lesson, or something some might think a waste of time.

Evan knew his familiar well enough by now to know she was talking about his parents. She was always talking about his parents when she got that particular tone in her voice. Sally always played nice in front of other members of their coven or visiting guests, but in private she had never made her dislike for his parents a secret. She was polite—but every time she was in the same room as his mom and dad, the temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

Truthfully, if Sally hadn’t been such an old and respected familiar, if she hadn’t held the status she did in their coven and in Pennsylvania witch society in general, he doubted his parents would have let her bond with him when she approached them about it. There had been no way for them to turn her down without it raising a lot of questions, though…and if there was one thing Phillip and Margaret Buckley hated, it was questions.

Still, Sally wasn’t wrong that a lot of her lessons and teaching methods were…old-fashioned. Maddie usually explained it as Sally just having lived most of her life as a coven familiar in times where conflicts—not even just with vampires, witch covens had once been a lot more volatile than they tended to be now—were a lot more common. Sometimes, though—sometimes Evan couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Sally was making her decisions about what and how to teach him based on something she was expecting. He had no real reason to think that way. It was just a feeling.

Perhaps sensing his distraction, Sally nudged his shin with her head, purring softly when he knelt down and scratched behind her mangled ear. You’ll wield tremendous power when you come fully into it, little love. You’re already stronger than many of my witches ever were. If your parents were wiser, they would be grooming you for coven leadership someday. Perhaps even a place on a high coven.

Evan snorted, even as a warm glow of happiness at her words curled through his chest. “We both know they’d never want me to be a coven leader. They hate my magic. They hate how I got it.”

Sally growled, low in her throat. They hate that it was given to you, and their part in how it was given at all. That they take their self-blame out on you is a shame they will have to reckon with someday. She batted at his cheek with one paw. You are blameless, Evan Buckley. You will be my finest witch. My last witch. Were it not for you, I would have left this coven when your parents…made the choices they did. You are precious to me and your sister, little love. And someday you will be precious to others. I would thank you to remember that.

He blinked hard, turning his face away and pretending to look over to the stack of haybales. Sally allowed him to, leaping up onto his shoulder as he stood slowly and draping herself over the back of his neck.

Now. Again, Evan, she ordered.

*

Evan took a few stumbling steps backward, almost tripping over the body of Jon—Greenway, Greenway, Greenway…he’d try to sell Evan out to vampires, damn it, he was directly responsible for this whole shitshow—Greenway’s familiar. The three vampires stepped fully out of the temp agency’s offices, and Evan’s heart dropped as another two appeared in the doorway. Five. Five vampires, their auras all roiling with the power that could only have come from drinking witch blood. Of their own volition, his eyes flicked to Greenway’s corpse, swallowing hard at the way the creatures stalking out of the offices and spreading out in the hallways had savaged him.

Kinard shifted, planting himself firmly in front of Evan, his movements shifting into the easy liquidity of a predator. The lead vampire—a massive blond man who looked like he’d fit right in as a bouncer or a bodyguard—looked Kinard up and down before zeroing back in on Evan. His companions weren’t nearly as physically intimidating, but Evan knew that didn’t mean anything. Evan was not a weak man in any measure of the word, but Kinard’s coven mate Lucy could have snapped him in half without any effort.

“Kinard,” blondie growled, his gaze never leaving Evan for an instant. “So you’re the reason our little present made it out of Gerrard’s party. Didn’t have that on the Bingo card, gotta say.”

Kinard tilted his head. “Do I know you?” he asked, his voice flat and cold, so different from the way he’d been speaking to Evan all day it was a little jarring.

Blondie finally looked away from Evan, smirking at Kinard. “Not personally. But don’t pretend the little traitor here didn’t give you the rundown.” He rolled his neck from side to side, scarlet light slowly starting to gleam in his eyes as his fangs dropped to visibility. He looked down at Greenway’s body, kicking it lightly. “Never tasted witch blood before…I’ve been missing out.” He narrowed his eyes at Kinard, his smirk turning a little more vicious. “Decide you’d rather keep him for yourself?”

“If you know who I am, then you know this isn’t going to go well for you, witch blood or no,” Kinard said, ignoring the vampire’s odd remarks. Why was he talking like Kinard knew what was going on here?

To Evan’s surprise, a couple of the other vampires glanced at each other uneasily. Logically, he knew that Kinard’s age granted him a lot of power…but he hadn’t realized it would be so much that a vampire might be worried about taking him on five to two. Especially as they’d all drunk witch blood as well.

“No reason this has to get violent,” Blondie said, though he very much sounded like he wanted it to get violent. “You walk out right now, we can all pretend we never saw each other.”

Kinard rocked back on his heels a little. “Generous. All right, kid, let’s go,” Kinard said, jerking his head toward the stairwell and holding out his arm back toward Evan like he expected Evan to tuck himself up under it.

Blondie chuckled mirthlessly. “Cute. Last chance, Kinard. Walk away. Leave the witch to us. I can’t say I blame you for trying to muscle in on the games, here…everyone knows your coven is strays and fresh turns. But you lost the gamble. Leave.”

A low, menacing growl reverberated through the hall. To his shock, Evan realized it was coming from Kinard. “Not. Happening.” The deadpan humor of a few seconds ago was completely gone, and Evan didn’t have to look to know Kinard’s eyes were glowing just as scarlet as the other vampire’s.

He bit his lip and murmured a spell, his power spiraling outwards and swirling around him. A circle of white light emblazoned itself on the floor, surrounding him totally. It was a risk splitting his focus on a barrier spell if he was going to be doing anything else—and trying to engage in combat magic without a coven bond was going to hurt no matter how quickly the fight went (and this was going to be a fight, there was no mistaking that). If he was going to risk using the kind of power it would take to help Kinard against five vampires, the smartest course of action would be to take the hit to fire off a transport spell and leave Kinard to deal with this mess.

He just…couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was stupid, it was irrational…this was his chance to escape, damn it.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Kinard alone to deal with these things. So, he braced himself, firming up the barrier that would hopefully keep any of the vampires that got close to him at bay long enough for him to cast against them. He sent a silent thanks winging to Sally—wherever she was. She’d only been trying to teach him the kind of focus he’d need to wield the amount of magic he had when she had him practice casting without relying on his coven bond…but she was the only reason he was still able to cast the kind of spells he could without ending up a heap on the ground.

“Bad choice, Kinard,” Blondie said. “Very bad choice.”

Evan knew vampires were fast. He knew they were very fast. He’d seen it firsthand a couple of times since Kinard had taken him out of that mansion.

Kinard and Blondie seemed to fucking teleport toward each other. One second Kinard was standing right in front of him, and the next he was a dozen feet away, leaping at Blondie with a snarl that sounded more animal than human. They crashed into each other, and Kinard twisted in midair to get one arm around Blondie’s throat so that when they landed, he was able to fling Blondie like a goddamn battering ram at the other vampires. Three of them went down in a heap, skidding back over the hallway floor until they nearly hit the stairwell door.

Kinard glanced over his shoulder at Evan, as though checking to make sure he was still there, and then raced forward towards the two remaining vampires. Only one of them accepted the challenge, springing at Kinard with fangs bared.

It did not end well for him.

Evan nearly lost the concentration of the barrier, staring in horrified shock as Kinard’s hands closed around the other vampire’s neck. As he slammed into the other vampire’s body hard enough to take them both to the floor. As he made a wrenching motion with one arm and a fountain of blood erupted around him. Kinard casually tossed something the size of a basketball aside and oh God, oh God, oh God Evan couldn’t look. Didn’t want to look. Kinard rose from the still-twitching body of the vampire and took a few steps back, repositioning himself in between the remaining four and Evan.

Mere seconds had passed.

“Sure you still want to do this?” Kinard growled.

Blondie and the remaining vampires rose, a new, animalistic wariness in their movements. Evan watched them fan out like a pack of wolves about to attack and shook his head, forcing his shock at the sheer brutality he’d just witnessed aside. Another spell, and a ball of flickering fire erupted in each hand. For just a moment, he felt like he was standing in a frostbitten field again, Sally’s soothing voice in his head—Again, Evan—as he stared down an array of targets.

Blondie dove at Kinard again, two of the other vampires flanking him…but the fourth darted around them and made a beeline straight for Evan. He heard Kinard shout, saw the vampire lunge for the one that was barreling toward him, only to be dogpiled by Blondie and his flunkies. Evan braced himself, breathed, and flicked his hand forward, the spellword falling from his lips in a sigh. The fireball leapt from his fingertips, zinging through his barrier and straight towards the attacking vampire with the surety of a guided missile.

The look of shock on the thing’s face as his spell slammed home, fire and smoke racing over the vampire’s body like he was made of kindling, was very satisfying. The vampire screamed, clawing at his clothes and hair as ghostly white flames enveloped him, reducing the thing to ashes almost as quickly as Kinard had dispatched its friend.

Two down, three to go.

Kinard had gone down in a tangle on the floor with all three of the attacking vampires, fighting like a maddened bear. Evan searched frantically for an opening, somewhere he could aim and burn Blondie or one of his henchmen, but he couldn’t do it without hitting Kinard. His stomach twisted at the thought of the vampire erupting into ash, dying at his hand, and reluctantly he let the fire spell dissipate. Sweat started to bead on his brow, his heart starting to pound as he summoned another spell, holding it, holding it, holding it…

One of Blondie’s flunkies reared up, his fist pulled back as though he were going to drive it down into Kinard’s back, and Evan struck. He screamed the spellword, and an invisible force slammed into the vampire, sending him flying back to crash against the stairwell door and land on the floor in a heap. Evan summoned the fire again, his head swooping a little at the rapid shift between spells, at the effort it was taking to keep the barrier up, He didn’t dare drop it, though. The fireball erupted from his hands, striking home and the hallway once again echoed with pain-filled shrieks that abruptly cut off.

“Get the fucking witch!” Blondie screamed, getting his hands around Kinard’s throat and slamming him down onto the floor, straddling him to hold him down as his last remaining crony scrambled up.

Kinard twisted underneath Blondie, managing to get his legs up and kicking straight out. There was a sickening crack of bone as Blondie went flying back, and Kinard lunged to his feet, catching the charging vampire by the back of his shirt just before he crashed into Evan’s barrier. Despite himself, Evan stumbled back a step, losing his concentration on the fire and having to summon the flames a third time. His head was pounding now, sweat dripping down his face…God, he was not looking forward to the headache this was going to leave him with.

But he needed to live long enough to have to deal with the aftereffects of this.

Kinard whirled around, still holding the vampire and flung him towards Blondie with another animalistic roar. He looked over his shoulder again, his scarlet eyes finding Evan’s, and Evan grit his teeth, giving him a shaky nod of reassurance.

Blondie and his lone remaining companion climbed slowly to their feet, fangs bared, faces twisted with rage. Suddenly, though, Blondie cocked his head as though he heard something. Kinard whipped towards the bank of elevators and tensed, crouching like he was getting ready to spring again. Blondie chuckled, a sick sort of smile spreading on his face.

“Whoops. Should’ve taken my offer, brother.” Then he slammed the stairwell door open, and he and his companion vanished, taking a running leap straight over the railing and disappearing from view.

