#they’ve been off doing their dark as fuck magic

[motherfuckingmaneater]

Voldemort’s girls coming back from their dark magic rituals.

[runninriot]

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the scenes'

fun to be famous

wc: 1000 | rated: M | cw: language | tags: famous Corroded Coffin, musicians Jeff, Gareth and Frank, frontman Eddie Munson, model Steve Harrington, the 'struggles' and perks of being famous

Eddie hates photo shoots. Hates the clothes the stylist chose for him to wear. Hates having to pose like a soulless mannequin just to portray some bullshit cliché - surrounded by cheap props like fucking plastic skulls with red glowing eyes that look absolutely hideous. Really ruins the magic of the end result when you know what’s going on behind the scenes.

But he knows it’s part of the game, part of what makes people want to buy their albums, and merch, and come to their shows.

It’s a small price to pay, really, when put in perspective. Because what’s a few hours of being uncomfortable if in return, they get to live their fucking dream.

To be the rock stars they always wanted to be, playing sold-out shows in huge arenas, listening to massive crowds singing their songs back to them.

Still, he hates it.

Especially because they always put him upfront, always the centerpiece of every goddamn magazine cover, as if the other members don’t matter as much. It's stupid but his band mates never complain about it. And maybe he brought it upon himself for being a bit of an attention whore on stage.

It was never a conscious choice; he’s always just being himself. Sue him for looking damn fucking good in his mesh tops, and skin-tight leather pants. For loving to make the crowd go wild when he struts around with his pierced nipples out in the open, wearing a skirt that barely covers his best bits, and thigh-high boots.

He loves to be just a little extravagant and coquettishly playful when putting on a show.

That, and the fact that he's always been unashamedly open about his sexuality and his many hook-ups in the past, gave him a certain… reputation. And he’s completely fine with that, really, as long as the way they’re marketing said image doesn't take away from the really important stuff, which is and always has been the music.

They are good at what they do, all of them, didn’t become famous for nothing.

Jeff, Gareth and Frank are exceptionally gifted musicians. And Eddie doesn’t just say this because they’ve been his best friends forever. It’s a fact. And without them, Corroded Coffin wouldn’t be the band it is.

Eddie wouldn’t be who he is without them.

That’s why he wants to protest when the photographer suggests to do a few shots of just Eddie, to ‘give the people what they want.’, but his treacherous friends beat him to it, agree happily to step back and let them do their thing.

He’s told to sit down on some kind of makeshift throne like he’s the Dark Lord himself, while someone calls for someone else to ‘bring in the models’.

Eddie’s mouth falls open when he sees the two ravishing beauties that look like they’ve just tumbled out of a kinky fantasy. The girl is petite with big blue eyes and the cutest smile, her strawberry blond hair in a high ponytail, dressed in lace and leather, enhancing the perfect shape of her body. She’s gorgeous and totally his type, but-

It's the other model, the guy, who has Eddie's full attention. Because holy shit, that man’s a wet dream come true and for once, being in the spotlight doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Eddie thinks he might be in love.

The photographer is yelling instructions but Eddie can hardly hear what he's saying. He’s too distracted by the way the girl drapes herself lasciviously over the armrest on his left, making him feel hot all over with her closeness. And when the guy drops down to his knees in front of him, both hands on Eddie's thighs, looking up at him like he's a fucking God - Eddie forgets how to breathe.

He moves on autopilot, mindlessly following orders. Not once taking his eyes off the beautiful fucking good boy at is feet, thinking dirty rotten thoughts about all the things he'd do to him if this scenario was real and not just for reader-baiting purposes.

It all ends too soon. He could've done this for hours.

Eddie is in the dressing room when someone knocks at the door. And because he assumes it's one of his mates, he just calls for them to 'Come in!', unbothered by his state of undress, naked except for his underwear – nothing to hide once you've shared a tour bus so many times – standing with his back to the door, rummaging around in his suitcase for a fresh set of clothes.

"Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to as-ohmygod! I am so sorry! I didn't know you where-"

Eddie turns around so quickly it makes him dizzy, surprised to find not Gareth, or Frank, or Jeff but another a familiar set of eyes staring back at him.

It’s hot guy from earlier.

“You’re not a fan, huh?” Eddie asks with a cocky grin on his face, just a bit too proud of himself for how quickly he regained his composure. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be so shocked to see me half-naked.” Eddie winks and pretty boy's face turns a deep cherry-red.

“No, I, uh, I mean, yes. I mean-,“ the guy struggles for words and it's so precious, Eddie wants to bite him.

“I wanted to ask you for an autograph.”

Oh please. Baby, you can have so much more.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll sign my name if you give me your number. How’s that sound?”

When Eddie reunites with his friends 30 minutes later, Gareth is immediately onto him.

“Please tell me you didn’t just fuck the model.”

“His name is Steve and you know what they say - what happens behind the scenes, stays there.”

“Literally no one says that. And you’re a slut.” Gareth laughs and Frank and Jeff agree.

They're not wrong, Eddie’s definitely a slut for Steve. And he can’t wait to meet him at the hotel room later to finish what they started.

[deadsetobsessions]

More triplet tim PLEASEE

Aye, aye!

@batman-soup your idea just gives on giving omg what magic are you cooking in your head bc this prompt literally went absolutely crazy in mine

Commissioner Gordon was a decorated veteran of the GCPD, having lasted in the force longer than most without buckling under the pressure and temptation of being a dirty cop. That means he’s seen some shit, and he’s been in some shit. Even when Batman made his debut, even when he had to cover for Bru- ahem, Batman’s fool ass, James Gordon hadn’t even considered stoping in his effort to better the GCPD.

As he blankly stared at Batman, who looked as tired as Gordon felt, and the- not one, not two, but three- Robins following him, Commissioner Gordon seriously considered going down stairs and handing in his letter of resignation on the spot.

“Batman,” he greeted the Dark Knight, in the tone one might use when saying “Batman, what the fuck?!”

“Commissioner Gordon.” Batman said, sounding like he swallowed gravel and spent his nights crying instead of beating up Gotham’s criminal underbelly. “This is… the Robins. They’ve been… switching out until they were all ready.”

“Hey, Mister Gordon!” One of the Robins chirped. Commissioner Gordon pinched himself. Maybe he got micro-dosed with fear toxin? Commissioner Gordon nodded at the Robin who spoke.

“Commissioner Gordon!” The second one smiled at him.

“Commissioner Gordon.” The third one said, shoulders back.

“Have there always been… three of you?” Gordon asked, perplexed.

“You’ve actually all met us before, but don’t worry about it! Whatcha got for us this time?”

“Robin,” Batman growled.

“Yes?” “Yeah?!” “What.”

Commissioner Gordon chugged his coffee, to avoid laughing at Batman’s exasperated demeanor. Privately, he wished the coffee was a strong, black out worthy drink, and that the Robins gave Batman the stress Gordon experienced at Batman’s antics.

“It is important.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, B.” Regular Robin, Gordon deemed, waved him off.

“But we’re currently not taking mental health advice from you, you walking therapist’s wet dream.” Serious Robin scoffed.

“So you can stick your opinion where the sun doesn’t shine!” Chirpy Robin said. Gordon had wanted to name him happy Robin, but he’s not getting the feeling of “happiness” from him.

“I will bench you.”

“Try me,” all of them defiantly said at the same time. Gordon smothered a laugh, but by the glare Batman sent him, he wasn’t too successful at hiding it.

Batman visibly gave up, shoulders slumping. “Commissioner Gordon, what do you have for…us.”

“There’s, heh, Penguin’s expansion.” Gordon looked away from Batman’s baleful look, mustache twitching with suppressed laughter.

“He’s expanding his weapons trading.” Regular Robin said. Serious Robin nodded, leaning back on his heels in thought.

“That’s a sign of an upcoming turf war.”

“Red Hood’s part of it! I saw Penguin’s guys lurking around his safe house!”

“Why do you know where his safe house is, Robin?” Gordon might acknowledge that they’re trained vigilantes, but at the end of the day, Robin is still a child that shouldn’t be near a crime lord, especially a highly dangerous and highly trained one like the Red Hood.

“Prank! Don’t worry about it!”

Gordon side-eyed the Bat. When Batman didn’t move to say anything, he shrugged and let it go. There’s only one person more protective of Robin than the rest of Gotham’s non-criminal city, and that’s Batman. Gordon caught the three of them exchanging glances- a whole conversation he and Batman were not privy to- and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to go home and never leave his bed again.

“You know where he’s staying, Robin?” Batman asked, when the silence got too long.

“Yep!” They chorused, even the serious one. Batman looked like he wanted to step back but held on like his pride was on the line.

“We can handle Penguin.” The serious one stated.

“You can get the goons, Batman!”

“I’ll rob them blind,” regular Robin grinned.

“Dibs on Penguin!”

“I’ll get the weapons.”

Batman sighed.

“Godspeed, Robins.” Gordon told the youngsters. To Batman, before he left, “Good luck.”

Batman grunted and disappeared. It sounded like a tearful thanks. Commissioner Gordon took a puff of his smoking pipe and decided to end the day today. He did not want to deal with the Robins and whatever terror they were about to unleash on Penguin.

——

“Penguuuuuiiiiiiinnnn, where aaaaare youuuu?!” Lionel sang, whacking a goon across the head with a pipe. “Come ooout!”

Archy, gleefully lugging away bags of tech and guns, jerked his head at the left hallway. He wound around the bodies of the unconscious goons Batman beat up. Lionel grinned at him in thanks and, bouncing along, went to beat up the Penguin.

“Robin, that is evidence.” Batman stopped Archy.

“It’s only evidence if it gets logged. Besides, I’m not going to do anything with them… much.”

Batman scowled, remembering the parenting books he devoured after adopting Jason. Be firm.

“You are not going to give them to Hood to help with his turf war.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

Tim, passing the arguing pair, snorted. “C’mon B, at least Hood’s guys will make sure to not use them to hurt kids. Who knows what the GCPD will do with this many guns.”

“And, not to mention, you let me get shot when we fought Dent.” Archy looked up at Batman balefully, rubbing his side. Batman grimaced… but stood aside.

Archy smirked.

“B, help me out with this,” Tim shouted, patting the top of Penguin’s heavy safe. Batman sighed and took out his laser cutter. Or, as Dick named it, Batlaser.

“Batman is supposed to be a symbol,” Batman rumbled.

“Yeah, of vengeance and justice. I’m getting justice for my stolen bat-tech, Robin L is getting vengeance for that one time Penguin kidnapped him, and Robin A is getting… stuff. Now c’mon, I can’t carry all this gold by myself. I gotta loot the goons too!”

“Do not loot the goons.”

“You’re right. If they had cool stuff, they probably wouldn’t be working for Penguin.” Tim brightened as he shuffled through the Penguin’s hoard of treasures. “Oo! Lookit! Tax evasion!”

“… You memorized his tax returns when Oracle hacked it, didn’t you.”

