#yes i already did this once for agatha and it made me uncomfortable then too

[fitrahgolden]

There's A World You Need To Know: 11 - I want you exactly as you are

Anthony raised his fist to knock on Mary's door when a clap on his shoulders made him jump.

"Fuck, you're gonna be here?"

"Of course!" Simon grinned at him. "Someone needs to ask you what your intentions are with my god-sister."

"Jesus Christ." Anthony pinch the bridge of his nose. "God-siblings aren’t a thing."

Simon sucked his teeth. "That's one mark against you, Bridgerton. You sure you want to talk to me that way before you've even asked me for her hand?"

“Does this mean your mum is gonna be here as well?

Simon opened the door as he said, "Already in there, mate."

"Great," Anthony mumbled as they made their way inside.

"Kate! This street urchin claims to be yours!"

Kate popped her head into the hallway before breaking into a smile as she approached Anthony, Newton following close behind. 

"Oh, yes, this one is. I think. I collect so many."

She kissed him softly and ran his fingers through his hair. 

"Ugh, Kate, not in front of my salad!"

She playfully punched Simon's shoulder and he feigned injury.

"Yes, Si. Directly in front of your salad." She took Anthony's hand and led him down the hall. "Come on, we're in the kitchen."

"OK," Anthony said, trying to smooth his hair back down, at which Kate rolled her eyes.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Kate announced as she turned the corner into the kitchen, where Mary and Edwina were tending to far too many pots and pans on the stove while Agatha sat unbothered at the table, sipping tea.

"Anthony, this is my mum, Mary, my baby sister, Edwina, and I believe you already know my godmother, Agatha."

"I do. It's lovely to see you again, Ms. Danbury."

"Indeed. I trust you have matured quite a bit since university? No more sneaking young women into my home at all hours of the night?"

Anthony blanched as the Sharma women all shared a laugh.

"Mum, it was one time." Simon sighed.

"I caught you once, Dear. Two very different things."

Anthony was desperate to change the subject. "Mrs. Sharma, it’s so good to meet you.. I brought you this.” He handed her an ornate box. Inside were sachets of cardamom, cloves, cinnamon sticks, black peppercorns, and everything else Kate had told him was required to make authentic masala chai.

"Oh, wonderful! I always need more of these. What a thoughtful gift." Mary pulled Anthony in close to kiss him on the cheek. "And you absolutely must call me Mary."

"Then I will, Mary."

"Go ahead and sit, you two. Breakfast is almost ready. There's a pot of chai if you want to help yourself."

Kate wrapped an arm around Anthony's waist as they moved to the table. "You OK?"

"Yeah, actually." He pulled out a chair for Kate before settling into his own. Then he felt what could only be described as abject horror paralyzing his body as Kate opted to sit on this lap instead of the chair next to him. "Kate, Kate, Kate, what are you doing?"

"Oh, unclutch your pearls, young man. We are under no illusion that this is some virginal courtship." Agatha rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her tea. 

Anthony hazarded a look over to Mary, Edwina, and Simon, who were all doing terrible jobs of holding in their laughs. This can't be real.

“Welcome to our free love commune, Anthony!” Edwina cackled.

He looked up at Kate, who wasn't laughing, just giving him a comforting smile. "This isn't a setup, is it?"

She stroked his cheek. "Ignore her. This really is fine, but I can absolutely move if you're uncomfortable."

Anthony's body relaxed as he placed a hand on Kate's hip. "No, it's nice--if it's really OK."

"You're sweet." She kissed the tip of his nose.

"So, Lord Bridgerton. What are your intentions with my sister?"

Simon narrowed his eyes at Edwina over his cup of kaapi. "That was my line, Ed, and you know it. We talked about this!"

—

"Did you have a good time?"

Kate was lying on top of Anthony on his couch, drawing circles on his chest as they caught their breaths. His eyes remained closed as he raised his eyebrows.

“When, just now? Oh, ten out of ten. Quick, attentive service–but not too quick."

Kate flicked his ear. "You aren't funny."

"I am, actually."

When Kate didn't say anything, Anthony opened his eyes to find hers imploring him for a real answer. He ran his fingers through her hair. "Kate, I had a great time. I'm looking forward to seeing your family again."

"Really?"

"Yes."

She sighed happily and kissed his neck. "Can I take some pictures of you?"

Anthony furrowed his brow. "What?"

She leaned over, reaching into her overnight bag, and pulled out a camera. Anthony recognized it as one of the ones from her father's collection.

Kate sat up, straddling him. "I like how you look right now. Can I photograph you like one of my French girls?"

She looked so earnest, so vulnerable. He couldn't deny her anything. He knew he wouldn't be able to for the rest of his life.

"Yes, Ms. Sharma. How do you want me?"

She didn’t hesitate. "I want you like this. I want you exactly as you are."

—

"Dearest. I didn't know you were working from here today?" Violet stopped as she walked by the open door of his study.

"Hello, Mum. I didn't have a lot on today, so I wanted to see who was around. Actually, I just spoke with the kids and they said you have another meeting at their school coming up and I'd like to attend."

Violet took a few steps into the room and shook her head. "I really don't think that's necessary, Anthony."

"It's not about what is necessary. I want to be there. Greg and Hy are fine with it."

"Well, they don't make the decisions. I do."

Anthony ran his hand over his face. "Mum–"

"I thought we were past this, Anthony."

"Past what?"

"You seemed to have moved on. With Kate and everything. You seem to be on your way to, I don’t know, starting your own family."

Anthony froze. "My own family?"

"Darling, I didn't mean it that way. I simply meant you no longer need to parent the kids. You haven't needed to for quite a while, actually."

Anthony stood from his desk and took a measured breath.

"Mother, this isn't fair. We were all happy when you recovered. Happy for you, happy for us. Of course we were. But, you must understand, life was still happening before that and you weren't there. Not really. First you stayed in your room for months, and then you were gone getting help. The help you needed, and I don't begrudge you that. But Hyacinth was an infant, Gregory was barely walking and talking. And it wasn't just them. Colin, Daph, El, Frankie. They are all so young. Benedict helped however he could, but he was sixteen. I don't regret taking care of my family. I really don't. But you don't think I also wanted to retreat? That I didn't feel numb and wanted to just… be allowed to sit in that? I put in the work, Mum. I'm not Dad. I know. Believe me, I'm reminded of that every damn day. But I was there for them, all of them. As a brother, a provider, and, yes, a parent. I'm sorry that this seems to offend you, but I can't turn it off like it hasn't been my life for a decade. Please don't treat me like a nuisance when I'm simply trying to continue to be the rock that I've been working so hard and so long to be for them."

Anthony was heaving by the end of it. Violet was stunned into silence. After a long while, Anthony grabbed his things and walked toward the door.

"Anthony, I'm sorry."

Anthony kept a hand on the doorknob and looked back at his mother. "I know. And I know we still need to talk. I just can't right now. I just… I need to go. I love you. I do."

—

Anthony knocked rapidly on Kate's door. He knew she was home and expecting him. He'd called her as soon as he left Aubrey Hall. Once she opened the door, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and holding a cup of chai, he felt like he could breathe, as if he'd been holding it in ever since he left his mother's. "Hey."

"Hey." Whatever his expression was, it obviously concerned her. She turned and left the door open for him to follow.

She led the way into her kitchen. “I’m glad you called. It sounded like you needed to talk.” She turned to the pot on the stove. It was still steaming. "Do you want some?"

Anthony walked up behind her, took her mug out of her hands, and put it on the counter.

She sighed. "Anthony."

He silently turned her around and kissed her roughly. "I don't want tea."

“What’s–?”

He hiked her up and smiled when her legs instinctively went around his waist. He buried his face in her neck and he walked them into the living room.

He unceremoniously tossed onto her couch. Anthony quickly straddled Kate and started to push her shirt up. Once he saw her lacy underwear, he groaned. "Fuck, I need this. You have no idea."

"Will you give me an idea, then?" He leaned down and kissed her.

"I will. Later."

"Now. Or not, whatever, but I'm not into this at the moment." She started to sit up.

Anthony sat back in his haunches, exhaling heavily. 

"Anthony."

"Yes?"

"Can I please ask what's happened at your mum's?"

He leaned back until his back was resting against the arm of the couch, opposite Kate.

He looked up at the ceiling as he said, "I really miss my dad."

"Yeah." Kate said quietly.

"But… I don't know how to say it. I miss that I didn't get to miss him when I was a kid. It just fucking… happened and then my mum effectively disappeared immediately and everyone was looking to me like, "What do we do now?" And I had no idea. But I sure as shit had to get myself together quick. There were seven of them. Every single one of them grieving, angry, utterly lost at sea. And I was fucking jealous. Isn’t that fucked up? Because I couldn't count myself among them. I inherited dad's title, his legacy, I managed the money he left even though it was Mum's because she either wouldn't or couldn't get involved in any of it. Whenever I felt myself sinking, whenever I drank too much or stayed out until dawn, that numbness, it felt good. I mean, it felt horrible, but those hours when I was treating myself like shit, I didn't have to take care of anyone. I could get lost at sea like everyone else. But I couldn't stay there. I was right back at it with everyone at home the next day."

He took a few deep breaths and realized he was crying. 

"Fuck. On one hand, I think maybe I should just get out of my mum’s way. But… I'm afraid of what that even means. I don't think I know how to stop doing what I've been doing for ten years. And I feel like I could lose part of myself if I did."