The elevator chime sounded, the doors sliding open to reveal a new group of people. Four this time, but Evan’s breath caught in his throat. All of them were witches. All of them in military-style jackets with the sigil of the SoCal high coven emblazoned on the shoulder. The one in the lead—an older Hispanic woman—reeled back in surprise, her mouth falling open as her eyes landed on the body of Greenway’s familiar, then snapped to Kinard.

“Kill it!” she shouted, throwing out a hand towards Kinard.

Evan was already dizzy and drained with the amount of magic he’d just used, the strain of casting so many spells so quickly grating over his nerves. Even so, he knew better than most what a high coven cleaner crew looked like. And just how uninterested they usually were in talking. He acted on instinct.

The barrier dropped and he lunged toward Kinard, grabbing the vampire’s hand tightly and screaming the only spell he could think of to save them both.

His magic erupted around them in a swirling orb of white light, and he had no time to aim it, no time to structure the spell and give it direction. He cried out the transport spell and the only thought in his head was: safe. Safe, safe, safe, safe.

The temp agency’s offices dissolved in a shimmer of light and a sensation he hadn’t felt in years enveloped him. He was falling, falling, failing, tumbling head over heels and the only solid thing, the only anchor he had was the feel of Kinard’s hand in his. His stomach dropped, his head swimming with the energy a transport spell took.

The spell dropped them with a thud, the white light fading and leaving sunspots dancing in Evan’s eyes. Or maybe it was just the dizziness from the strain of casting. He blinked hazily, a confused sort of shock running through him like an electric current when he realized he had transported them back to Kinard’s loft. They were standing in the middle of Kinard’s living room. What…

“Holy shit,” Kinard breathed, turning to look at Evan with wide eyes that had shifted back to their usual dark blue. They widened even further, and suddenly Kinard was standing right in front of him. “Evan? Fuck, are you all right?” he demanded.

Dimly, he realized it wasn’t sweat that was dripping from his nose and running down over his lips and chin. Shit. He’d overdone it. He’d overdone it bad. The floor seemed to be tilting under his feet and without thinking he reached up and steadied himself against Kinard’s chest.

“Evan? Talk to me,” Kinard continued urgently, and yeah…yeah, he really should say something. Or at least take a step back from the vampire—especially with his nose bleeding like a damn faucet.

He went to do that, and his knees folded underneath him entirely without his permission.

[branmuffins22]

Hmm...

Notice any similarities?

The eye Kikimora reveals when she lifts that one hair-finger has a red sclera, yellow iris, and black pupil. Black on Yellow on Red.

The sky during the Day of Unity's eclipse is mostly red, but the eclipse itself is a black dot in a yellow corona. Black on Yellow on Red.

In both cases, the spell attacks a person (in this case Raine) via their coven sigil, and they even have similar effects, with sprawling veins and incapacitating qualities.

Could it mean nothing at all? Certainly.

It could've been entirely unintentional, just a happy little accident.

It could have been very intentional, just some subtle foreshadowing.

Is that gonna stop me from theorizing about the reasons these similarities might have come to be? Of course not!

As far as I know (which, I could very well have just missed something), Kikimora is the only character in the show with red sclera, but she's DEFINITELY the only one to be shown performing this spell on her own.

Was Kikimora specifically chosen as Belos's aide because of her potential capacity to perform such a spell? Like, Belos saw her weird eye, remembered something the Collector told him about the requirements for the draining spell, and went "YOU," before eventually teaching her the spell?

Was her eye modified/replaced to allow her to perform the spell, and thus to better serve her emperor? He's already known to favor unstable, power-hungry people in positions of power beneath him, so she could very well have gotten that job the normal way; then, it would just have been a matter of Belos (and probably whoever was head of the Healing Coven at the time) granting her the eye and teaching her the spell.

Is it just a coincidence that I'm reading WAY too hard into, even within the world of the show?

Who knows! well. besides the showrunners. im sure one of them knows.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Temptation Chapter 5

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? A short one! Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky was not the same after that night.  He went through the motions of his priesthood jobs, but his heart was no longer in it.  He was still calm and friendly, but the light in his eyes had disappeared when she walked away.  It had been four weeks when Father Richards pulled him aside one day for counsel.

“Father Barnes, you have not been yourself as of late,” he started, folding his hands in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Father.  I’ve just been feeling a bit…off,” Bucky hung his head in shame.

“Hm,” Father Richards tapped his fingers on his other hand.  “Would this have anything to do with Miss Y/L/N in your room a few weeks back?”

Bucky’s head lifted, his eyes wide as he stared at Father Richards.  “I…”

Father Richards gave him a soft smile.  “Yes, I know.  I was coming to talk to you about the plans for the donation from Constance Y/L/N when I saw her enter your room.”  

Bucky’s lips tightened as his eyes filled with tears.  “I’m sorry, Father.  I have no excuse for my actions.  If it’s any consolation, nothing too…scandalous happened.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, at least not to me,” Richards said.  Bucky gave him a wary look.  “I’m going to tell you something in confidence because I feel like I can trust you.  I’m sure you’ve heard rumors of some priests living more worldly lives outside of their priesthood?”  Bucky nodded.  “I happen to be one of them.  You know how I take a few specific days off during the month and certain weekends off altogether?”  Bucky blinked.  “Those are the days I go home to my wife and children.”

“Your wife?  Children?  Plural??” Bucky scoffed.  “How?  You’ve…”

“Made promises?  Covenants?  Yes yes,” Richards waved away his concerns.  “I also met a woman 27 years ago that I couldn’t live without.  She’s not my wife in any legal terms, unfortunately, so I could keep this job as senior priest.  But she’s my wife in every other sense of the word.  And she and my boys are the lights of my life,” he smiled adoringly.  “Johnny just finished college, and Ben just got married to his husband a few weeks ago.  They’re working on adopting.”  Bucky’s mouth was hanging open comically as he stared at Father Richards.  “I understand what it means to love someone and love them so deeply that you feel like you would reject all this,” he gestured to the church around him, “for them.  I almost did.  And to be honest, I should have.  Because it makes me a subpar and dishonest priest to my congregation, and a near absent husband and father to my family.  You can’t have both.  Now if you choose to stay, then I applaud you for your devotion to God and His church.  If you choose to leave and live a life outside of the church, I won’t judge you and will commend your bravery.  But I would caution you to be prepared for the inner death you will feel no matter what you choose.  It’s up to you to decide which death you will be willing or able to overcome.”

Bucky nodded.  He sat there as Father Richards waited for him.  Bucky thought through his life.  He’d basically been raised to be a good Catholic, being an altar boy and singing in the choirs, going to Catholic school then Seminary.  He had had a choice to live a normal life or go to Seminary, and he’d chosen the church because it seemed safe and easy.  His parents had been proud of him.  He’d been a good student and had risen through the ranks of stewardship and learning quickly to become a priest.  He hadn’t realized that the other option could have brought him joy.  The church had been his life, so how could he know any different?  

Then a fallen angel had stumbled into that life and disrupted everything he knew to be true.  She made him question himself, the church, his knowledge of scripture and God, and showed him the joy and light found outside of it.  And the one night, the few moments he’d had with her, had made him realize he’d gladly drop it all if it meant being with her.  

Bucky gave Father Richards a sad smile as his epiphany shown brightly on his face.  “I choose her.”

Father Richards nodded solemnly.

The next chapter is the last one!!

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr

[s1zar]

I rewatched Owl House.

First season is so average, like they make it by a notebook

Lilith get off the hook too easily

Fucking body swap plot is annoying in anything but Gravity Falls and Adventure Time

Willow and Amity reconciliation is too quick

Titan Trappers are exist only to exist

Who the fuck put this magic door in Titan’s skull and then put Collector Dish there

How did witches have information to tell legends about the Collector?

When Amity and Hunter are cut off from they Evil Pumping Stations they are lost all personality

Belos is boring as fuck. His only character trait is that he is evil, which is laughable for the show that tell us people are complex. That’s why he only will be referred as Evil Dude

Odalia is so stupidly evil that it’s impossible to take seriously

Lumity is not developed further than “Girlfriends” and the only reason why Lunter could be better is because it’s just easier to develop

Luz and Evil Dude’s parallel starts and ends with the fact that they are humans

Evil Dude is an idiot

Collector could be named Plot Device

Raine is very meh. They only personality is that they are hero

Evil Dude is said to be the strongest witch ever, but he almost looses to five teenagers

What was the point of standing against coven system if in the end we have a squad from a fucking RPG game. Character form plants, character for illusions, character for abominations, character for teleportation

Evil Dude have as much super powers as the plot need

Characters have zero reaction of learning they arch enemy story

Evil Dude looses all small glimpses of being an actual character and become villain of the week

Absence of chemistry between Hunter and Willow can cause physical pain

For the Future is one of the most useless things created by a human being

Caleb Wittebane appears for reasons and never affects anything, so he will referred as Fan-service Background

Collector is an insult to God

I hate Collector

“One character hears half of what other character says and is offended by it, only for the audience learn that other character didn’t actually mean what first character thought they mean” plot line is a violation of Geneva Conventions

Evil Dude spending 98% percent of his screen time in finale as giant roaring green blob is a final shot from a shotgun in a head of his characterisation

Luz is Chosen One now. Message of the show is annihilated by Atomic Bomb

Titan is an asshole who assaulted a child because there was no one else to assault

There two villains. One looks like a child, have sparkles in his eyes, and flies and a star with happy face. Second is goopy skinny, rots in real time, have eyes in places that supposed to be without eyes, and he shrieks like an Alien. Who of the two is going to be redeemed?

The moment Evil Dude is dead Boiling Isles is an utopia. If you take this seriously, I don’t feel sad for you, I will laugh at you

Hunter becomes Caleb 2.0, and that’s why you dig up in the fact that you are a clone, my boy. You never know if your actions are actually yours

Evil Dude’s death better than Toffee’s only because this time main antagonist dies by the end of the series

The fact that Owl House doesn’t redeem it’s main antagonist like Steven Universe or have a better ending than SVTFOE is not an argument

Fuck Collector

I could write what I liked but it would be boring

[daemon-in-my-head]

I'm sorry in advance. Spoiler, this is my personal opinion, but it's such a hard pet peeve of mine and I see it creeping back up again so;

There is no fucking way, not in this timeline nor any other. Heck not even in another universe, that Lord Enver fucking Gortash would ever associate with Lathander or even convert to his beliefs.

Do you know Lathander? He's the guy who goes 'hey y'all let's chill, take a nap, afterwards everything's gonna be wonderful again'. Yk. The one ever optimistic god who isn't even enemies with the fucking dead three. The one guy who values creativity and arts over everything. He's a god of patience, of second chances. Of trying again. He's 'nice and happy' incarnate.

I'm genuinely confused how people can read the bratty absolutely selfish and petty tyrant into that. Like, blorbofication this that, yada yada, Lathander is genuinely the polar opposite of Gortash and anything he stands for.

Second chances? That man blows up his hidden mad scientist layer just because PC got there. Doesn't even fucking matter if u intend to save his hostages. That's his layer, he told u not to, u didn't listen, so he arrives at the very logical and patient conclusion to blow a structure thats older than himself with a fair bit of history into a million little pieces.

May I also remind you that all of the things he did down there either served to prove his point that yes, his parents are absolutely vile or just straight up cruelty for funsies. That is not a chill guy and defo not a 2nd chances man.