“Obviously. Keep up, old man.” Archy snarked as he walked back in to grab some more stuff. “Hood’s on the way with Nightwing and I want froyo, so chop chop!”

Batman sighed.

——

Penguin huddled against the crate, heart pumping a rhythm of abject terror.

His night had been going so well! He had drinks in one hand, a beauty in another, and the weapons trading game underneath his feet! The Cobblepots were going to rise once more!

Then, the slide of gravel, here and there.

Fear.

A low chuckle. The Bat?

Fear.

The squeal of a hinge.

Fear.

Bubbly laughter. Oh no. Robin.

Batman and Robin had dropped to the floor of the base, knocking his goons out left and right.

“Ge’ your fat nose outta my business, Bats!” He had went to wave his umbrella to send spikes at the pair, only to be stopped cold.

He turned around slowly and … Robin?

“Wha-?”

“Heya, Penguin! Nice seeing you again!”

“Agh!” Blinding pain erupted on his face, nose leaking blood. Penguin stumbled back as the psychotic Robin laughed.

“There’s two Robin! Run!” His goons shouted. “Boss, run!” Cobblepot stumbled away, mentally noting to give that goon a raise, once he could see more than red tinged blurs.

“Wrong. There’s three.” A cold voice sounded out, followed by the quick sounds of bodies dropping. Oswald Cobblepot ran, because he was not meant to deal with more than one Robin. The world was not meant to have more than one, so it definitely wasn’t ready for three.

The door creaked open. Oswald Cobblepot peeked his head out from behind the crate. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw an empty doorway. Maybe he forgot to close it when he ran in.

“Heya, Oswald!”

Penguin looked up, eyes darting from the blood stained pipe and straight into the grinning maw of a Robin.

“… Bollocks.”

[codgod]

y’know generally i try to limit colour palettes to as few colours as possible to make things more cohesive but despite my best efforts only jay ended up being able to stick to that </3

ANYWAYS here’s the as-of-right-now fully updated designs for these dickheads. these will no doubt undergo even more tweaking as i draw them more but this is a start i guess. also pls open the pictures to look at them properly i worked so hard LOL

some random notes under the cut yaaaay

chip —

he jingles when he walks. somehow he’s still stealthy. i do not know how

kept the platinum ring that bonded him to gillion in the block! because hey he doesn’t really have a reason to take it off (and it’s a nice reminder of how much gill cares about him, and how far their friendship has come since that ice arena)

his tattoos shift and flicker like actual flames, and sometimes (harmless, purely aesthetic) sparks fly off them when he’s excited

i just think smoke coming out of his mouth when he’s angry would be cool :]

chipped teeth from biting rocks and coins all the time :/

he has scars from the red lightning, they’re just mostly contained to his back and shoulders. they’re a similar red to his coat even once they’ve healed

gillion —

the tail sleeve thing is so he can rest it on the ground without damaging his scales, he doesn’t usually wear it when he’s just on the ship because the wood is soft enough that it’s usually fine + it can hinder swimming a bit. it’s mostly meant for places where there’s cobblestone or gravel streets and such. i think his armour would probably have a version that looks similar but covers the whole tail minus the fins, maybe with some armour plating of its own. i didn’t draw it because there wasn’t any room lol

his scars from the lightning are pink mostly because red stood out too much tbh. they softly glow in the dark the same as his coral and the pink parts of his fins

also kept his ring! his hands aren’t really made for jewellery, though, because the webbing means it won’t sit very secure on his finger. so he keeps it on the same chain as the necklace he got from aslana to keep it safe

tried to make him look a bit bulkier and more his age than in my original design? i feel like i was leaning too much into the naivety and. shortness. originally lol. he also has thicker eyebrows now and i’m still trying to decide how i feel about them but i think? i like it? i don’t tend to give many character thin eyebrows so it could’ve been a unique thing for him but alas

i think i made the sword too small but like ignore that

also forgor to include pretzel </3 that’s okay though she can get her own design sheet later. she’s special like that

jay —

i believe in tall jay supremacy

blue magic! i was considering gold but that’d look a bit more like a canary than i wanted for her wings so. blue jay :]

her hair is supposed to look kinda like fire to mimic her dad ! kinda showing that even if she runs from her family and the navy they’ll always be a part of her. and also i just like drawing messy hair

i gave her sturdier gloves just because i feel like it fits her better. also changed up the shirt to more of a button up solely because i don’t like tank tops very much LOL

i did WANT to make her outfit a bit flashier to match the boys better but i couldn’t quite figure out where to Put the flash. maybe that’ll come later, the way the story’s going i might get to design some cool prosthetics for her or something

overall —

because there’s just so many fucking colours i triiied to add at least one or two colours from each of them into the others designs. jay has her necklace with each of their main colours on it, her wings are the same blue as gillions eyes, her jacket and right eye are the same dark blue as destiny’s blade, her hair is the same orange as the lighter part of chips tattoos. chip has a dark green sash under all the belts, the same as the hilt of destiny’s blade. they all use the same shades of black, gold, and brown

the only real exception is gillion doesn’t have anything from the other two because he has Such a specific colour palette and he already had so much going on as-is orz jay was obviously the easiest to do this with because she has both warm and cool colours in her palette by default lol (and i did her design last, so that helps)

[elposting]

I JUST GOT BACK FROM SEEING BOOK OF MORMON ON WEST END AND IT WAS THE GREATEST THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD

little debrief/me chatting/face reveal???

My dad surprised me with first row center tickets last night and I’ve been begging him to see the show for so long I was sooo freaking excited

I was literally grinning ear to ear through the entire thing. Easily makes my top three best things I’ve ever been to (Taylor swift concert, snl barricades are the other two lol).

This was my first time sitting front row at professional theater and it was so worth it. Its literally magical and I hope everyone gets to experience it at some point

Rest of post below the cut! Somewhat long post sorry i have a lot to say lol (pics and vids too! and ill reblog this with the curtain call video i got)

OK now to the show

- colin was so fucking funny as mckinley I was literally dying and turn it off was so good. I tried to squint through the darkness to see the quick change but I couldn’t lol, guess that one video is the only way ill ever see them actually doing it lol

- baptize me was the best and funniest thing I’ve seen in a long long time. the entire audience was dying laughing the entire time. and the detail of naba’s shirt being wet after the gets baptized. wonderful

- idk how long they’ve been doing this for but after price comes into the mission hut with blood all over him the other elders start freaking out until poptarts just screams, silences everyone, and does the turn it off motion and all of them get calm and it was so fucking funny oh my god

- mckinley trying to stop the play in the middle of it. just starts clapping and trying to step in front of naba. colin!mckinley I love you so much

- the guy who played church looked identical to rory o’malley and i kept getting distracted by that so i missed McKinley’s enterance in smhd and the build up to price’s “fuck him” bc I kept looking at him 😭

- conner/cunningham is so fucking good. He is so funny I could not stop laughing. one of my favorite cunninghams ever. he made me love arnold sm more now. and he is SUCH a great singer like genuinely fantastic

—

STAGE DOOR TIME!!

- stage door culture for west end is so much different than broadway!! I forgot to bring a pen (on Broadway everyone has their own sharpies) so I shared with this one girl and her mom from Mexico, they were the only other people there

- my dad told conner he was better than josh gad and he was like who??? we don’t talk about him!! It was so funny lol

me and conner this vid is so goofy I love it

here's me and my best friend in the whole wide world colin burnicle (who looked at me weird when I told him all I wanted to do for the rest of my life was watch turn it off over and over again)

me and blair who was so good and he told me he recognized me from my shirt in the front row lol told me I looked like I was having a blast. love u blair 😘 tall king

charlie barnard cutie patootie

and my absolute fave pic of the night me and richard/mafala i love this man

oh and finally I got sm signatures and if (when) I see it on broadway and tour everyone else will be signing the book and if i meet matt and trey (or anyone in obc) i will beg them to sign it too

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A flower for a flower

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 20

Prompt: Magic AU

Rated: T

CW: Sexually explicit language

Tags: Fantasy AU; Knight Steve Harrington; Witch Eddie Munson; Repaying debts; Open ending

"Steve," Robin's hand is clutching his arm so hard he can feel it through his armor. "Steve, I don't like this. There’s magic at work here, I can tell.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve huffs, even though the murky, green light trickling through the trees is giving him the creeps, even though his hand keeps groping for his sword belt. “There’s no magic left in the world, everybody knows that.” 

“Not in the civilized realms,” Robin says. “But this place? It’s freaking me out. We’ve passed that fallen pillar at least three times, I know it.” 

“You’re imagining things. The place is littered with ruins, there’s probably a hundred pillars like that.” 

It is, in fact, the exact same pillar. He remembers the crouching shape of the gargoyle on the top, overgrown with moss and ivy. He’ll be damned before he admits it, though. Robin is inches from a panic attack as it is - telling her that they’ve been spending the better part of the day taking twists and turns, only to inexplicably arrive back in the same spot? Big fucking no.  

“C’mon,” he says instead. “Keep your eyes open. The sooner we find that morphing daisy or whatever it's called we can head home." 

"It's Morpheus Lily," Robin grumbles. For a while, the only sound is that of their feet crunching on dead leaves. 

"The villagers say this forest is home to a witch, did you know that?" Robin whispers finally. "They say they were banished here centuries ago, and that they lead travelers astray out of revenge. They call it the Witch's Forest." 

Steve is already rolling his eyes, snide remark ready on his tongue, when a voice behind them drawls, "Goodness, really? Well, isn't that creative?" 

They whirl around. 

There's a figure perched on the pillar they just passed. Dark eyes, lined heavily in coal, regard them from over stacked hands gleaming with silver jewelry.

"You're the witch," Robin breathes. 

The figure hops off the pillar and saunters over to them, bare feet rustling on the forest floor. Tattered black robes fall open, revealing a pale chest covered in black rune tattoos. 

"I am indeed. Welcome to my realm." 

"But- wait, you're a guy!" Steve blurts. 

The smile on those full lips turns into a scowl. 

"A lot is possible in this world, sir," says the guy … the witch … the witch guy. "Witches can have cocks, and knights can be pretty as flowers." 

Steve snaps his mouth shut, tries to ignore the heat prickling under his collar. 

"Now," guy-witch claps his hands and dances a step back, dark curls flying around him like a frizzy halo. There's feathers and random branches and leaves braided in there. "Speaking of flowers, I couldn't help but overhear you're in search of a Morpheus Lily." 

Robin, who has been hiding behind Steve this entire time, gulps and pushes herself to the front. 

"We're from the kingdom of Hawkins, and- We're looking for a cure for a sleeping sickness that has befallen the princess Christine. Our healers say that the nectar of the lily may be the only hope, so-" 

"Hawkins?" That smile turns sharp. "Now, isn't that a coincidence? For the very people who banished me to this wretched place to come crawling here and ask me a favor." 

"That was ages ago," Robin blurts. "Listen, I'm sorry, I wish there was a way to- I wish there was anything we could do for you-" 

"Oh, maybe there is." 