They sat in silence for who knows how long. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe thirty. Eventually, Kate spoke. "How are you feeling?" She asked, rubbing his hands, their fingers intertwined.

Anthony let out a heavy sigh, the tears having stopped. "Exhausted." He chuckled dryly. Kate just nodded. "But… I feel good, I think. Lighter." He sounded surprised. Again, Kate said nothing.

Anthony narrowed his eyes. "You're therapy-ing me right now, aren't you?"

Kate smiled. "Only a little. You need to find someone to therapy you for real."

Anthony groaned and crawled over to put his head in her lap. She automatically started running her fingers through his hair. "Can't I just keep talking to you?"

"Nu-uh. Baby boy, I'm your girlfriend, not your therapist. I can't be both."

"Yeah. I know." He pulled her head down to kiss him. "I'll stick with girlfriend." Anthony closed his eyes as Kate continued to move her nails over his scalp. 

"You'd better. But, I know a few very good therapists I could recommend. If I do that, will you call them?"

Anthony said nothing, just furrowed his brow. Kate leaned down again to kiss his forehead before whispering in his ear. "Anthony. Please."

"Will I have to paint and play instruments?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Then yes, I will. I promise. I love you"

"I love you, too. Forever."

—

[This is my first story that is more than a one-shot vignette. I thank @newtonsheffield for tolerating being an involuntary soundboard with grace while I developed this story and @waterlilyrose for encouraging me to write the story myself. And, of course, the Academy. It was an honor just to be nominated.]

[aparticularbandit]

the fact that i can look up an actor’s waist size for fic writing purposes and actually find their measurements makes me uncomfortable.

but also i guess i’m the one who looked it up.  i’m just.  uncomfortable by the fact that i know i can find it and it’s that easily accessible.

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 10 - The Fifth Year (Part Four)

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. Chapter Warnings: Dark magic, violence, magical torture.

A/N> I really hope i don't put this fic into another hiatus, but i got a feeling i will. The only I can promise is to finish it. Hope you all like this chapter.

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Part X - The Fifth Year (Part Four)

You walk beside Headmistress Harkness in silence, deeper into the dungeons of the castle.

She leads you to a wooden door, and then you enter a large stone room, which you imagine to be an office for the study of ancient runes, as you notice the symbols around the room, carved into the rocks and the corners of the walls.

"Professor, what did we come here for?" You ask with your arms folded across your chest, feeling your body shiver slightly at the creepy atmosphere in the room.

"I am going to help you reach your true potential, Miss Stark." She declares simply and waves her wand.

You feel your body being pushed until you are in the center of the room, your arms uncrossing and stretching out at your body's side, but soon there are thick iron chains conjured around your ankles and wrists.

Letting out a surprised exclamation, you look at Harkness in fear, but she is muttering softly, and walking around while touching the runes with her wand, and the symbols light up a purple glow one by one.

"Professor, what's going on?" You question trying to struggle against the chains, which seem to get tighter with each movement. You let out a grunt of pain.

"Stop fighting." She orders as she turns to you, her gaze assessing your face. "It's almost time, it will be painful if you resist."

"What are you talking about?"

But Agatha didn't answer and walked back behind you. You deduced that she was touching the runes on the walls at your back, because you could hear the rustling on the rocks, and then she came back into your field of vision.

She rummaged through her pockets, and pulled out a small watch.

"Now, now, you're almost late." She remarks, and looks back at you with a little smile. "I bet Erik asked about Pietro."

You frowned, but Agatha looked away, moving to the cabinet in the corner of the room. She returned with four candles in her hands, and deposited them around you.

You watched her use her wand to make the candles stand perfectly still in the four corners, and then light itself. You felt your heart race. Agatha was going to do a ritual with you. Of what exactly you had no idea. And judging by the events, it couldn't be good.

"Professor..."

"Quiet." She interrupts earnestly, one finger raised in the air while she looks back at the clock. You wriggle uncomfortably, and it takes only a moment for Agatha to let out a sigh and turn to you. "Let's get started."

You were about to ask again, but Agatha raises her wand toward you and mutters words you don't recognize.

Your vision dims for a second and then you think you are having another vision, but you cannot understand exactly what it is.

It looks like the nightmares you had with Mephisto, but everything is quieter. You can only hear your own footsteps, but it is as if you were walking on water.

The shelves in the ministry are completely empty, and the image is dull.

This time you are not looking for something. You are calling out to someone.

You walk and you walk, and then you come to the center of a room. And you choke when you see yourself.

But your face is completely bloodied, and you are whimpering in pain.

"I found you." The voice is Mephisto's, but you don't see him anywhere. Your bruised self is dying, and you begin to feel desperate, but when you try to scream for help, what comes out are the words. "Where is it? Find it for me!"

"I don't know." Your self whines. "And if I did know I wouldn't tell you."

"Filthy half-blood!" The voice that is your accuses, and then there is a red light and your bruised self screams in pain. It is the cruciatus curse, and it only stops after a moment. "I have no time for your lies. I'll end it at once."

You gasp and are back in Agatha's room, falling to your knees.

"What was that?" You manage to ask as you try to calm your breathing, grumbling in pain as you realize that the sudden movement has made the chains hurt your wrists.

"That was just what it took to get Wanda away from the castle." Agatha replies as she lowers her wand. You frown in confusion, but the woman is getting closer. She makes a motion with her hands and you feel a sharp pain on the tip of your forehead, and you grumble.

A little blood trickles down her face, but it doesn't hurt that much, and you figure it's just a small cut. Ancient runes are not your specialty, but it's not hard to imagine that she just drew one on your skin.

"What do you want from me, professor?" You ask half breathlessly, feeling your body weak. Agatha is muttering some incantations, and you feel as if your energy is slowly being drained away.

When she stops, you can barely keep your eyes open.

"Now we will wait a little while, dear." She says as she kneels in front of the candled square she created. "Wanda needs time to get to the ministry."

You shook your head, feeling your vision go blurry and your mouth go dry. Agatha sighed before she stood up, and you were surprised that she brought you water.

"I don't want you to collapse now, we're not even halfway through it." She declared as she forced the small bottle against your lips. You grumbled, but she held your chin tightly and forced you to drink.

It wasn't water, but it didn't taste bad.

"There you go, drink it all." She guided and only when the item was empty she pulled away. With a flick of her fingers, the bottle disappeared and you gasped as you felt a wave of heat pass through your entire body.

It was a potion of vigor, and although confused and frightened, you had no physical discomfort.

"What did you do to me?" You questioned between teeth. Agatha moved around the room, grabbing one of the books from the bookshelf. She muttered something about making sure she was doing everything right, before she stopped standing in front of you.

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?" She retorted with debauchery. "And I thought you would be smarter, but perhaps the hat was wrong."

Agatha crouched down again, and put the book down on the floor in front of you. You looked down to notice that it was open on a page that contained a map of England.

Before you could ask, she was forcing your head down, and you grunted in pain. When your blood dripped onto the paper, she let go.

"Thank you, dear." She declared without looking at you. "Now let's find out how close they are."

You gasp in surprise when your blood moves on the paper, circling around the lines of the map. Agatha makes a noise with her mouth in contentment.

"Ah, judging by the speed, I'm sure they used the thestrals." She comments. "I suppose Miss Quinn joined the quest in the end."

You look at the professor with confusion, but she is already raising her fingers to your forehead.

"Let's take a peek." She declaims, and you feel your skin burn where she touches it. Your vision dims for a second before you see the sky.

You are mounted on something, and you look around to see all your friends mounted on thestrals, flying beside you. You want to ask what is going on, but soon realize that you are just watching.

"Are we far away?" Gamora asks beside you.

"No! Just a few more minutes." It is Tony who answers from the front horse. He looks upset, all of them do in fact.

You want to shout to ask, but your vision dims and you are back on your feet.

Agatha lets out an impatient sigh as you pant in pain, trying to understand exactly what is going on.

"It's a pity." She mumbles to herself and you force yourself to ask.

"What is it?"

"Mephisto takes no prisoners, Miss Stark." She replies. "I hadn't expected your friends to interfere, it's really a pity. Perhaps you should already pick out a dress for the memorial ceremony."

"What are you talking about?"

"In reality it's your fault of course." She declares with a mischievous giggle and you stare at her in confusion. Agatha sighs humorously, as if what she is telling you is obvious. "Silly girl, the cloak of course! The legendary invisibility cloak that you lent to your dear brother."

"What?"

Agatha rolled her eyes.

"It's not funny when you don't know what I'm talking about." She commented impatiently and leaned against one of the pillars of the hall, her arms crossed. "But I think we have time until they reach the ministry, so let's talk a little."

You think the effect of the potion is wearing off too quickly, but you force yourself to keep your gaze on Agatha.

"The story is much simpler than you might imagine, of course." She begins. "I needed to find a way to help Wanda unleash her power completely, and you were the solution to all my problems." She says with a nostalgic chuckle, and you look at her wide-eyed.

Your vision is darkening again, and Agatha notices by your tired expression, so she lets out a laughing exclamation and moves around the room. When she returns, there is a wooden compartment in her arms, which she lays on the floor. You notice the dozens of small glass jars, and she forces you to drink another one.

"Dear, Dear, there you go. There's no reason to look so pale, you just need a little encouragement." She smiles at her own pun, and you move your head to push her touch away, making her laugh before turning away.

