#the witchling and the god

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Epilogue

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous

Chapter’s Note: Check out the Witchling Art tag |Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 32: Epilogue

Rays of sunlight fall through a slit in the curtain, which is not properly closed, and pull you out of your sleep. Not yet fully awake, you feel something move next to you and turn to it. Reaching out, you touch cool skin and hum something.

A chuckle sounds next to you. "Good morning, my love."

Loki’s voice is low and your favorite thing to hear in the morning. You open one eye, finally being awake enough to do so, and come face to face with your lover.

"Morning, dear."

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him to steal a lazy kiss from your lips. Happy to comply, you bury your head in the crook of Loki’s neck and surrender to the sweet moment between sleep and fully awake. You are both naked and your legs are tangled together under the sheets.

Your muscles ache, especially the ones in your thighs. But it's a good kind of ache and you smile as you remember where it came from.

“We have to get up,” you murmur into Loki’s skin, not really in the mood to leave the comfort of your bed. “Or else we’re going to be late.” You feel his slender fingers under your chin, as he tilts your head so he can look at you.

“We can reschedule.” He rolls you over so that he is leaning over you. His naked torso feels cool against your hot skin. He leans down to you, but before his lips touch yours he stops. “You look ravishing and I am a starving man.”

You can't help but nibble from his lips, pulling his face fully down to you.

Loki's intentions are clear and it is a very tempting idea. It wouldn't be the first time you two would get distracted. But the matter is important enough that you are willing to be the voice of reason.

"We already postponed it last time."

Pressing another quick kiss to Loki's lips, you wriggle out of his grip and off the bed. Without bothering to pick up your yesterday's clothes from the floor, you walk naked as the day you were born towards the bathroom.

Loki's eyes follow your every move and he licks his lips.

You throw him a glance over your shoulder. "Join me in the shower." It's not a question.

A light comes into Loki's face, a sparkle that is reserved only for you, and with a wide smirk he is on his feet. "Temptress."

~~

Half an hour later you are standing in front of a house. It is cute, painted in red with white window frames – quite typical for this area in Norway.

The real estate agent greets the two of you in English, with an accent.

"It's a fifteen minute drive to the next town. They have everything you need for everyday use. For anything else you would need to go to the city that is about an hour away," the agent tells you as she leads you through the house. It's been empty for a while and needs a bit of work: some painting and minor repairs. Maybe a new kitchen, you think as you enter it.

But the house has the perfect size for a couple. And there’s quite a distance to any neighbors who would notice after a few years that you and Loki age differently.

"What do you think?" Loki asks you after the agent stepped aside for a moment to give you two some space.

"I like this more than the last one. But I still want to see the other two on the list."

One of them was located in Iceland. You agreed on a temperate climate, since Loki prefers it in the long run to the warmer areas of Earth.

"This one has a nice view," Loki agrees with you, looking out a window. The house is situated on a hill, giving a view of the town in the valley. On the south side of the property, there was enough space for a vegetable garden.

You don't have to make a decision right away, but you have a feeling this is the current favorite for both of you. Especially when the Asgardian adds, "How do you feel about brunch? There's a lovely restaurant in the town."

"Oh? Someone did his homework."

You say goodbye to the estate agent and Loki takes you to the promised brunch, which is more of a late lunch due to the time difference. The sun has already passed its zenith here.

But the both of you don't mind and take the time afterwards to explore the area until it's time for you to return to New York and get ready for the gala that will take place there in the late evening.

Pepper has organized the PR event for the Avengers. It’s the night where Loki will join the team officially.

In the media, of course, the Asgardian has already been seen alongside the heroes, but so far there has been no press conference about it. Just a few statements about his general stay on Earth.

This will change tonight.

Loki is quite popular on social media. There are numerous photos and short clips of him holding the flaming sword of 'Bloodweeper', saving the Sorcerer Supreme and fighting a demon from Hell.

Someone even looped a video of him wielding it and stabbing Mephisto. They added funny music to it and it went viral for a week.

"Midgardians are weird," was Loki's only comment on it when you showed the video to him. But he can't fool you. You know he saved it in his new phone Tony gifted him.

It will be good blackmail should he ever need a favor from Strange.

The Asgardian looks spotless as always for the event. He rocks a classic dark suit that shimmers green in the right light. A small brooch in the shape of a golden snake hangs from his lapel. No tie yet – it still lies over the back of a nearby chair, while Loki adjusts his cufflinks.

You take the tie – it's green and gold – and step up to him, placing it around his neck. With practiced movements, you form it into a classic knot.

You yourself are still in your dressing robe. Your hair and makeup are done but you haven't changed yet. With good reason, because you have a request for Loki.

"I couldn't decide on an outfit to match yours. Maybe you can help me out with your magic," you murmur against his lips, your fingers still gripping the tie so he can't move away.

As if he'd ever want to.

"With pleasure." Loki's eyes shine darkly, thinking about what exquisite things he could put you in. He slips the robe off your shoulders and kisses the exposed skin, up to your neck.

You allow it for a moment, basking in his affection before relenting. "We need to get ready or we will be late," you remind him for the second time today.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

You chuckle, but still prevent him from pulling you to the bed. Instead, you whisper in his ear what you have in store for him after the event, if he keeps his good behavior up during the gala.

"I'll get back to you on that." The Asgardian loves a good challenge. "Now step back and let me work."

He considers for a moment, his gaze wandering over your body, before casting his magic. For a moment a green shimmer curls around you, and then you are wearing a stunning and very dramatic dress. It's not a mere illusion but actual tangible matter, as you feel it when you run your fingers over the fabric.

You move in front of the mirror and take a look at yourself. It’s very much the counterpart to Loki's suit, with a plunging but tasteful neckline.

"Wow." Thrilled, you do a little spin to admire the dress from all sides. "I should let you do my wardrobe more often."

Pleased with the praise, Loki steps behind you, his hands on your waist. Your eyes meet in the mirror.

"It's an easy task if the canvas is beautiful like this. However, there's just one thing missing." He conjures a necklace with a small golden snake as a pendant, just like his brooch.

You look at him, unsure. He knows necklaces are not your type of jewelry. Nothing that is too close to your throat is. But the gaze he gives you reassures you and you trust him enough to allow him to continue.

Brushing your hair aside, he puts it on you before placing another kiss in the crook of your neck. It's so light you don't even feel it on your skin, like it's not even there.

"Now, it's perfect."

Your fingers find the pendant and you feel a touch of magic.

"It contains a little spell," the Asgardian explains.

You turn in his arms. Your gaze is soft as you place one hand against his cheek and run the other through his hair. "I love it." Truly happy about the small gift, you thank him with a kiss.

Little does Loki know that you have a gift for him yourself. It is a letter that you keep hidden in your drawer. A reply from the Queen of Asgard, whom you have invited to tea in the near future. Loki and you can't go to Asgard for a visit, but no one is stopping you all from meeting here on Earth.

You plan to tell Loki about it later tonight.

Loki breaks away from you and holds out his arm. "Shall we?"

“Do you plan on using the elevators?” you ask back.

"How boring. What do you take me for? I plan to make an entrance." Loki's grin is wide and you mirror his face, taking his arm.

"We shall."

The gala is already in full swing. Tony has provided a hall for it on one of the lower floors of the tower. There is a buffet, an open bar, and additional waiters passing champagne on their trays among the guests. In one corner, a string quartet provides unobtrusive music that blends into the conversations as a lovely background noise.

The guests consist of all the active members of the Avengers, some influential political figures and selected people from the press.

This last group of people ensures that everything feels a bit put on. People's smiles often show too many teeth to be honest. Controversial opinions are only expressed quietly.

People are aware that this is an event to present themselves to the public – even if the actual public won't read about it until the next day.

Tony is talking to the mayor. Smiling politely while listening to boring stories is like second nature to him. He wears it like some kind of PR skin.

But after some time he grabs a new drink from one of the waiters before he clasps the mayor on the shoulder and uses an excuse to leave and find Pepper.

Suddenly, the lights flicker, go out completely for a moment, while the music also falls silent, as does every single conversation.

Then suddenly Loki and you are standing in the spotlight of the room.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the Asgardian announces. His voice carries through the room without any effort.

The light and the music both go back to normal. A few seconds pass, during which the guests are too surprised, perhaps even too startled, to react.

Then a flurry of flashbulbs from the journalists goes off. Everyone is reaching for their cameras and phones to snatch a photo. Loki enjoys the attention and smiles at them, like the prince he is raised to be. He raises his hand and gives them a short wave before leaning to you and giving you a kiss on your temple. More photos are snapped.

You don't mind, because you know that their attempts to find out more about you will be fruitless.

When he thinks it's enough, Loki leads you by his arm to the side of the hall and conjures the two of you some drinks. Tony is at your side almost instantly.

"Cute entrance." His voice was noticeably neutral, as if he himself hasn’t been known for his notorious extravagance in the past. "We should have made this a Halloween theme party to fit with the spooky flicker of the lights"

His gaze shifts over to you and he smiles. "You look stunning as always, Sabrina."

Taking your hand, he spins you around once to look at you from all sides.

You giggle, flattered by his words. "You're not bad yourself." As you stand next to Loki again, you don't miss the Asgardian's possessive arm sneaking around your waist.

But his voice is leveled when he asks, "So, what's the plan for tonight?" He knows Stark is no real threat or competition for him, but, still, he doesn't appreciate anyone touching what's his.

"We have fun, mingle with the commoners," Tony explains with a wink. "Then there's a speech where you get up on stage and after that more fun, and booze."

That sounds easy enough. Pepper and the PR team would issue a few more official statements, but you two have nothing further to do than to make a good impression tonight. And personally you are quite happy about that.

You're no longer holed up in your little cottage somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but all this public relations work isn't really your thing. It's enough for you to stand by Loki's side as his support. For him, of course, such appearances are nothing unusual. As the prince of a whole realm, he was raised for this.

Maybe he and Tony aren't so dissimilar in that regard, but you'd never dare to say that out loud.

You briefly stop listening to the conversation between the two men when you catch a glimpse of Thor. His tall figure is clearly visible over the heads of the other people, even with super soldiers and enhanced humans attending.

He waves at you and grins, presumably a comment on the entrance of Loki and you.

You reply with a shrug like, 'well, what did you expect?'. You see him laugh as he turns back to his conversation partners, and you turn back to Loki as well.

As you do so, you notice that Tony has left and the Asgardian is watching you with amusement.

"Having silent conversations now, are we?" he observes, amused.

“Only within the family.”

His eyes soften, because despite all his prior conflicts with Thor, he is still his brother, and he is glad you two get along so easily. And Loki with your siblings too. It was only last weekend when the two of you met Elizabeth and Gabriel for lunch.

For Loki, family has always been a two-sided dagger. Something that was familiar, and yet something he never dared to open up to completely.

Frigga was the only one who saw him – like really saw him – but even in her company, Loki had never fully let his walls down. And that was not because she was not his mother by birth.