Robin trails off in confusion. The witch smirks. 

"Let us assume I know where to find that precious flower you seek. I'd be willing to give it to you, let you find your way out of my forest even. If the price is right, that is." 

"Of course," Robin's hands start fumbling for the purse on her belt. "We have gold, we're more than willing-" 

The witch throws his head back and barks a laugh. 

"What use would your gold be to me in this place? Does it keep the loneliness at bay during the long, dull days? Does it offer warmth on endless, cold nights? No, I have something quite different in mind …" 

Dark, gleaming eyes flick over to Steve and he practically feels how the blood drains from his face. 

"A flower for a flower."

All my holiday drabbles

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY-THREE EXCERPT:

Sebastian leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t think it’s Grindelwald, do you?” he asked with a frown. “Could a dark lord control them?”

“He didn’t say,” said Simon. “He did say that occasionally one or two of them will float out to sea before coming back, but…” Simon met Tom’s gaze, a dark look entering his eyes. “About six to seven of them have gone missing. They can’t find them and they have no idea what happened to them.”

“Fuck,” said Harry, growing pale. He rubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

“Well, that can’t be good, yeah?” said Roland, glancing around the group.

Alphard shook his head. “The dementors aren’t supposed to leave Azkaban. They’re under ministry control or at least that’s what the public assumes.” He sighed. “However, the agreement between the ministry and the dementors is a delicate, fragile one. The dementors could turn on us at any time when they’ve found a better source of food.”

“Why is your father informing you of this?” asked Tom. “This shouldn’t affect us, should it?”

“The issue is their numbers are dropping faster than he realized,” said Simon. “He said even more might disappear or go missing. He’s advised us to practice the patronus charm as much as possible.”

“The patronus charm?” said Quintus. “But that’s not to be taught until the end of our sixth year. That’s advanced magic. He can’t think they’ll come here, do you?”

William shrugged. “There are plenty of towns and cities between Hogwarts and Azkaban, so he doubted it, but he still wanted us to practice. They’re going to alert the public soon and the staff of Hogwarts. Problem is I can barely conjure even a bit of some proper mist as a seventh year and most of you lot haven’t covered it yet.”

“He also said we should be on alert and always keep some chocolate on hand.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Chocolate, that I can do, but learning the patronus charm is out of the question.”

“Why?” asked Harry. “I’ve seen you duel in class. You’re strong enough.”

A number of Slytherins snorted.

“Strength is not the issue,” said Tom softly.

“Harry, it’s a light spell,” drawled Sebastian. “I was casting dark magic when I was five years old.”

“What does that have anything to do with it?”

“It doesn’t like dark magic,” said Marcus. “And I’d prefer to not die a horrible death by maggots.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve done a dark spell or two and I can cast it.”

“Come off it,” said Sebastian. He shook his head, while the others shifted with interest. “We all know you’re powerful, Harry, but the patronus charm is a different brand of magic. Most sixth years never master it and like Will said, he can’t do much of anything even in his seventh year. Hell, a lot of adults can’t cast it.”

Harry lifted a defiant eyebrow and pulled out his wand. A little chill of thrill ghosted up Tom’s spine. Harry… you can’t be telling us that you can cast the patronus charm… can you? 

He was powerful, yes. Tom had witnessed that power firsthand. He’d seen Harry’s mastery of wandless magic, of wordless magic. It came to him with ease. But a light spell of this caliber? That was something else entirely.

But Harry regularly proved himself to be extraordinary.

“Expecto Patronum,” whispered Harry.

Light pulsed.

White light glowed, power filling the room. Soft gasps rippled through the group. The blinding, glorious light flooded the dimly lit dorm room, chasing away the shadows in the corners. A misty stag stood tall in front of Tom. The stag dipped his head closer to him and Tom reached out, but the stag vanished. 

It left Tom bereft.

[thedreamlessnights]

Liability - pt. 1

Astarion x NB!Tav

Synopsis: Two hundred years after being sentenced to prison by a corrupt magistrate, Arden is abducted by a nautiloid and subjected to a tadpole insertion. Little do they know, that very magistrate is on the same ship - and shares their uncomfortable affliction.

Warnings and tags: Brief mentions of violence and death. This fic follows the events of Baldur’s Gate 3, so there will be spoilers. Enemies to Lovers, Barbarian!Tav, Drow!Tav, Multi-Chapter, Upcoming NSFW.

Word Count: 2k

It all starts with burning sand and a mouthful of salt water. 

Arden hasn’t seen the beach before, but the taste of it on their tongue is not a welcome one. It’s rancid. Raw. Stinging at the cut on the inside of their cheek. Long after they’ve spit it out, it lingers. 

Everything does. 

The throbbing of their head, the persistent squirming of that thing behind their eye. Even the grit of sand won’t seem to come off of them. It’s like every terrible sensation has been taken in and amplified by ten. 

Everything aches as they move, stumbling to their feet, taking in the sights around them. The flaming remains of the ship. The deep, clear water. The distant greenery.

Well, Arden thinks, giving a bitter, half-smile that no one is around to see. At least I’ve learned something new about myself. 

They give one last glance toward the shore then set off, a mantra echoing through their thoughts.

I fucking hate the beach.

If things were different, joining with a worshipper of Shar would be insanity. 

Shadowheart may act as though it’s private information, but her loyalties are as clear as day. A follower of darkness. A pawn for the lady of loss. The presence of Shar is like a shadow that never fades - a wound that never heals - and Arden knows it. 

Still, they’ve never been in less of a place to discriminate. The two of them have tadpoles in their brains, after all. They know each other from the ship. Shadowheart seems to trust them after being freed from that horrific pod. 

Given the circumstances, this is the best either of them can manage, and Arden is certainly not about to complain.

So here they are. Wandering through the landscape together, a quiet but implicit trust placed between them. A common goal, intertwining their fates. 

Are there more? Arden finds themself thinking. Are there more like us?

If the number of pods on the ship was any indicator, then there must be. The gith might be out there somewhere. Others, too. How many souls are wandering about, counting down the time until they’ll be changed into monsters? 

Arden doesn’t even want to know. The further they get from this place, the better, but the circumstances aren’t making it easy. It’s blazing hot, and the headache that’s been there for hours is only getting worse. 

Splitting. Throbbing.

It’s the reason they nearly miss the disembodied arm coming out of the rock, waving around in the midst of swirling purple light as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

“Hello?” a voice says, accompanying the arm. “A hand? Anyone?”

It’s likely not a good idea to touch a random hand in a magical rock, but, with the day they’re having, Arden is long past that. They let out a sigh and reach out, taking hold of the hand and giving a sharp pull. 

It doesn’t work. 

For one, their palms are embarrassingly sweaty, and the voice on the other side isn’t exactly helping. Then there’s the matter that whoever is in there is almost… held back. As if he’s being continually sucked in while they’re trying to get him out.

“Harder! Come on, put your back into it!” the voice calls. 

Arden has half a mind to let him go and walk away, but they don’t. Instead, they grit their teeth, tighten their grip, and yank. The arm loosens but still doesn’t give.

“Ow!” the voice says. “Careful!”

“Here,” comes Shadowheart’s voice, somewhere behind Arden. “I’ll help.” She steps closer, grabs onto their arm, and nods.

“On three,” Arden says. “One, two…”

Three. 

The two of them give a heave, and the next thing Arden knows, they’re on their back in the dirt, and their ribs are being crushed by whoever was in that rock.

“Hells,” they mutter, squirming, lungs increasingly aching for air. “Get off!”

The weight above them shifts, then lessens. “Ah - apologies,” the man says, quickly getting to his feet. “As is likely obvious, that didn’t go as expected.”

He offers them a hand up, and they take it. Their ribs only ache a little now, but they scowl at him all the same. 

The man simply smiles in response, taking in a breath as he briefly surveys the surroundings. “Gale of Waterdeep,” he finally greets, holding out a hand again. 

He’s handsome, which isn’t something Arden ought to be noticing in times like this. Long brown hair, grey streaks, dark eyes. 

A bad idea, they think.

Which, unfortunately, has never stopped them before.

“Arden.” They quickly shake his hand, and he has the decency to avoid grimacing at the sweat on their palm. If only it wasn’t so bloody hot out.

“Arden,” he says, his smile widening. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you, by the way. For a moment there, I thought that place might be the end of me.” 

He pauses, and something flickers in his eyes for a moment. “Say - but I know you, don’t I? You were on the nautiloid as well.”

Arden thinks, for a moment, back to the horror of the ship. The pods, and the terrified faces trapped inside of them. The fear. The smell of rot and blood in the air. There had been so many of them, and it had all gone by so quickly…

“I was there,” they manage to reply, grimacing. “Shadowheart, too. We both received the, er, insertion.”

Gale frowns. “As did I. A rather unwelcome procedure, if I may say so. I take it you know what this ‘insertion’ will do to us, left untreated?”

Arden huffs. “That it’ll turn us into mind flayers, you mean? We’re aware. We were looking for a healer before we found you.”

“Were you?” Gale asks. “A strong course of action, and… perhaps the only one, in our case.” He hesitates. “What would you say to us working together? We could lend each other a hand again, so to speak.” 

Arden shares a glance with Shadowheart, fighting the urge to chew on the inside of their cheek. Shadowheart simply raises her brows, looking neither opposed nor in favor of Gale’s proposition.

“Alright,” Arden answers, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t see why not. If I’m honest, we need all the allies we can get.”

“Excellent,” Gale says. “You won’t regret it, if I can help it. Shall we proceed?”

And just like that, they’ve become a group of three.

Arden is just thinking that the day might turn out alright when everything falls apart.

Gale is a chatterbox, but his words are a welcome distraction from the horrific spiral of their thoughts. Shadowheart’s snark has them smiling, and even the sun’s brutality has let up.

They’ve all agreed to end one another should one of them begin to turn, but it’s clear none of them want to resort to that if they can avoid it. Who would? 

Aside from the occasional squirming, the tadpole is silent. Arden isn’t sure whether or not that’s a good sign, but they don’t feel like a monster. Not yet, at least.

And then Arden sees him.

It doesn’t come together at first - the sight of him. It’s like a word out of reach on their tongue, a riddle they can’t quite solve. Their strained mind can’t put the picture together, even though all of the pieces lay at their feet.

White hair. Pale skin. Something is off, not quite right. Something is familiar, but it’s not what it was. He looks them in the eye without a hint of recognition and waves them closer. 

“Hurry,” he says, his voice pressing, almost frantic. He looks out toward the nearby field, then points into the distance. “There, in the grass. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you?”

And it finally clicks. 

His face. His voice.

It can’t be, they think, dizzy with something that’s somewhere between blinding fury and complete elation. The man responsible for the life they’ve lived for the last two hundred years is standing right in front of them. For a moment, they’re searching for his name, and then - it’s there.

Astarion.

“Well?” he asks impatiently. “Can you kill it or not?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then they lunge at him.