"Where was I? "Oh yes, in the beginning." She asks rhetorically, her posture amused. "I'm going to assume that Erik told you about the nature of Wanda's powers, dear, it would be sad to know that he didn't after so much."

"He did." You grumble and Agatha smiles.

"Oh, great." She says. "Well, of course he said what I told him, of course. But he couldn't know everything. He wouldn't approve of my methods. As a father and as a wizard I suppose."

You sighed lightly, your body was shaking, like a fever, but the potion was keeping you pain-free.

"Professor..."

"Don't interrupt!" She cuts off quickly, but her tone is amused. "What an education you've been giving at Hufflepuff, my goodness. Maybe the hat should have sent you to Gryffindor, you would have learned better about manners."

You clenched your jaw and Agatha giggled a little before continuing.

"I told Erik that you two should stay apart, and he bought that story like the fool he always was." She comments with amusement and you feel your stomach sink.

"Was it you?"

"Don't make that face, honey." She says. "I couldn't risk you getting in my way."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Agatha sighs impatiently.

"Your bond, Miss Stark!" she retorts as if it were obvious, "I needed to shape Wanda's progress according to my agenda. If you were around her, you could develop the bond and your abilities would be a problem."

You looked at her with confusion and Agatha took another look at the map before looking back at you.

"They are arriving, shall we take another peek?"

"Tell me what you want to say!" You ask, but the witch just ignores you while touching your forehead again. You gasp in pain, but this vision is quicker.

You see a dark concrete, and a tall door. And then Agatha brings you back.

"Great, they're at the ministry." She mumbles as she releases you, you gasp helplessly, your head weighing down. But Agatha brings another vial of potion to your lips. "This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better I'm sorry to say, Miss."

You motion for her to take the bottle from your lips, but she insists that you drink it all and only backs away when you do.

"What do you know about my bond with Wanda?" You question next, feeling the elixir kick in again.

"Everything." She states simply and you look at her. "How it was made, how to break it and how to improve it."

Agatha draws her wand toward you again and you widen your eyes.

"Let's make sure she remembers why she''s there, dear." She speaks before bewitching you.

You watch yourself being tortured again, but now the shelves are full.

When you return, you fall flat on your face on the floor.

Agatha approaches with a grimace, pulling your hair to make you look at her again, and you grunt in pain.

"Do you need another potion or can you stay awake?" She asks.

"Fuck you."

Agatha laughed and let go of your hair, you managed to keep your head away from the floor by millimeters.

"I'm being so nice and you so badly behaved."

"You chained me to the ground." You retort with indignation.

Agatha rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she leans against the pillar again.

"This is only to keep you from disappearing." She comments causing you to raise your eyebrows. "Oh, right, I forgot that you have no idea what I'm talking about."

You grumble in pain, but don't interrupt.

"As I was saying, I know all about your magical bonding, dear." She says. "It took some time, but I managed to figure it all out. And that's exactly why I kept you away from Wanda this year."

"Why?"

"Because I want Wanda's magic for myself, of course."

You let out an exclamation of surprise and anger, but before you could say anything else, your body tensed all at once, and you felt your heart soar as if it were racing.

"W-what's happening?" You muttered in confusion, feeling the adrenaline wake up your senses. Agatha looked at you intently, moving away from the pillar to look at you more closely. She touched the side of your faces, assessing you.

"You can feel the danger she is in can't you?" She asked with fascination in her voice and gaze. You gasped, feeling the room getting smaller. "It is absolutely magnificent to witness such power."

"What did you do?" you ask with difficulty. "Where is Wanda?"

Agatha laughs as she walks away. She moves around the room again and you think she is going to go back to her original position, but she makes a motion with her hands and floats in the air. She sits down with her legs crossed and stands at the same height as you.

"Sorry, Miss Stark." She says with her palms up and lying in the air. "We've reached the part where it's going to become very painful."

The candles around you float at head height, and the flames light up, but they are blue. You also notice the runes glowing on the walls.

"Please." You plead but Agatha doesn't answer you, all she says are words in a language you don't recognize.

When she falls silent, you wait for the pain to come, but all is quiet.

"It's done." She announces with a sigh.

"What's done?"

"Now she can become a scarlet witch for good."

"Professor what..."

But your voice dies in your throat as you feel a sharp pang in your chest and gasp breathlessly. A whistle hissing in your ear, and a sharp pain takes over your entire body in the next second.

You don't need much to deduce that Wanda is suffering.

"Stop it!" You beg as you hug your own body, feeling your skin burn. "Please stop hurting her!"

"Focus, Stark." You hear Agatha's voice in your head. It's hard to push through the pain to pay attention.

"Let me go!" You plead but you have the impression that it is only in your thoughts. You know that your body is screaming in pain. "Let me save her! Wanda!"

"Pay attention, girl!" It's Agatha again. "You never needed to be with her to protect her. Concentrate. Don't let her get hurt."

Agatha's sentence echoes in your head for many minutes, until her voice replaces the pain.

You open your eyes, but cannot see the room. There is a golden light all around you, and it takes a moment to realize that it is your hands and eyes that are glowing.

"What?" you gasp in confusion but your body is shaking again and you can taste blood in your mouth.

"Not yet, honey." Agatha says and you realize she is still in the room. You blink, trying to see her, but all you can see is the light. You can barely feel the chains, but they are still on your wrists. "Just a little longer. He needs to use the curse."

"Professor, what's going on?" You try but there is no answer. The pain returns and your body hangs forward, but you rest your hands on the floor, panting. "Please help me."

"Help yourself." Says the woman. "What will make the pain stop?"

"Wanda." The answer escapes in a sigh and you can barely keep your eyes open.

"Then go to her."

And then your vision dims.

You think you are falling into a portal key, because it feels the same. But you land before reaching the ground.

Everything is muffled, and you look around to see spell lights.

You see your friends dueling wizards you don't recognize, in a place you know as the Ministry of Magic.

You know because it is like your childhood memories, on the rare occasions when you were with Tony and your father in search of some package.

But it's empty now, except for the wizards fighting.

Your friends are losing, you know by the way the masked men are surrounding everyone in the corner.

But you're not looking for that.

Your attention is on the girl in the center, the bright red light surrounding her hands.

Your body immediately relaxes at the sight of her, and you walk on.

Wanda is also struggling. Her energy escapes from her hand towards the black-clad sorcerer, who has a devilish grin on his face, but who seems pleased to see so much power.

You lift your hand to touch her face, and then the sound returns.

The effect of your touch on Wanda's skin is immediate.

Her magic explodes in her hands, creating a force field that pushes Mephisto and the walkers meters away.

The leader lets out a laugh as he falls backwards, while his followers stare at the scene with confusion, surprised by the sudden blow.

Wanda falls to her knees, and you stoop down to the level of her face, raising your hands to your face.

"Wanda? Can you hear me?" You call out, but it is as you thought, she cannot. Neither she can see you. But something makes you believe she can feel you. You sigh watching her try to pull herself together.

Mephisto stands up and waves for his followers to stand still.

Wanda stands in front of her friends. You swallow dryly, and stand beside her.

"Your protector is here, isn't he?" The man questions with a murderous look on his face. "I can feel it."

"Where is she?" Wanda asks angrily, but the wizard continues to smile.

"Do you really think I would risk exposure to steal your girlfriend from the castle, Miss Maximoff?" The wizard retorts. "You are as foolish as your father."

Wanda raises her hands again. You feel your body tingle.

"I won't ask again." She says and Mephisto's gaze flashes with irritation.

"It is I who will not repeat myself, miss." He strikes back and points his wand toward Wanda in a quick motion. You see the green light approaching in slow motion, and your feet are already moving forward.

The Death Curse hits you in the chest, but all you feel is the tingling in the back of your head, and all they see, is a golden light.

"This is getting embarrassing for you." Wanda teases the wizard, and you want to smile, but you are feeling your connection grow weak, the atmosphere begins to glaze over.

"I've had enough of games." Mephisto speaks impatiently, and moves his wand toward the fountain in the center in the hallway. Water pours out of the marble and rises to the ceiling, forming a three-headed serpent. "I'll just drown your friends and eliminate a few names from the list of blood traitors."

"No!" Wanda says as she throws an energy ball at the sorcerer, but he deflects it with ease. The water Hydra moves and Wanda attacks again.

You think the water will reach your friends, but the ministry's Floo powder fireplaces are lighting up and the order's wizards are coming out of there.

Mephisto's smile fades. His followers begin to duel, and he forms a shield to stop Wanda's attacks while turning to look at the incoming aurors, as you watch Hydra's enchantment being controlled and undone.

It is satisfying to see Mephisto choke in surprise as the rest of the Ministry officials begin to Apparate and use the floo powder net to arrive on the scene.

You see the expression of pure shock when the Minister of Magic sees the sorcerer, before Mephisto apparates and disappears.

There is an immediate commotion afterwards, the aurors of the order preventing the walkers from fleeing and the rest of the officials looking on at the scene of the fight with confusion.

The atmosphere is getting stuffy again, so you turn to Wanda again, and she has tears in her eyes as she looks around.

Erik reaches her within the next minute.

"Darling!" He says hugging her with concern, but Wanda sobs and he pulls away looking into her eyes. "What happened?"