With Thor, he shared a camaraderie that could only be built by fighting side by side for centuries. And yet they got along better on the battlefield than in the palace that used to be their home. Perhaps because children can only develop truly and freely when they are not overshadowed by their parents.

The stay on Midgard really did their brotherly relationship good in this respect.

In the presence of your siblings, Loki has been initially reserved, always the observer first, studying dynamics in order to react to them. But both Bell and Gabe had welcomed him into their midst with open arms – probably not least because he had helped save Gabriel’s life.

Whenever you met now, which was only moderately between your various duties, lives and the time difference between the US and Europe, a lot of quips and teasing were thrown around between you siblings, and Loki didn't hold back either.

He didn't, however, tell you about the shovel talk he had received from Gabriel the other day when you briefly left the room to help Elizabeth prepare the dessert. Your brother is still recovering, but moving fast with all the healing potions you brewed for him. Only the fading cross on his forehead testifies to what happened to him – at least outwardly. The mental scars in the form of a haunted look that sometimes takes over his eyes will last way longer. But he doesn't talk about that. Not yet.

Loki has to admit that the young man – still older than any normal Midgardian – can look rather intimidating when he puts his mind to it. Not that he can do anything really harmful against a god, but the curses Gabe threatened him with, should it come to his ears that Loki is not treating you well, would be a real inconvenience, even for Loki.

It’s fortunate that he has no such intentions.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance?" Formally, Loki holds out his hand to you and you put yours in with a smile.

"I'd love to."

He leads you to a space near the string quartet, which has been unofficially claimed as the dance floor.

It's a simple dance, swaying slowly, and it gives a sense of intimacy between the two of you, though you're sure you're still being watched by more than one pair of eyes. After all, Loki is the main attraction of the event.

"They will be furious when they find out about the cloaking spell I put on you," Loki says, as if he had been reading your thoughts.

It has been a condition of yours to accompany him to this event. While you want to support him in all his steps with the Avengers, you don't want to be in the public eye yourself – even though you know this will inevitably happen. But for now the trauma of what happens to witches who are exposed as such still roots too deep within you. You are still hunted, even in these 'modern' and 'enlightened' times.

The solution Loki offered for the problem was ridiculously simple.

"I would love to see their faces when they notice the blurry spot on every single photo you are in." Loki chuckles at the notion.

You can't help but grin as well. "Maybe they'll think I'm Bigfoot," you muse, wondering if the origin of the cryptid creature had a similar explanation after all.

Loki knits his brows. "Your feet are not that big," he states as he leads you into a swirling spin.

You don't correct him. The one time you told Thor about the Loch Ness Monster, he was about to go hunt it down to take credit for slaying a legendary beast.

You're not taking chances. After all, they are still brothers.

After another spin, you put your hand back on his shoulder and look up at him. He is still leading the dance, but his mind seems to have drifted away.

Sometimes you still have a hard time figuring out what's going on in his mind. It is much easier when the two of you are alone, but in company he involuntarily pulls up these old walls around him. You are fine with it, because you know that he will let you through regardless, that they don't apply to you. Not truly.

But every now and then he needs a little nudge in the right direction.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask him softly.

“You would look gorgeous with a crown.” With this, the Asgardian prince reveals more than he actually wanted to, but neither does he give an explanation, nor does he take his words back.

"One day at a time," you remind him, taken off guard by this sudden change of subject and somewhat flustered by the hidden meaning of it.

The smile on Loki's lips remains a mystery to you. "Indeed, my little Witchling."

You both have enough time without having to rush things. More time than you would even know. It's a secret of his own for now, but Loki knows that the day will come when he will go and find Idunn to ask her for one of the golden apples. She owes him a favor anyway.

Until then he will stay at your side, dancing the night away.

FIN

______________________

And with that we reached the end of the story and I almost got my goal: writing something that is as long as The Hobbit (~95k words)

A big thank you to everyone who joined this ride and made it to this point. To everyone who, liked, commented and reblogged it. It brought me much joy to read your reactions and thoughts to every chapter ♥

Every reader-insert story I write is deeply personal. There’s part of me in the Witchling, part of my siblings in hers. So whenever I publish a new chapter it feels a little bit like putting a small piece of myself out there.

That's it, I have no more to say. Just this: be nice to people! You never know who might be a witch.

And to the Witches: don’t play with forces you can’t fully comprehend or understand. You never know what you might provoke. Be careful.

Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @sofi786 @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @msrawog @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @hyojin-2579 @just-someone11 @marygoddessofmischief @fall-myriad @melavoris @baebeepeach

[doodleloopsy]

is it just me or is the amount of consistent Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite tiktoks I'm getting in succession suspicious

[roaenexists]

EARTH GODDESS / HORNED GOD

altars to-go

[tenaciouskittynightmare]

I do worship Freyja alongside the Celtic and Egyptian deities (I suspect Thoth wants to help guide me in my path to becoming a curator).

Things I want to learn more about:

Swamp magick

Urban magick

Kitchen magick

Sigils

Basically, any kind of magick as I am a nube and want to know all the things.  But I’m really wanting to learn anything sort of like swamp magick.

Norse Gods/Goddesses

Egyptian Gods/Goddesses

If you practice or know about any of these things reblog this so I can follow you or message me and teach me your waaaays!

[docdudo]

Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader (Part 5)

"Grandpapa!"

Nothing. Not even a sound.

"Grandpapa!! Grandpa!!!"

"Atch, what's all this noise??" The old man yelled from inside the house, clearly annoyed.

"Grandpapa! It's me, open the damn door!!" You yelled back, just as annoyed as him as you hit your small fist against the wood.

The door was opened quickly with a heavy tud against the opposite wall as both you and your grandfather glared slightly at eachother's face. That is, until your grandpa properly fixed his glasses on his face to see your face.

"Ahh!! You decided to finally come home! I was about to call the cops to look for a 7-year-old lost little girl!" He said ironically, though clearly worried as he crossed his arms with a grumpy look on his face.

"Not 7, grandpapa." You huff, a little offended as you walk past him to enter the house.

"Eh, could've fooled me!"

"Besides, if you actually checked your phone, you would see that I did send you a message saying that I was sleeping in a friend's house."

"Oh no, I did see that. I just thought it was suspicious, didn't know you had any friends."

Both you and your grandfather stared at each other with squinted eyes and displeased expressions until you conceded with a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry, Grandpapa. I'll tell you sooner next time. Yesterday was just... a special occasion." You mumbled, frowning slightly as the memory of the day before surfaced.

"Back in my time, a 'special occasion' with a 'friend' at their house meant loosing our virginity." Grandfather deadpanned, slamming the front door shut with a bang.

"Goddammit, not what I meant." You retorted, not amused.

"No, no, that's fine. I remember I lost my virginity when I was thirteen years old! Back then, we weren't as slow as you young lot—"

"Oh my god—"

"She was a beauty too! Three years older than me at the time! I made all the boys at the Academy jealous when I told— God, what is that annoying tap-tap sound??" He suddenly stopped, frowning as he looked around the house, confused.

You were thankful for the distraction, quickly schooling your expression to hide the disgust brought on by hearing your grandfather talk about his love life as the old man walked up to the living room's large window.

"Oh, would you look at that! Nature has truly blessed us today!"

"Huh? What do you mea—?"

You freeze slightly as your eyes catch the sight of a giant eagle sitting on your windowsill, looking all majestic and proud, just as you knew his human form was.

You were slightly less grateful for the distraction now.

"Look at this majestic guy! Ohoho... truly amazing! He was tapping the window with his beak—smart, right? This is a Golden Eagle! Did you know, kid, that this species is much more aggressive than the Bald Eagle??" Grandfather commented excitedly, his explorer side coming out in full force while you just stared in horror at the bird sitting there.

"If they’re more aggressive, shouldn’t we just... make it go away?" You hissed in slightly annoyance, squinting your eyes at the animal.

Price almost seemed to send you a smug look back. How could a bird even look smug anyway...?

"And lose an opportunity like this? Never! You don't have to worry; they rarely attack humans anyway! And if he came here, he must be hungry! One second, I'll grab something from the fridge! Don’t scare him away, kid!"

You could only watch in shock as your grandfather ran to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the eagle sitting on your window, still looking as smug as ever.

"Is this—w-what—Price?" You mumbled, eyes wide with confusion and a hint of despair as you stepped closer, a little shaky.

"What is it, doll? I did tell you we'd meet this grandfather of yours, did I not?" he replied, amused. His voice almost seemed to come directly through your head, rather than from his mouth—or... beak, you guessed.

"W-Woah, what...?"

"Don't be scared, witchling. This is just how familiars communicate with their witches when they're in animal form." Gaz explained with an amused tone, his black cat form leaping onto the windowsill beside the eagle.

"H-Hey... I-I though that... that you would just watch from afar..." You mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, growing even more anxious as you heard the old man’s footsteps coming back.

"You see, baby witch, we familiars aren’t too comfortable leaving our newly bonded witchlings alone," Gaz drawled, his voice and behaviour very lazy and cat-like.

He sauntered into the house as if he owned the place, brushing his head against your leg as you just stood there, looking down at the animal in almost shock.

"Here we go, I knew it we still had some of that jerky...!" Grandfather came back, excitedly holding on some beef jerky on his aged hands. "And he's still here! That's— a cat?!"

You didn’t even know what to do, staring between your grandfather and the two familiars. Your shoulders tensed as you tried to make sense of the situation. How could you possibly explain this to him? He wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t know much about witches either….

"It just… j-jumped in through the window...." You look away, trying to hold in your anxiety.

"This is… certainly getting weirder." Your grandfather muttered, his brows furrowing as he stepped closer. "I guess he’s not that hungry if he didn’t attack the cat..."

"Heard that, Price? Gonna eat me up?" Gaz quipped smugly, his voice dripping with amusement as he leapt onto the old couch without a care in the world.

"If I could, would've already done it." Price laughs back, all of this in your head, as you watch your grandfather try to coo at the animals, offering the jerky he brought.

Truly, this must be what going insane feels like.

You were momentarily distracted from your thoughts as you felt cat Gaz rub against your torso, standing on his back paws to stretch as if he was trying to climb you. Instinctively, you reached out to his lean body and lifted him into your arms, noticing that he was much smaller than the last time you saw him transformed like this.

You watched, almost stunned, as Price devoured the piece of beef jerky like it was prey. Your grandfather turned back to you after successfully feeding the eagle, his gaze shifting to the cat lying contentedly in your arms, and then....

...to the gold bands encircling your arms.

"What's that, kid?" He asks, a frown coming to his aged face as he walked closer, a hand reaching out for the bands. "Since when do you wear jewelry—?"

You gasped in shock as, in a slip second, the cat in your arms was gone—replaced by a tall man standing between you and your grandfather. Gaz was gripping your grandfather's wrist with just a bit too much force for someone dealing with an old man.

"Don't touch that, yeah?" He smiles gently, his eyes half-lidded and voice soft, tone and actions contradicting each other in a way that only made your eyes widen further.