Also, creativity. Yeah. We saw him get a portrait done. Yk what he usually uses them for? Right! Fucking propaganda. Yk the paintings in his already scarcely decorated office? Yeah there's a safe hidden beneath all of em. That guy doesn't value art for arts or creativities sake, he views it as a tool. Even his own creations are pretty exclusively tools or to serve his purpose. Oh also, respecting the arts? Yeah that man killed multiple bards cuz it would suit his goals. How the fuck does he respect art in any way, shape or form?

So all in all, that guy is farther removed from Lathander than any other person could ever be. Goddamn Astarion is closer to that God and he's one of the coven that was nearly eradicated by that church.

But yk who he's close to? With whom he shares resemblance and who else has a sun motive?

Cyric. Also known as the Prince of Lies, the Mad God, the Dark/Black Sun, the Face behind the Mask or the Lord of Three/Four Crowns. So essentially all titles you wouldn't have a hard time associating with the tyrant that play pretends to be a devil, the mastermind behind the Absolutes Plot and the madman who aims to usurp the dead three.

Cyric schemed his way into godhood much as Gortash schemed his way into nobility. Listen I'm not the greatest fan of Abdel Adrian either, but that guy had to slay a bunch of Bhaalspawn and confront a whole ass god to become a Duke. Gortash somehow talked his way into becoming an archduke in 10 years tops while actively developing pipe bombs rather than defeating a lord of murder. He is a fucking trickster. And a perfect one at that.

Also, lord of the four Crowns? Yes. Gortash, as Archduke, does rank higher than the council of four. Yk, the 4 Dukes that rule the Gate? One may say the 4 heads of the gate, the 4 fucking crowns?

Lord of Three Crowns? Well look who it is, the man who wants to usurp and claim the dead threes portfolio for himself and ascent to godhood. The one who orchestrated the cooperation between the three chosen and kept somewhat amicable relations between all of em.

He even looks close to the mortal Cyric for goodness sake:

"As a mortal man, Cyric had a lean athletic build. His dark brown hair outlined a face of sharp angles, highlighted by crow's-feet eyes, a pointed chin, and hawkish nose."

That's Gortash. Like. That's how you'd describe that tyrant.

And yk what else? Gortash and Bane share a fuck ton of similarities too. If Bane takes possession of a mortal it usually drives said mortal absolutely mad in the end. Gortash is still relatively sane (oddly enough) so that guy probably wasn't possessed. Meaning Bane didn't screw with his looks nd shit too much yet and his parents do have some resemblance with current Gortash so yeah, that man has probably always been a carbon copy of Banes colours.

And funny bit actually, did you know Bane, yeah that Bane, is considered a saviour in some regions? A hero? Much like our lovely little tyrant is?

So anyway. I needed to get that off my chest. I wholeheartedly do not understand how anyone can look at Gortash and see anything regarding Lathander when he's the perfect hidden love child of Bane and Cyric and literally the only thing that could somewhat be associated with Lathander is the sun motif, but even so Enver Gortash is a false light, a dark sun and that's Cyric, not Lathander. That man is no hero, no matter what he says. He's using 'the good of the people' for his own selfish reasons and to justify whatever vile acts he may get called out on. A pretty standard thing not so nice people do btw.

And like. It's literally in his name, Enver = Luminous, Gürtaş = strong stone. His name translates to strong, Luminous stone. Yk those artificial glow in the dark stones. Artifical. Man made, like his robots. I want to scream-

Visual rep of what I just said:

[meltingchaos]

I just have to gush about the Lucifer parallels with Belos.

Firstly, the emperor's coven sigil. There are four wings and, going by angelology, an angel with four wings is a cherubim.

There are implications in Ezekiel that imply that Lucifer may have been a cherubim.

Ezekiel 28: "You were the anointed cherub".

It also describes him as "covering cherub", meaning he would have covered the throne of God with his wings. Cherubs were throne bearers, upholding the throne of God. They also were appointed with guarding Eden. Both of these facts are similar to how Belos made it seem like his relationship with the titan was so close, acting as a prophet, beholding the titan and yet covering secrets such as how only he could commune with them, writing it off as the titan working in 'mysterious ways'. Also, his protectiveness over the human realm, albeit misguided and an excuse to fuel his delusions, is similar to how the cherubs were made to guard Eden. I also like to think that the triangle and circle in this sigil have some correlation with God, showing trinity and eternity. As for the sword, it makes me think of many artist renditions of St. Michael the archangel, battling Lucifer at the fall, often shown defeating him with a sword in hand.

Which brings me to my next point. The DRAGON. Oh how the dragon Belos made me so happy.

Through posessing the titan, Belos gained wings and a much more monstrous look, much like a dragon. Lucifer during the fall turned into a dragon as well!

Revelation 12: 3-4: And another sign appeared in heaven: behold, a great, fiery red dragon having seven heads and ten horns, and seven diadems on his heads. His tail drew a third of the stars of heaven and threw them to the earth.

Revelation 12:7–10: Then war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.

Belos, in his mind, believes he's a hero, trying to liberate humanity. He sees himself as some sort of saviour to humanity, delusions of grandeur. That same idea of liberation is what he brings to the boiling isles, much like Lucifer in paradise lost and other stories, saying he wants to free angels and yet still placing himself as the new leader / deity.

Finally, Belos' chosen name. 'Belos' is strikingly similar to 'Belial'. A pagan angel who was also cast out by God, much like Lucifer. Belial, in the Old testament is later personified as the devil in Christianity as well. (In Hebrew, the word Belial is used to characterize the wicked or worthless. So you could say Belos' name literally means worthless and I think that's pretty cool.)

I should also mention that Belos comes from the word Bel, meaning master / lord. As does Belial, also having the word for 'lord'.

That man thinks very highly of himself. Sure does remind me of Lucifer hmmm. Demon of Pride and all.

Gosh I just,,, it's so cool,,,

There are even more instances but this post is already long so I'll leave it at this lol.

Tldr: Belos thinks he's like Jesus but he's so much like the devil and it's hilarious.

[obsidianstrawberrymilk]

Yknow I’m really disappointed we didn’t get more on Perry Porter because from what we do see of him, he seems like such a cool character and I’m really disappointed we didn’t get even a single proper scene with him.

Like!! Just the facts we have about him are seemingly so random - he’s in the Oracle Coven, he used to be friends with Eda and her gang but was, interestingly, shown to be pulling away about the same time Darius and Alador - both implied to have chosen status or power of their friends - did. He seems to be Gus’s only parent given his mom is literally never mentioned, yet he’s also a high profile (given he was the only shown person reporting on Eda’s Petrification) reporter. He’s clearly willing to turn his morals and feelings off when needed given how little emotion he shows while one of his old friends - however old he must have some feelings about it - is basically about to be executed, yet he raised an incredibly kind kid who sticks to his morals no matter what.

Like how did he feel when on the Day of Unity, his twelve year old son was unable to be found - hell, we know he reports on high profile events like this, could he have been so busy he didn’t even realize Gus had snuck out until after the Collector stopped the Day of Unity and he had to realize no one knew where he was? How come we never see him interact with any of his old friends, even when Alador and Darius are eventually pulled back with them? I can understand why Odalia wasn’t reconnected with them but it does seem like if nothing else Perry was a decent parent, so why is he never shown interacting with the others?

It also seems like he puts quite a bit of pressure on Gus at least - I don’t think he’s like Odalia ofc, but Gus does say that his dad wants him to be a Master Illusionist (though that’s not what Gus wants), so it’s clear he does expect a lot from him. Did Gus being a prodigy from a young age impact this? Did he encourage Gus to move up two grades or was he against it? Given what we know of him - high profile Coven job, seems to have drifted away from his friends for status like Darius and Alador, wants his kid to be a Master Illusionist - I’m inclined to think he encouraged it and at least didn’t think much about the social implications. What did he think about Gus’s loneliness and lack of friends - did he even notice? I’m saying this as a former gifted kid who’s parents are, still to this day, surprised when I mention how bad my peers and teachers treated me in elementary/middle school - even caring parents can be unaware of just how bad things are in school. Was Perry like that? Or did he notice but feel helpless to do anything?

What about Gus’s illusion maze thing? How long has he been able to do that - since he was a kid? What was it like to raise a kid who could do something like that? Did Perry try and each Gus some tricks to get rid of it - given Willow was the one to teach him the breathing technique and that’s what he uses, it doesn’t seem like he did. Why? Did he just not know what to do? Did the Emperor’s Coven ever seem interested in Gus, who was clearly a whole lot more than just a gifted kid (this kid took down the Illusion Coven Head and a whole bunch of scouts at age 12 and he wasn’t even trying)? How did he respond to that?

Idk, I really want to see more about who Perry Porter is and Gus’s childhood. It’s so interesting to think about.

I have my own image of him as a somewhat neglectful parent who, while he does care about his son a lot, treats him as a lot older than he is sometimes. Like Gus is a very mature kid but he’s still a kid and I think Perry could follow the rest of the world in forgetting that a lot. Maybe talk to him about things he’s not old enough to understand, put responsibilities and pressure on him he might find hard even being a prodigy and get angry when he can’t do it, etc. I don’t think he’s abusive or anything but I definitely want to see how he is because as a former gifted kid absolutely all of these have happened to me and I’m betting you Perry also does this to Gus. And that’s not even getting into Perry’s morality and character, how that impacts Gus, and Perry’s backstory.

[inawickedlittletown]

Dragon Chosen (BuckTommy fic) - 5/6

Summary:

In a world where dragons exist and where they pick their riders, Buck doesn't expect his perfectly normal Tuesday to include a dragon and his rider, Tommy, showing up to ask for his help with an injured dragon…a dragon that has picked Buck as his rider. Buck doesn't know who captivates him more his new dragon or Tommy.

Rating: M

Words: 3.8k

Ao3

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

-

Chapter Five

“They don’t want us to do anything,” Eddie said. “They’re going to take care of finding her. They asked that I put up some barriers around your property that can alert you if she shows up again.” 

Tommy should have expected that. The Dragon Guild was not to be trifled with. They would find her and take care of her as the threat that she was to young dragons. If she was a witch from a coven, then her coven would get involved too. Tommy had no doubt that they would take care of it. 

“They didn’t seem too worried,” Eddie added, looking towards Evan. 

“Do you know what would have happened if she came while Cyra and I were here?” Tommy asked. 

Eddie shook his head. Evan even looked like he wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. 

“She would be ashes,” Tommy said. 

In his mind, Cyra agreed. 

“Oh,” Eddie said. “She’s powerful, though, I’m sure she prepared for that.” 

Tommy nodded. “The point is the guild knows Cyra can take care of herself. Gwyn is young, but he is still a dragon and now that he’s bonded he isn’t as vulnerable as the last time she attacked.” 

Even if the witch had been wearing protection runes or enchantments, Tommy knew she wouldn’t have gotten away. It was interesting, in a way, that she had shown up at all. It could be coincidence, but Tommy doubted it. Had she known that he and Cyra weren’t there? 

“I just…I just wish we knew why she was after all that power,” Evan said. 

“Does it matter? She hurt Gwyn and came after him again,” Tommy said. 

You know who he is, Cyra said in his mind. He’s compassionate and curious.