Everything becomes oh so loud in the chaos, the blissfully rageful animal that Arden has become. Ears ringing, their heart pounding in their chest, the impact as the two of them hit the ground. The scrape of the dirt against their knees. They manage to get in one good punch to his face, and he yelps.

“Gods damn it!” he exclaims, fighting to get a dagger out of its sheath on his belt.

“Arden!” someone is yelling. “Arden, what in the hells are you doing?”

There’s a swift, sharp tug - a yank around their waist that knocks the wind straight out of them. Then they’re on their knees in the dirt, and a mace is at their throat.

“I don’t want to use this,” Shadowheart says, her voice trembling with something that might be anger. “But I will. If you’re turning.”

Arden finds themself trembling, bleeding and furious, barely able to think. “I…” 

Their voice breaks, and they ball their hands into fists, sucking in a breath to calm themself. How the hells are they meant to explain? 

“Gods,” Astarion hisses, stumbling to his feet, smoothing out his wrinkled clothes. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

If Gale and Shadowheart didn’t look two seconds away from killing them, Arden would attack him again. “I’m not turning,” they insist as calmly as they can, keeping their gaze on Shadowheart. “I swear.”

For a moment, Shadowheart just studies them, internally debating. Then, finally, she lowers the mace. 

“Tell me,” Astarion snipes, stepping a little closer. “Do you always do that to people in need?

His words are too much. Too ironic. Arden stares up at him, fuming, digging their fingers into the dirt so they don’t do something stupid. “And how do you treat people in need, Astarion Ancunín?” 

Their words take him off guard. His eyes widen and he steps back, his gaze turning analytical as he looks them over.

“I… Do we know each other?” 

They grit their teeth. “Yes. We do.”

But his face is blank. As they stare at him, they swear they can see fear in his eyes, but... nothing else. No recognition.

Gods. His eyes. 

Arden is absolutely, positively certain that they’d been blue before. Blue. But they’re a dark, glimmering red now. If they didn’t know better, they’d say he was a vampire. But he’s in the sun. If he’s truly a vampire, he’d be burnt to a crisp now.

“Really?” he asks. “My deepest apologies, but it seems I’ve, erm… forgotten?” 

They stare at him in sheer disbelief. Gods. He doesn’t even remember?

“Forgotten?” they ask sharply. “Interesting. And here I was, wondering how you’d managed to live with yourself after what you’d done. Do you forget everyone you’ve hurt, Astarion?” 

Something flashes in his eyes. “Tell me who you are,” he spits.

Arden pushes to their feet, shaking, towering over him. “You were the magistrate for my case. Ten years in prison. I was innocent, but you didn’t care. Don’t you remember?”

They’re looking for their words to spark more anxiety in him, but - rather strangely - they seem to do the exact opposite of that. All of the tension bleeds out of his face, and he lets out a small, surprised laugh.

“Gods,” he says, relief palpable in his voice. “You’re angry over that?” 

Arden doesn’t have any time to feel rage. Their tadpole squirms in their brain with a vicious intensity and a sharp, blinding pain, buckling them over.

Something flashes through their vision. Something that does not belong to them, forced unwillingly into their mind. Dark, familiar streets of the Lower City, but their limbs are not their own. Their actions, even their thoughts, all belong to the man in front of them.

There, he’s thinking. If I could just-

And then the memory is gone.

In the aftermath of the fading image, Arden suddenly feels as though they’ve lost something they’ll never quite get back. They stare at Astarion: similarly wide-eyed, two fingers pressed to his temple - and suddenly understand.

He has the tadpole, too.

[veritas-scribblings]

torn & funnel - @bartylusmicrofic - words: 825 [Mature: dark, some gore, some horror elements, some non-explicit sexual content]

He lives in darkness. In a world that smells like blood and dark magic. The floor is hard and cold and wet and sticky, and he struggles to remain in the one spot, slipping every time he moves. It is nightfall, he can tell, and the moon shines round and full, visible through the grating high up in the wall. It is the only illumination in the room, providing light dim enough for him to see a shape hanging some distance across from him. Come morning, the sun will shine through the grating and he will see it more clearly. Taunting him. A harbinger.

The body hangs, head down, attached to the roof by the huge hook speared through the soles of her feet. She is pale, having been drained of blood, by a jagged incision in her neck, torn up towards her jaw line. He can still hear her screaming echoing in his mind, in his nightmares, though she has been still for some time now. Feel the stickiness of her blood beneath the palms of his hands, drying in places on his skin. 

‘Are you awake, Old Man?’

They call him this: Old Man. Like it is his name. And maybe it is. He does not remember anymore. He’d lost his name some time ago when the one with the tattoos and the piercings had strung her up and sliced her with severing spells and burned her with fire and laughed at her screams. His wife, he remembers. This, he cannot forget.

And he’d watched. And he’d listened. For days he had watched and he’d listened, trapped by the chains and the bars on the cage, until he’d been reduced to screaming and begging. And pleading and crying. Until the dark-haired one—the pretty, dark-haired one with the pale skin and the silver-grey eyes—and knelt down and said to him, calmly, ‘don’t beg, it’s beneath you.’

‘Wake up, wake up, Old Man. Get up.’ 

He is called Barty, the one with the tattoos and the piercings. The Old Man hates him with a burning, searing, blazing passion. It is not for his wife, nor for the darkness of his world which smells like blood and dark magic. It is a hatred that is older, nurtured over time, because he had known. Oh, he had known. He’d seen this coming like a runaway train, and he is fool to been so arrogant as to not have stepped out of the way.

Barty dumps something through the bars of the Old Man’s cage. A sandwich, which falls apart the moment it is airborne and lands in the dirt and the blood and the shit and the piss that have spilled out of the bucket they’ve given him.

‘Eat,’ he instructs, ‘need to keep your energy up.’

The dark-haired one stands one the stairs that lead down to the Old Man’s dark, dark world. Where Barty is an open book of rage and hate and sinister mirth, the dark-haired one is entirely blank. Closed off. Unreadable. Except for that one time, after they’d strung up his wife, the expressions on the dark-haired one, the sounds he’d made that the Old Man wants to forget.

He watches, though he rarely gets involved. Acting instead as Barty’s manager. His supervisor. Instructing Barty on what to do. Barty listens, fulfils his wishes. And what the dark-haired one wishes is to keep the Old Man alive. ‘In limbo,’ the dark-haired one had said. ‘You belong to me now. You don’t get to die. You will not get that mercy.’

Barty crosses the small, dark world and crowds the dark-haired one up against the bannister of the staircase. He kisses him, filthy and crude. The Old Man casts his eyes away back down to the sandwich dumped at his feet that he will eat, he thinks, when he is desperate enough. When the hunger over-rides every other sensation in his body, including the present urge to gouge his own eyes out, to pierce his own ear drums.

Because the sounds they’re making are simply obscene and he can see in the periphery of his vision flashes of flesh. Hears Barty moaning, 'Oh, fuck, Reg, baby.'

This is worse. Worse than the hunger and the exhaustion. Than the nightmares that are plaguing his every waking and sleeping moments. Worse than what they’d done to his wife. Worse than anything else they might have planned for him. And the old man remembers the echoes of his wife’s screams; screams of pain, screams of horror, screams of disgust.

He remembers after his wife had been strung up, Barty pressing the dark-haired one up against the pillar that holds up his dark, dark world, and the depraved things that Barty had done to him just for the Old Man to see. He remembers the sound of the dark-haired one in the throes of pleasure. He remembers Barty making eye contact with him the whole time, the way Barty had enjoyed his suffering.

And, dear Salazar, he remembers.

He remembers his wife.

He remembers that the dark-haired one is his son.

[undertheopensky]

Portals Do Not Like Four (the feeling is mutual)

Whumptober Day 1: Swooning

Characters: Four, Warriors, everyone's kind of there but may not have a large part

Trigger warnings: Fainting, seizures

Read on Ao3!

-----

In the aftermath of a frantic skirmish, the others discuss the black lizalfos and its newfound portal-creating abilities in worried tones. Four just wishes he’d been close enough to see it happen. Spun glass and shadows shot through with blood and poison, the void between its arms dragging in all light; how was it made? Where did the energy come from? How does it keep from growing and swallowing up the world? How does it keep from collapsing in on itself and vanishing? It’s too complex to simply be what it appears, a tear between worlds, a void in time and space.

It’s not at all like the moon gates. For one thing, despite being a direct link to the dark world, they didn’t reek so heavily of malice that he can taste it, nasty and metallic in the back of his throat. For another, the way it hangs in the air, flexing and pulsing with barely-restrained magic. The moon gates had been a little like that, he supposes, the way they had been right at the edge of a tipping point before he cracked them open. But this one is already open. He doesn’t know what precipice it’s riding, and doesn’t know if he wants to find out.

If Four had the time, he’d make a few sketches, maybe check the base for evidence of runes or anchoring magic, but the rest of the group has decided to go through, and honestly, that’s the best option. No telling how long the thing will stay open, and they can’t risk losing their best — and only — lead.

Four hesitates at the border, watching the others walk through one by one. They seem to ripple as they wade deeper into the abyss, or maybe the abyss folds around them. “I can’t believe the postman’s travelling through these,” Four mutters to himself, making Warriors snort. Then the captain’s through too, leaving Four alone in the dark forest.

The portal waits.

The air is chill and silent, in spite of the massive amount of energy swirling over stone just a few feet away. It looks just like the one Four had found while hunting black-blooded monsters in the Castor Wilds, that had led him to the others. If he’d had more time — ah, but he hadn’t, and still doesn’t. The others will be waiting.

Four steps through, and s h a t t e r s.

Heart rushing — cold and slow — wind curling soft around his face — iron pressure at his throat — claws and tails and heavy weight, falling backwards stumbling forwards gravity is all wrong and nothing’s moving right —

Pain like fire, like lightning, streaking out from the spine, turning inwards and thundering through the brain —

Pressure leaning on them a mountain whispering at their shoulders —

Blazing chill searing their sightless eyes —

Falling through stars —

Their feet hit solid ground, and the world swirls from colour to grey to nothing.

-----

Warriors shakes himself, wishing the damp chill of portals was as easy to shake off as real water. In front of him, he can see the rest of the Links, already poking about the new and different forest they’ve wound up in. Except Wind, who’s taking off his shirt and trying to wring it out. Warriors doesn’t have the heart to tell him it won’t help. He’ll figure it out, anyway.

Boots crunch on the grass behind him, and Warriors turns away from Wild climbing a tree to greet the last Link through the portal. “Hey, Four. Any chance you know where we are? No one’s seen anything familiar, yet.”

Four stares at him, uncomprehending, and Warriors realises he’s listing sideways almost too late to catch him. “Wha — Four!” he yelps, lowering a too-limp body to the floor. Training takes over; quick fingers confirm a pulse and breathing, and his hands start running over Four’s head, his neck and back, checking for signs of damage. He doesn’t find anything, which, great! Except what the fuck. Four had been right behind him. What could have happened?