"W-Wha...?" The old man's voice barely came out as he looked up at the intimidating man in front of him, his hands shaking in Gaz's grip.

"G-Gaz—Kyle, n-no!" You protested quickly, clutching the familiar's shirt and tugging hard, desperately trying to make him release your grandfather's wrist.

When the familiar didn’t react to your tug, your expression immediately darkened with anger. How dare he touch your grandfather—practically hurting him—and ignore you??

Fine. So be it.

This time, your tug worked. Your magic surged through his entire body in an instant, yanking him back harshly and slamming him against the opposite wall with a loud thud.

You huffed and puffed from the exertion, your body feeling tired and heavy from the amount of magic you had used in such a short span of time.

"Playtime's over." Ghost announced neutrally, appearing out of nowhere as he gently lifted you into his arms like this was just a small chore, nothing serious for him to worry about.

You struggled against his hold, trying to summon your magic to free yourself, but it was useless—his own magic blocking yours easily. You could literally feel it deep in your core—one of the drops of ancient magic paralyzing everything, leaving you numb.

"Let go...!" You growled weakly, your breath still coming in ragged gasps.

"Shh. You're okay, breathe." Ghost conforted you, resting your body against his chest and shoulder, his heavy hands giving you light pats on your back to try and calm you down.

Your body felt so heavy—so, so heavy. You could barely see your grandfather over the familiar's shoulder, his wide eyes locked on you, you and them, full of horror. His body was frozen in place, but he still trembled, clearly in shock.

"Wow, Kyle, nice one. She send you flying." Soap snickered, helping Gaz on his feet with an amused smile on his face.

"Can't say I was expecting it, but I deserved it." Gaz sighed softly, shaking his head slightly as he adjusted his clothes with a calm demeanor, clearly not even a little bit hurt.

Bastard.

"Come on, boys. We're going back home. We've seen what we came here to see." Price drawled gruffly, now back in his human form, sending a small sidelong glance at the frozen old man in the middle of the modest house.

"W-Wait—!" You tried to protest, desperation creeping into your voice.

"And put her to nap. Witchling like that can't possibily not be tired after her tantrum."

You wished you still had the strength to argue, to say or do anything, but soon, Ghost’s hand was over your eyes—almost covering your entire face and blocking your vision from your grandfather's shocked face—and you lost consciousness.

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part six)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Aemond races to find you, but will he be too late?

themes/warnings: language, some angst and pining, Aemond's attempt at being a wedding crasher

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The days in King’s Landing have stretched thin and hollow since you departed. Aemond’s face is impassive, his mouth a tense line as he stalks through the stone corridors, but beneath his steely exterior, frustration gnaws away, relentless in its assault.

Your voice, your touch, the sweet nectar of your cunny—the memory of his last encounter with you festers like a wound. He sees it, feels it all whenever he shuts his eyes, the way his incomparable, beautiful Lady rode him without abandon. 

But you left a fortnight ago, bound for your familial seat, House Darry in the Riverlands, with barely a farewell. You mentioned something about duty, and tending to an ailing cousin, and you were gone before he could fully express his displeasure. He impatiently awaits for you to return to him, for it is in his arms where you truly belong. 

Alys is relentless. Her whispered words, her sidelong glances, all promises of power and alliance. She revels in his ambition. In his hunger for victory, which proves to be rather personal than for the good of the Crown. She knows what to offer him, and what to ask for in exchange—a babe, half dragonblood and half witchling—but his mind is distant, always circling back to you. Alys’ proposal has lost its taste in your absence. 

Even Alys senses it now, the dangerous edge in Aemond’s silence, a fury held too tightly under control. He burns with yearning for you, and the possibility of winning without you by his side has begun to feel hollow. 

If only you would understand what he must do. If only you could see the truth of Alys’ hand in keeping Aegon on the throne. But you fail to give credit to what Aemond has had to sacrifice.

The hour is late, but when he turns the corner, Aegon is lounging idly, surrounded by his lackeys by one of the grand columns, an amused smile on his lips.

“Brother, why you look like a storm in chains,” Aegon says, stretching with that lazy indifference only he could manage. “And yet, I believe I am aware of the source of your… troubles.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow. “If you have something to say, then speak it.”

Aegon chuckles, barely perturbed. “Ah, but it is known! In a few hours, your dearest beloved is to wed, or so I hear, I never pay much mind to things of no import… To Ramsay Beesbury of all men, that honeyed sod.” He pauses, savouring the shift in Aemond’s expression. “Surely word must have reached you?”

There is a flash in Aemond’s eyes, one that shifts quickly from shock to a lethal rage. “No one informed me,” he says, his voice taut as a blade. “Who arranged this?”

Aegon only shrugs, entirely too amused. “By the gods, brother, how the fuck should I know? They did make their impending union known at my feast… how long ago was it now, a moon’s time? Well, until you whisked the lady away and bed her, but who am I to pass judgment?”

“Are they not still in the middle of their courtship? It is uncustomary to be wed with such haste—”

“If you ask me, it is about time that the lady wed! She is not growing younger in her years, and she cannot live the rest of her days as your chamberwhore.”

Aemond sees red, and rushes forward in a flash, slamming the King against the wall with a hand constricting his windpipe. “Gods—” Aegon wheezes. His lackeys immediately tense, but none of them possesses the mettle to lay a finger on the one-eyed Prince.

It takes Aemond only a heartbeat to make up his mind. He releases Aegon with a sharp shove, turns on his heel, and strides from the hall without another word, deaf to the empty threats that are hurled at his retreating figure. His steps grow faster, surer as he nears the courtyard. Fury roars within him, a sensation like dragonfire climbing his spine. Sunrise would soon encroach upon the Seven Kingdoms, and its arrival will not herald your being bound to another man, not if he has any say.

Outside, the sky is a gathering of clouds, low and grey against the breaking dawn, as if even the heavens brace for a storm. Vhagar waits, her massive form shifting in the courtyard shadows, her eyes bright with predatory instinct. Aemond mounts her with barely a breath, his mind fixed solely on one destination: Honeyholt, the seat of House Beesbury, the only place the wedding could be held. As Vhagar rises into the evening sky, he feels the wind pull fiercely at him, and he pushes forward with a singular, roaring intensity.

There will be no union between yourself and Beesbury. 

A woman’s hands fasten your cloak, the pale blue silk colour of your House whispering as it settles against your form. Soon, it will be replaced by one of sable and yellow, to symbolise the House of your husband. 

You have not slept all night, thoughts of Aemond swirling in your mind like a curse. You have known this would be difficult, but this was something you need to do, and the day is finally here. Your hands tremble only slightly as they lift to adjust your gown, the scent of fresh lilies filling the room as servants bustle in preparation.

In your mind, you still see him. And in your heart… you still love him, and perhaps you always will. But you have no recourse but to surrender yourself to your marriage, lest you wish to have any chance at happiness. It will be nigh impossible to find any peace of mind whilst in possession of the knowledge that Aemond shares his bed with the witch, who will soon be granted the honour of carrying his babe.

You recall the way he held you as though you belonged to him, as though he could bend your very will. Your breath catches at the memory of how his voice trembled, the barely restrained desire that drove him to bind you closer, never allowing you to slip from his grasp. But you cannot let yourself drown in yearning. Not now. You steel yourself, forcing your thoughts back to the present.

“It is time, my Lady,” one of your handmaidens says gently, watching you with quiet sympathy. You feel the weight of your choice settle upon you, solid and unyielding. It is time to move forward, to leave that chapter of your life behind. Your hands rest against your wedding gown as you straighten, breathing in the finality of it all. 

And breathing his memory out.

Dawn has crept over the landscape, a pale light spilling over the stone walls and casting the ceremony in a shivering, spectral haze. The air is heavy with expectation, the kind that tenses every muscle, as if the entire world holds its breath. You feel it, deep within you—the stupid urge to run, to look over your shoulder, to see if he’s coming. 

It is a senseless thought, to wish for Aemond to come, when you purposefully made arrangements so that he would be unable to. So you force yourself to carry on, your resolve unbroken.

Ramsay Beesbury waits at the altar, the only other soul bound to this day, and you let yourself drift into the ceremony, the Septon’s words washing over you in a haze. You remind yourself to let go of the past; you cannot wait for a man who sees you as something to own, to control. 

Aemond might have sullied the love you once shared, a bond that grew and blossomed through the years—one you once believed unbreakable. 

But everything breaks. Men, kingdoms, dragons.

Even love.

The courtyard is swathed in the sun's early rays. Shadows give way to hazy beams, and as the morning stirs, so does the assembly gathered for the ceremony. The bride stands at the altar, hands clasped tightly as the Septon’s voice resonates through the stillness, weighted with tradition.

“…to honour and cherish, in this life and beyond,” the Septon intones, his voice a steady murmur, melding with the faint rustling of the wind and whispers from the onlookers. Your gaze drifts briefly over the scene, lingering on familiar faces, as you try to anchor yourself in the reality of the moment. Your heart thrums heavily, and your mind threatens to veer right back to Aemond—you can almost hear his voice, and envision how livid he would be when he finds out about your union.

He may burn the Seven Kingdoms to ash. That is, if he would not be occupied with his precious Alys.

High above the clouds, Aemond rides Vhagar, her wings slicing through the clouds with adept ease. The wind howls in his ears, the icy chill biting at his skin, but he urges Vhagar on. The pit of dread in his stomach grows with each passing second. He is running out of time. 

“Naejot!” he yells a command. Faster.

The expanse of Westeros stretches beneath him, a blur of green and grey, but all he sees is his destination—Honeyholt, the place that holds you. His hands grip the rein tightly, and he presses closer to Vhagar’s scales, his mind brimming with the only thought that matters: You are his, and his only.

The ceremony progresses, and you can barely register Ramsay’s vows, the words floating in and out of your consciousness like half-heard whispers. His voice is steady, measured. His hands clasp yours gently, as gentle as the smile that graces his lips. 

“Our marriage will be one of devotion and serenity. You will want for nothing nor will our children,” he had promised. A far cry from Aemond’s proposition that you can be with him so long as he fathers the bastard of a bastard.

To an outsider, it would have been the easiest choice.

“...to protect and honour, as the gods are my witness,” Ramsay declares, his words certain. His grip on your hands tightens as he speaks, binding them together. After a moment, you hear your own name called, and the vows spill from your lips without a thought. 

The sun is now just a speck on the horizon as Aemond approaches Honeyholt. The great stone walls stand tall, silent and stark against the grey morning, but no sounds of gathering reach his ears. He circles once overhead, Vhagar’s immense wings casting a shadow over the land below, and he focuses his gaze, searching, hunting. The courtyard is empty, not a soul to be seen.

A sliver of uncertainty gnaws at him, yet he descends. The ground trembles as Vhagar lands, her powerful body settling on the stones, but as Aemond dismounts, there is no sign of you, no sign of anyone at all save for a few servants tending to the grounds. 

“Where is she?” he spits, his voice a thick growl that pierces through the silence.