"I couldn't find her, papa." She cries. "I looked everywhere."

Erik shakes his head.

"Wanda, Miss Stark is safe." He assures you and you frown. "It was a false vision dear, she was never here."

Wanda gasps in confusion, you want to touch her but can barely keep yourself watching.

"But i saw..."

"I know dear, but it wasn't true." Erik interrupts, "Let's go back to the castle, I'll tell you everything. But breathe, okay, she's safe."

Wanda nods, and you feel her exhaustion invade your body immediately. The aurors of the order help your friends, and you watch Erik help Wanda walk to the fireplaces, and the realization that she is safe is enough for you to surrender to the darkness.

//-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-//

You know something is different the moment you open your eyes.

Maybe the way all the sounds invade your ears at once, and you grumble, trying to figure out if you have a headache or just reject the sudden gain in consciousness.

There is no pain, though, you notice.

There is only softness and lightness.

You blink a few times, and understand that you are lying on a bed. Straightening up, you eventually identify the room. It is an infirmary, but it is not Hogwarts. You frown in confusion, and straighten to sit up.

It looks like a hospital room, and there are other beds a few meters away, but they are empty. You also notice the "get well soon" balloons and the gift wrappings and food baskets on top of the cabinet at the end of the bed.

When you notice the sleeping figure in the armchair next to you, you gasp in surprise.

"Wanda!" You call out with a mixture of shock and relief.

The girl opens her eyes sleepily and then widens them when she realizes that you are looking at her curiously, babbling about what had happened and if she was okay. All Wanda does is let out a tearful laugh and jump at you, her arms around your neck as she hugs you tightly.

"Hey, is everything okay?" You ask fearfully, letting your arms encircle her waist and pulling her into bed with you. Wanda buries her face in your neck, and you want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling of having her so close, but you are too curious to know about everything. "Wanda?"

"Fuck I was so worried." She sighs against your skin before pulling away, and you frown, looking into her watery eyes. You reach out to caress her face and she smiles as she leans into your touch, one hand rising to yours on her cheek.

"What happened?" You ask and she shakes her head slightly.

"A lot." She says. "But everyone is fine. You...merlin...you're here."

Wanda rests her forehead against yours and you both close your eyes.

"Where else would I be?"

She doesn't answer, just presses your lips together in a sweet but firm kiss. You feel your whole body shiver all at once, and gasp in surprise.

Wanda pulls away with a sigh and hugs you again, and you decide to give yourself over to the feeling, inhaling her perfume as you bury your face in her hair and feel your whole body relax all at once.

"Finally!" Your brother's voice startles you slightly, but you don't have much time to absorb his sudden presence in the room, because soon all your friends are entering as well, and Wanda is breaking the embrace so that your brothers will hug you and then your friends.

As soon as you hug everyone, and receive pats on the shoulder and questions about how you are feeling from the adults, you intertwine your hand with Wanda, who remains sitting next to you on the bed. The feeling brings you an instant sense of safety.

"Can someone tell me how I got here now?" You ask just as Carol Danvers turns away from you and stands next to Erik and Fury, who are in the corner next to Mantis and Harley, all squeezed around your bed.

"What's the last thing you remember, YN?" It is Tony who asks and you frown.

"The room with Professor Harkness, I think." You say feeling your stomach turn. Wanda's touch tightens a little, and you appreciate the sensation. Many flashes pass through your mind at once, and you use your free hand to massage your forehead lightly. "I think I remember a spell... Professor!" You exclaim suddenly looking at Erik, remembering the schoolmistress's words. "Agatha, she was the one who planned everything... the ministry, the prophecy! She knew everything and...!"

"Calm down, miss Stark." The professor interrupts with a nod. "We already know about what happened in the dungeon."

"Oh, okay." You mumble clumsily. "H-how did I get out of there?"

Erik exchanges a look with Wanda before turning back to you.

"Your last memory, Miss Stark, what would it be? Do you only remember talking to Agatha?"

"If you call torture talking." You mumble clumsily, and Wanda squeezes your hand hard, making you bite your tongue. "Hey." You say to her, but she doesn't let go of the grip. She says nothing, and you sigh. "Yes, professor. I just remember being within the spell. And then I woke up here."

Erik clears his throat and you think this is the time he's going to ask everyone to leave, but he hasn't.

"Well, then we have to update you on some important things, miss." He says as he puts his hands in his pockets. "I believe Doctor McCoy would prefer to talk to you first however, and he is looking at this small crowd with a certain disapproval."

You frown at the phrase, but there is a man dressed in aqua green approaching the bed and beckoning your friends to stand back. It's the healer in charge, you read the little plaque with the name "Doctor Hank McCoy" on the coat as he asks everyone not to be so on top of you.

"Good morning, Miss Stark, it's very good to see you awake at last. How are you feeling?" He asks as you approach, you squeeze Wanda's hand as soon as she makes mention of getting up. She gets a slight flush on her cheeks, but ignores the doctor's gaze and continues sitting next to you. Hank realizing that the witch won't move away, decides to approach you from the other side of the bed, a metal stethoscope in position on his neck and hands.

"I'm fine." You say with a smile.

"Let's make sure you are." He says as he places the object against your chest. "Take a deep breath, please."

The check is quick, and a little awkward as everyone is looking at you. Doctor Hank grabs a wooden clipboard as soon as he's finished.

"You've recovered almost completely, that's impressive." He comments sounding pleased and you look at him curiously.

"Was I sick?"

Hank gives a little laugh and then frowns, realizing that you really were curious. He clears his throat.

"Are you experiencing memory loss?" He asks looking at you intently. You swallow dryly, pulling away slightly as you feel the blue orbs analyzing you so intently. "It's a common symptom for this type of magical occurrence, of course, though it's a more recurring one in patients who have experienced the cruciatus curse."

"Doctor?"

Hank straightens his body again, putting his hands in his pockets.

"What is your last memory of the ritual, miss?"

"Ritual?" You ask confused.

"The bonding ritual, Miss Stark." He clarifies. "Your family members explained to the team that you were in the custody of a dark witch and went through a level five rated magical binding ritual against your will."

"I..."

"Doctor McCoy, please." Erik interrupts with an embarrassed smile. "We haven't had a chance to talk to her about everything. Perhaps some less technical language."

"Oh, yes, of course." Hank agreed with a smile, and his posture became much friendlier. "What exactly do you remember, Miss?"

"Only to be caught in a spell doctor." You reply. "My professor, she used some runes on the walls and tried to keep me trapped. It was... quite unpleasant if you ask me." You recount feeling really uncomfortable. "I didn't really understand what happened."

"Don't worry, we know what happened." Hank says. "From a medical point of view at least." He jokes and Erik smiles, but you are too nervous to do so. "Sorry, but the room is too crowded. Why don't you all wait outside while I talk to Miss Stark?"

Your friends let out a disgruntled exclamation together, but Carol and Fury are already pushing everyone out.

"She can stay, right?" you ask quickly and Doctor Hank gives a chuckle.

"I wouldn't try to keep you and Miss Maximoff apart anymore in any manner at all." He comments and you look at him with confusion.

Erik also stays in the room, standing at the end of the bed. Wanda strokes your hand with her thumb as the doctor speaks again, and you want to pay attention to his words rather than her touch, but it is a difficult task.

Hank sits on the edge at the height of your knee.

"You have undergone a magical bonding ritual, Miss Stark." He begins. "More precisely, through a kind of spell to strengthen a magical bond that already exists in you. In this case, your bond with Miss Maximoff."

The doctor adjusts his glasses slightly as soon as you nod in understanding.

"That kind of spell is very dangerous by itself, Miss." He says. "But it is even more so when done without the consent of those involved."

Hank gropes his pockets and then takes out his own wand, extending it into the air with a smooth motion. You watch intently as two golden figures resembling two people appear in front of you.

He also draws a thread connecting them at chest height.

"What we know about natural protective magical bonds, Miss, is that they act as a string of energy between the bodies of the witches who are connected." He narrates as he signals the golden magical wave with his finger. "That string stretches, and bends, and can only be broken in three ways. With the length of the magic contract, the withdrawal of the spell, or the death of one of the witches. And in this third, if the witch to whom the link refers, dies before the other, the other will suffer the same fate, since the link remains intact."

"Doctor, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I already knew that information." You comment clumsily, but the adults don't seem annoyed, they just giggle. You are surprised to realize that you know Wanda thought it was funny even without looking at her.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm getting there." He hits back with a chuckle. Hank makes another motion with his wand, and this time, an energy rune appears between the figures in the center of the link, and you frown as you recognize the image.

"It looks like the one Professor Harkness drew on the floor." You comment.

"It's exactly the same." Hank says. "This is rune needed for the power release spell. Ancient magic, very powerful." He counters. "It was common for witches to use this kind of spell in the wild, before magic societies were fully formed, since no one learned how to grow their own power through study and practice. Other methods were used before the schools of magic existed."

"What did she do to me, doctor?" You ask fearfully, understanding where the conversation was going. Doctor Hank exchanged a look with Professor Erik.

"Well, Mrs. Harkness wanted to rush things, I believe." He says. "You see, magical connections are very unstable magics, Miss. Especially if done between living things." He adds and moves his wand again. The rune multiplies and lands on the chest of each of the figures. "The ritual that Agatha performed served to stimulate the full magical potency of your connection all at once."

"But what does that mean?"