Four is completely unresponsive, eyes half-open and eerily blank; empty of everything that made him a person. At his back the other Links are coming up, first with confusion then with urgency as they register Four’s crumpled form. Hyrule drops to the other side and starts running his own inexpert checks, tight with fear. Warriors marks that — he’s not the only one with medic experience on the team, good to know — but is more focused on Four’s eyes. They keep — ticking to the side, something he’s only seen in severe head injuries, and he can feel uncharacteristic panic rising.

“What happened?” Twilight is asking, “did something get him from behind as he went through?”

“Don’t know,” Warriors says. “Healing items, anyone —?” Legend drops down next to them, clearly out of his depth but wordlessly offering a potion, a bottled fairy, and a handful of rings that no one else knows the purpose of. A potion’s no good without Four conscious to drink it, but — Warriors uncorks the bottle with the fairy, tipping her out onto Four’s tunic.

The fairy dusts herself off, clearly miffed by the lack of ceremony, then her wings lift her into the air and she gets to work. Pink sparkles drift aimlessly as she flutters back and forth, over his chest, over his head, seemingly unable to decide where to alight.

Then, she darts right up into Warriors’ face and lets loose a torrent of angry chiming, before zooming back into the bottle and settling at the bottom, pouting. Warriors understands not a word of it but feels very scolded all the same.

“There’s nothing for her to heal,” Hyrule mumbles under his breath. Warriors presses his fingers to Four’s throat again to doublecheck — too fast, but still strong. Four’s alive. He’s just — not conscious. And there’s nothing wrong with him that a fairy can fix.

Four trembles, and his eyes flutter, and for a second Warriors is terrified he’s about to seize — then he goes limp again.

“Anyone seen this before?” he asks helplessly. “I’ve seen a lot of portal travel and there’s never been a reaction like this.”

“Lookit his eyes,” Wind blurts out over a round of negatives, and Warriors quickly checks to make sure —

Oh wow.

They’re still ticking lightly, but the dark grey has been suffused by a light, bright blue. As he watches, purple swirls in, circling wider and wider until the whole iris is deep violet, and green starts to creep up from one side. Everyone stiffens as red blooms around Four’s pupil, but in the next moment it’s washed away by pale blue. Specks of green appear and bleed outwards, purple pushes its way to the surface and fades back, blue limns the struggling borders of green and eats away at them. It’s a constant swirling wash of colour.

Their horrified fascination is broken when Four blinks, and blinks again.

Wars feels a leap of hope. “I think he’s coming round.”

Four blinks hard, and the warring colours drain away, back to the stormcloud grey he’d started with. He swallows, and blinks again, and his arms draw in close to himself, hands flexing almost absently.

“Everyone back up, give him some space,” Warriors orders. “Four, can you hear me? Can you give my hand a squeeze?” He tugs one of Four’s arms back out. Four tries to pull it away. “Come on, Link, squeeze my hand.”

Four squeezes, then pulls again, and Warriors lets him go so he can curl up again. Instead he uses it to push himself off the ground.

“Hey, woah, steady!”

Slowly, Four rocks himself into an upright sit — then immediately overbalances the other way. Warriors grabs him to keep him upright. “Easy, there. You back with us? Think you can tell us what happened?”

His throat works, but no sound comes out. Four seems frustrated instead of frightened, at least.

He may not have gone into convulsions, but Warriors has seen the confusion and loss of control after a seizure too often to miss it. It’s almost a relief, knowing, even if seizures are never a good sign. He knows what to look for, he knows how to help if it happens again; he even knows what potions to ask for, if they come across an apothecary with the right stock. “Take it slow,” he tells Four. Four pushes weakly against the hand on his shoulder in a doomed attempt to stand. Warriors rolls his eyes.

Wild jumps from his tree to land close by. Warriors despairs for that man’s knees already. “There’s what looks like a village maybe a half hour northish, if someone needs to go get help.”

“He’s come round,” says Twilight. “We can all start heading that way, though, if someone can carry Four. I don’ wanna put him on a horse like this.”

Four’s lips draw back from his teeth. Slowly, he signs Can walk, with hands that shake so hard it’s a miracle he’s intelligible.

“You definitely can’t,” Warriors tells him and gets a scowl, “give yourself a few minutes, huh?”

This time Four definitely bares his teeth at him.

“Wait wait, you sign?” Wind is nearly vibrating with excitement. “Four, I didn’t know you — and you too Warriors! You can sign?? I never knew anyone outside of my family who could!”

“Sure, it’s pretty standard in the army,” Warriors tells him.

Wind flaps his hands like a bird, beaming with joy, and starts signing rapidly. This is so cool I didn’t realise anyone else knew it I learned because words were so HARD and then I could talk to Aryll before she could talk wait does anyone else know it —

“I do,” says Twilight, a little shyly. “Had a lotta trouble with words when I was younger.”

“Ooh, same hat,” says Legend. “I quit talking completely from age twelve to about seventeen. Old man, what’s with the contemplative look?”

“Just wondering what the chances are. I was much the same, on and off, until I was…” Time stops and thinks about it. “Actually, I suppose I still have trouble on occasion, but it’s been much better since around the time I got married.”

“I didn’t talk for over a hundred years,” Wild says.

“That doesn’t count!” Legend splutters.

Wind giggles at this exchange and turns to Sky, who’s been watching the whole thing with wide eyes and faintly pink cheeks. Do you sign, Sky? Is it a knight thing?

I sign, he signs slowly, because me and Zelda invented it.

There’s a brief pause before Wind starts making a high-pitched shrieking noise and flapping again. THAT’S SO COOL! he signs emphatically, once his hands are still enough.

Sky’s blush intensifies.

The conversation is at least a good distraction while Four rests. He’s stopped trying to stand up and just watches the byplay with hazy eyes. His blinks gets slower, and more prolonged, until Warriors feels a flicker of concern when they don’t open again.

“Hey, Four, no.” Warriors gives him a firm shake. “I know you’re tired, but you really can’t fall asleep right now.”

Four opens his eyes to glare at him, then slowly and distinctly signs Fuck you.

“That’s the spirit,” says Warriors, unmoved. “How’s the dizziness?”

Better. The tingling’s starting to fade, and I don’t feel so much like the air is trying to crush me. Like going from a dark room to blazing sunlight, but made physical. Very strange.

Hyrule makes a startled noise, eyes wide. “That sounds like magic shock!”

That gets Warriors’ attention. “Magic shock? What’s that?”

“It’s, um.” He scrunches his face, thinking hard. “It’s when you go from an area of very low ambient magic to a high one very fast, or vice versa. I felt it when we — when I landed, but I was just a bit dizzy. There’s a lot of ambient magic in the portal, though, and Four you said it felt like the other way round —”

Because the portals are dark magic, not elemental, Four signs, eyes suddenly bright. There was no elemental magic as we were passing through, and that’s what I’m sensitive to, so the sudden loss and reappearance — that makes sense.

Warriors is more concerned by the returning bloom of purple in Four’s eyes. “Uh, Four, I don’t want to worry you, but while you were out, your eyes kept changing. They’re doing it again now — they just went purple.”

Four makes a small, startled noise. Warriors raises a brow. “You didn’t know they did that?”

Unlike you, I don’t spend a lot of time in front of mirrors, Four snarks.

Warriors puts a melodramatic hand over his heart. “Ah! You wound me!” He’s still watching Four carefully for unsteadiness, drifting, a return of the earlier confusion. “But you’re not scared by it. You know what it is?”

Four gestures to his tunic, an absent one-two-three-four at each colour. In the process of forging the Four Sword, it was infused with elemental magic. His smile is small and crooked. I caught a bit of the backwash. Only makes sense there were some side effects.

“Side effects like changing your eye colour?”

“Eyes are the windows to the soul, you know,” Four says, in a creaky voice that’s clearly imitating someone else.

At the sound of it Sky lights up and glances over. “Hey Four! You back with us?”

“Yeah,” says Four, and this time when he presses upwards it’s strong enough to pull free of Warriors’ hands. He sways only slightly as he dusts himself off and catches his balance. “Sorry for the delay. Wild, you said there was a village nearby?”

“Well, I saw smoke and a cleared area, and that’s usually either a village or a monster camp.”

Twilight groans. “Wild…”

“What? One way or another we’re gonna wind up there anyway.”

The rest of the group relaxes fast, with Four upright and interacting and steady as ever. Whatever it was, it’s over now.

(Warriors still knows what he saw. He makes a quiet mental note to talk to Hyrule later, about the signs and symptoms of magic shock. Whether seizures were included, and just how severe it could be. Four is incredibly lucky he wasn’t alone today - and that there hadn’t been a platoon of monsters waiting on the other side of the portal.

The smithy hadn’t known that his eyes change colour. What else doesn’t he know about those ‘side effects’?)

-----

Read Part 2 here!

[scoops-aboy86]

And we're now up to part A of the main events of s4, with an (un?)healthy dose of mutual pining. Bon appétit.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 of the love spell no go au

It’s a panic reflex, really. 

Eddie sees Chrissy start to float and he knows what this is. Not the exact spell, he’s never had the nerve to dig into those kind of grimoires, those fuckers’ll take your fingers right off—but it’s definitely dark magic. And the best way to respond to dark magic is to get as far away from the spellcaster as fucking possible. He doesn’t know where the spellcaster is, so he reaches for the best hiding place he can think of off the top of his head. 

One second he’s in the trailer, screaming and flailing out the spell, and the next he lands on his ass in Reefer Rick’s dank little boathouse where no one or nothing will find him. 

… Okay, maybe not no one. 

“Eddie?!”

With a gasp, Eddie struggles to kick off the tarp and clamber out of the old motorboat. “Steve!” His foot is still tangled in the tarp, though, so he trips, stumbles into the other boy, and sends both of them thumping up against the nearest wall. “Fuck.”

But Steve’s arms wrap around him all the same. “Shit, Eddie, I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s not, though. He is so not okay. 

Dustin is asking him about dark particles before it really clicks for Eddie—they know. Maybe not that it’s magic, but they’ve seen things before, enough to not question any of what he tells them. 

“How did you get all the way out here without your van?” the redhead, Max, asks shrewdly, and he recognizes her as one of his neighbors across the way. 

“I, uh.” Eddie doesn’t want to lie, because even as freaked out as he is he knows that he might end up having to tell them at this point—sorry Wayne. But that point hasn’t come yet. “I just… ran, I don’t know. I l-left her there.”

Steve still has a hand on his shoulder, at once reassuring and bewildering, and squeezes it now. “What happened to Chrissy wasn’t your fault, Eds. You said she was already gone, so it’s… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Eddie is in no way okay. 

God only knows how long later, Eddie matches Steve’s pace through what the younger Hellfire members dubbed the Upside Down back in ‘83. He keeps wondering if he should tell them they don’t need the guns; he knows enough defensive spells and a fire spitting trick that should be protection enough. Most of those involve setting up in a fixed location, though, meaning they’d have to hole up rather than find (or fight) their way back home… and he’s not confident enough to put all of their eggs in his basket. 