As the ceremony nears its end, the tension in your heart becomes lighter. Your gaze lifts, distracted by a shadow that drifted in the periphery. You stand frozen, until you realise that it was but a mere raven. 

The largest dragon in all of the land is not present in the Riverlands.

“I take this vow willingly…” you murmur the end of your vows, your voice quiet, and soon it is over. 

Back at Honeyholt, Aemond’s hands curl into fists as he prowls through the empty courtyard. He has grown frantic, but there is nothing here—no preparations, no guests, no fucking bride. A cold, bitter truth settles over him, tightening his throat, and he mutters in a dark, furious whisper, “No. This can’t be.”

It comes to him in a flash of painful clarity, the realisation that you’re not here, that he’s been chasing shadows. The Riverlands. You’re in your castle in the Riverlands.

It betrays Westerosi custom, to have the union in the territorial land of the Lady’s House and not the Lord’s, but it can be done. And the marriage can still be accepted. 

But how insolent… how precisely aimed to injure him… to shame him… 

You knew this would happen.

“You planned this,” he breathes, his voice laced with anger and something dangerously close to despair. He feels both empty and full of rage, and the pain of your loss nearly brings him to his knees. His jaw is set, his gaze set with a darkness that would terrify anyone who saw it.

In Castle Darry in the Riverlands, the ceremony culminates in the final exchanges whispered between the bride and her groom, and in your cloak being replaced with one of House Beesbury. You take one last breath, a silent farewell to the life you are leaving behind, as your new life, your new future, binds you to Ramsay, your Lord husband.

It is strange, but you feel a peace settle over you. Aemond’s hold over you is no more. And for the first time, you realise that perhaps you are free. 

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Some notes in the margins..

Well, our Lady is finally a Ladywife. And not Aemond's at that! But there is more to come as we near the end. Will Aemond abandon Alys? Will he steal his love away? Parts seven and eight will have the answers 💙

[yanny09]

hey guys reminder to anyone who just had a deity stop working with them because the deity taught the worshipper everything they needed to know: the gods dont leave. they wont just abandon you, youve built kharis with them and they still care and you can keep building your relationship. for example i was just realising "oh god hades is teaching me what he said hes here for so hes going to leave" but i got a firm "im not leaving permanently". just for the witchlings who are scared of deities "leaving", they dont.

[maybeelse]

The Problem of Witches

"What is true power" is supposed to be one of those deep, philosophical questions with no real answer. It—and the thought experiments which grow on it like clinging weeds—are meant to become a mirror to the speaker's biases, to reveal how they think about the world. Let that be so.

To my mind, the answer is simple: true power is control of the context in which the world is understood. It is the ability to say "this is what the world is", and be heard.

It is intoxicating, and dangerous, and many-layered.

Seen through the fantastical lenses of works like This Is How You Lose The Time War and The Book of the War it is conflicting frameworks of the Commandant and the Garden or the Great Houses' anchoring of the thread (the creation of history with themselves at the center). It is the pinions which Exordia's Khai place in their subjects' souls, narrative prisons that make the Khai's success inevitable; it's Elden Ring's outer gods struggling for control of what the world will become.

In the real world it's the narratives which bind our comprehension of what the world could be, and what it is; and it's the processes which led to their current state. It's all of the choices that constrain the space of what's possible.

Perhaps this is an unsatisfying answer. Perhaps it is trite. Perhaps I'm just vaguely waving my hands and going "society's the real power, man! It's everything around us!" So be it.

In my own stories, there is magic: the ability to change parts of the world. Sometimes this is fundamentally altering part of the world (sunlight is a honey-thick liquid, that drips and stains and smells of sweet rot); more often it's changing the way something works (as long as you remember to chant these words once a day, your body will become soft and plump) or what part of the setting is like (things around the graveyard doll get spooky and sepulchral).

That's not an exhaustive list, by the way.

And then, there are witches, and the problems they create.

By the time a witchling becomes a small-witch, their existence has already begun to distort the world. Rules stop applying, or get more complex, or more conditional. There are loopholes.

Put too many small-witches in close proximity, and weird stuff happens. Things skew and break; points of disagreement or conflict gather narrative weight. There is always potential for escalation.

And then there are true witches. "A skin worn by a fragment of the Unreal", I said. "The hollow left behind by a hidden heart. Someday a sparrow will wear down the mountains which stand beyond the world and they will watch, uncaring." And then, lest I be misread, "their presence leaks into the world, corrupts narratives, stains souls. They become undeniable. Some call this a curse."

By their mere existence, they shape the world.

I've been grappling with the consequences of that ever since I started writing about them.

Because—think about it. What does that do to a world? What happens?

My forever-unfinished map of the City of Corrade shows that city as a series of thin bubbles, with buildings and forests and suns clinging to their pastel surfaces. Setting cast as a series of moods, as layers, as abstract bubbles of influence; a city seen through the lens of subway trains, connected-yet-disconnected. In many respects this is a concession to my writing; landmarks recur, and moods, but everything around them (and their relationships to each other) shift as easily as a dream's psychogeography.

That, then, is what happens to the people and places within a true witch's influence. They exist within her context, within her understanding of what the world is. In Corrade, capitalism only exists in the city's Downtown, whose striving spires cling tight to the Astral Witch's midnight observatory; the waves of gentrification and decay which lap at the city's client suburbs flow from the blended presence of several lesser true witches. Crossroads Station, HER orbital citadel, a relic of a long-ended war still ringed watchful angels, exists only because of the power slowly leaching from HER still-warm corpse.

And at their feet the lesser creatures squabble and struggle and try to thrive. Some become witches; most do not.

I grew up across the bay from San Francisco, all those years ago, and perhaps that tells you something of why I understand geography in terms of the great powers that affect it, of the titans whose movements shake the world and the fungal outgrowths of the lesser powers which serve their whims. Today I regard them as pathetic, all those child-kings clawing at the edges, desperate for more, for the glory of their unfinished apotheosis, for a final escape from reality's laws and constraints—but that's part of my witches, too. Abusers are fundamentally pathetic; powers grow so tangled in the context they create that they can never break free. They choke and die on their own success, still unsatisfied, still wanting more.

That hunger is all they are.

[moonstruckme]

So, I know you don't commonly really write for steddie, and you don't have to write this if you don't wanna. But what about Like, reader graduates hawkins high and goes of to college (eddie is probably still held back for his last year???) And when she left she was more on the quite side, soft color pallet, kinda stariotypical pastel sunshine character. And she comes back for the summer and she's like, more punk-ish??? Like a few more piercings, and same kinda quite personality but kinda different aesthetic?

I think you could do something similar with poly!marauders as well, where same thing happens but it's over the summer between years?

Idk, you dont even have to write it, I just have a stupid soft spot for this weird trope/character arc. Make sure to take care of yourself and have a lovely day!!!!!

I'm happy to write for any characters on my list, thanks for requesting gorgeous! Hope you're having a lovely day and taking care of yourself as well <3

Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 637 words

Steve and Eddie are scanning the crowd for you up until the very moment you come up to them. Even then, it takes Eddie a second to recognize you. 

“Hey,” you say, tentative. 

“Hey,” Steve says, stepping forward. “Shit, honey, come here.” 

You grin, some of the apprehension easing from your features as you hug him. 

“Shit,” Eddie agrees, wrapping his arms around the both of you. “Almost didn’t recognize you, sunshine.” 

Sunshine might not even be the best nickname for you now. When you’d left for college last fall, you’d looked like the rainbow had befriended you personally. All pastels, colorful sweaters and flowy little skirts. Now, it’s like you’ve been plucked from a graphic novel. Your clothes are dark down to the shoes, with ripped black tights under your shorts and lace-up combat boots that, frankly, Eddie thinks might get a little hot in the Indiana summer. He wonders if you’d be amenable to him calling you his little bat. Or witchling, maybe? He’ll have to workshop it. 

“You look so different.” Steve sounds positively flabbergasted, stepping back to take you in more fully. “I mean, not a bad different, I just—wow, it’s really…” Eddie snickers. In his opinion, you look far less like someone Steve Harrington would ordinarily date (the girl next door, preppy style, Nancy Wheeler clone) and more like someone he would (cool as fuck). Luckily for you, they both love you down to your ooey gooey core no matter how you present yourself. 

“It’s a new look, babe, and it’s fucking sick,” Eddie summarizes. “Is this what college does to people? Maybe I should come visit.” 

You roll your eyes at him, flushing faintly. Another pro of your new style: the pink of your face stands out ever-so-much-more brilliantly against your new dark palate. 

“I’m serious, sweetheart,” Eddie goes on, delighting in watching your color change. “I need you to start coming to my shows so we can lure in your crowd. You’re too fucking cool for us now.” 

Your shoulders start to come up around your ears, but Steve saves you, tucking you under his arm with a kiss to the top of your head. “She was always too cool for us,” he says. It’s the truth, and Eddie sends you a wink to make sure you know he knows it. “You look amazing, really. God, we’ve missed you so—is that a tattoo?”

Eddie all but lunges for you. “Where?” 

“Here,” Steve says, stretching the collar of your shirt over your shoulder, where an inky design sits starkly against your skin. “Shit, this is so cool.” Eddie jostles for space, head squishing between yours and Steve’s to get a better look. “It really works for you.” 

You smile bashfully. “Thanks.” 

“Fuck me,” Eddie breathes, and you shiver pleasantly as his breath his your shoulder. “Actually, if I can get us to Steve’s in five minutes, would you top me right now? This is too fucking hot—oh, don’t look at me like that, Stevie boy. You know you like it too.” 

“I do,” Steve says, giving Eddie a look that’s probably aiming for stern but only hitting fond as he tries to coax your face from his chest. “It looks great honey, when did you get this?”

Your voice is characteristically quiet, but a bit proud, when you say, “That one’s from a couple months ago. I got my first last November, though.”

“Your first?” Eddie’s gobsmacked. “How many are there? Wait, no, don’t tell me.” He grabs you by the legs, hoisting you over his shoulder. “I wanna find ‘em.” 

“Eds, put me down!” You hiss in his ear, but your words are undercut by giggles. “Steve!”

“Sorry, but I’m kinda on board with this one,” Steve says with an apologetic shrug in your direction. He tosses Eddie the keys. 

[liminalpebble]

Never Enough (A Loki Comfort Fic)

Summary: It's not a easy life in Asgard's palace as Frigga's witchling apprentice and a victim of relentless teasing thanks to Thor and his warrior posse. You feel like a failure and a misfit, until the patron god of failures and misfits decides to comfort you.

A/N: Angst, comfort, fluff fic (ultimately feel good). Wholesome. Pre-Thor 1 Loki. Loki x reader. Just a little something I wrote to cheer myself up after a week of feeling like I'm getting it all wrong and being stupid. I hope it makes you feel better too if you're going through the same thing.

----

You slammed through the double doors and took long angry strides down the hallway, anxious to get to the privacy of your quarters before tears released themselves from your eyes. None of them...NONE of them...had ever seen you cry, or scream or loose your temper, and you'd be damned if they saw it now.