And he had a relationship with her

Cyra sent her amusement. Jealousy doesn’t look cute even on you.

“Probably nothing good,” Eddie said. “Attaining power like that taints it and nothing good could ever come of it. From how dark her leftover magic felt, I wonder if she hadn’t already gone something similar to get that power.” 

It left a bad taste in Tommy’s mouth to think that this witch had been out there gaining power for herself by unnatural means. He hoped that her power wasn’t a result of another young dragon’s death or a forced bond. 

By the time that Eddie and Chris left, Tommy felt exhausted. Although Eddie had said yes to the guild about putting up barriers, he’d still needed help. So, while Evan went inside to cook them all food, he, Eddie, and Cyra went to the perimeters of the property. 

“Why aren’t you a practicing witch?” Tommy asked. “I mean, you’re powerful as far as I can tell.” 

“I wasn’t always,” Eddie admitted. “I grew up in Texas and my parents are leaders of the coven. My dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps but I was never powerful enough for them and when some things happened I decided to come out here with Chris instead.” 

“And he’s not a witch?” Tommy asked. 

Eddie didn’t respond for a while, concentrating on the barrier and the connection it needed to have to Tommy. Cyra for her part, bent her head to touch Eddie’s shoulder and Tommy felt the way that she shared some of her own magic to bolster Eddie. 

“He could be,” Eddie said. “His mother was human. My parents wanted to start teaching him, but it’s not innate for him. I can barely feel any magic in him and I don’t want him to be disappointed, but sometimes he does do some accidental things. I guess I’m waiting to see if his magic grows with him or not.” 

After they were done, they ate the lasagna that Evan had made. It was nice to have Eddie and Chris around and Tommy couldn’t wait to have them over again especially since Chris seemed so eager to see Cyra and Gwyn again. 

“Are you as tired as I am?” Tommy asked Evan. 

Evan shook his head. “You’re definitely more tired, but I don’t want to do anything for the rest of the day either.” 

Despite that, Evan didn’t join him in the living room after they finished cleaning the kitchen. Instead, Tommy heard him head outside. Curious, he followed. 

Gwyn and Cyra were out on the grass. Cyra’s massive body curled up around the smaller dragon. She was asleep, but Gwyn was not. Tommy watched from the house as Evan approached his dragon. He didn’t spend too long with him before he turned and headed back. 

“Oh,” Evan said when he saw him. “I just wanted to check with him again. He’s still shaken by everything.” 

“Who could blame him,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah. I’m a little shaken too,” Evan admitted. 

Tommy grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. 

“I always knew she wasn’t a good person,” Evan said. “Taylor, I mean. When I first met her I was in a bad place and then the second time she was in a bad place and we kinda…I guess it was more about having someone else there but fundamentally we disagreed on everything. Then Lucy kissed me and I didn’t stop it or tell Taylor and she never told me she was a witch. I guess we never communicated well. Or at all.” 

Tommy wrapped his arms around Evan and he felt Evan lean into him and wrap his own arms around him. 

“We’ve all made bad decisions,” Tommy offered. 

“Yeah,” Evan said with a hum. “I suppose so.” 

“Good ones too,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah?” 

“Evan, I have many regrets, but you aren’t one. Inviting you to stay here, getting to know you, having you in my bed, it’s been kinda amazing.”

Evan pulled back enough so that he could look at Tommy and Tommy was surprised to see the awe in his face, as if he somehow hadn’t expected for Tommy to feel that way. There was vulnerability there that was almost a bit shocking with how forward Evan had been with him, but Tommy could understand that. 

“I don’t want it to end,” Tommy admitted. “We haven’t talked about it, but I want this — us — to mean something.” 

Evan’s smile grew and he leaned forward, pulling Tommy into a kiss that was sweet and soft and that ended as quick as it started. 

“It does mean something,” Evan said. “Maybe even everything.” 

—

The Dragon Guild couldn’t find Taylor. A whole three weeks after she had shown up searching for Gwyn and they had nothing. Apparently Taylor had abandoned her job, not been at her apartment in months, and she didn’t seem to actually have any friends. Evan had confirmed her lack of friends and even how the witch rarely spoke about her family. 

“They think her name is not actually Taylor Kelly,” Tommy told him. 

“Really,” Evan said. “I guess that tracks.” 

Tommy bumped his shoulder. “We’re not going to worry about it unless she shows up here again.” 

He didn’t add that the guild was very worried about younger dragons and Taylor possibly switching her attempts at finding another young dragon. Although the dragon population had dropped some, there were still quite a few dragons. Dragons and their riders were taking turns guarding the spaces where young dragons resided. Tommy was the only one not going out there because they preferred he stayed close to Gwyn though there had been talk of maybe persuading a couple of the dragons to go and stay with them as well. Tommy was open to the idea. 

He and Evan walked out to where Gwyn and Cyra could be found right on the grass. Gwyn was stretching his wings out. Cyra was splayed out next to him almost lazily. She looked up when he and Evan approached and turned so she was still low to the ground, but ready to stand. 

He’s ready

Wouldn’t stop him if he wasn’t. 

You’re not wrong.

Gwyn dropped his wings down at their approach and he immediately turned to Evan. 

“Come on,” Tommy said, grabbing Evan’s hand. 

Evan got onto Cyra first and Tommy joined him. Evan’s arms came around him at once and he felt Evan nosing into his neck and hair before he dropped a kiss to Tommy’s shoulder. 

Gwyn pushed off first, wings beating fast as he got himself into the air. Cyra followed a moment later. Tommy could feel Gwyn’s joy even if not directly. Evan laughed against him. 

“He feels so happy,” he said. 

“Dragons are supposed to be in the air,” Tommy reminded him. 

Gwyn flew upwards. Cyra kept herself a bit below him and for a while they were all just up in the air without any real direction. Gwyn seemed intent on just doing anything and everything he could in the sky. He did twists and dropped and went back up. He dove down and lifted up at the last moment. 

“I love seeing him like that,” Evan said against Tommy’s ear. 

“Me too,” Tommy said. “And just wait until you can be on his back.” 

Evan let out a nervous sigh. “Is it bad how nervous that makes me?” 

“In what way?” 

“I guess here on Cyra I’m with you. I can’t imagine doing it on my own.” 

Tommy found Evan’s hand on his stomach. “You’ll do just fine when the time comes. Don’t worry.” 

Evan relaxed against him. Gwyn was flying back towards the house when Tommy felt the jolt from the barrier. Taylor was back. 

“Evan, she’s here.” 

Bypassing Evan entirely, he shouted to Gwyn. Don’t go down. 

Cyra snarled and Tommy felt her annoyance and how she was reigning in her anger. 

“What do we do?” Evan asked. 

Cyra did her part by reaching out to see if any other dragons were nearby — they weren’t. Tommy fumbled for his phone tucked into a pocket that was too tight specifically to keep his phone from flying out while in the air. If the witch hadn’t seen them yet, she would soon. 

Tommy finally got his phone out. He made the call. No one answered. He tried again. No answer again. He left a message. 

“No luck?” Evan asked. 

“No,” Tommy said and he felt Evan reaching for his own phone. 

“Eddie,” he heard Evan say. “She’s here. We can’t get ahold of the guild.” 

The call didn’t last long. 

“What did he say?” 

“Bobby is contacting dispatch,” Evan said. “And they’re coming our way.” 

It could have been easy for them to just leave even if he wasn’t sure what Eddie and the 118 might be able to do. Eddie wasn’t powerful enough of his own, but if they had another witch maybe. 

The part of him that wanted to protect Evan and Gwyn and Cyra didn’t want to go confront her. He wanted to fly away and come back once they knew she was gone. He couldn’t do that, though. Not when she was a danger to more dragons. There were so few already and they couldn’t afford to lose any more. 

We can take her.

I know. Don’t burn her to a crisp unless necessary. 

Cyra sent back her amusement and agreement. 

—

He could feel Gwyn’s worry. His fear. It was such a switch from the excitement that he’d been feeling from his dragon and yet he understood it. He hadn’t expected for Taylor to return, though at least this meant she hadn’t left California. Buck didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. 

“I guess it’s up to us,” Tommy said. 

Cyra began her descent and Gwyn followed close behind. Buck was shocked when Cyra actually opened her mouth and shot out fire into the air. It was more of a warning than anything else. Looking down was dizzying with how fast they were moving, but he thought that he actually saw the distinctive red hair. The closer they got, the easier it was to see her and when Cyra touched down, Buck could even hear her. Cyra made a point of flapping her wings in Taylor’s direction. 

Taylor almost toppled back. She seemed to be mouthing something. A spell, Buck thought. Buck couldn’t worry about that. Gwyn had landed and he rushed forward, wings out and roaring. Fire shot out going right towards Taylor. Despite how direct it was, the fire just went around her. 

Taylor took a few steps back. She had to know that she wouldn’t hold her own against two dragons even if one of them wasn’t fully grown. Buck did see a problem in that Taylor was rather close to the house and it was in danger of catching fire if Cyra’s fire went too close to it. 

“I think maybe I should talk to her,” Buck said. 

“What?” Tommy asked. “No, that’s insane.” 

“What’s insane is thinking we can get through this without your whole house going up in flames and Taylor getting away. It’ll take them at least ten more minutes to get here. We have to stall. She won’t be expecting to see me.” 

Buck didn’t like it and Tommy didn’t have to either. Tommy actually grabbed onto Buck’s hand before he could let go and it wasn’t, as he expected, as some kind of reassurance, as much as because he placed a ring on the middle finger of Buck’s left hand. It fit a little loose, but Buck could feel the power in the ring.

“What—”

“It’s protection,” Tommy said. “I don’t like this, but if you must then you’ll wear that.” 

Buck had never seen the ring before, he realized, couldn’t remember ever seeing Tommy wear it. It had to have something to it that kept it hidden. Sure enough when he looked at his hand, he could feel it on his hand, but he couldn’t actually see it. Cyra didn’t lower herself for him, but that didn’t matter because she gave him a way down her back. 

Be careful, little one Cyra said. Don’t do anything stupid.

Evan, what are you doing? Don’t…don’t go Gwyn said it complete with panic that nearly made Buck want to stop and turn and go to Gwyn. He couldn’t.

I’ll be okay. Trust me, Gwyn.

Fine. I don’t like it, though.

I know.

He stepped around Cyra, but kept close to her. Taylor didn’t even notice him, not at first. She looked bad. She’d always been thin, but she looked like she’d gotten even thinner. Her face was gaunt, cheeks sunken in. Her eyes looked wild too. He could feel her magic and it felt wrong, corrupted. 

“Buck,” she said and even her voice sounded rough. 

“Taylor,” he said and then didn’t know what else to say, so he kind of stared at her. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked and she seemed to have a hard time looking away from Cyra. 

“I should be asking you that,” Buck said, “seeing as you’re trespassing and these dragons aren’t taking that very well.” 

Taylor’s eyes flitted to Cyra and then Gwyn and she took a nervous step back. “I’m — I was—”

“And you didn’t tell me you were a witch,” Buck said and he took a step towards her. “What’s going on, Taylor?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, snappish. 

Buck could feel Gwyn’s worry, but he couldn’t actually focus on that. 

“What I do understand,” he said, eyeing Taylor, “is that you tried to force a bond with a young unbonded dragon. What I don’t understand is why. He almost died, Taylor.”