"It means that after that night, she merged your magic and Miss Maximoff's magic as one." Hank clarified and you frowned, trying to understand exactly what that signified. Seeing your expression, Professor Erik cleared his throat and approached the side of the bed, close to Wanda.

"What will happen now, Miss Stark, will be the peak of a magical bond." He says with a worried look, and you look at him curiously. "You two will both present new powers, and you will need to learn how to control all of them."

You ran your fingers lightly through your hair, sighing.

"You still haven't told me how I ended up here." You grumbled slightly impatiently. The teacher hesitated, but then told you.

"Agatha underestimated the power of your bond with Wanda." He said and you were about to question what that meant when he spoke again. "The ritual served to potentiate the Scarlet Witch's magic, using your body as a bridge for contact, since through the connection between you, she was able to force Wanda's magic to evolve."

You looked at Wanda, but she was looking at your hands entwined together.

"Is everything okay with you?" You asked her immediately, and she raised her eyes to you. Nodding in agreement, she gave you a shy smile. You wished you were alone with her.

"Agatha wanted to use the bond just to stimulate Wanda's magic to its full potential, and she knew she could use your magical bond to do that." The professor then added. "But, I don't know if you remember, Miss Stark, as we talked about earlier in the year, there are limits to what the human body can handle. Just like you, Wanda didn't even come of age yet. Her magic simply wasn't ready."

"And that's when the magical bond between you two interrupted the spell." The doctor added and you widened your eyes slightly. He waved his wand so that the illusion of the figures shattered. "You see, Miss, you have a protective bond with Miss Maximoff. The minute the spell became strong enough to injure her, your magic merged with hers, and all was restrained. The ritual was immediately interrupted."

"You may not remember, but Agatha took you to the ministry." Erik said next and grimaced slightly. "Well, not exactly brought, but projected you. She was the one who set up the visions in Wanda's head so that she would see you wounded and fight Mephisto again. All the danger she was going through triggered the bond. And then she could project your consciousness to Wanda, giving her the power to face Mephisto in a duel."

"I don't remember that." You mutter, scratching the back of your neck lightly.

"Don't worry." Hank adds. "It was a very intensive magical exhaustion, I'm sure your memories will gradually come back. If not, Miss Maximoff can help you." He jokes and you frown in confusion, but the doctor is already getting up. "Well, I need to check on other patients, I'll come visit you later. Try to eat something before I get back, okay? You should still be here for a few days, until we're sure you're fully recovered."

You thanked the doctor before he left. Erik cleared his throat.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"Many sir." You say making him laugh lightly. But then you sigh. "But I wanted to stay with Wanda for a while."

Erik nods in understanding, and exchanges a look with his daughter before turning to leave.

You straighten to lie down and look at Wanda and she mimics your movement, but looks up at the ceiling.

"Wanda?" You call out and wait for her to turn her face toward you. A sense of lightness and assurance immediately invades your chest at having the green orbs stare at you. "How do you feel?"

She gives you a short smile, and straightens up to turn her whole body toward you. It's uncomfortable to hold your hands like this, so she lets go, but raises her fingers to your face, tracing your features.

"I feel different." She confesses. Every touch of her fingers is warm and comforting. "What about you?"

"Different too." You reply, resisting the urge to close your eyes. "But a good different."

Wanda smiles, shaking her head in agreement. You are silent for a moment, Wanda using her thumb to caress your cheek tenderly, and you let your gaze on her mouth.

"Why were you almost crying when I woke up?" You ask next, and her body tenses before she sighs. You look into her eyes, waiting.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." She mumbles and you shake your head, bringing your faces closer together. Wanda sighs and brings her hand to the back of your neck as you press your foreheads together. "I can't talk about it."

"Show me then." You ask and she closes her eyes just before you close yours.

The visions hit you in the next second.

You see the false memories Agatha implanted in her, they were images of you being tortured in the ministry, your screams echoing among the corridors. You feel Wanda's desperation, her helplessness, the way her heart squeezed and the despair at every door she opened in the ministry and could not find you.

You gasp when you see the duel with Mephisto again, feeling your own touch in Wanda's magic, the way she had never felt so powerful, every cell vibrating.

A surprised sigh escapes when you see Wanda being carried back to the castle, as she feels her whole body tired but cannot close her eyes without hearing from you. You feel her tears when Professor Erik lets her see the state of the dungeon where Agatha imprisoned you, and the yearning when she sees your blood on the chains and on the floor.

The anger when her father tries to send her to sleep, and she insists on going to the hospital with your family, and the way her body shakes when she sees you on a stretcher unconscious.

Your own image scares you. The deep wounds on your wrists and ankles, made by the iron chains you have broken. The rune cut on your forehead, bright and red, and the blood that dripped down your nose, ears and mouth.

You feel the way Pietro's tight embrace, or his words of affirmation, assuring her that the healers will heal you, helps Wanda relax, but you also see how it's not enough. How all Wanda needs is for you to be at her side.

The feeling of fear and insecurity that lingers in Wanda's chest during the days she lies beside you in bed, waiting for you to wake up. Unsuccessful in sensing your thoughts even when she tries to sneak up on you during the nurses' shift change.

And then the sense of relief when seeing you open your eyes.

You gasp out the memories, feeling yours and Wanda's tears too.

"Oh, my love, I'm so sorry." You ask in a hoarse voice. "I should have woken up sooner."

Wanda lets out a tearful laugh, shaking her head.

"It's okay." She assures. "I'm just glad you did."

You smile, bringing your fingers together to take a strand of hair from Wanda's eyes and place it behind her ears.

"I will always be by your side, Wanda." You say. "I promise."

Wanda sighs, opening her eyes again. You use your thumb to wipe away the tears that have trickled down her face.

There is a moment of silence, and then your heart soars at her words.

"I know about the prophecy."

You look away before looking at her again.

"I'm sorry." You say. "I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have." She retorts seriously, but she doesn't sound angry. "But it's over now. And now everyone knows."

You widen your eyes, and probably sensing the way you've grown anxious, Wanda firms the touch of her hand on the side on your neck, murmuring lightly.

"Don't worry, eventually everyone would find out." She says and you swallow dryly.

"H-how did they know?"

"That's why Mephisto was in the Ministry." She explains. "He was looking for the prophecy in the mystery department. Steve found it first."

You swallowed dryly and Wanda continued to tell.

"I think he hesitated to tell Tony for a moment." She says. "But then he did. And then everyone knew. My father told the order as soon as you were admitted."

"How did Tony take it?" you asked fearfully and Wanda sighed.

"Better than I did if you ask me." She grumbled and you smiled shyly. "He only calmed down when they poured some potion for him. And well, I broke Dad's nose so it didn't really go down too well."

"Wow, you did what?" you ask in surprise, and Wanda grumbles, tucking her head into her pillow. You giggle, digging into her hair with your fingers. "I want to see that one."

Wanda chuckles against the cotton before looking back at you. She shows you the memory next. Everyone around the St.Mungus waiting room when Steve arrives accompanied by Erik and he tells everyone the truth. You see Tony squirming and being calmed down by two nurses, and you can feel Wanda's irritation and indignation as she looks at the "I was doing the right thing" expression her father has on his face. And how the feeling explodes in her chest when he comes to say he was trying to keep her safe and she just punches him in the face.

You gasp out of the memory with an impressed laugh, moving from the image of Erik with a bloody nose to Wanda with flushed cheeks, impacted by the way your laughter makes her heart soar.

"I can't believe you punched your father in the face." You tease with amusement and Wanda laughs lightly, reaching out to rest her arm on your waist. Her hand caresses your back gently.

"If he hadn't kept us apart none of this would have happened." She mumbles bitterly and you sigh.

"He thought he was helping." You retort but Wanda just hums. You let out an exclamation next as you remember something. "Wanda, you didn't tell me you were having nightmares! Are they still happening?"

Wanda sighs, denying with her head.

"No, not since the ministry." She says. "Papa hasn't figured out what they are, and now we can't count on Professor Harkness to help us find out. But since I fought Mephisto at the ministry, they've stopped."

"Why didn't you tell me about them?"

"Because they were about you." She retorts as if it's obvious. "I didn't want to worry you anymore. Not when all I do is cause you problems."

The confession catches you completely off guard. And Wanda's guilty tone breaks your heart. She is looking down at the sheet and you let out an incredulous laugh.

"That's so very far from the truth, my dear." You say as you catch her chin between your fingers, and make her look at you gently. "You have no idea how good you do me, do you Wanda?"

"I..."

"It' s okay, now I can show you." You interrupt with a shy smile, bringing your lips together in a gentle kiss.

Everything feels more intense now. It's a simple touch, but it warms your whole body. You leave your fingers at the nape of her neck as you slide your tongue against hers, and you both sigh with the touch.

It feels so good to kiss Wanda, it warms your whole body from head to toe, but remembering that you are in a hospital bed, just as a familiar warmth begins to form at the tip of your stomach when Wanda's hand squeezes the fabric of your shirt and her tongue moves against yours slowly, you sigh as you break the kiss.

You smile at the image of Wanda's swollen lips and ajar, dark eyes.

"Why did you stop?" she asks breathlessly, her voice husky. You raise your eyebrows in amusement.

"Baby, our families and friends are in the next room." You clarify and Wanda mumbles, coming closer to rest her forehead on yours. Her hand squeezed the fabric before adorning your t-shirt, her fingers on your skin making you shiver slightly. "Behave."