You considered it some kind of dysfunctional personal record at this point. You saw inscrutability as a strength. If you had to feel alone, you figured, you could at least lean into it and make yourself strong enough to not need the people who would reject you anyway.

All they saw was the serious apprentice in the black velvet gown who stuck to the shadows in every way. Thor, however, saw this seriousness as an opportunity for jest between himself and his warrior friends on many occasions. One day, when the entire court dined together, he turned from his pile of food and gallon of ale to smile at you. Your heart and stomach dropped, knowing he was somehow about to make an ass of you despite your best efforts.

He bellowed your name. You closed your eyes and let out a long breath, gathering your patience for the great oaf.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Tell me, who do you favor in the races?”

“I know not of them, Prince, so I have no preference.”

“Yes, but for the hel of it. Pick one,” he goaded.

“I suppose Volstagg's steed, as it has the better record?”

The entire room erupted in raucous laughter. All except for one person. The younger prince of Asgard sat quietly with a dangerous look on his pale face.

Fandral shouted drunkenly, “My lady, Volstagg's steed couldn't jump over a single brick, much less a full set of hurdles. Are you entirely sure you're Asgardian, knowing so little about these things?”

Another ripple of laughter erupted around the room. This, you thought, was the final straw. You couldn't stop making small stupid errors lately in your magical training with Frigga. Although she was patient and kind, you could see the disapproval in your beloved mentor's eyes and that was worse than a tirade. And now this.

You took a breath, gathered yourself behind the inscrutable mask you were so accustomed to now, and politely excused yourself for the evening with some remark about the late hour.

-----

Now you raced against your feelings as you stepped quickly down the marble hall, nearly to the safety of your quarters, to privacy. I'm going to make it. You told yourself.

As you reached towards the door of your quarters, a blinding green light interrupted you and Loki's form materialized in your path.

You flinched a little, surprised that the younger prince stood before you with his hands calmly held behind his back.

Alright, just a little longer. Keep it together just a little longer. You ordered yourself.

“Your...Your Highness. What can I do for you?”

He took a measured breath and stepped closer, icy eyes looking down to meet yours, “Dear lady, I was actually wondering what I could do for you.”

You swallowed hard. You had always found the sly brilliant prince intimidating. You studied magic alongside him under Frigga's tutelage. He was spectacular, running circles around you every single lesson. In all these years, he never so much as said an entire sentence to you until now. He seemed barely aware of your presence, in fact, focused instead on larger schemes, ambition and glorious purpose.

You chuckled at the thought. Glorious purpose...meanwhile I have no purpose at all.

“What's so funny?” the prince asked, brows knitted in confusion.

To your horror, you found you had only begun to laugh harder and suddenly you couldn't stop, “Sorry...my liege...I just. Sometimes the arbitrary cruelty of my stupid life strikes me as, well, very tragic...and very funny.”

To your surprise, Loki smiled...not a small polite grin that you'd seen him give many times, but a full wide mischievous Cheshire cat smile, broadcasting an almost manic delight. It frightened you a bit, but gods, he looked even more shockingly handsome than before. You didn't think that was possible.

You flinched a little as he walked closer and his hand came to your face. His fingers felt cool against your hot skin as you realized he was wiping tears away; tears you didn't even realize you had begun to cry.

He nodded toward your door and placed a graceful hand on the small of your back, guiding you. With an understanding kindness in his eyes he whispered. “Come on, let's sit and talk.”

-----

As you sat facing each other on your couch, he conjured two warm cups of tea and a blanket around you. Surprised, you gripped both closer to you and the warm comfort began to seep through the cracks of your icy loneliness.

“Thank you,” you said with a small smile.

He inclined his head of beautiful black hair in a graceful nod. “My pleasure.”

“Forgive me for asking, Your Highness...”

“Loki...just Loki...please.”

“Loki,” you said slowly, cautiously. “Why...why are you doing this? Why are you being so kind.”

He sipped for a moment, taking time to gather his thoughts (a habit his brother apparently didn't share). “I know what it's like. I've been where you are. I've felt what you feel.”

His large lovely eyes never left you, bright and blue and full of sincerity. Not what you were expecting from the god of lies. “Forgive me, Si....Loki...but no, you don't. And no, you haven't.” You took a deep breath and looked to your hands, his intense gaze becoming too much. “You're perfect...at magic...at everything...a prince of the realm. Your place is solid and secure and important. You have a glorious purpose. I...I am simply not enough...not good enough...not smart enough...not enough like them.”

You began to sniff and squint and look away, horrified that the hot tears dared to fall in front of him, of all people. His long hand found yours and encompassed it. He scooted closer and said, “Darling, I assure you, I'm not perfect. I've also been the butt of Thor's stupid jokes and mockery for years on end, the mere spare prince to my kingdom. No one listens to me. I'm not like them. I never was, and I'm not sure why. Much like you, I say very little because I'm trying to be strong, trying to not give them any more fodder to ridicule me. I live in the shadows, just as you do.”

You met his piercing eyes this time, with your soft ones. Loki thought they looked so kind, that you looked so beautiful in this moment and he scolded himself for not reaching out to you sooner. He had always had so much affection for your, but he never dared come closer. You had built walls around yourself just as high and thick as his own, after all. Of course, It didn't fool him, and he always wanted to know what was behind them. “That's a shame,” you said, squeezing his hand. “How can they not see how incredible you are. How dare they treat such a beautiful person so badly?” You said in awe.

He peaked his eyebrows and smiled sweetly, his own eyes welling at your praise. Loki had always seemed dangerous and alluring to you, all angles and metal and leather and deep silky voice. You had never seen him so solicitous and vulnerable. You said carefully, “I...I realize, that this is a gift, you've given me. I don't take it for granted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing you more...intimately. I'm grateful. It's good to not be alone for once.”

“You matter, darling. You are so much more than 'enough'. You are exquisite.” he said, kissing your forehead. “Now,” he said, conjuring a dagger with a dangerous glint in his eye, “Let have a bit of fun with Thor and his friends, shall we?”

@evelyn-rathmore @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @unlucky-number-13 @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @peaches1958 @sweetsigyn @ladyofthestayingpower @loz-3 @alexakeyloveloki @coldnique @acidcasualties @marcotheflychair @gigglingtiggerv2 @smolvenger @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @lokihiddleston @peachyjinx @thedistractedagglomeration @thenerdyoldersister @sarahscribbles @sailorholly @littlespaceyelf @eleniblue @mochie85 @infinitystoner @tripleyeeet @goblingirlsarah @mischief2sarawr @mischiefmaker615 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @holdmytesseract @viv-annelore

[throneofsapphics]

I loved “our little witchling” so much 🥹 Both of them being so protective but especially Manon was so cute like Manon was immediately so attatched. Would you think about doing a part two with what happens during the birth? Like they were already worried about pregnancy being dangerous what if something goes wrong (but of course is alright in the end) and Manon just struggling because there’s no villain to kill, no one did this, things just happen. And their reactions to meeting the baby? I really love how you write angst and fluff!

helpless

Manorian x Reader

(part one) 

Summary: Reader has some birth complications 

Warnings: blood, angst, not proofread 

A/N: ah I’m so glad you liked it <3 thank you for the idea and request! you’re so kind. this can be read separate from part one!

Manon felt terror she hadn’t experienced in years. Not since … But your slowly paling face, the blood rushing from you, the healers swarming you. She wouldn’t let go of your hand, couldn’t. And snarled at everyone who tried to separate her from you. She couldn’t lose you - or this witchling, couldn’t. She wouldn’t let it happen. There’s nothing for her to destroy her, no revenge to be had, no enemy to destroy, and all she could do was have faith in the healers, and you. She’d never felt so helpless. 

Dorian’s hand covered her own, an arm wrapped around her shoulder, but she couldn’t look at him. Your hand was slowly growing limp in hers, and one of the healers let out a slew of curses - quickly silenced by another. 

She watched your breaths grow heavy, shaky, and slow. 

Please, she begged, please hold on. And sent prayers to the three-faced Goddess, to silba, to any god or goddess she could think of. 

-

Dorian couldn’t rip his eyes from you. His hand covered Manon’s, and his thumb brushed against the edge of your thumb. Cold, your skin was so cold. 

He glanced towards the edge of the bed, to the bloody sheets, and swallowed harshly before fixing his gaze on your face. 

His mind cycled through the books, everything he’d read… 

“The baby,” He whirled, taking the small form from the healer’s arms - who let her go without a fuss, and crouched next to you, holding her, the little witchling, against your chest. Manon took your arm, folding it over the small form. 

He brushed your hair away from your forehead - covered in sweat, before pressing a kiss to your brow. 

He watched as your fingers twitched, tightening around the form, before your eyes slowly blinked open. The baby was silent, watching you with wide eyes. A smile crossed your face, and Dorian let out a slow breath. 

“Y/n,” he called softly, but your attention didn’t leave the small child. 

-

“Hello little one,” you cooed. The world was fuzzy around you, but you saw the small baby in your arms. The little witchling. Sweet and wide eyed. She has Dorian’s nose, and you could’ve sworn a bit of gold flickered in her eyes. Maybe you were hallucinating. 

Something had gone wrong, that much you knew, and the buzz of healers around you and magic flowing into you told you that. 

You don’t know how long it took, but eventually you felt Manon’s hand atop yours, helping hold the baby still, Dorian’s hand gently stroking your forehead, pushing sweaty hair away from your face. 

You turned to them with a slightly dazed smile. “Hello.” Tears, tears lined Manon’s face and you frowned. “Nothing to cry over.” Manon choked back a sob, but squeezed your hand lightly. Her own tears, the sight over her upset, made a few fall down your own cheeks. 

Dorian’s thumb brushed them away. “Nothing to cry over,” he repeated your words and you let out a weak laugh.

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 28

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter’s Note: (My sister is in town and I'm STOKED! I haven't seen her in three years <3 spread the sibling love!) This story will end with a StrangeFrost friendship and you can’t stop me. Also, this one may be one of my favorite chapters. Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 28: Confessions

The sanctums are safe places for all magic wielders, not just sorcerers of the Mystic Arts. Loki has known them since they were wooden temples and learned other ways in than through the front door. He walks through the rows of relics on display and examines them, curiously. Presumably it is not polite not to knock at the door. And he has every reason to be polite. But he’s still Loki after all and he needs to be at least a little bit dramatic.

It's not long before he hears the sound of fluttering fabric near him.

"Is that 'The Tome of Oshtur'?" Loki asks, looking at an ancient book that didn't quite fit between the other relics. "I thought it was lost."

"The very one. I found it by chance in the collection of a mage princess, and she gave it to me in thanks for my help."

At the explanation, Loki merely nods. Sounds like a regular Tuesday for a Sorcerer Supreme.

Stephen looks at him expectantly. He knows Loki hasn't come by just to chat about relics, and he's in no mood for small talk. So he waits in silence.