Taylor inhaled a breath. “Buck, you…what are you doing here? You can’t be here.” 

She looked like a cornered mouse and Cyra looking down at her was the cat. He almost felt pity for her, until he remembered that his dragon had been hurt by her and that Taylor had come here for the second time searching for Gwyn. 

“No, what are you after here? The dragon? He’s bonded now, you can’t have him. You can’t have any dragon that hasn’t chosen you.” 

Taylor looked like she was seconds away from attacking him. She looked angry and Buck could feel the way that that anger actually fueled her magic. Something stopped her and she began to laugh. 

“You,” she said, “you’re a dragon rider.” 

Buck didn’t deny it. 

Taylor rushed towards him. Buck stepped back and she stopped. “Help me,” she said. “You and your dragon. You can help me.” She looked towards Cyra and then Buck with something akin to expectation. 

“Help you,” Buck said. “I don’t think so.” 

Her face hardened. She looked crazed and Buck knew enough to know that if someone was that desperate they really had nothing left to lose. Suddenly, he didn’t know if this was Taylor just trying to get power for herself. Maybe it was bigger than her, but that didn’t matter when she was the one that had attacked Gwyn. She was selfish and self-serving and Buck had always known that, but he was seeing a different side to that. 

They’re almost here, Gwyn said. 

“Wrong answer,” Taylor said and the next thing Buck knew was the feel of her magic and how it stretched out towards him. 

The ring on his hand began to heat up. It grew so hot that Buck thought it was actually burning into her finger. He heard Gwyn say his name and the sound of sirens. Fire flew right over his head, he felt the heat and heard the way that Cyra roared. Taylor cried out. The ring was hot until it wasn’t, going from hot to cold in seconds. Buck was pushed backwards and he hit something solid. Someone was yelling his name, he thought it was Tommy. 

—

Tommy was tense the whole time Evan was talking to the witch. He could hear them and didn’t know that he appreciated Evan’s stalling tactics. Cyra was keeping Gwyn in line, but just barely. When she actually pointed out rightly that Evan was a dragon rider, Tommy knew that things could only go badly. He couldn’t wait for Eddie to come and he couldn’t expect for Eddie to be enough to make any kind of difference. 

Can you hear the 118?

I think so. What do you want to do? 

He wanted to get down there and grab Evan and put him back on Cyra and fly him away. It was not an option. Obviously. 

Tommy could feel it, the moment that she shot a spell at Evan. The ring did its work, keeping Evan from harm. It did throw him back right into Cyra. Before he could even think about it, Tommy was dropping down from Cyra’s back.

“Evan!” he cried out. 

 Gwyn was shooting fire at the witch and while the first few bursts didn’t hit, the last one did and she dropped to the ground, spelling the fire away. Gwyn didn’t wait, going over Evan right to the witch and literally pinning her to the ground. 

Don’t roast her, Cyra said to Gwyn, connecting the three of them. 

We need her alive, Gwyn. She’ll face what’s coming to her.

I want to tear her head from her body and charr her remains, Gwyn said back. 

I don’t disagree with you, but we need her alive. We need answers and she needs to pay for what she’s done. Cyra’s voice was steady, but Tommy could hear the protectiveness in it and the way that she fought her very nature. 

Tommy made it to Evan’s side. He’d fallen right against Cyra’s legs. She’d cushioned his fall as best as she could but between being thrown and the effects of the ring, it wasn’t surprising he was passed out. Tommy could see that he was breathing and he was sure that he was fine, because if he wasn’t Gwyn would have torn the witch apart. His restraint was admirable. 

Tommy still pressed his fingers to Evan’s neck and he lowered him onto his back. 

“Evan, can you hear me?” 

He touched Evan’s face and then grabbed his hand. The ring was glowing a little. The spell had worked. He couldn’t think of what might have happened if he didn’t put the ring on Evan. 

Gwyn snarled. Tommy heard the witch make a whimpering noise and then Gwyn snorted, a puff of smoke hit the witch and she should be glad it was that and not flames. 

The sound of the sirens distracted him from Evan and then he heard the familiar voices of Hen, Chim, Eddie, and Bobby among others. Tommy was reluctant to leave Evan, but he did when Hen’s hand landed on his shoulder. 

“What happened?” she asked. 

“Spell was cast at him, he was wearing a protective charm. Knocked him into Cyra, but he’s breathing. Pulse is steady.” 

He could see her running his own checks and he was too focused on that to see what else was happening. Eddie and a younger guy he’d never met were standing by Gwyn looking down at the witch. Tommy saw Bobby approach them. He was torn between going to them or staying with Evan. 

Eddie calling his name made him reluctantly walk in their direction. Hen gave him a reassuring smile. 

Taylor Kelly was under one of Gwyn’s legs, his talons pointed at her chest. Gwyn was reluctant to step back and Tommy didn’t blame him. The witch seemed to be holding herself completely still other than her eyes which flitted from the dragon and then to Eddie. 

“What happened?” Eddie asked. 

“Evan decided to talk to her. She tried to use a spell on him and when Evan was thrown back Gwyn burst through her protective barriers with fire and then jumped on her.” 

Tommy reached out and placed a hand on Gwyn’s neck, rubbing up and down. Gwyn leaned into it, but he never looked away from Taylor. 

“We’ll need to seal her magic,” the guy Tommy didn’t know said. “It’s wild. Dark.”

“Tainted,” Eddie said. “I know.” 

Eddie turned to Tommy, then. “The guild did finally pick up. It’s a busy day, apparently, though they didn’t tell me why seeing as I’m not a rider.”

“Of course,” Tommy said. “Can you and—”

“Ravi,” Eddie said.

Ravi was currently crouched down, hands on the ground next to the witch.  

“Can you and Ravi do this on your own?” 

Eddie nodded.

Meanwhile, Evan was being put on a stretcher. He was still passed out, but his chest rose and fell. 

“He’s fine,” Hen said. 

“Magically exhausted,” Chim said. “So he’ll sleep for a while. A few hours, but it could be more.” 

Tommy reached out for Evan, hands landing on his left arm. He was warm and he was breathing and his heart was beating. When he looked back at the witch, it seemed like Eddie and Ravi were already getting to work. Cyra was watching them carefully. 

“Are you taking him to the hospital?” Tommy asked. 

“Not necessary,” Chim said. “We should get him inside, though. He’ll sleep for a while.” 

“I can do that,” Tommy said, “just open the door.”

Evan wasn’t light, but Tommy knew he was strong enough, so he slipped his hands under Evan, made sure that his head rested on his shoulder and he followed Chim towards the house and then up to his bedroom. Chim didn’t say a word as Tommy put him down. 

“Got it from here?” Chim asked. 

Tommy barely nodded, incapable of tearing his eyes from Evan. He took off Evan’s shoes, socks, pants, light jacket, and shirt, leaving him in his underwear. He tucked Evan in that way and lingered a few more moments before he leaned over and kissed Evan right on his birthmark.

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No. 12

Starvation

Underground Caverns // Cannibalism // “Just a little more.”

*~*~*~*~*

“How much longer will we be down here?” The dark witchling asked. The hybrid frowned, leaning his head back against the cool stone walls. His ears flickered and strained to hear any threats. Above ground he could hear the cleansing continuing, magic people screaming and dying to the purge.

“I don’t know,” Hybrid grumbled, his tail swishing impatiently behind him. “I don’t know how long this will last.”

“I miss the sun.”

“I know,” Hybrid said, extending his arm so the witchling can cuddle him for warmth. “I know. Not much longer now.”

It was difficult to keep track of time in the caverns. Every few hours, minutes, seconds? There would be a long drawn out silence that blanketed the world above and it pulled at Hybrid, the moon calling his name, telling him it was time to hunt, but he knew if he emerged from the underground he would be hunted. Killed. Made an example of and then the witchling would be all alone and Hybrid couldn’t have that…

Yeah, that’s why, a snide voice chirped in his head. It’s not that you’re too cowardly to fight. To rescue you both. You’d rather rot down here and starve.

After what felt like days the pair had grown weaker, and Hybrid had to get used to Witchling’s laboured breaths. Witchling conjured water for them and that staved off hunger for a while, but the hunger grew teeth and it felt like it was trying to eat Hybrid from the inside out.

Hybrid looked down at the Witchling, his tail curled around the Witchling’s waist. He didn’t know if they were awake or asleep, he didn’t think his brain could compute the difference. He removed his hand from the Witchling’s shoulder and drew away as gently as he could.

A small hand bunched his shirt. “Where’re you going?”

Hybrid grabbed the Witchling’s wrist. “I have to hunt. We’ll starve down here if I don’t.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“I can go with—”

“No,” Hybrid said, pulling Witchling’s hand away. “No. The purge has lasted longer than before, or… maybe it hasn’t, but either way you’re not coming. You have to stay safe here.”

“We’ve been here for days,” Witchling moaned. Hybrid’s tail twitched in irritation. Everything irritated him more when he was hungry. He had to remain calm; not show panic at their situation or annoyance at his job.

He put a hand in Witchling’s hair and forced a smile on his face. “I know, little one, but I promised I’d look after you, okay? Just a little more time down here, just until the purge dies down. I can get a lay of the land up there and see what is happening. We can plan and get out of here.”

“And then what?” Witchling asked and it pulled at Hybrid’s heart strings. I don’t know, he wanted to say. It was the truth after all. Hybrid had no clue what they were doing, or why they were chosen to protect this little Witchling over everyone else the coven knew.

“And then we survive. Okay?”

The Witchling was silent. Their brown eyes searched Hybrid’s face for any sign of doubt or trickery, but eventually their shoulders sagged and they nodded. Hybrid smiled. He pulled the Witchling’s hand away. Before he could move, the Witchling’s other hand shot out and grabbed Hybrid’s wrist.

He was about to growl his frustration when the Witchling whispered, “please don’t die up there.”

All tension unwound from Hybrid’s body as he softened. “I won’t. I promise.”

He just didn’t know how long he could stay true to that promise.

*~*~*~*~*

Whumptober masterpost here

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

For You, I'd Paint the World Red

Prompt: They hadn't meant to do it. They really hadn't meant to lose control of their magic. But they couldn't help it. And maybe, just maybe... they were glad they did it. Or the one where MC destroys an entire coven of witches and adopts a kid on the way.

Pairing: Mammon x GN!MC

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

TW: Arson, implied child abuse, please let me know if there is anything else I should add.

AN: Is it just me, or does anyone else get frighteningly vivid dreams that they turn into fanfics so they can share this weird cocktail of feelings and emotions with everyone who's interested? This is very self-indulgent, btw. I just want MC to be allowed to go crazy sometimes. Feral even. We believe in murderous MC supremacy in this house.

Elliot Crowe belongs to my absolute darling of a friend @doodlboy <3 thank you for letting me use your mc in this little thing. This will also be a series of sorts, so please look forward to that ^^

"This is the last one MC."

(e/c) eyes looked up at the sorcerer. Elliot smiled, earning a sigh of relief in return from Solomon's prized apprentice. A very tired, ready-to-fall-asleep-standing apprentice.

"I'm glad," they yawned, stretching their arms over their head as they followed him to the transportation array. "I swear, once I'm done, I'm heading to back home and sleeping for the next three weeks."