Wanda giggles mischievously, pecking your lips before moving away. You feel your body relax completely as you gaze into her emerald eyes, but the moment is broken when your friends are back in the room.

Ignoring the hissing and the giggles, you tuck yourself into bed so that Wanda can snuggle up next to you.

Things are going to be different now, you know. But something tells you that as long as you have Wanda's hand in yours, you'll be fine.

//-//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//-//

Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight

[vrisrezis]

My mcu favs w/ crush and relationship hcs (pt 2) (not proof read)

- gonna be honest she’s not familiar with romantic feelings, takes her awhile to even realize what she feels for you

- you make her heart all melty and soft, you make her face heat up, you make her question everything she does

- you make her feel even giddy and overly happy and it kinda annoys her tbh

- she thinks you’re out to get her or something and have casted some spell but when she asks thor he has no idea what she’s talking about until she describes what she’s feeling and he just laughs and thinks she’s joking

- she’s like no. I’m serious ?

- to which thor would tell her what it is, he has a bit of an idea because of Jane

- tbh loving somebody romantically, caring about somebody to this extent scares her

- she’s lost so many people and because of it became a raging alcoholic

- if she lost you she doesn’t know what could happen

- she tries to push you away but quickly realizes she doesn’t like doing that to herself or you

- asks you to go out drinking with her often if you’re up for that

- she’d find it funny how easily you get drunk but has no problem taking care of you, in fact she would probably drink with you more often so she can take care of you because it’s the closest to intimacy she feels she can have with you (no she is not taking advantage of you or anything, it’s more just the thought of taking care of you feels intimate to her)

- also you’re cute while you’re drunk

- trans with you so you can be tougher if you’re not that tough already

- tbh asks thor to do the same with you, whether it be cuz she’s not around or because you need the extra training

- eventually Thor’s at the point where he’s like you gotta tell em and she’s like no 🖕

- but she does eventually

- she’s kinda awkward about it but she tries to sound confident with it ^^

- dating you is very different than just being her friend tbh

- like you might���ve been surprised at her asking you out, even if it’s kinda obvious to anybody that knows her well

- to any stranger you just seemed like friends with a strange rivalry relationship but that’s really not the case

- she’s much more flirty in a relationship, since she’s confident you’re with her for a reason.. she’s not the type to doubt your relationship, you’re with her for a reason

- much more protective in battle though

- she doesn’t say she loves you enough, but she shows it through her actions

- asks thor about the romantic stuff but he has no idea really so she goes to Bruce who kinda has more of a grasp on it

- tries to take you to like normal restaurant dates... kinda awkward since she had no midgardian clothes at that point

- lotsa quick kisses on the cheek or forehead

- likes cuddling as she finds it just.. kinda intimate ?

- still likes to take care of a drunk you

- quick pecks on your lips are very often

- doesn’t like the idea of going on a lot of Thor’s saving the world shits unless you’re on board with it

- thor jokes about how she’s all badass and “I don’t give a fuck about saving the world or anyone else” until it comes to you

- she kicks his ass

- but he’s not wrong

- when she likes you she’s a bit like wtf

- like she doesn’t realize it for a moment until jane explains it

- before she was her usual talkative self but there was a lot of nervousness and stuttering at times, just unusual awkwardness that made Jane raise a brow

- it makes more sense now

- since she’s aware she likes you now she often asks you to hang out, to help her out, whatever it is

- the gal is clingy af what can she say

- lotsa hugs she loves giving you hugs often does them for a greeting

- just an excuse to hold you though tbh

- at times will get tongue tied

- she tries to flirt but it just makes you confused she’s not good at it you’re not even gonna know she’s flirting

- eventually grows impatient about it and is just like “I LIKE U DUMMY! DATE ME!”

- and now you date

- she gets into things a bit quickly so if it’s too fast tell her, hopefully not a dealbreaker

- dates are often because she’s got a lot of creative ideas for dates ^^

- still hugs you as a greeting but a lot longer and intimate and a kiss follows after

- speaking of kisses she LOVES to kiss you and she does so very often

- very needy

- big cuddler

- just like “CUDDLE ME”

- so demanding

- often talks about you and how much she loves you she can’t help it

- but if anybody did the same she like “shut up nobody cares”

- even with you though she’s blunt, but much nicer about it

- likes going on just good dates, restaurants , picnic, whatever

- she eats all the food

- tries to impress you so she might say she was best friends with thor at a point

- and that she’s helped him out before and .. yeah etc

- she likes buying you clothes tbh

- especially if you don’t dress good let her dress you up pls

- would be sad if you didn’t get along with Jane

- it would be a dealbreaker actually

- she knows she’s a bit much so she feels happy you love her anyways

- vision of course will not understand his feelings

- he understands you definitely make him feel something, that something being good

- for a moment he might think he feels like this is how best friends feel towards another, or even thinking he sees you in a familial light

- tony quickly tells him that is not the case

- once vision understands what he really feels he’s not sure how to go about it, he can be quite oblivious

- he’s aware of this but still .. what does he do?

- asks tony for advice, he tells him to flirt and see how it goes

- but tbh that doesn’t work, you don’t even realize he’s flirting gonna be honest

- he’s just bad at it

- so he tries to just simply state his affection, that doesn’t work because he doesn’t know how to word it without it sounding platonic, or getting too nervous about going too far

- he doesn’t wanna overstep boundaries

- tony is in pain watching this btw

- tony eventually is just like “he wants to know if you would like to go on a date” “w- I.. yes?”

- in a relationship he is very sweet

- kinda cliche though, since he doesn’t have a concept of romance at all

- looks up a lot of the things he should know about romance he doesn’t want to ask you that

- while he has no problem protecting you, he doesn’t feel the need to be overly protective unless needed

- he’s logical, reasonable, he only gets protective if he has to, even with how he feels towards you

- but do you distract him? Yes absolutely

- he’s okay with living comfortably and normally for once with you, unless it’s something you don’t want or are not ready for

- once you’re conditioned to a certain lifestyle, even if it isn’t a good one it can be uncomfortable to get out of and he understands that

- he loves to kiss you, often initiates kisses or forms of affection

- you were the first to kiss him, it made him so flustered but so happy and now he’s addicted to kissing you

- loves kissing your hands

- if you have any insecurity he will do anything in his power to prove you wrong and that he doesn’t see you in that light

- he understands he has responsibilities but other than that, loves spending his time with you

- he understands you’re a distraction so he tries not to fight with you, he wants to prioritize the people when it comes to this kinda thing

- which you of course understand

- once you teach him what dancing is, his love language is dancing with you

- you two just stay up talking about nothing and everything

- having kids with him isn’t an option, but he isn’t opposed to adopting children

- after all, all he’s ever wanted was to be a normal significant other to you

- do not have a huge concept on her character so forgive me 🙏

- she can be a bit flirty, not that you mind though right ?

- she just loves spending all her time with you

- probably met you before wandavision

- so you’re probably already together

- even then in wandavision you two were “roommates”

- doesn’t explain all the flirting girl .

- agathas fall would be letting Wanda find out she had a soft spot for you my god

- while she’s all confidence and flirty in general, she’s a bit softer with you

- like she genuinely means the things she says when it comes to you

- eventually asks you to date her, you don’t have much room for dates outside of wandavision

- you two are always together btw

- loves dancing with you

- she has a good grasp on romance so she has no issue with it

- she is full of confidence when it comes down to it tbh

- holds your hand often

- your relationship ain’t official till like the 70s probably

- might joke after wanda has kids that you both should have kids too

- while she’s causing her mischief you back her up to make her look less suspicious

- seriously in the mist of all this she’s grateful for you

- especially when you get her out of the hell that Wanda puts her in once again

- to which she will actually confess she loves you, and cares for you

- you aren’t just like.. some person to date

- she’s not the most vulnerable obviously

- so the fact she finally is.. it’s just a lot

- “idk I just love u a lot hun . Cant I show I love u 😊”

- she’s just so overly sweet with you

- she’s so awful to everyone else at times that she just likes being .. with you and being a softie

- likes you playing with her hair

- she loves a good cuddle

- cute nicknames like hon, or hun, or just teddy bear

- with a crush quill might try to act overly friendly

- and probably flirts a lot

- he’s very like obvious with the flirting so you’d have to be oblivious not to notice it

- he can be quite protective as well

- like not just in fighting but even with just others like even before dating he’s very jealous

- if he makes a joke you’re always in on it somehow

- he tries for form a close bond with you just cuz he likes you so much

- it’s likely he likes somebody that can easily protect themselves doe

- probably has some dumb handshake with you

- honestly he acts like a close friend to you

- people might mistake you for a sibling like relationship if it weren’t for his flirting and him staring at you like you’re his entire universe

- seriously Sam says Bucky has a staring problem, quill is fucking awful

- it’s constant and rocket is always like “you’re staring”

- and he’s like “nO” and then continues to stare

- has you listen to his favorite music of course

- especially the love songs ;D

- will just dance with you to the music he puts on

- one time you guys are dancing to the music he put on like normal but it’s a slow love song, so hes like let’s so dance bae

- and then he tells you how he feels for u

- now u date <3

- lots of forehead kisses

- cuddle bug absolutely

- still a jealous boyfriend though tbh he will try to seem all tough in front of any man he thinks might be better or something he will do anything to show off