The Asgardian hesitates to reveal his true motives. He is not sure if it was the right decision to come here.

"Considered by the Witchling you're a friend of hers. You've known her for quite a while."

He hates that he has a hard time finding the right words, that he has to rely on Strange's help. But he is a god on an important mission.

Stephen remains silent, giving him all the time he needs. On the one hand, the sorcerer is curious to know what it is all about. On the other hand, it amuses him to see Loki struggle.

"Do you know anything about any of her encounters with witch hunters in her past?"

Stephen raises a brow. "Why don't you ask her?"

"She doesn't exactly talk to me at the moment," Loki confesses.

The sorcerer eyes him thoughtfully for a while before shaking his head. "I'm not interested in getting involved in your relationship drama." He turns away. "You know the way out."

"Please."

This single word is enough to stop Stephen right in his tracks. The sorcerer looks at him, as if he couldn't believe his ears.

Loki has clenched his hands into fists, but he stands by his word. "I messed up and I'm trying to fix it." He is angry. Mostly at himself, but also at Strange. A Sorcerer Supreme is supposed to be better and help people in need. Sure, this isn’t a magical emergency, but still. "So if you would please help me."

Stephen’s eyes soften a bit. "I noticed it’s somewhat of a delicate subject. She didn't tell me what happened, but I know trauma when I see one. My medical opinion is that she has an old psychological wound that never fully healed and that has probably ripped open with the incident around her brother."

Loki thinks about his words. It helps him only insofar as he sees his suspicions confirmed. There must be something in your past, some incident that has shaped you. And Loki has pressed his thumb right into that open wound. It's so typical of him. He has a talent for these things, except that he usually does it on purpose. But he didn't mean to hurt you this time. Not really.

"Have you told her what you feel for her?"

Loki looks up, torn from his thoughts and remembers he's still standing in the Sanctum. "No."

"Maybe you should. What I learned is that you shouldn't wait too long with it. Not if it's truly important to you. Especially in her current state."

The conversation has taken a turn Loki never expected. It’s the last thing he wants to talk about with the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Any news on the last piece of Bloodweeper?" Loki asks to change the topic and to distract it from himself. He has unwillingly shown Strange a vulnerable side of himself and he isn't sure if he's okay with that.

Fortunately Stephen takes the hint and shakes his head. "No. Negotiations are ongoing, but so far the museum is unwilling to hand over the necklace." If that remains the case, he would initiate other methods. There are ways to get the artifact without a non-magically gifted person noticing.

"Are you storing the other parts here in the Sanctum?" Loki's curiosity is piqued, but Stephen shuts it down immediately.

"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I'm five seconds away from sending you into another falling dimension with those questions."

"I wouldn't fall for the same trick twice," Loki smirks and Stephen does the same.

"We'll see about that."

~~

You couldn't stand it to be in the tower and returned to your cottage, where night has already fallen. Sleep is out of the question – you aren’t tired at all – so you first clean up your kitchen - after all, the news about the fight between Thor and Loki has pulled you out of work - and then flip through some old photo albums. There are photos of you and your siblings from decades past. Some still taken with roll film, some with Polaroid, and some more recent digital prints.

Elizabeth keeps the really old pictures, portraits and sketches from before photographs were invented. There are pictures of all the siblings, even those who are no longer alive. It’s important for you not to forget what they looked like. Sometimes - like now - you feel as if you are seeing these memories from your past lives for the first time, as if it were no more than someone else's pale memory. Time does that, whispers the small voice in your head, curiously absorbing all knowledge.

Eventually, you make yourself some tea and go to bed. Tomorrow you will visit Elizabeth and Gabriel. It always helps you to talk to them if you don't feel good. It's too late for today.

You are still hurt by Loki's words as you make Eloise's order the next morning. Your sister hasn't answered your text message yet about when she's free today, so you throw yourself into work. Unfortunately, that gives you way too much time to think.

Ever since Loki and you started this relationship, he has always been gentle with you, understanding and kind. But you remember all too well how cold and venomous he was in the beginning when you first met. When you started the job at the Avenger’s. Before Loki opened up to you.

And you know that his mood is caused by the same issues as it was back then: the conflict with his father, with his home.

It's something he probably won't be able to resolve anytime soon. Things like that can last a whole lifetime. At least your lifetime, which is way shorter than his.

With his words, Loki has awakened familiar fears in you. You are just a simple human compared to him and Thor. So what are you to him? A pastime? It seemed too honest to you for that. There are real feelings involved, you're sure of it. Both on your side and on his. But how deep do they go?

It's all messed up.

You're directing some flying ingredients to the pot and stirring them in it when you notice a noise.

"That's a nice witch kitchen you got here."

You turn around and see the Sorcerer Supreme standing in your kitchen. He is wearing his blue robes, but without the cloak.

You frown at his unannounced appearance. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"I'll remember that next time." The corners of Stephen's mouth twitch upward.

With a wave of your hand, you lower the still-flying kitchen utensils onto the counter. "Is there something important you're here for? I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood for company."

"Yeah, I heard about that. So you're going to hole up here? You're going to hide when problems rise?" Stephen asks with a dark look on his face.

That's rich coming from him. The Sorcerer Supreme himself is often nowhere to be found. And anyway, you don't think he's in a position to judge. You sigh softly and turn back to your potion. It must now simmer for some time and soak in. "That reverse psychology doesn't work for me. Try being nice instead."

His next words are so soft you almost miss them. "He loves you."

You stop in your motion, your hand halfway to grasping a ladle. "Did he tell you that?" you ask in a small voice. Your mouth feels very dry all at once.

"Well, that's not quite-..."

"I'll believe that when I hear it from his own mouth," you interrupt the sorcerer rudely. You don't understand why Stephen is even getting involved in this. Maybe he's afraid Loki will start doing stupid things when you're not with him. But you're not his babysitter. And right now, you wouldn’t care even if the Asgardian set something on fire.

"I love you."

You're surprised when suddenly it's not Stephen's voice you hear but Loki's, and you whirl around. The Asgardian is standing where the sorcerer was a moment ago, in the same pose, as if it were him all along.

"And you wonder why I've trust issues."

Loki offers you an apologetic smile. "Would you have listened to me if I had come as me?"

"I don't know. Probably not," you admit. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, "I don't know what to say…" Your thoughts are racing. Loki's unannounced visit, his confession, your argument that still lingers in your ears. The confession was exactly what you wanted to hear. But not like this. Not under these circumstances.

Contrary to his usual manner, Loki seems uncertain and waits for your reaction. But he takes the fact that you don't immediately throw him out as a good sign, and he approaches you slowly. "You once asked me if I'm not able to lie or if I choose not to lie. The truth is, I'm able to sense lies but I cannot lie myself." He stops in front of you and wants to put his arms around you and pull you to him. But he keeps his hands at his side. "There aren't many people who actually know this. I believe even Thor isn't entirely sure of it."

You glare at him. "How do I know that's true?"

"You don't." Loki's lips turn into a bitter smile. "That's the irony of it. You have to trust me."

You think about it and surprisingly you do. The Asgardian twists words to his liking, he says things you don't like, but you don't think he has ever truly lied to you. So if this is true, he just revealed his biggest secret to you. And confessed his love to you. This is a lot of trust he puts into you and you know that isn’t easy for him.

"I'm sorry about what I said. I wish I could say I didn't mean it," Loki apologizes as the pause becomes too long. "Everything you do amazes me. You have been kind and forgiving, patient with me. And I'm paying you back by taking my anger out on you, when you're the last one who had anything to do with it."

"I know," you finally say. "I know it wasn't me you were angry at. You just happen to push your finger into an old wound. One that should have healed by now."

"Please tell me what happened. When the witch hunters caught you."

And once again, Loki hits the bull's eye with his words. You consider it for a moment. It's something you've tucked away in a drawer of your brain that you never want to open again. But Loki took a step in your direction after your argument, probably two or three, and now it's up to you to take the next one.

"Do you want tea?" you ask him, because there's no way you're telling this story while standing in the middle of your kitchen. "I need some. But first, this."

You bridge the last bit to Loki and put your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Circumstances are never what you want them to be. Maybe you should just take what you get. You're still hurt by his words, but since he came to you and apologized, you are willing to work this out.

The Asgardian hugs you tightly and exhales in relief. You feel a gentle kiss pressed onto your head and you look up to him. "You have one hell of a timing."

You smile watery and cup his face. Your hands shake and you feel the pounding of your heart all the way up into the back of your head, but you cover it up. It's a fear that always gets you when it comes to the subject you're about to approach. But it will never go away if you continue to ignore it.

"I love you too. How could I not? You're a weirdly attractive magic god from space." You mean it. Maybe it's just fitting for the both of you to confess your feelings in a situation like this. Your relationship with the Asgardian has been a hell of a ride so far.

For the first time since you've known him, maybe even in his life, Loki remains silent. He just looks at you, with a new light in his eyes, a spark you have never seen before. And with that, he says more than any word could. His fingers slide up effortlessly to caress your cheek, and he leans in to kiss you sweeter than he has ever before.

It just lasts for a few seconds, but it makes you smile.

"Now, sit down. I'll make tea."

"Yes, m’lady."

You turn to the stove and take down your potion, put a kettle of water instead on the open flame. At the same time, you levitate two cups from the cabinet to your right to the table. It’s a distraction to concentrate on this simple task and to calm your trembling hands. It almost feels like they are moving on their own, stored in your muscle memory. It's a strange feeling. But it helps you take a breath.

You owe it to Loki to tell him the story.

The tea water is ready faster than you'd like, and you fill both cups with the steaming liquid before taking a seat next to Loki. A lump has formed in your throat and you find it difficult to speak. Loki has taken your hand and waits quietly until you are ready.

"They hanged me," you finally say, your voice small. "I was lucky, though. My neck didn't break and I could use my magic to get free.

Your eyes are glued on your interlaced fingers. His are cool and it helps to keep you grounded.

"It wasn't witch hunters per se, but people from the village where I lived. I knew them all by name, had helped them whenever they needed help. It was a dark time, fear was stirred up. People were suspicious of everything they didn’t understand."

For the longest time afterwards you had seen their faces in nightmares. They had haunted you. Over the decades, they've become more and more blurred, and now you can barely remember their features. You don't know if it's because of the time that has passed or if your mind has simply repressed it.

There is a certain bitterness in your next words as you finally look at Loki. "That was 200 years ago now, and I still can't wear necklaces or even turtlenecks because it's too tight around my throat, it makes me feel like I'm suffocating." Your fingertips ghost over the sensitive skin on your neck. It's something that bothers you, a constant reminder of what happened. As if, after all this time, it still feels like they have power over you, have you trapped.

Loki remembers the day he found out you were a witch. He had grabbed you by the throat and you had reacted violently. He remembers that whenever he was in the form of a snake, you warned him not to wrap himself around your neck. You never wear anything near your neck and suddenly it all makes sense. It's so obvious that he's surprised he didn't notice it sooner. Your physical scars have healed, but the mental ones still lie raw open.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, making a vague gesture of his hand to your neck. You understand what he means.