"You've certainly earned it," the man hummed, offering his hand, like the gentleman he was. The two stepped onto the array, Elliot activating it with a simple incantation.

A few seconds later, the pair found themselves in front of the last coven's mansion. The massive structure was creeping into the nearby forest, where the younger of the two could make out glowing spectres darting through the trees.

"Tastefully decorated," Elliot remarked, drawing their attention back to the imposing building in front of them. It looked like a normal mansion, from what they could see; nothing particularly stood out a first glance. But there was a slight feeling of difference, something only those sensitive to magic would notice. They had been getting this feeling at nearly every coven they visited.

MC was glad that these visits to the supernatural were once every twenty years. The aim of these 'inspections' was to make sure that the other supernatural members of the world upheld their end of the various treaties and contracts signed by them with the Sorcerer's Society.

MC had met Elliot a few times before through Solomon. Elliot Crowe was the apprentice of one of Solomon's old friends, and almost like a son to the white-haired man. This meant that the sorcerer often checked up on him, resulting in the two young humans bonding over the woes of apprenticeship and making fun of Solomon's age, much to his chagrin.

This friendship was what lead to the two pairing up when the audits were announced. Elliot and MC were chosen to inspect the covens of witches who practised magic under the Sorcerers Society's careful supervision, both major and minor.

All those they had visited up till now were incredibly interested in helping humans at best, and wanting absolutely nothing to do with anyone outside their coven at worst. Either way, it was a somewhat ideal first time doing this for them, even if it was a bit tedious.

They weren't kidding about sleeping for 3 weeks. Belphies pact mark was glowing faintly, almost as if recognizing their wish to indulge in his sin.

Elliot cleared his throat. His eyes locked onto theirs, an uncharacteristic seriousness in them that startled MC enough to chase away their fatigue momentarily. A shiver went up their spine as they felt him put up a magical charm to avoid any eavesdroppers from hearing his next words.

"The coven we're inspecting now," he began, his tone low and firm, "is the one the Society is most wary of, MC. The witches here are known to have made and to look for ways to make, pacts with a large number of demons."

"While most of their pacts are lesser demons, they have a contract with someone rather important in the Devildom. Someone you know quite well."

They didn't have to ask whom. In all the their years of staying at the Devildom, they knew only one notable demon who had a pact- wait, contract?

Elliot seemed to have sensed their confusion as he clarified, "Despite what many think, Mammon didn't actually make a pact with the witches. He signed a contract, presumably one that acts almost like a pact and has nearly the same pull. For what, nobody knows."

They did. They knew exactly why Mammon signed such a disadvantageous contract. But it wasn't their place to spill his secrets. Instead they asked, "Does the Society know what are the conditions of the contract?"

"No," Elliot frowned, his displeasure on not knowing more showing clearly on his face. "No, they don't. The covens are entitled to privacy and secrecy when it comes to things like contracts with demons as long as they're not wreaking havoc on humans. As long as no humans are hurt, the Society mostly lets them be." His voice drops down to a whisper, even though there is no chance of anyone overhearing them because of the charm he'd cast earlier. "But recently, there has been a large number of missing human cases in this area. And well, this particular coven has always been a little shady."

"That's rich, coming from you," MC snorted, elbowing Elliot lightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension. Elliot graced them with an exasperated smile. "Very funny, but that's not the point. Now listen carefully. Once we go inside, I will need you to distract them-"

"... Don't tell me I have to dress in drag and do the hula.."

"As funny as it would be, no. Make small talk, use some of your 'little human' charm on them," Elliot hummed. "Whatever you need to do to make sure that you are the only one they pay attention to. Make it seem like you are novice to all of this, as unthreatening as possible. Make them underestimate you."

"Hm. Sounds like something I can do."

"Good. I'll try to slip away unnoticed at a point to actually investigate, so don't worry if you can't see me."

"What do you want out of this Elliot? Or more accurately, what does the Society want?"

"Some proof that their suspicions are right about the coven." A reason to exterminate them went unsaid.

"Alright. I'll do my best."

"You always do."

"And this, is our archives. Please come in, dearest sorcerers."

MC took a big breath and did as they were told, quickly stepping into the room. Their jaw was aching from the dopey smile they had plastered on ever since entering the premises. Just a little longer, they thought to themself, thinking back to how they had lost sight of Elliot halfway into their tour, the coven head not even realizing.

For a coven potentially doing shady things, they sure were lax with their security.

Melvara, the coven head, finally seemed to notice Solomon's absence. "Um, where is Sir Elliot, if I may ask?"

"Oh, he said he needed to use the restroom. He'll be here soon, but wow! This room is huge!" MC grinned, spinning lightly in place as if trying to take in everything. Truthfully speaking, it was not much. They lived in the Devildom with 7 very wealthy brothers, a demon prince who took pleasure in spoiling his friends, and a demon butler who was more attentive and observant than anyone they had ever known. Their mentor was arguably the best sorcerer alive, if a little eccentric, and they had endeared themself to even angels. Needless to say, they were spoiled rotten when it came to once in a lifetime experiences.

Thankfully, Melvara seemed to buy their act, giving them a proud smile. "I'm glad you think so. Now, how about we have some tea while we wait for Sir Elliot to come back? The archives are the last stop before the Forest of a Thousand Spectres, after all."

They hummed, sitting down at the seat offered to them, eyes still taking in everything down to the last detail. Elliot's words had assured them that this would be one report that would require them to go into heavy detail.

The door to the archives opened for the second time.

(E/c) eyes turned to the witch that entered the room, head respectfully bowed and voice reverent as she presented them with tea and snacks. They gave her a sweet smile, watching in carefully veiled amusement as she blushed and nearly spilled the hot beverage. It was cute how a simple smile was enough to put people at ease. After a few hurried apologies and not-so-subtle glances at them, the witch left the room. For a few minutes, there was blissful silence.

"Say, sorcerer MC?"

"Yes?"

"Pardon my forwardness, but I had heard that you have pacts with all seven of the avatars of sin?"

MC hummed, a pleasant smile on their face. "I do," they said, noting the interest in her eyes. Melvara leaned slightly forward, her eyes gleaming with something that made them pause for a second. Right, don't underestimate the other party, they thought to themself chidingly.

"An admirable feat. May I be so bold as to.. offer you some advice?"

Did they really look that gullible?

"Of course, I would love to learn from my elders."

They hadn't meant to do it.

They really hadn't meant to lose control of their magic.

But they couldn't have helped it.

Not when Elliot burst into the archive room, eyes filled with disdain and murderous intent; holding an unconscious girl in his arms. A very familiar child, one they had yet to meet face to face but had seen plenty of pictures of.

They watched with dark satisfaction as flames engulfed the accursed manor and the forest around it. Screams of the witches stuck inside echoed into the darkness, and MC instinctively covered the ear of the girl who now lay in their arms, still unconscious. The few who had no hand in any of the heinous crimes their brethren had committed cowered somewhere behind them.

The Forest of a Thousand Spectres never looked as hauntingly beautiful as it did now.

A hand on their shoulder had them instinctively cradle the girl closer to their chest. A side glance at Elliot, who had the same blank look on his face. "You can go home MC. I'll report this myself," he said, voice barely above a whisper but firm. Not a suggestion then.

MC nodded, the only indication that they had heard him. Elliot sighed. "What.. are you thinking of doing about her, MC?"

"I'm taking her home."

"She's is the only living witness to the atrocities this coven committed. The Society will wish to talk to her."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Another sigh. "Very well. I'll see you after I've reported the incident and" -he looked over to the terrified witches, the innocent ones, who shrank away the moment his gaze was placed on them- "taken care of them."

"Sure," they said, tearing their eyes away from the flames for a just moment to watch Elliot teleport himself and the witches away, presumably to the Society's headquarters.

They did the same moments later, appearing in their room. MC carefully lowered the girl onto their bed, gentle hands adjusting the blankets to offer comfort and warmth. Satisfied with their work, they pulled a chair close to the bed and sat on it. A breathless chuckle escaped from their lips as they felt the slight trembling in their hands. Their eyes scanned the teenager, sleeping soundly under Elliot's recovery spell.

The fact that a simple recovery spell made her fall unconscious spoke volumes about the pain she had suffered.

MC brushed a strand of hair away from her face, vaguely thinking about Mammon's reaction when he finds out exactly what the sweet little girl had been through. They stole another glance at her, then picked up their DDD.

S.S Audit Stuff (Lucifer, Solomon, Elliot and you)

You: Lucifer. Solomon.

You: We need to talk.

You: Meet me in my room.

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

don't cry, it won't be long

day 21 whumptober prompt: alternative “used as bait”

there is nothing neil wouldn’t do for his family

nothing he wouldn’t do for andrew

andrew who is in danger because of him, fallen right onto riko’s hands because of him

it would be funny if it were any other situation

because the one person whose blood can heal a werewolf bite is literally part of their family

kevin could save andrew’s life

if only riko hadn’t taken him

if only neil had made sure that he was being careful

if only neil wasn’t so useless and needy of help and weak and fucking mortal

if only fucking mary had told him the truth of who she was and who he was and what they were really running from 

if only she had told him about fucking vampires and witches and werewolves and originals and the fucking importance of bloodlines 

if only he wasn’t the last wesninski alive and that didn’t mean anything more than a blessing

how the fuck was he supposed to know his father wasn’t just a violent sadistic bastard with homicidal tendencies? 

how the fuck was he supposed to know the wesninskis came from a long line of witches important enough that everyone who met him leaned away from him if he didn’t even know witches were an actual thing?

how the fuck would he know he was the last fucking witch of his coven if he didn’t know he was a witch in the first fucking place?

this was a whole fucking mess and it’s not even his fault!

but

but it’s andrew’s fault even less

he should have just given himself up to riko and the moriyamas once they came looking for him

even if he still didn’t understand just why they needed him so badly

andrew wouldn’t have been taken, could get healed if he wasn’t more focused on protecting neil’s back instead of his own all the time, wasn’t more focused on making sure neil wasn’t eaten by the moriyama’s wolves than on stopping one of them from biting him and taking him afterwards

(he’d only hit his head, he was only dazed, abby just gave him some potion and said he was fine, fine, fine

if he’d at least acted fine andrew would be here)

it’s only fair neil makes sure andrew is able to get back

back to his family, back to where he can be healed, back to where he can keep living for as long as immortality grants him

getting out of the house is easier than he’d expect to, but everyone is focused on trying to get andrew back, trying to find a weakness of riko to exploit, trying to find a solution

it’s easy after months of studying spells and learning to use his ability to siphon magic out of talisman’s he keeps close, it’s easy to make himself invisible to his family, all it takes is a whisper, “invisique” and he’s gone

it’s easy to just run

it’s easy to run away from his family

but he’s running so that they can be complete

so that andrew can come back

it’s easy to find the mansion the moriyamas have chosen to claim as theirs

he’s been here before anyway, he remembers the path simply because he remembers wanting to get away

he’s doing this for andrew

he forces his fear away, forces everything away and steps on the pathway

the doors open before he reaches them

riko stands smiling triumphantly 

“left all your little friends home did you?”