- your relationship doesn’t change just lots of kisses and hugs now and I love yous

- you’re totally the relationship that’s like “I love you more” “nooo I love you more” and the guardians hate y’all so much

- he uses nicknames like hun, honey, love, sweetheart

- let’s just say you slow dance more often, and kiss while doing so ^^

- he flirts with you still but it’s a lot more sweet rather than before where he might’ve just flirted with you in terms of like it being kinda like calling you sexy and shit like that, now it’s more like wow u look beautiful I luv u 😊🙏

- would do anything for you, even if he wouldn’t like it

- doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hesitate tho

- going on separate dates isn’t really an option since you guys fight left and right and are always with the guardians, but he decided every once a couple months you guys go on a date together and have some fun

- Loki doesn’t get crushes, so this is a new thing for him

- and tbh he doesn’t know how to take it either, especially when he realizes how strong those feelings actually are

- he hates the idea of being vulnerable in general, especially when it comes to you

- over time it just... happens

- but if there’s any indication he likes spending time with you he will try to lie his way through it, he’s a good liar of course so it probably works

- however he shows he at the very least cares about you, he shows a sign of protectiveness when it comes to potential enemies.. enemies that happen to be dangerous for you

- plus he’s around you like constantly and claims he has nobody else to harass

- he claims he doesn’t care about you at all, but even thor can tell through this lie

- the way he looks at you makes it obvious

- the way he doesn’t try to get you involved in his more dangerous schemes

- and if you do, and you get hurt he feels guilty and tries to help you feel better

- he claims he just owes you one for getting you hurt though

- eventually thor bothers him enough to get him to confess feelings, which takes a lot for Loki to even go through with

- he acts confident, even moreso after you say yes, but deep down was extremely nervous

- the male is good at making you feel important, after trying so hard to hide his feelings he is tired of it and just wants to be more honest about how he feels about you

- no issue being vulnerable, he trusts you but sometimes it can be hard

- he goes to you for a lot of his problems, even if you cannot help, just venting and you listening helps

- he was already with you a lot but now there’s no excuses and it’s even moreso

- “what? I just wanted to visit my beautiful s/o” “we literally just saw eachother 5 minutes ago can I please go to bed”

- likes pressing your foreheads together, he finds it sweet

- jealous of thor? Absolutely. Pls comfort him and tell him you’d never leave him for thor

- he’s so used to just not being as good as him, he wants to be good enough for you

- deep down there’s just so many insecurities he has

- so it causes him to worry like all the time

- having a reassuring and patient s/o is so good for him ^^

- flirting becomes a thing in your relationship

- it makes him feel more confident pls give him this

- protective, he feels like he has to be tbh because he never gets anything good in his life and if he does he loses it, he’s scared to lose you too

- if for some reason he can’t see you he makes an illusion of you to talk to

- when he fake dies you’re the first he goes to see so you don’t think he’s dead, he loves you he wouldn’t want to do that to you =(

- finally

- gonna be honest bucky with a crush is cute

- first of all he smiles at you a lot, Steve is the first to notice how much he smiles around you, it’s the most he smiles like ever

- just has a lot of nice conversations with you about anything and everything

- also whenever you’re around even if other people are around you he’s just like “hey y/n :)”

- heart eyes for you, just can’t help but stare all the time

- he has a staring problem but with you? Yeah 10x over

- Sam always has something to say abt it also

- his idea of flirting with you is really just saying hi to you, just being overly friendly which is noticeable for a guy like Bucky

- eventually would ask you out, he tries to ease into it but he gets a bit impatient

- he was also nervous asking you out but yk

- when dating him he becomes very protective

- one of the most protective bitches on the list tbh

- he gets nightmares about you dying like all the time it breaks him everytime though

- lots of cuddles, whether it be from a rough day, he’s just tired, or had a nightmare

- he likes his hair being brushed by you and played with, even when he cuts it

- he’s scared of killing you and turning into the winter soldier again

- has dreams about when he’s hurt and fought you as the winter soldier, he keeps thinking about if Steve wasn’t there to help, he really could’ve killed you and that terrifies him

- even when you tell him it wasn’t him, he appreciates it but still feels horrible about it

- touch that metal arm, but like gently Yknow . Nobody’s ever touched that arm with such kindness and it makes him soft and feel lucky

- speaking of soft Bucky is very soft, there’s many soft moments with Bucky and vulnerability

- it’s easy to be vulnerable with you but not others

- lots of handholding

- he loves hugging you for long periods of time

- still has a staring problem but now Sam openly makes fun of him

- just big dumb smile on his face as he looks at you

- especially when you’re dealing with kids, seeing you be around them makes his heart warm

- maybe he does wanna be normal, settle down and have kids

- though the thought scares him it is something he desires

- we all know he calls you doll

[imherongraystairstrash]

De-age Will Part II

I just realized I’m incapable of writing normal-sized fics ✌️

Part 1

(I just realized how weird the word “part” is lol)

...

Henry was walking past when he heard Charlotte’s voice speaking softly. He poked his head into the room and saw that she was reading a storybook, little Will pressed to the side of her body yawning tiredly and rubbing his eyes with his small fists. Henry leaned against the door and watched as Charlotte smiled while she read, not able to help keeping the same smile from spreading across his. 

Her voice was vibrant and fluctuating in tone as different characters spoke. Her eyes widened when she put extra empathizes on a word and whenever she turned a page, she would plant a kiss on Will’s forehead or cheek. She would also periodically rub his back or stroke his cheek, which never failed to make Will nuzzle closer to her, enough so that he rested his tiny fists on her abdomen. 

Henry’s heart yearned for Charlotte, so much so that each day he seemed to love her more and more. His Lottie. She may not love him the same way, but being able to call her his wife, to wake up every morning next to her, was the greatest blessing he could receive.

As he watched her reading to Will, it struck him how much he wanted a child. One with Charlotte. They had Jem, Jessamine, Will, Sophie and Thomas, but a baby would be different. A little child they could hold at night a fuss over and teach all sorts of things, like how to walk and talk. Henry knew, however he could never ask that of Charlotte, for she did not feel the same, and perhaps she didn’t share the same feelings over a child… Or, maybe she didn’t wish to bear his child. They could always adopt, but that would still require a certain level of affection towards each other, affection Charlotte didn’t hold for him. It would be easy for Charlotte to file for a divorce, if she wanted one, however, it got more complex once there was a child in the middle.

So, Henry just watched as Will’s eyes slowly closed and soon he was asleep against Charlotte’s shoulder. She kissed his forehead and gently tucked him into bed before following Henry out the door.

Henry cast a final look at little Will before closing the door behind him. 

Charlotte’s smile remained on her lips the entire walk back to their room. 

Henry wanted to put his arm around her, to hold her close as they walked through the empty institute halls. But, he loved her too dearly to ever do such a thing as make her uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and Charlotte looked up.

“You were wonderful with Will.” he said, blushing.

She blushed too as she replied. “I didn’t know how much I adored children until I had to take care of one.”

“I feel the same way.”

She glanced up at him, surprised. He looked down at her, tilting his head to the side.

Charlotte turned a dark shade of crimson as she spoke again.

“Do you wish to have a ch—” she cleared her throat. “A child?”

Now it was Henry’s turn to blush. “I guess I would, if you want one too.”

Charlotte looked up at him in wonder. “You would want a child?”

“A child with you, Lottie, would be a blessing.”

She turned her head in an attempt to hide her smile, but Henry already saw it.

“Likewise.” She whispered.

They reached their room and Henry opened the door to let her in. As she walked inside, Henry couldn’t help but think that sometimes, it felt as though Charlotte truly loved him.

She turned on her heels. “Do you want to try tonight?” she asked quietly.

“Try what?” Henry asked.

“To…Oh, never mind.” She said, clearly embarrassed.

“What is it Lottie?” Henry said, eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “What did you want to try?”

Charlotte looked at him, took a deep breath and spoke quickly: “To conceive a child.”

Henry was appalled and must have looked it, too, for Charlotte appeared to be horrified.

“Henry, no, I was—”

Henry crossed to the room and held her small hands in his. 

“Of course. Of course I want to.” He whispered. 

Charlotte looked up at him in wonder, a piece of hair escaping from where it was tied back. Henry took out the pins that held it into place. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders, framing her lovely face.

“You’re beautiful.” Henry whispered. “Lovely Lottie, my angel from heaven.” 

Her lips pressed against his and for a moment, they seemed to forget. Forget that they thought the other didn’t love them, because that moment, and what was to follow, was nothing short of glorious.

… 

The next morning, Jem woke up to find a pair of dark blue eyes hovering over him. He yelled. Will put his small hands on Jem’s face and stared intently into his face. 

“Good morning, Will.” Jem said gruffly.

Will giggled and put his arms around Jem’s neck. Jem’s head fell back on his pillows and he closed his eyes, still very tired from tossing and turning all night, worried for his parabatai and the fading rune. It’s not that Jem needed the bond; Will would always be his other half, as though, before they came into this world, their souls made a pact that they would keep a part of the other, so that they would have find each other again in the mess of the earth, to give back what belonged to the other. But, Jem couldn’t imagine never getting to see Will as an adolescent ever again. Will was still Will, but Jem couldn’t lay beside him at night and speak of his worries. His Will was like his twin brother, not a little child. 