It was all he could do to get his battle vest on Steve. Eddie, wary from years of being bullied, had sewn stealth and protection in with every thread he’d added to the garment, slipped healing charms in under the patches and then sewn them in place. 

And then Steve says “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” which throws Eddie for a loop. 

“Pretty sure it was the dark wizard that dragged me into this, Stevie.” 

Eddie still doesn’t know if his involvement was intentional or not—if he was targeted as collateral damage because of his family and heritage or if it was all about Chrissy and he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn’t know if his spell to get away was noticed, either, but… it would have been small potatoes compared to this asshole casting from a completely different dimension, so maybe not. Which is not very reassuring, but speculation is all he has right now. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Eddie clears his throat. “So, uh… all this is why you’ve been tense since July? And why you started buying from me?”

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s putting one foot carefully in front of the other, mindful of the sentient vines. “Yeah.” He gives a halfhearted shrug. “This is different from the last time, but it’s always different. Like, usually I get most of my injuries from getting hit by regular people, but—” he gestures at the red and bruise-mottled marks circling his neck from that demonic bat thing “—this time I guess it’s the monsters’ turn. Never know what to brace for.”

“… Well shit,” Eddie sums up, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a humorless laugh. “Thanks for jumping in after me though, dude. I know it’s all a lot and you're already kind of stuck with being involved, and with… losing Chrissy like that… but, yeah. It means a lot.”

Eddie doesn’t like the unfamiliar way Steve tenses up as he says this, and is puzzled by the strange phrasing. He didn’t really know Chrissy, they’d had literally two conversations and the second one was in the minutes immediately before her sudden demise. Sure, he’d wanted to help her and feels like throwing up any time he thinks about how she died, but they hadn’t exactly been close. Nothing like how he and Steve are. Why wouldn’t he try to save his… his friend?

“Nancy and Robin went first. I’m a shitty swimmer,” Eddie admits. “That’s the only reason I didn’t jump in sooner… Turned out I was more scared of being alone in that boat than I was of drowning, so yay for me. The girls did most of the heavy lifting, and you ripped that bat in half with your bare hands. That’s fucking metal by the way. A total Ozzy move.”

“Ozzy.” Steve’s forehead wrinkles, actually turning his gaze to Eddie. “Isn’t that the Black Something guy?”

“Sabbath,” he supplies, nodding. And then recounts the legend of Ozzy Osborne biting a bat’s head off on-stage. End of the world or not, he still considers himself morally obligated to lure Steve away from the top 40 pop hits, tempting him towards the dark side with impassioned lyrics and sick guitar riffs. 

He almost feels able to pretend that things are normal and they’re just idly chatting, until a brief earthquake that almost knock both of them down onto the fucking sentient vines and reminds him. 

The night between finding their way back out of the Upside Down and formulating a plan, the older teens take turns guarding the gate in the Munson trailer. Eddie almost breaks down and tries a circle of protection, but he’s not sure how to do that on the ceiling, there isn’t enough salt in the pantry to circle the entire trailer, and even if there were, Max’s place can’t fit all of them. 

Besides, he thinks glumly, he’s not sure it would even help with these kinds of monsters. Isn’t sure what kind of traction his magic will have on things spawned in a different plane.

So he helps Steve drag his shitty mattress back into the bedroom (because Steve refuses to sit out helping even with literal bites taken out of his sides) for the four of them to sleep on during watch shifts. And gets fresh blankets and sheets from Max, at Robin’s insistence. 

“New bandages,” he says to Steve once that’s done, pointing towards the bathroom in a way that he hopes brooks no argument. He’s already got a shirt and pair of sweatpants that pass the sniff test from his closet and a definitely clean pair of boxers from the dresser clutched in his other hand, ready to go.

Steve blinks at him, twice, then looks down at his own torso where Nancy’s ripped sweater is still tied around his wounds, dark from grime and spotting blood, and sighs. “Yeah, fine.”

Eddie shuts the door behind them, which makes the already cramped trailer bathroom feel even smaller. “Okay, so… Fastest way to do this is probably to hop in the shower and rinse off. You’re covered in lake and fuck knows what else from that place, don’t want any of that shit getting in the wounds. Don’t, uh, don’t scrub those, just everything else.” And busies himself with hauling the first aid kit out from under the sink, which is always a pain in the ass whether the door is open or not. The damn thing is too big for the space because of all the extra compartments for healing spell ingredients, quite a few of which he’s already planning to surreptitiously use.

Nothing happens behind him, so after a moment he pauses and looks over his shoulder to see Steve still as dressed as he was when they walked in. 

“This is going to take me a while, it’ll all go faster if you start washing up now,” he points out, not trying to be brusque but he’s… not the best with blood, and trying to steel himself for what’s coming. “If you’re worried about your modesty, I promise not to look.”

“Don’t care about that,” Steve says, and he sounds tense. 

Eddie tries not to think about how he’s just been handed indirect permission to watch Steve undress and shower. Jesus H. Christ. “Then… are you dragging your heels because you wanna tell me that you do have demon bat rabies, or…?”

“No.” Steve sighs, and runs a dirty hand through his already disheveled and deflated hair. How he still manages to look hot after all they’ve been through, Eddie has no idea. “How, uh. How thin are the walls?”

From outside the bathroom, Robin calls, “Pretty thin, Steve-o.”

No further answer to that question needed, Eddie inclines his head towards the door. “You heard the lady. Turning the water on helps, even though the pressure is shit. It’ll get cold pretty fast, though, so you’ll want to be quick.”

For a moment, it still seems like Steve has something he wants to say. Eddie waits patiently, looking off to the side so he doesn’t have an aneurism while Steve strips down and turns the water on, but once Steve steps under the spray he seems wholly focused on peeling away the makeshift bandages so Eddie returns to wrestling with the first aid kit. They don’t talk; Steve remains eerily silent even through disinfecting the bites on his sides and the road rash on his back, even though all of it must sting like a bitch. And then Eddie wraps him up in clean gauze and medical tape and a few subtle spells to help ease the pain and help speed the healing along, hands Steve the clean clothes to change into, and slips out of the bathroom trying not to think about how Steve’s hair now smells like his bargain bin shampoo. 

“All patched up?” Robin asks, joining Steve on the mattress as they settle in for some sleep before their staggered shifts start. Since he’s injured, Nancy put him last on the rota so he could get more uninterrupted rest up front. 

He nods. Flicks his eyes to the closed bedroom door, remembering from the bathroom that it really only provides the illusion of privacy, and shuffles around to lie down with a dejected sigh. 

Robin follows. They lay down facing each other, cramped on the narrow bed, but they’ve done this before—Steve’s is a full, but Robin’s is a twin-sized just like this one.

In a whisper barely more than a breath, she says, “You wanted to tell him.” It’s not a question.

“Not with Nancy listening,” he whispers back. “And… Chrissy, I shouldn’t…”

Robin’s lips press into a thin line, almost invisible in the darkened room. “There’s no way Eddie Munson was hooking up with Chrissy Cunningham, dingus. Can you even see them together? No way.”

“Can you see Eddie Munson with Steve Harrington?” he hisses back, a little too loud—but though they both freeze to listen, to be sure, there’s no sound. No sign that anyone overheard. 

“Maybe,” Robin retorts softly once they’ve both settled again. “You’re not exactly a bastion of conformity anymore, you know, mister babysitter with a lesbian band nerd for a best friend expert monster killer… guy. He could go for you. And I don’t think… I mean, I don’t know, but… I don’t think he’s into girls, Steve.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Steve whispers.

The eye-roll in response is practically audible. “Because he watches you all the time. And that thing with the vest when Nancy was looking at you.”

“So? I watch him all the time, and I like both!”

“Well, if I’m wrong and he is like you, doesn’t that at least mean—”

“I just don’t want to get in the way if he’s mourning her, Robs. I don’t want to be a, a rebound or for anything to happen just because we might die. Because then what if we don’t, and he doesn’t… want me anymore? I can’t do that again.”

With a rustle of blankets, Robin scoots closer to pull him into a hug. Steve doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t cry—but his hand fists in the back of her shirt and he holds on tight. 

They’re still in that position an hour or so later when Eddie comes to tag Robin in, whispering that all is still quiet on the ceiling-ward front as she extracts herself. Steve remains dead asleep, even when Eddie hesitantly worms his way under the covers while staying as close to the edge of the mattress as possible so as not to disturb him.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Special Ghoul my beloved...

Tagging @puppsworld bc he seemed enthusiastic about this (thanks for the yelling!!! You will never catch me I'm too slippery >:3)

Written in bullet format bc brain is going too fast to make coherent sentences let’s goooo

Warning for references to self-harm/self-mutilation, blood, and autocannibalism! This gets messy y’all

BEFORE:

Ok so Special isn’t a “true” ghoul. They’re a human who turned themself into a ghoul via an unstable and experimental ritual.

This has resulted in issues like mobility issues from excessive scar tissue. Turns out doing your own top surgery isn't such a great idea.

Which human you may ask?

Mary Goore themself! (I had to. I love them ok sue me /lh)

BACKSTORY:

Mary ended up at the Ministry when they took a rough turn in life. They had heard of the Ministry before and were already subscribed to that sect of Satanism but didn’t have any interest in joining an organized religion. They knew the Ministry would take them in so they headed to the Sweden location.

They weren’t officially a Sibling but were in the process of becoming one. (They didn’t really want to, but it was the only way the Ministry would let them stay.)

They heard about the Ghost project starting up and jumped at the chance to get involved with music again

Unfortunately the only way to get involved with that was to be a high-ranking sibling (which could take years) or a ghoul. You can see where I’m going with this.

Mary found an old book deep in the library that detailed a prototype ritual of turning oneself into a ghoul. They decided they had nothing to lose and started planning.

THE TRANSFORMATION (this is where it gets gory):

The ritual involved a lot of carving sigils into skin and a ritual disembowelment. The book strongly recommended a few people help with that but Mary said fuck it I’m doing this myself

Gave themself top surgery while they were at it (transgenderizes your metalhead twink)

They died obviously. At least their mortal vessel did

Mary crawled out of the Summoning well the next night as a ghoul and promptly ate their former body. Yummy.

They kept their skull and some bones bc that’s fuckin metal

GHOUL LIFE:

Seestor was NOT pleased when she found out what had happened

But Mary/Special couldn’t really be Banished, they weren’t from the Pit.

So she begrudgingly let Mary join the Ghost project

They ended up as a co-writer and concept musician and eventually a spokesperson

They go by either Mary or Special, but their friends mostly call them Mary. Special is more of a title to them. Don’t call them Phil unless you want your insides to become outsides.

They have sick scars all over their body from their transformation!!

They don’t have an element, but they do have a bit of magic.

They’ve got a lot of unsettling traits. They don’t blink a lot, they walk silently, and they’ve been known to cause disappearances in nearby towns. A ghoul’s gotta eat.