Your lips twist into a tentative smile and you don’t really know what to answer. "Yeah…"

Loki's hand finds yours and he squeezes it. For a while you just sit there in silence, each busy with your own thoughts. Sometimes it doesn't take many words; you probably wouldn't find any right now anyway. In the background, your potion is still bubbling, and you'll have to get to it soon.

Loki catches your gaze. "Are you still in no mood for company?"

"I'm still a bit angry at you and I've got work to do." You point to your stove. "How about we meet...," with a quick glance at your clock you calculate the time difference to New York, "...for lunch tomorrow?"

"Your wish is my command." Smiling, the Asgardian leans toward you and steals a fleeting kiss. You place a hand on the back of his neck and intensify the kiss before pushing him away from you.

"Okay, now leave, Princeling." There's no longer an edge to your voice.

________________________

The Witchling and the Princeling ♥

The god of lies not being able to lie and therefore a master of twisting the truth ← That idea kicked down the door into my head while writing and declared itself home. After finishing writing, I went through everything Loki said in this whole fic to make sure he never told a lie.

The poem from the header image: Softly my thoughts whispered invisible words. My mind was a calm chaos filled with reflection of you. I wanted to find myself and i did when I found you.

Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @sofi786 @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @msrawog @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @hyojin-2579 @just-someone11 @marygoddessofmischief @fall-myriad @melavoris @baebeepeach

[roaenexists]

UPG Rant/Informal Essay incoming because Why Not (take a crazy chance)

I've been working with Hekate as my guide and mentor and have come to incorporate her as the Crone in my personal practice's trifecta of Artemis/Diana/Hekate. I work with them all as aspects of the One Great Goddess, which is the collective oversoul of the planet Earth and to an even greater extent the oversoul of all life in the universe (which is reflected in the below as the Mitochondria, the ultimate inner Goddess energy).

I also work with the Divine Masculine (though right now Hekate demands I focus on Her for teachings for the time being) as The Horned God (who I name as Cernunnos, Pan, and Lucifero), which I see as the oversoul of The Wild of The Earth, the parts of Human we pretend we have outgrown. As such, I view Him as being a limited aspect of Her (so I guess in some ways I'm doing a sort of Goddess tradition?).

Ultimately, though, both the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine are limited aspects of the Ultimate Divine, the Gendernull and Genderfull Summation of All. I believe this Being is found not only in living things, but in the matter and energy and particles which make up everything. The Movement and the Stillness. The Positive and the Negative and the Space Between.

This is the hardest abstraction of consciousness to access but there are still loads of paths that will get you there. I personally use mushrooms in a ritual setting because it's just not my vibe to sit in a cave and meditate on an empty stomach for forty days. However, I value the long-term health of my grey matter, so I only do this once or twice a year at most, with some years getting skipped altogether if the market can't be trusted. The rest of the time I work with what I believe to be the human-specific gendered subgradients of the Divine expression.

Don't Do Drugs Unless You're At Least 21 And Educated On The Risks And Willing To Take Them On. These Risks Include Legal Action. In The Interest Of Full Disclosure, The Mushrooms I Took Were Shitake.

(&, if anyone is curious, I mix Greco-Roman with pre-christian Celtic mythos because that's my mixed heritage)

So that's what deity work has been looking like for me lately.

[maemae2998]

Part 3! We @witchplease44 decided to make this into a series.

Lesson 3: Quick with Love and Language

You twist up your nose as the wind blows the horrid stench of dwarves who have not had the chance to bathe in nearly a week towards you again. The ponies were in a much more spacious formation while Bilbo and Gandalf had opted for wearing their tunics up around their noses. Even Thorin was not above drawing his coat up farther to help.

You watch Bifur slump forward in his saddle until he is hugging his pony’s neck. “‘Uthrat! (greatest fatigue)” he groans. Was that a word?

“Rukhis, tada takhagi!” Dori cries from the back of the trail. (Yuck, that stinks!)

“What is that?” You call to the speakers. “What are you saying?”

“My apologies lass. Had forgotten not all among the company were dwarven learned.”

“That is what the language of Dwarf’s sounds like?” You had assumed they must have their own language, but you had never heard anything of it before now. “You’ll have to teach me some of it along our journey, if I may be so lucky.”

“There!” Ori cried suddenly. Looking ahead you all saw a decent sized stream. Thank the gods!

“Mahd!” came a chorus from the other dwarves as everyone directed their steeds into a gallop towards the running water. (Blessing)

Camp was made just out of sight from the stream and it was a hilarious spectacle to watch the majority of the party scramble to unload their things and rush to the water. Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and you were soon the only ones left to get a fire started. “So,” you call, “What can you teach me of the language and ways of Dwarves? Where should we begin?”

Thorin grunts. “We should begin with the fact that Dwarfs are fiercely protective of our culture, we do not share it with just anyone.”

“I should hope dear Thorin that you do not mean to say I am merely anyone, especially after saving your hides from trolls and boredom upon this journey thus far.”

Dwalin grumbled and Balin chuckled at the look of shock on Thorin’s face. “I- I suppose you, may have earned an introduction into Dwarfish culture,” he relented almost sheepishly. You smile at him and bow playfully, receiving an eye roll.

“Don’t worry lass,” Balin laughs, “he shall come around. Let’s begin with a crash course on language and perhaps,” he whispers the last word, “courting.”

Dwalin and Thorin make their way to the stream when Gandalf returns to camp and makes himself busy reading and blowing smoke rings. You are so enthralled in Balin’s teachings that you don’t hear Kili and Fili walking back to camp. “So you have Ones, which are much like man’s concept of soulmates?”

“Yes,” he smiles, noticing the boys, but allowing them to pretend to hide, “our Ones are very very special to us. They are our other half.”

You think for a moment. “Has it ever been known… no forget me, it is a foolish question.”

“Ask it dear, only fools do not ask questions. Besides, I think I have an idea of the question you have.”

“Has it ever been known for two dwarves to share a One?” you ask quietly. You swore he could hear your heart beating inside of your chest. I couldn’t bear to have to choose between them.

Balin reaches to hold one of your hands in his to stop your fidgeting with your shirt. “No, I cannot say that it has ever been known for two dwarfs to share a One.” Your heart drops and so do Kili and Fili’s. The elder brother turns to stomp off, but pauses as Balin resumes talking. “I also cannot say that it has ever been known for wizards to have nieces, Dwarfs to use Elven blades, or a company of thirteen Dwarfs, a hobbit, and a witchling to defeat a dragon. But look at us!”

You let out a nervous chuckle and lightly shove his shoulder. “You mustn’t do such things Balin, you nearly made me faint. I should’ve known if anyone would piece it together it would be you.” He laughs as you recover from your fright. “Do any of the others know?”

“If they have suspicions they hold them close to their chest.” He studies my worried face. “You have nothing to fear, dearie. Dwarfs take Ones very seriously. If the princes agree you are both their One there will not be a soul to question it.”

“What about Thorin? Not only are they his nephews, they are his heirs to the throne, the princes of Erebor, and I,” you pause for a moment, “I am not a Dwarf. The kings of Men and Elves are very particular about who may be allowed into the royal families and besides I am not the kind of person he would want for either of them to court, much less the both of them.”

Balin walks to you and places a hand upon your shoulder. “You will find that Dwarfs are much different than the races of Man and Elf. And as I said, he will come around. He worries, perhaps too much, but his heart is in the right place. He cares for those boys as though they were his own.” He looks out into the woods. “Now it would appear the others are returning from their spa time, should be able to find some decent privacy, lass.”

You nod and smile. “Thank you, Balin, for everything thus far.” You place a friendly kiss to his forehead and head to the stream with your things.

You walk a minute or two upstream from camp and unload your clothes and weapons to begin disrobing. The water was a touch chilly, but nothing you couldn’t quickly acclimate to. How refreshing, we needed this. Your peaceful floating is cut short by movement from the tree line.

“Who goes there?!” You call as you wade over to your things and pick up your bow and notch an arrow.

“Only me, gaihith,” Fili calls back as he raises his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “I wished to spend some time with you if that is acceptable.” (Little dove)

“Of course,” you drop the bow back onto the pile of supplies. “I shall finish up quickly and we can talk.”

“No hurry, dove,” he smirks as he takes in what of your body he can see through the water, “In fact, please, take your time.”

You laugh at him and splash him slightly. “You, you…you boy!”

“It is nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing I haven’t touched before, or kissed before.” These princes and their silver tongues would be the death of you, you decided.

You giggle and take your bar of soap to wash yourself. “What was that you called me? Gay-hithe?”

“Gaihith,” he corrects as he sits on the bank of the stream. “It means ‘little dove’. It seemed an appropriate pet name.” Your heart melts.

The two of you spend the next few minutes talking before the conversation turns flirty and suggestive. He reaches out a hand to trace down your side, making you shiver. Fili reaches down to cup the side of your face in his hand. “While I am enamored by every word that passes your lips, what say we put them to a better use?”

You gasp quietly and smirk at him. “And what better use do you have in mind, my prince?” He smiles sharply and looks down to the obvious tent in his trousers. “I could be cruel and make you beg,” you giggle.

“You could,” he whispers darkly, “But I think you are too excited to make either of us wait, gaihith. I can see it in those gleaming eyes of yours.” You bite your lip and begin undoing his trousers as his hand travels into your hair. “There’s my keen girl. You did say you were always eager for more knowledge,” he recalls from your first time together. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head. “Only last time with Kili a little, but I admit I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, if anything specific.”

His eyes darken. “So this would be our first solo lesson? How fun.” He lifts his hips to help you move his trousers down and release him. This feels much different to the other times you had been intimate with the princes. The other times they had directed you on what to do, now Fili just stared down at you with a sharp grin and dark eyes. “Go ahead, dove, don’t be shy.”

You blink up at him and quickly nod your head. Reaching out your hand to grasp him, you can’t break your gaze away from his. His breath hitches as your hand makes contact and begins to caress up and down. “Beautiful,” he growls, “You can be a bit more firm love.” You follow his advice and blush as his breath quickens.

“Such a quick learner.” You finally manage to tear your eyes from his and as soon as you do his hand is quick in directing your gaze back to him. “Ah, ah,” he tuts, “Eyes on me, princess. You are doing so well for me. Maybe you could use that pretty mouth of yours now? Hmm?”

It feels as though he has you under a spell, perhaps that is what love is after all, as you take him into your mouth. You take notes of what motions pull what sounds from your prince above you and try to repeat those more. You swirl your tongue over the head and his eyes drift shut. You give his balls a tug and pull off for only a moment. “That isn't fair, I had to keep my eyes on you.”

He curses and grips your hair, tilting your head back in the process. He chuckles darkly, “I will try to keep mine open, but you make me weak at the knees.”

You smile and get back to work. You might be under his spell, but it made you bold to know you had power over him. Fili groaned and rocked his hips in time with your bobs. You grip his hips, digging your nails in as he trembles from pleasure. His breaths came out in shaky pants, clearly at his limit.