“your concern isn’t with them, not anymore”

riko laughs, stepping aside and motioning for neil to get in

he does so with his head held up, at least trying to pretend he wasn’t nervous

there was no point faking when there were only vampires in this house, when they could hear how hard his heart was beating

when they could hear how faster it got the moment he sets his eyes on andrew’s body tied up in the middle of the room

he’s mumbling something, looking so far away from here, from now

neil has never seen him look so weak

they stop him before he’s able to get to him, faceless men and women and their hands grab at his arms and-

someone didn’t fucking teach them not to fucking touch him

someone didn’t teach them not to underestimate him

two of them are on their knees the moment he’s able to wrap his hands around their wrists and the power feels intoxicating

the rest of them go down with simple words flying out of his mouth before he even thinks about them

riko, he wants to kill riko 

riko is on his knees, grabbing at his head as neil makes it his mission to make it explode

“nathaniel”

he doesn’t normally respond to that name, not anymore, but it’s the strangled gasp that accompanies it that makes him turn around anyway

ichirou’s hands is inside andrew’s chest

neil freezes where he stands, fear an icy stream in his veins and–

“so you can be a good boy” 

his hands drop, he can feel the magic draining away from him he can–

all he can focus on is andrew

“let him go”

ichirou smiles, so much colder, so much more threatening than riko’s

“if i do that how can i assure you won’t try to attack us again?”

“if you let him go i will do anything you want from me”

ichirou takes his hand out of andrew’s chest, and he’s gasping again, eyes fluttering as he struggles to… as he struggles to keep fighting to stay alive

the older moriyama brother walks up to neil

“do you even understand what we want from you nathaniel?”

“i don’t care as long as you let him go so he can be healed”

ichirou scoffs, “of course, the hybrid”

“this isn’t about him”

that brings a grunt out of riko, suddenly right behind neil

still a sore spot then

“what i need, nathaniel, is for every single drop of blood in your system, so that i can break a very important spell your daddy dearest was so kind to place on my father when he found out he wasn’t anything but a nuissance”

it makes his breath hitch, makes his mind go a thousand miles an hour as he tries to even understand what ichirou is talking about

every single drop of your blood

“neil?”

his gaze flies to andrew, tied up and in agony and half out of his mind and dying and–

he locks eyes with him, his andrew, who has never looked so afraid and vulnerable and lost

for him anything

he looks back at ichirou and whispers

“just let him go”

ichirou smiles, victorious and proud and boastful

he turns to riko and as they exchange some heated words in japanese, one of their vampires lowers andrew to the ground

for him anything

ichirou turns to neil again, smile never leaving his face

“riko is so kindly going to make sure minyard makes it home safely to your hybrid to be healed, and he has promised that just for tonight, he won’t try anything”

riko is still grumbling in japanese the entire time he walks over to grab andrew harshly, and it takes everything in neil not to go to him and push him back, push him away and get his filthy fucking hands away from andrew

ichirou snaps something at riko, and the younger brother drops andrew’s arms for just a moment, but riko’s eyes still simmer with rage

“any last words? they’re no use, it’s not like he’ll remember them, but feel free to do it”

there are so many things neil wants to say, so many things he wants to do, so many things he’d foolishly hoped he’d be able to say and do and live

andrew’s gaze is on him, but he looks so far away neil is sure he can’t even recognize him

he doesn’t care

this is his last chance

he wishes they had more time

“thank you, you were amazing drew”

ichirou chuckles, and with one single word, riko is speeding out of the room with andrew, and they’re gone

neil can feel himself shaking

ichirou steps right up into his space, his dark eyes an intense gaze, the veins under his eyes growing darker

this is it

he wishes he had more time

but he doesn’t

at least andrew will be safe

at least andrew will be alive

that’s all that matters

“you ready?” 

neil hadn’t noticed the witch until he’s right by their side, nodding before beginning to chant her spell

neil eyes are burning with hatred as he looks up at ichirou

“fighting will only make this harder”

“fuck you”

and then his throat is on fire and his legs are giving out and the only reason he doesn’t fall is ichirou’s hands around him

he doesn’t hear the witch’s chant anymore

his vision is becoming blurry

he doesn’t… everything is numb

he blinks slowly

once

twice

he…

his eyes don’t open again

i am sorry this is so shitty and weirdly paced but i literally start midterms week tomorrow and im literally in fucking med school and i should really be studying instead of writing this so please forgive me lmao maybe one day i can come and write something better than how this turned out knowing about the vampire diaries universe would make this infinitely easier to understand but i think i did okay in that department i don't even know anymore title from close my eyes by luke hemmings

[sillysistersusi]

Style It The Way You Want

I made this little story for the second day of the dadrius week 2023 (fashion), it's a little late but better than never🥰😊 I hope you like what I did

You can also find this story on my ao3 and wattpad accounts

@sergeantsporks

So here it is:

When Darius had asked Hunter if he wanted to live with him, Hunter hadn't been quite sure why he was asking. Did Darius perhaps need someone to help him with the household chores? But Hunter quickly realized that wasn't the case. When he first wanted to do the dishes, Darius had only said that he would always have one of his abominations do them and that Hunter could just relax and do something else.

So why did he want Hunter to live with him? What did he want from Hunter if not to do the housework for him?

It all really confused him and Hunter increasingly didn't know what to make of certain situations he was thrown into.

Whenever Darius asked him about his interests, Hunter evaded and said he didn't have any or he was still thinking about things. It was better not to stand out too much in case Hunter liked something that Darius didn't like. He certainly didn't want the abomination coven head to kick him out again just because he couldn't just be quiet and pretend to be an ordinary and undamaged kid.

But Hunter especially tried to keep it a secret that he loved to wear colorful clothes. He had never seen Darius in colors other than purple, black, and white.

Besides, he and Darius had been at the market in Bonesborough the other day and there had been a sweater hanging on one of the stalls that Hunter had liked immediately. It had been light blue and had had flowers and different colors and shapes and in the middle of the front had been a big orange heart embroidered on it.

But Darius had just wrinkled his nose and asked a little disgusted, "Who would buy something like that?

And so Hunter had decided not to wear anything that Darius would call ugly. He loved fashion and Hunter knew that Darius would probably kick him out if he wore something Darius didn't think was good enough.

Hunter had once tried to add something more colorful and individual to his golden guard uniform. It had been a simple colorful flower patch that he had sewn onto his dark trousers rather poorly, but Belos had not been at all pleased by the idea. He had freaked out immediately when he had seen the colorful patch on Hunter's pants.

So when Hunter and Darius went shopping a few days into Hunter's second week at Darius' house, because one morning Darius said, "The four outfits you own can hardly be called a whole closet." Hunter tried to ignore everything he thought was beautiful.

They were already in the second store. In the first, Hunter had chosen the two plainest pairs of shoes, although he would much rather have had the bright red ones they sold there as well.

Now Hunter pulled everything off the hangers that looked like something Darius would wear, only a little plainer, after all, Hunter didn't want Darius to think he was trying to replace him or anything.

But no matter what Hunter did, his eyes kept wandering over to this one colorful skirt that was hanging on a hanger on the wall a little further back.

It was a pink skirt with different colored dots on it and Hunter really wanted to try it on, but he knew there was nothing about it that Darius would like and he didn't want to upset Darius.

Hunter had had one more scar on his leg as a result, when Belos had been mad at him back then, because Belos had lashed out with the green goop and ripped the patch off his pants, though he hadn't been very careful about it, so Hunter had limped back to his room afterwards with tears in his eyes.

Hunter didn't want Darius to have a reason to be mad at him, because Hunter really liked living with him. He didn't want Darius to kick him out, because it was really nice to have someone there to ask him every morning how he was feeling and if he slept well. And he just didn't want to lose that.

But Hunter tended to do things he shouldn't. So he took a quick look around for Darius, and when he was sure the man was busy, he sprinted through the rows of clothes to grab the skirt. He pulled the garment off the hanger and hid it among the rest of the plainer clothes he had already picked out.

Hunter wasn't planning on actually buying the skirt, he just wanted to look in the dressing room mirror and see what it looked like on him. And he probably could risk that.

Hunter walked over to Darius, who was struggling through a collection of purple pants and was looking at one of them as if he wasn't sure if he should buy it or not. That's when he noticed Hunter. "Oh, little prince, did you find something too?"

"Yes, I was going to suggest that we could go to the changing rooms now. Of course, only if you're ready, too. "He added the last sentence quickly, so as not to seem disrespectful, after all, he owed Darius at least that, even if he still didn't quite understand why Darius would want Hunter to live with him.

But Darius just nodded, "It's probably better that way. If I keep looking for clothes, I'll take more home with me later than you will."

Hunter opened his mouth briefly to ask what would be so bad about that, but then closed it again without having said anything.

"I say that because we're here to restock your wardrobe, not mine, little prince," Darius said, who seemed to have Hunter figured out. Hunter pressed his lips together and tried to look as emotionless as possible. Belos had always used it against him when he knew what Hunter was thinking or feeling, and Hunter didn't want to find out if Darius would do the same.

So they headed for the changing rooms. On the way they passed several dresses, pants and sweaters that Hunter would have liked to take with him and try on instead of the plain clothes, but he had to stick to his plan. His heart sank more and more the closer they got to the changing rooms, as if he knew he was making a mistake.

In the changing room, he first put on one of the plain outfits and showed it to Darius. Darius said that it would fit Hunter, but he didn't seem to 'feel' it. But Hunter had no idea what that meant. And anyway, wasn't the real purpose of clothing to fit him?

Hunter only understood what Darius meant when he tried on the skirt second, along with a purple T-shirt. He seemed happier immediately, like a completely different person. The skirt fell fluffy and airy around his legs and Hunter grinned childishly to himself as he turned a little and the skirt moved with him.

"Hunter? "That was Darius' voice, "Show me the next outfit. Judging by your laugh, you seem to like it a lot."

Hunter slapped a hand over his mouth. Had he laughed without realizing it? Apparently he had. But now Darius expected him to present an outfit that he 'felt'. But everything else Hunter had taken into the changing room with him was stuff that didn't really excite Hunter. Besides, he didn't have time to put on another outfit without it looking weird.

"Hunter, dear, is everything okay? "Darius sounded concerned, but somehow that only made Hunter more nervous.

He needed to get out of here. Everything seemed so tight all of a sudden. Even the skirt. Hunter took off the clothes and threw them on the floor. Then he reached for his familiar clothes and frantically put them on.

At that moment, he heard Darius' voice say, "Try to breathe, Hunter. It's all right."

It sounded like Darius stepped back from the door to give Hunter some space, and Hunter took that opportunity to rush out of the changing room and head for the exit. He heard Darius call behind him, "Hunter! Wait!"

But then he was already out of the store and running down the street, past confused looking witches and demons.

He didn't know where to run at all. The only person he could think of, except for Darius, but he wouldn't have been an option in this situation anyway, was Camila. But Hunter knew that Camila would tell him to just talk to Darius about everything.

So Hunter stopped and leaned against a cool stone wall in a side alley and slowly lowered himself to the ground. What on earth had he been thinking? He didn't even want to imagine how mad Darius would be if he found him. Or maybe he wouldn't look for him at all, but simply decide Hunter wasn't worth the trouble.

He pulled his legs to his chest and buried his face in his arms. Only now did tears well up in his eyes and he began to cry.

Hunter had no idea how long he had been sitting there when he heard Darius' voice ask, "Hunter? Is it okay if I sit with you?"