They’re outwardly cold and grumpy but they’re pretty chill if you get on their good side. They despise Imperator and higher-ranked Ministry members but are protective of Siblings.

They hate the friendly voice they have to put on for interviews, but it’s one of the only times they can let down their mental mask around other people and just chill. (Lots of complicated feelings there, possible hurt/comfort idea?)

They only take off their mask around people they trust.

They like to scare new residents by standing in dark corners and staring at them.

They’re close with Terzo’s ghouls, Cowbell, and a couple humans.

They trust Cowbell the most bc they’re both kinda misfits.

Ghouls only need human meat once in a while but Mary has more cravings for it than most. Ministry members are off limits though.

They were referred to as “it” for a while (mostly by Imperator and her most loyal following) so they aggressively correct anyone’s pronouns (Theirs and others’). It’s the one of the only cracks in their “cold creepy ghoul” demeanor. They’re especially protective of trans Siblings.

They’ve been known to appear from the shadows and correct a condescending cardinal on a Sibling’s pronouns.

Special ghoul my beloved… this was super self indulgent and fun to write. Feel free to use this as inspiration for art/writing!

[howlingdemon13]

Can we talk about Trevor’s sass and bully energy in CoD? Please? Please, I really want to talk about the sassy boi so bad!!!!!!

I have so many ✨thoughts✨ as to why an otherwise open guy who makes friends exclusively with fellow misfits would be so hostile to someone like Hector (a misfit trying to do the right thing).

I know some people have pointed out that it’s because Trevor is slightly affected by Dracula’s curse, but I feel like that kinda takes away from a more core/interesting take that you can make an argument for.

While I like the idea of even a Belmont being susceptible to dark magic to some degree (we see this happen with other Belmonts like Simon and Richter), I feel like it takes away from something that I think is a little more obvious?

Man’s is pissed, bro.

Trevor and his family have gone through hell up until this point. His ancestor basically doomed the clan to forever hunt the most evil being on earth for what will end up being centuries (looking at you, Leon). Which is good, considering they’ve made themselves the most qualified, but it cost them basic respect from the people they’re protecting and they’ve lost so much more because of it. But they’re noble and don’t seem to complain. You’re lucky, Leon.

Now, we know Trevor probably doesn’t care what people think about him so long as he can keep them safe. It’s his duty, and we see time and time again that he’ll literally do anything to make sure people are alive so that they can think their stupid silly thoughts about him and his family. By his time, he’s exiled, excommunicated, and shunned but he never once complains. Even when people come crawling to him for help, he doesn’t hesitate to do so. This is what he was called to do: kill Dracula and bring peace. He’s noble like that. He’s a knight like Leon in his own way.

As far as he knows, Dracula cannot come back after he and his friends defeated him in CV3.

Until things start looking… off. There’s a creeping darkness and uncertainty that feels so familiar. But that’s impossible, right? Dracula is gone, so how…?

“You’re telling me Dracula’s employee - some fucking guy - wants to bring Dracula back from the dead!?”

Would you not also be fucking pissed? To have your family endure centuries of pain and trauma - to have experienced it for yourself - and finally done what you have prepared your entire life to potentially do, only for some fucking guy to try to fuck all of that up? Would you not rush out of your home to go kick their ass and pummel them for daring to plunge the world into darkness? That same darkness you yourself expunged and went through hell to do???

Uh, if you say no you’re a liar.

From canon, we know that Trevor and Sypha have either started a family or are at least thinking about it at this point (I assume it’s the former since I am 110% certain she would have tagged along. Things would have been so much easier with her magic. And I personally think that would be a fun date idea - beating the tar out of Dracula’s unhinged employee - but I realize I’m not most people). Point being, Trevor not only has to worry about all of humanity (again), but his family. And, considering he was the last known member of his family when Dracula bit the dust, he’s going to fight tooth and nail to keep this.

If you say you’d play nice and try to be understanding when the lives and futures of your kids are at stake, you’re lying. Idk what to tell ya.

Trevor obviously takes initiative and it borders on impulsiveness, but he’s not going to make the mistake of letting this situation get to a point that all hell breaks loose if he has any say in it. I do like to think that he’s inherently a little sassy anyway, but let’s ramp that up to 100 when he’s livid.

But anger leads to getting sloppy and making mistakes. He doesn’t give Hector a chance to explain himself. That would take too much time. The Forgemaster could deceive him and cost him time or worse. He gets distracted and lets Isaac get away. He gets distracted again and nearly gets himself killed.

Maybe under different circumstances Hector would have at least gotten an apology. Like “aw fuck, sorry. I forgot there were two of you. My bad. Wanna help me out with this one?” Ultimately, he does help Hector despite his initial skepticism, and I think it’s a mix of feeling at least a little bad about beating him up and realizing that he works better with a team.

Going off of how he talks down to Hector after beating him up, one could argue that maybe Trevor is just kinda full of himself? Like he’s riding the high off of being the hero? Well, you’re wrong. Trevor is very quick to hype his friends up and give them equal credit in kicking Dracula’s ass. Sure, maybe he jokes about it with his friends, but he’s not full of himself to the degree that he’s going to hype himself up when his friends aren’t around. He’s humble like that. Fight me behind Waffle House about it.

Trevor isn’t incompetent, but he does let his emotions control him. Again, he works better with a team, but he’s so impulsive and pissed at this point that he probably just ran out of the house to go and do what is (up until this point) his job; keep people safe. Keep his family safe.

So, yeah, maybe the curse feeds into his emotions and decisions, but I think it’s more compelling for Trevor to be a very tired, traumatized, and livid dad doing what he thinks is the right thing to do to make sure his kids (and other people, sure) have a future in which they don’t have to go through the horrible things their mom and dad (and uncle Grant and uncle Alucard) went through. If he could see what became of future members of his family and see the hells they faced, I genuinely think it would break his heart.

So yeah, Trevor is bitchy, but I think he has a right to be bitchy when someone is threatening to blow down his metaphorical house of cards that he went through hell to stack up.

[theladycarpathia]

“I don’t really think this is magic,” Steve gasps weakly. 

Billy licks his lips, a slow drag over his plush cupid’s bow. His chin is red from kissing, lips slick with saliva. Billy has such a pretty mouth that it should be illegal. Steve’s been fixated on it - the curve of it, the pink from the cold, that full bottom lip. Kissing that mouth has been heaven. Watching Billy do sinful things with it has stolen Steve’s soul right from his body.

“How would you know?” he asks, reminding Steve that before Billy arrived in Hawkins only four months ago that Steve had no idea of magic, or spells, or witches. Billy was born a witch on his mother’s side, enough magic running in his veins to cast curses, summon rain or have flowers grow right up out of the ground. Steve never would have had any idea of it, would have kept on living his mundane life, had he not seen Billy that night at the Halloween party. Shortly after that, he and Nancy had imploded. A relationship doesn’t work when both parties want other people.

It had taken weeks. Billy wasn’t quick to trust - not as a gay witch in a small conservative town - and especially with a father that despises everything that you are. To everyone else Billy dates around, a different girl after every basketball game. He’s the jock, the asshole, just the same popular guy you get in every high school.

But in the quiet of Steve’s bedroom, when they lie together on Steve’s bed and Billy casts glittering lights that dance on the ceiling, Steve can see who Billy really is. Something wild and magical, someone beautiful who wants to grow vines around his fingers and makes it snow in Steve’s bathroom while they lounge in a steaming tub. 

“I just don’t…you’ve never cast magic like this before!” Steve sputters. Because Billy is hovering over his bare crotch, wearing that smile and looking like sin. Even with Steve’s limited knowledge of magic, this feels more like foreplay.

“I've never needed to cast magic like this before,” Billy corrects, tracing a single finger over the delicate skin by Steve’s hip bones. The soft pad of a finger, followed by the sharpness of a long fingernail, weaving patterns into Steve’s skin makes his cock twitch. 

“Right,” Steve pants, feeling vulnerable and desperate and drowning in love all at once. He’s completely naked on his bed, while Billy hovers over his dick, closely enough that he can feel Billy’s warm breath on his skin. They’ve never done this before, not like this. The few short weeks that they’ve been officially dating have been entirely brief, frantic hand-jobs underneath their clothes, making out that has ended with them coming in their jeans. Steve’s never stripped off for Billy before and the process has left him feeling exposed and more turned on than he’d ever admit.

But he trusts Billy. He adores Billy. And he wants more than anything to have Billy know that, truly know that so he never doubts it. He needs Billy to know. 

Billy’s mom left years ago, leaving her small son with an abusive father and growing powers, all of his magic inherited from her. There’s no magic in Neil Hargrove but plenty in his son. That combined with her bright blue eyes, her golden curls, is enough to ensure that Neil hates just about everything Billy is.

“And this will make a bond between us, right?” Steve asks, because he’s still fuzzy on the details. He doesn’t really get how magic works, even when Billy tries to explain it to him. And tries, because magic is mostly instinct to Billy and the process doesn’t really translate into words. Billy had turned up this evening, with another dark bruise on his cheek, eyes glittering with fury and tears, and had crumpled into Steve’s arms the minute he’d crossed the doorway. Fuck knows what Neil had done it for, Billy hadn’t wanted to talk about it. But Steve had said anything and everything to the man curled up in his arms, just wanting Billy to know that he was loved.

It had worked, somehow. Billy wanted to do a spell, something that bound them together.

And now they are here.

“Right,” Billy agrees, and licks a stripe down Steve’s belly. The sound that Steve makes is something feral, a high wail that is pulled from his lungs. He wants Billy so badly that he’s red and leaking, and the mere idea of Billy’s delicious mouth on him has him half ready to come. 

“It’s something witches used to use for their familiars,” Billy continues, as though Steve isn’t spread out and dripping obscenely right in front of him. “So they always knew where they were and what they were feeling.”

“You’ll always know what I’m feeling?” Steve asks, trying to wrap his mind around it. It half terrifies him, sure that Billy won’t want anything in his heart.

“Not always,” Billy amends. “Just the really strong ones. Like pain or joy or anger. That shit, you know? And you’ll always be able to find me.” This last part is said quietly, hesitantly, like he’s not sure that’s something Steve even wants. Steve reaches down to wind his fingers with Billy’s.

“And bodily fluids are required?” Steve asks, because this is the part he’s skeptical of. But Billy gives him a wicked flash of teeth.

“Hey, sex magic is powerful shit, you know, Harrington,” he purrs, eyes turning dark. “That’s why we haven’t fucked yet, as much as I want to.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, heat climbing up his body. He’s clinging to Billy’s fingers like an anchor.

“That’s important, powerful magic. Not to be fucked around with,” Billy explains, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s. “Do something like that without thinking it through and you’ll lose control of it. Magic runs on emotion - gotta have the right fuel behind it - so I have to be prepared for the first time we do it or I’ll blow out every street light in the neighborhood or turn you into a frog or something.”

“That would be the weirdest fucking fairy-tale I’ve ever heard,” Steve quips and Billy snorts.