You pull off but stroke with your hand, “Are you gonna cum for me, my prince?”

“Y-yes. Yes! Please don’t stop.”

He was such a pretty mess, and you loved it. You took as much of his length into your mouth as you could and hollowed your cheeks to suck. Fili bit down on his fist to keep from screaming as he spilled into your mouth. His seed was hot and made your tongue feel sticky, and you gladly drank him down.

“I swear, gaihith, you might be the death of me.”

“I’ll add that to my list of accomplishments,” you tease back as you climb to your feet. Fili pulls you into a kiss, skin hot against yours. “Let's get back before the others worry I’ve drowned. You can make it up to me later during your watch.”

Fili’s eyes flash with excitement, “But of course. It would only be fair if I got a taste as well.”

[profound-imagination]

Little Witch - Ruhn Danaan - Part 2

A/N: It’s finally here, part two of Little Witch. This part is for @sweetshifter and @sweetshifter only.

T/W: Mentions of torture, nothing too descriptive but it’s there!

W/C: 1.7k

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Ruhn was growing frustrated. He had no right to be. He’d caused this, his actions had brought about her silence again but gods how he missed her voice. It didn’t help that he had a sneaking suspicion she spoke freely to the others when he wasn’t around, she spoke to Ithan at the very least if not the others. Smug little Pup.

He couldn’t complain though, she’d stuck by him through every step of his ongoing healing. She tended his wounds, pulled him out of nightmares and cast little balls of light in her hands when the entire room was shrouded in his shadows as a result. She’d wept silently as he and Lidia told their story, wept for her older sister when she learned the truth of Lidia’s life. Lidia in turn had sobbed for her baby sister when she told her own story, casting those starry eyed gazes at him that he’d missed so much when he entered the story. She attended every therapy session with him, the ones she knew about anyway, and held his hand. His silent pillar of strength.

He could hear the thump thump thump of the music blaring through the house as he approached. Flynn must’ve been throwing another party, the guest list was small these days. The three found brothers who were now five if he counted Ithan and Tharion, which he did. Bryce and Hunt. Lidia and his Little Witch. No one heard the door open as he strolled in although he knew Dec knew he was there and approaching the house long before he first heard the music, yes, his brother was that good. He couldn’t help the grin that split his face when he took in the scene in the living room. Bryce perched on Hunt’s lap in the beaten up armchair, Dec with a laptop in one hand, beer in the other, Lidia and Tharion chatting on the sofa. Flynn was dancing on the coffee table, screaming the lyrics at the top of his lungs, Ruhn’s Little Witch on his back, arms wrapped around Flynn’s neck, mouthing the lyrics along with him a brilliant smile on her face. “You’re going to drop her, Flynn!” Ithan was hissing from his seat, leant right forward ready to catch her when Flynn did drop her. “No I won’t, Pup! I’m completely in control-“ famous last words as Flynn’s foot slipped and he fell, Y/N let out a scream as she lost her grip on Flynn and a purely Fae protective possessiveness flared through Ruhn.

He snarled at his friend as he caught her, her doe eyes looking up at him, a brilliant smile on her face. “Hi there.” He purred at her and delighted in the colour that flared in her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a greeting hug and then untangled herself from him and pulled Flynn to his feet. But Ruhn knew in his bones, in his very soul, that the peace they had found wouldn’t last forever.

Tuesday started like any other day, you’d woken up with Ruhn curled around you like he always was, whether you’d fallen asleep in his bed or yours, you always woke up with his strong arms wrapped around you, your head tucked under his chin, his heat radiating into your back. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t spoken to him again. There was no doubt that you were irrevocably in love with this male but every time you opened your mouth to speak, to maybe tell him, the whole thing flashed through your mind again, the hurt. Losing him. The dress you never got to wear, the ball you never got to go to. Ruhn shifted pulling you from your thoughts and pulling you with him, turning you as he went.

He smiled up at you as you took in his beautiful face. “Good morning, Witchling.” He said, tightening his arms around your waist. You smiled at him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “What have you got planned today?” He asked into your hair, you shrugged in response. “I’m heading out with the guys, we got a tip off on the DreadWolves, Tharion, Ithan and Lidia are following up on one about Pollux, are you gonna be okay here by yourself?” He asked, lifting your head to look at him. You smiled and nodded at him and pointed to his bookshelf, he grinned, “I can’t wait to hear about which one you picked when I get home.”

You’d been pottering around the kitchen having decided to bake, Ruhn had once told you that lemon cake was his favourite, maybe if you couldn’t tell him you could show him how you felt. It was a good idea in theory, but standing in the kitchen covered in flour was proving the opposite, still you persisted. Studying the recipe so hard you almost didn’t hear the front door swing open. No, not swing, bang open. You turned, a sense of dread filling you at what you’d find behind you, still clutching the mixing bowl.

Devastatingly beautiful was the only way to describe Pollux Antonius as he filled the doorway, smiling a lover’s smile at you. “Well, I can see why Princey is keeping you locked away, a perfect mix of your two sisters, beautiful little thing.” He purred. Terror seized your body as he took a step towards you. “Your friends won’t make it back to you in time, Mordoc is giving them the runaround.” He took another step towards you, “Now, be a good girl, don’t run, it’ll only make this worse, don’t fight and I promise you won’t suffer for long.” He grinned. You finally convinced your limbs to unlock and move and you launched the mixing bowl at him and fled the room.

He was on you in two strides and pain lanced through you as he threw you into the wall. All the air left your lungs as you slid down the wall and rallied your power. You could do this, you could control the power, the power didn’t control you. Ruhn had been training you, so had Flynn and Dec, you could do this. “Ah ah ah” Pollux crooned as he knelt in front of you, “None of that nasty raw power of yours, sweetheart.” He sneered as he snapped a pair of cuffs onto your wrists, not Gorsian, no, these were the same cuffs the Witches had used. You screamed as they embedded themselves into your wrists and drained your power from you. “It’s funny how giving the Witches are now they’ve turfed your sister off of her throne.”

He dragged you by the wrists into the garden, your back scraping against the floor, towards the trees and hung you between two of them and began. You screamed until you could scream no more and he talked and talked, spitting his venom, apparently Ruhn had given him nothing but attitude during their time together. You smirked at that. Of course he had. “But you, hurting you,” he crooned, “hurts all of them, Princey, Lidia, the Pup, and when they come back and find you dead it will fracture them all so much their little rebellion will fall apart.” You mustered the little fight you had left and spat at him.

The pain got worse then as he started carving out parts of you. “I wonder if I cut out enough if I’ll find the source of the raw power you possess, take it for myself.” He asked as he brought his dagger to his mouth and licked the blood from the blade. You blocked him out then, his words and his ministrations. Ruhn, you thought of Ruhn. Of his kindness, his smile, his persistence! He never gave up on you, not once, he was still there, still fighting for your words, words you never gave him and now you never would. Blackness started creeping in the edges of your vision. Ruhn, Ruhn, Ruhn.

There was nothing but endless blackness and pain. Was this death? Was there really no peace? “Baby, no! Please, please come back!” Ruhn? You span, searching for him but he was nowhere. “Little Witch, can you hear me? Please come back, don’t leave me! You don’t get to leave me!” Was he crying? You could hear other things as well now, a wolf was howling, Ithan, that was Ithan. Flynn was shouting. “Shock her again!” Tharion, that was Tharion, “Hunt! Shock her again!” “I can’t! Not with Ruhn there!” A snarl, that was unmistakably Ruhn. “All of you move!” Declan. “Baby please wake up!”

You weren’t going to wake up, you were sure of it. “Goodbye Ruhn, I love you.” You weren’t sure how his mind speaking worked, he’d never tried it again after it had terrified you that first time. Then there was a primal roaring in your head. “No! You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to say goodbye, that love you me like this! You wake up and tell me that!” Ruhn growled into your head. “Hunt, shock her again, I’ll move.” Pain splintered through you as he let you go.

You gasped as your eyes flew open and your lungs burned. There was so much pain running through your body. Declan was knelt next to you, his healing magic working the best it could on the cuffs he was trying desperately to remove. Ithan sat at your back, supporting you, keeping you upright. Then there was Ruhn. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again!” He growled as he ran his hands through his hair. Blood, he was covered in blood, as if reading your thoughts he said “He’s gone, he’s dead, he won’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.” Lidia knelt next to Ruhn, “I’m so sorry, Y/N, this is all my fault.” It almost killed you to move your arm to grasp your sisters hand but you did it anyway and gave her a weak smile before looking back to Ruhn.

“I love you, you big idiot.” You croaked, and his face shuttered, fresh tears fell down his face. “I love you too, Little Witch.” You smiled at him weakly, “Let’s get you inside and healed up, then you can tell me about how much you love me.” He grinned down at you. You reached up with the hand that wasn’t holding Lidia’s and wiped his tears away, “Okay, Ruhn.”

[magical-girl-rose]

Ex Catholic turned polytheistic pagan and baby witchling here, like many others, I suffered in silence at the hands of the Catholic church because the congregational community knew I was very much different from their indoctrinated youth. They saw my curiousity towards the world, my doubts on dogma and questioning their rules as a threat.

If God is everywhere like Christians claim he is, then why let me and many others suffer and ignore countless prayers filled with tears and desperation to make my family and the congreational community to stop treating me as a heretical doubter, an outsider, a threat and a child of the Devil. All I ever wanted was to feel accepted and reminded that being different is a good thing instead of being put through forced conformity into the image of a good pious little Catholic girl who obeys blindly without question or defiance. Blind faith and blind obedience are not a good look on anyone!

I love the breakup letter and it made me feel like I should've written one while I was holed up during the pandemic with a "P.S. God you've always been nothing short of a prick to me and how could your blind worshippers not see that?! Anyways, I'm not sorry with how I turned out, I love the world and I am navigating my way around it without your help and that I've always been better off without you!"

And then rip the letter apart and let the wind carry the pieces away representing that I feel the weight countless crosses I never asked to carry and scream my renunciation to the sky above to see he gets the message

Dear God,

There was a time in my life when you were my only priority, my only reason for living. I prayed to you every day for guidance. I worshipped you alongside my loved ones. I believed everything said about you in the Bible. I was ready to empty myself out for you, carry the cross, and reject all others besides you.

I am writing to you to say that it’s over. It has been over for a long time, but I haven’t explicitly said it.

I have build a life for myself that does not depend on you. I love the world and the things in the world. And I know that you are a jealous god. That is not likely to change after thousands of years.

So it is up to me to choose. And I choose to live my life in the secular world where I am free to open my mind, to question everything, and to seek reciprocal connection.

I will not pray to an unresponsive god, for I do not need your guidance. I will not worship you, for there are far better targets for my adoration. I will not unthinkingly accept declarations like those in the Bible, for I am a naturally reasoning being. I will not empty myself, I will not carry your cross, and I will not reject everything outside of you.

I don’t need you anymore. I never did.

Sincerely,

Joyful Apostate