But Hunter was not able to register the words at all. When he looked up a few seconds later, face tear-stained and eyes all red, Darius had crouched to the floor some distance away and seemed to be making himself as small as possible so as not to tower over Hunter in a threatening manner.

"You need to take a deep breath, little prince. "Darius said, his voice sounding incredibly soft and little more than a whisper.

And only then did Hunter realize he was hyperventilating. Slowly he stretched out his fingers and did the counting exercise Gus had shown him.

"It's going to be okay." and "You're doing very well." Darius whispered in between, which helped to calm Hunter down even more.

After a while of trying to breathe deeply, he started to feel a little better.

Darius smiled softly, yet somewhat sadly, and nodded to the asphalt next to Hunter. "May I?"

Hunter just nodded and Darius slowly and carefully sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry. "Darius said softly and as Hunter was about to say something in reply he continued, "I seem to have made you feel like you can't talk to me about anything, and for that I am truly sorry. Whatever it is that made you run away, you can tell me. Really."

Hunter avoided Darius' gaze and looked down at his feet, which he scuffed a little nervously across the asphalt. "I- well- " He took another deep breath, literally feeling the air rush through his lungs. So he tried again, "I didn't want you to be mad."

"Why would I be mad at you, little prince?" asked Darius gently.

"Because- "Hunter looked up at him and blinked away tears that threatened to burst from his eyes again.

"It's all good. Take your time. "Darius said.

Hunter avoided his gaze again as he asked softly, "Can you hold me? Just- just for a second I- never mind. Forget what I said! That was really stupid, I- "

But Darius stretched out his arms and looked at Hunter with a loving, concerned look. He put one hand on Hunter's back and pulled him closer. The other hand he used to gently caress the back of Hunter's head.

"What is it that's troubling you, little prince?" asked Darius, but his voice still sounded just gentle.

"I don't understand why," Hunter began, tears running down his cheeks again. He snuggled closer to Darius and held onto the front of his shirt, afraid Darius would let him go again, "I don't understand why you took me in. I don't understand what you want from me."

"I- Hunter, I want you to be okay. In the last few days before the day of unity, I really realized how wrong I've been all this time and what a wonderful child you are. I wanted to prevent you from being hurt again. I'm sorry, I should have made my intentions clear from the beginning, little prince," Darius said, gently rocking Hunter back and forth.

"I thought- I thought it would be a good idea in fashion- well, to stick to what you're wearing. B- Belos, he- he never liked it when I- well- when I tried to be myself. And I guess I kind of thought you'd react similarly. "Hunter murmured, closing his eyes as the soft warmth of Darius' body made him feel safe.

"You can wear whatever you want," Darius said, gently stroking a hand through his hair, which was still disheveled from his hasty escape, "but I figured it was something like that."

"How- "

"The colorful skirt on the floor," Hunter could hear Darius' smile in his voice, "I bought that skirt, by the way. Because judging from your laugh, you liked it a lot. And tomorrow we'll go out shopping again, and I want you to choose whatever you like, not what you think I might like."

Hunter broke away from the hug and looked at Darius with a wide smile that showed the gap in his teeth.

"I- thank you Darius. "he said, feeling his ears turn a little red.

Darius pulled him into a hug again and nuzzled him gently. "I want you to know that the only thing I want from you is for you to be happy."

[chevelleneech]

The Acolyte ep7: The Good!

I posted my negative thoughts first, to get them out of the way since they were my initial reaction. However, I didn’t end the episode upset or even frustrated. If you want to read them though, click here.

Going to the good…

This episode, while flawed in my opinion, did a good job following through on what it seemingly set the tone and theme of the show as. As far as I know since getting into the series, it’s meant to be a villain origin story, but no one really knows who the villain is supposed to be.

We know Mae was the assassin, but we never knew if she’d remain our dark side pov. Then we met Qimir, the by-the-book villain who is looking to recruit people to the dark side, and Osha, his likely pupil given her call to freedom and power since youth. We also had an inkling it could be a Jedi who turns, because it’s possible, as we’ve seen it with Anakin (if he was a Jedi, I don’t actually know, lol).

Point is, we knew the show would be about someone choosing the dark side, but not who. This episode followed through on why it’d be possible and even justified, because the Jedi have an inflated sense of ego no matter who it harms, and while I don’t know everything about Star Wars, I do know that has been a long lasting conversation. The Jedi Order wants ultimate control without coming across as being oppressive, and that is simply not a feasible want in life. As a result, they must cover up their crimes, no matter how well intended.

As such, we saw in this episode that while Indara attempted to do the right thing the whole time, she still chose to protect the aggressors. Which was her team, thus claiming the lives of an entire coven. We saw Torbin, a young man being taught he was an authority figure even though he clearly wasn’t ready to be on the field, act on his own impulse just because he wanted to go back to a place of comfort and privilege that benefited him. And lastly we saw Sol, a man clearly in search of his Purpose, choose to act on his emotions instead of trying to understand a different culture’s way of life.

What stood out to me the most, as well, is that Sol didn’t even know the girls apart from each other as he attempted to stake his claim. I know he meant well to an extent, but he called out for Osha despite knowing Mae is the one with the symbol on her head. It can be argued he didn’t see it, but that also proves my point. He didn’t feel a connection to Osha specifically. Like Indara said, he put his own deep seated wants above what was actually happening.

Sol decided Osha passed the Jedi test. Sol assumed the worst of Aniseya to justify killing her. Sol decided Mae was too attached to the coven to give her any benefit of the doubt. Sol chose to kill Mae to save Osha. Sol chose to protect himself by agreeing to lie to Osha and make her sister out to be a murder. Sol, Indara, and Torbin all acted out of selfishness, and while Kelnacca could have chosen not to jump into battle, he really is the only one who did not cause harm. His body was taken over and used without his permission, and as a result, his life was chosen to mean more than tens of others.

As much as I spoke on why the episode didn’t hit the mark for me, I do still think it is a really solid foundation for why Osha eventually going dark makes sense. It also redeems Mae, because she could have chosen to kill all Jedi everywhere, yet she didn’t. It also helps make better sense of why she decided to turn herself in once learning Osha was alive. I already figured it was because she had her sister back, but that was when I thought there was true mind games going on with the Jedi and she wanted to tell Osha she didn’t start the fire.

She did start the fire, but it’s still a solid reasoning, because had the Jedi not been there, none of it would have happened regardless. At the same time, Mae’s want for revenge stemmed from believing the Jedi killed Osha, and because she saw Sol kill her mother. So it makes even more sense that she hates him the most, and decided to kill him once again after Osha refuses to forgive her. Sol ruined her life, and unbeknownst to her at the time, chose to kill her too.

I kind of lost my train of thought… sorry.. but basically, I think for all its worth, the episode did stick to its guns. We know why Mae wants revenge, we know why Osha never felt truly connected to being a Jedi in the end (because Sol forced it more so than he let it happen naturally), and we know why Sol has been so guilt ridden and also confused as to why and how Mae turned out. He asserted she was dead, because he let her fall. He didn’t think she was a killer, because she never was before his actions turned her into one.

Okay, so I’m tired of typing now and gotta get some sleep for work, but that’s pretty much all my thoughts. I think. If not, you’ll certain see more of them over the next week. I also think I’m going to make a predictions post tomorrow, so I’ll link that here if I do. Bye.

Wait, quick thoughts after reading it back.

Who saved Mae? I’m confused as to that part, and am partially hoping it’s not Qimir, because it would make me side eye their lack of a dynamic. Unless they have him save her and send her on her way, only for them to meet up a decade later, and he realizes she needs guidance right as we is seeking a pupil, so he decides to train her.

And the last last thing… people who hate the idea of the Jedi being corrupt, are probably not going to like this episode even though the Jedi overall are not the ones who covered anything up. It was that single crew, but we all know how Those Folks can get. They’re already too deep into their “The Acolyte is the worst show ever!” high horses, and they aren’t coming down anytime soon, lol.

Okay, now goodbye!

[hiddenbysuccubi]

2012 Althenea had just finished reapplying the ward on their ramshackle hideaway when the chosen one of their little renegade group popped back into time. She was startled just enough for her eyes to widen at the brunette's sudden appearance, but didn't otherwise let the surprise show or her magic waver. Vi was down for the count on a twin bed upstairs, having trained hard at both martial arts, duel-wielding, and defensive spell casting that day. It was evening - colder than any October this part of Cali had ever seen. Althenea was pleasantly bundled up but shrugged off her insulated snow poncho without reservation in order to cover Buffy's shivering form. Joan felt the electricity in her teeth before the pop of sparks from her time-watch burned her and she hastily scratched and scrambled to get it off, then clutching the poncho tightly around her thin shoulders.

"Damn technobauble!" Joan admonished the watch, before catching Althenea's baleful eye and carefully scooping the thing back up before standing. She blinked. "Um, can't jump for- for a bit." she said apologetically, not expecting an answer from the ex-coven witch.

Althenea wasn't made of steel, though she was indeed known to lack emotion. "It'll do you good to rest before another jump anyway, Buffy." She offered in an altogether flat tone. Still, she put a reassuring hand on Buffy's shoulder and guided her inside. Buffy-Joan-Joan-Buffy. Joan knew her friends here knew her despite the darkened hair and disguise. They wanted Buffy. Joan didn't know how much Buffy still remained in her. So she just nodded at the name and let the older woman lead her. Low, keep your head, keep your head low Oh, you gotta keep your head low Inside, it was clear they'd neglected cleaning cobwebs for training and planning. It was just as well - none of them expected to exist after succeeding. The cobwebs and spiders could take this timeline. As Joan sat on a well-worn recliner that reminded her of a certain someone, she felt the time sickness inside her settle and let her mind rest as Althenea carefully detoxed her from the alcohol with a healing aura. If you wanna keep your head ----- Later on, Joan held her palms to her eyes, and asked about Vi.

"Violet's shown marked increase in ability." Althenea remarked, fixing them some tea. It's what made her more Giles than Dark Willow - despite the depth and breadth of her magical ability. "She's not as strong a slayer as you, not as strong a witch as me. But she's got promise. And with her powers together I'm sure she's capable of anything." She paused to pour the tea. "If it comes to it." Joan raised her head slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting and skin adjusting to the cold. It was colder than the last time she'd left. Sunnydale of the past had been much warmer. In the coldest time of year, why is it so hot down here? "Will it...?" Joan asked meekly as Althenea appraised her, then set a cup in her hands and sat on the recliner's arm rest.

Althenea drank from her own cup, looking far off. "Spike's here, but you stayed dead after the portal. No chip, and he didn't pass on the scythe - he's leading the army in the northeast."

Joan almost dropped her cup to the floor. "So I-"

Althenea reached out to steady the slayer's hold on her tea. "Don't have long until you fade away. We'll fix the watch and send you back again before that."

"Mm." Joan hummed in annoyance. She'd changed enough to change the future this time, but for the worse.

Lover, you were gone so long. Lover, I was lonesome. So I laid a power grid. Think of it as my despair for you! ----- Later still, Joan crept into the bedroom and looked at the younger slayer sound asleep. Vi was nothing like Dawn, but that didn't make the Buffy in her see her as anything less precious to protect. As Joan collapsed onto the other twin bed, she thought of what to do to make this all finally right. And that is the reason we're on this road