“I’m definitely not fucking you to turn you back,” he says bluntly. “So we’re doing this first, so I can get a taste of you. Get used to how you feel…how you make me feel.” Steve flushes and then remembers something. He props himself up on his elbows to look at Billy in the faint moonlight. 

“But you’ve had sex before,” Steve says, hoping he’s not about to completely kill the mood. Bringing up other guys this close to a blowjob and sex magic is a risky idea. “You slept with Tripp Heskin at the camp out by the lake.” And Steve’s gut had been squirming with jealousy, staring into the bright fire and knowing that at that moment Billy was being licked open, spread out on someone else’s fingers, moaning on fucking Tripp’s dick. Tripp’s an asshole.

“Yeah but that’s not the same,” Billy says hurriedly, brow furrowed with anxiety. “Fucking like that doesn’t matter. It only counts when I…with the person I…” He stops, the words going unsaid, but it doesn’t matter. Steve stares at Billy’s red face, trying to let it sink in. Billy loves him. 

“Oh,” Steve says, overwhelmed, and tugs Billy up so that they can kiss. Billy digs his fingers into Steve’s hips for balance, licking into Steve’s mouth like he’s starving. His belly rubs against Steve’s dick, the soft cotton of his t-shirt setting Steve’s skin on fire. Steve whimpers into Billy’s mouth, almost crying with the stimulation. Billy bites down on his bottom lip and shushes him, gently stroking Steve’s hips with his fingers.

“Not yet, not yet,” Billy whispers gently, peppering kisses against Steve’s jaw. “Save it all for me, yeah?” Steve nods weakly, tears gathering against his lashes. He chokes down another breath as Billy slides back down his body, clearly deciding that it’s time. Whatever conditions he’d been waiting for have been met.

When Billy licks up Steve’s dick, a long, slow drag up Steve’s overheated skin, he stops to wind his tongue around the tip, gathering the taste of Steve on his tongue. He sits back, face rapturous like Steve’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, savoring every salty drop. 

“Fuck,” Steve gasps. He’s not going to last, not when Billy makes faces like that from sucking on his dick. 

“Here we go, baby,” Billy whispers and lowers his head.

[crowrave]

More fun facts about the Cains! :D

Crown:

Loves going into the Dark Sea! For some reason, they just feel this pull that keeps bringing them back to it. It’s become quite a bit of a problem, as they’ve begun taking weekly trips (it used to be once a month). Enizor claims that it’s the Epicenter’s magic calling for him. No one else believes it.

Despite how he cares for his teammates, Crown would admittedly drop them (temporarily or otherwise) if their goals clashed with his. (such as Neviro wanting to help the people of Ravenna, and clearing their names. Crown doesn’t care for the kingdom, and simply thinks of the man as an acquaintance; not as a friend.)

Keeps jumping onto Merchant Ships even if he ain’t going to buy anything. He won’t stop startling the poor merchants every time he suddenly appears onboard.

Uses his crystal magic to basically cover his body with it as armor and will also cover his arms/hands to form crystal ‘claws’. These do large amounts of damage; especially if the victim has been crystallized themselves.

Connors:

Hates the cold. Since he uses Plasma Magic, his body temperature is usually higher than the average person. Whenever it gets cold, it for some reason brings him the sensation of impending doom.

Can’t stand the idea of losing his friends. Out of the 3 Cains, he’s the most emotional. Even though Neviro was with them for hardly any time at all, Connors still felt a genuine connection with him and was sad to not be able to say his goodbyes.

Cloaks himself in his magic when things get tough. It works as both an extra power boost, but to also soothe him mentally and emotionally. He stresses often about schedules, and usually has a rigid timeframe of events in place.

Feels sympathy for the civilians of Ravenna, and worries for their health. He’d never say it out loud, however. Every now and then, he goes to scope out the situation. It seems alright, but he keeps getting this nagging feeling in his mind that something is wrong.

Crest:

Recognizes that the Empress is doing everything in her power to ensure the safety and protection of her kingdom, and respects her greatly for it. If they were to ever fight, Empress Nilah is one of the only people that Crest would willingly spare should he defeat her.

Has tackled Navy members to the ground and will absolutely do it again. He despises most of them, as they’re cocky, arrogant, and weaklings that have no business being in such a clan.

His magic can make him look fucking terrifying. Sometimes smoke and ash rise from every pore, which makes him look like some kind of haunted, cursed spirit or demonic presence. He uses it to his advantage and can catch people off guard.

Sometimes has a nice little tea party with his crew. They make some biscuits, scones, and several different types of tea (both hot and iced). Occasionally they even invite other ships nearby to join them. It is the only time that Crest will not murder Navy men. Unless they disturb the tea party, of course.

[zahri-melitor]

Okay, general roundup of New 52 titles I have read so far, now I am well into 2013 in my read through:-

Batwoman, J.H. Williams run – genuinely great. This is a highlight of the New 52, honestly. If DC had stopped occasionally remembering that Kate Kane is now Bruce’s cousin and had let Kate and Maggie get married, it would be perfect.

Blue Beetle – it’s not the best Jaime run I’ve ever read, but in terms of restructuring Jaime’s origin to simplify it and remove the heavy connection with Infinite Crisis shenanigans, it worked far better than the Rebirth reboot. Let down by getting cancelled just as it started becoming more interesting (aka had finally finished the retread of Jaime’s origin story and started him having new adventures).

Threshold – this was certainly a comic I read entirely to see Jaime in it. If you are lucky enough to know nothing about it, it’s basically a planet of foxhunting tagged ‘criminals’, where Jaime ends up one of the tagged. It’s meandering, pointless and bad. I think if you’re a Lantern fan you’d also think it was bad. Deservedly knocked off after 8 issues.

Justice League Dark – I made it through 6 issues. My biggest takeaways were that everyone here was just so miserable and Boston Brand was dating Dawn Granger for reasons that surpassed understanding. I want to like it more than I do, for the cast it has.

Batgirl, Gail Simone run – appealing and infuriating in turn. There’s some genuinely beautiful writing here (the WWII paper balloons!) and Babs is recognisable as Babs, but it’s horribly let down by the fact that ‘healing’ Barbara means that she’s now both not allowed to operate as Oracle (by editorial dictat) AND she’s having trouble as a street vigilante as she’s still recovering from her injuries. It makes sense but it also makes Barbara doubly incompetent which is maddening as they’ve taken away everything that was hers specifically. Also James Gordon Jnr is always intensely irritating to have around and I am never going to get over giving Babs a villain called ‘Knightfall’ in the run immediately after healing her back. Yes. I got the reference. It’s not that funny.

Birds of Prey – it’s hmmm still finding its feet. Lacks the soul of the original run, but there are flashes of the old magic occasionally. It is hilarious to me that they decided to merge Dinah Drake and Dinah Lance back into a single character for this run, creating a bizarre new ex-husband for Dinah in Kurt Lance (seriously, Kurt Lance, why do you exist you’re so weird) and then within 6 issues or so abruptly realised WHY Dinah Drake and Dinah Lance have been separate characters since 1983 and reinvented a new Dinah Drake mother for the character. Spectacular. Sheer evidence that nobody involved in new 52 was actually spending much time thinking about how an all new origin reboot would affect characterisation.

Batman – I have my differences with Scott Snyder over his run, but he at least manages to make things interesting and spend time interrogating Bruce’s identity. It feels in conversation with the Loeb and Dini storylines around Thomas Elliot and that whole crowd of elite Gothamites. Lots of interesting set ups let down by execution or obsession with conspiracy theories. Love his work with Harper Row as a character.

Batman & Robin – okay folk, I do agree, this is a far far better Batman & Robin run than 2009. I feel like I’ve spent more time with Damian showing me his character rather than being informed by Morrison via Alfred mouthpiece about Damian’s character. There’s some lovely character work in here. It’s still suffering from getting New 52ed but it’s honestly the first run anywhere that’s actually really good for Damian characterisation (plus or minus the Damian and Colin Wilkes fight Zsasz plot in Streets of Gotham or Gates of Gotham).

Batman Incorporated – fuck you Grant Morrison. Nobody reading this title is having a good time. If you’re here for actual Batman Inc characters well I’m sorry, they’re mostly standing around the sidelines of a plot about Bruce, Talia and Damian. If you’re here for Talia I’m so sorry for you. If you’re here to read Bruce and/or Damian you get like 3-4 sweet scenes that I am sure you have already seen in screencapped panels floating around with no context. DC would be a better place if this book hadn’t been approved (also Cyril might still be alive)

Nightwing – this comic so far is obsessed with Haly’s Circus. Now I don’t like the whole Talon retcon (I think it cheapens a lot of things about Dick’s backstory as a character) but I will admit it’s nice to see Dick spending time with his Haly’s Circus friends and Dick’s optimistic side coming out in the ‘let’s just rebuild Amusement Mile as a place that isn’t Joker-haunted!’ Tragically of course because we’re never allowed to have nice plotlines involving Haly’s Circus it gets blown up again and lots of people die. But at least Dick’s back to owning the circus, amirite? (For bizarre ‘Pop Haly left it to him in his will’ reasons rather than Dick buying it out with his inheritance money that is totally not one of the many occasions Bruce has lied to Dick and told him that this trust fund is 100% based on investments of his parents assets, rather than Bruce attempting to give Dick Wayne money again so he stops living out of cardboard boxes in a tiny apartment)

Red Hood and the Outlaws – I have now suffered through three whole issues of this comic (actually 4 but I paged through that one to read like one scene at the end) and it is determined to make me hate everyone involved with it in terms of its disrespect for Roy and Kory. Also all the issues kept trying to convince me that Jason and Tim have always been each others’ favourite brothers, which lol. (If that’s actually ever true for Jason it’s the most hilarisad thing ever).

Teen Titans – I made it through two issues for crossover purposes. I am tempted to come back as I think I will get some stuff out of it once I’ve finished my Teen Titans 2003 read (and look there does actually appear to be some things in here I may enjoy). Can’t believe Kurt Lance shows up in this comic. I swear he’s my new nemesis.

Suicide Squad – I am 100% not reading this comic, I only opened it for crossover issues. What have they done to Amanda Waller. (Also why is Harley Quinn trying to date Floyd Lawton, did editorial suddenly realise how many people are into his deep uh comradery with Thomas Blake and overreact trying to remove the gay cooties or something?)

Catwoman and Detective Comics – honestly I haven’t got a good enough read on either yet from the few issues I’ve read, but ‘Tec is running a Penguin plot and I’m not in the mood for a Penguin plot at the moment.

So far, my recommendations: Batwoman I recommend without hesitation. Batman & Robin has been embroidered in fans’ memories but is worthwhile in any case. Batman is interesting stories sometimes let down in execution and may actually read better if you avoid touching any tie-in issues for a readthrough.

Nightwing, Batgirl, Birds of Prey and Blue Beetle are “these are some of my favourite characters, I want to know even if I don’t always like it” reads. They’re still the same characters, just trapped in a maddening world.