Jem sighed. This was too strange. He put an arm around Will and let him rest on his collarbone until Charlotte came inside.

“Oh, there he is, that little minx. He got away from me.”

Jem sat up and held Will out to Charlotte, but Will didn’t seem to want to be parted from Jem just yet, and made a fuss over the whole exchange until he was back in Jem’s arms.

“He’s much more spoiled, as a baby.” Jem said, regarding Will, who was smiling wide and embracing Jem furiously. For a toddler, he had a surprising strong grip.

“Yes, well.” Charlotte said. “I suggest you get dressed, Jem darling. Ragnor has agreed to come.”

“He has?” Jem asked, appalled.

“Yes, though he made it very clear that his schedule was busy and that he couldn’t stay for long.”

“In that case…Will,” he said, turning to the boy.  “Why don’t you go with Charlotte? I’ll be right down.” 

Will looked sad, but acquiesced, stretching his hands out to Charlotte. She took him in her arms.

“We’ll be downstairs.” She said, closing the door behind her.

Jem sighed and slowly got out of his pajamas and dressed in day’s clothes, trying (and failing) to not think too hard about Will. 

…

What entailed after Ragnor arrived at the Institute was simple. He deemed that Will would be fine and that the spell was temporary. Should Will not be back to normal in three days time, they could message Magnus Bane, who was not nearly as busy as Ragnor was.

“You’d think he’s the emperor.” Sophie said to Jem, “With how busy he is all the time.”

“I really wish he would just say he doesn’t enjoy our company.” Jem said. “It would require so much less effort.”

“I suppose he is being diplomatic.” Sophie said with a shrug. Will ran up to her and hugged her legs. “Oh,” Sophie said to Will. “What do you want, then?”

He put his fist up and Sophie held her hand out. Will dropped a piece of yarn into her palm and ran away.

“Why does he keep giving me these things?” Sophie asked, holding the yarn out in front of her.

Jem shrugged. 

…

Charlotte cursed in her head. Why is it that everybody feels the urge to pay the institute a visit when it’s the least convenient to her? 

“Mr. Lightwood!” She said pleasantly, as he came in. “What a surprise to see you here; we weren’t expecting you.”

“Let us skip the pleasantries, Charlotte, I have business to discuss with your husband and yourself.”

He walked past her and strode to the direction of the institute study.

…

Jem watched as Charlotte and Mr. Lightwood walked up the stairs and Sophie sped away to fetch Henry. Will was standing next to him and Jem didn’t know whether to hide him, or just pretend like it was normal to have a small replica of Will at his side. He decided that the latter might lead to questions he couldn’t answer, so he nudged Will towards the direction of the kitchen, where hopefully Agatha would keep an eye on him. 

Jem then watched as Gabriel strode over to him and, when he came to a stop, Jem couldn’t help but notice a bruise on Gabriel’s cheekbone. He must have been staring because Gabriel scowled and cleared his throat just as he was going to inquire about it. 

“Where’s the other idiot to your duo, then?” Gabriel asked. 

“He’s…out.” Said Jem.

“Out?”

“Yes, he’s having an…erm…episode?”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Gabriel dryly.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret, Gabriel.” Said Jem, darkly.

Gabriel side-eyed him. “What are you going to do? What with your debilitating sickness, I would assume—”

Miniature Will, like his older counterpart, seemed to know the exact worst timing to appear.

He ran at Gabriel and hit his leg with a spoon. Gabriel’s face softened but then quickly hardened into a grimace. Jem couldn’t help but wonder if Gabriel was fond of children and was trying to hide it.

“Who is this brat?” He spat. “By the Angel, the poor child looks like Herondale. How unfortunate for him.”

Jem stopped breathing as Gabriel took a closer look.

“Actually, he looks exactly like Herondale. The resemblance is quite uncanny.” Gabriel stopped and then a delighted smile stretched across his face. “Wait a moment. Is this Herondale’s bastard?”

“No!” Jem said, picking up Will—who was still attacking Gabriel with his spoon— and shoving him behind a door. Jem knew Gabriel wasn’t going to be so easily fooled by the Cartwright story so he improvised the best he could. “He’s Will’s cousin. His…sister brought him here.”

“His cousin?”

“Yes. And as a matter a fact, he is very territorial and doesn’t like meeting new people, so I suggest you leave.” 

Gabriel scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “His sister brought him here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, how I pity that sister.” Gabriel said. “Imagine Herondale being your brother. And the poor fool who marries her. What if the children look like William? Oh Lord, now that would be a curse.” Gabriel shuddered. 

Jem was about to say something when Benedict Lightwood and Charlotte came back.

“Get in the carriage.” Benedict snapped at his son. “We’re leaving.”

Gabriel’s shoulders hunched ever so slightly as he trailed behind his father without so much as a wave goodbye to Jem. Hopefully, Gabriel was too preoccupied with his life to further inquire about this the next time they met.

Just as the Lightwoods were leaving, Will (somehow) managed to open the door and began chasing after them. Charlotte had barely managed to grab the collar of his shirt to keep him from running off. 

Benedict Lightwood must have heard the commotion and turned around. Jem tried to move in front of Will in an attempt to cover him up, but Benedict had already seen.

“Why is it that every time I come here, there’s more children? You’d think they’d created a cloning machine and activate it every time they realize their current children are failures.” He grumbled to himself.

Once he walked out, Thomas shut the heavy door closed with an air of finality and, everybody’s ramrod straight backs, relaxed.

Charlotte whirled around to face Will. “You better turn back into your old self again before you get us into any more trouble, do you understand me, young man?”

Will blinked at her. 

Charlotte sighed and turned around, perhaps too stressed to deal with this problem at the moment. Henry walked in and Charlotte pointed to Will.

“Jem, why don’t you take Will to the park or something. Benedict came in to give Henry and I a lot of work to do and it should take all morning.”

Jem nodded and held his finger out for Will to grab. The smaller boy gleefully wrapped his hand around his parabatai’s index finger. 

…

Will’s eyes darkened. “Duck.” he spat out.

Jem looked at the ducks that were standing idly by the pond. “Will, they’re not going to do anything.”

Will still looked mutinous. 

Jem sighed. Why couldn’t Will be like normal children, who could stare at ducks for hours on end? Better question yet: How is it that Will’s hatred for ducks ran so deep that even as a child, he despised them?

“Come here, Will. How about we sit down?” Jem crossed his legs and Will followed suit.

Jem had brought a biscuit for Will, and gave it to him while he stared out at the landscape in front of them. 

Jem sensed that there was something strange in the atmosphere, and it wasn’t London’s normal, filthy, city air. It was like the calm before the storm; something was brewing and it was about to explode. 

Before Jem could order further, a duck suddenly came from behind them and quacked before Jem could stop it. Will screamed and ran away, which caused the duck to chase after him. 

“Why do these sort of things always happen to me?” Jem grumbled, chasing after Will and the duck.

.....

Tagging some people who enjoyed the last part:

@autumnangel20 @heronstairs2014 @hitheresomeoneusingthus @itsdaughterofthemoon @carstairstessa @minaxcarstairs 

[barrysjumpsuit]

the killing in kildare - an outer banks/criminal minds crossover (jj pov)

this came to be thanks to a post by @pixelated-pogues and @poguesoftheobx and tbh my main motivation for this was jj being an asshole to feds

word count: 3k

warnings: mentions of (canon) abuse, some abuse/fighting, mentions of canon murder, this is purely unedited so prob typos and bad grammar idc

summary: following the murder of sherriff peterkin, our favorite BAU team comes in to assist the kildare county police department with their case

a/n: i hate this and rewrote it twice, but here ya go!!! couldn’t make it a true criminal minds bau type case due to the canon but i did my best. also there’s mayward if u squint

---

“We haven’t had a homicide here in ten years,” Deputy Shoupe was explaining as he led the BAU team through the police station. “All sorts of weird shit going down lately. We’re at our wits end.”

“And all this happened after Routledge’s disappearance?” Agent Hotchner asked, weaving his way through desks as Shoupe unlocked the conference room door. 

“Yes sir, his kid - also John Routledge, we call him John B - thought he’s out there, but we’ve officially deemed him dead after he didn’t show up after a couple months, now the kid says a local killed him. Have a seat.”

Shoupe gestured to the chairs surrounding the table, and the team sat down, Hotchner and Rossi near the head of the table. They all listened while Shoupe explained what went down over the course of the past year - Big John’s disappearance, which turned out to be linked to his hunt for the gold of the Royal Merchant. Word had it that a man named Ward Cameron, the elite of the island, was responsible, or at least involved. “That statement came from Routledge’s kid, so I’m not sure how true it is,” Shoupe explained. 

Turns out, Shoupe believed it was the younger Routledge who murdered Sheriff Peterkin. A local reported him running around, covered in blood. He had become involved in the treasure hunt with his friends, wreaking havoc around the island in the process. There were strange men who reportedly chased the kids, who later turned up dead in someone’s nets, sporting wounds from a gaff hook.

“And now Pete…” Shoupe continued, trailing off. “That kid’s on the loose. We haven’t seen or heard anything about him in a few days. We think he got away, but I still have officers out keeping an eye open.”

It wasn’t the type of case the BAU would normally take on, but it was interesting. A hunt for treasure, mysterious men and local residents turning up dead, and the murder of the Sheriff.

There were a few questions and a brief silence as the team looked over the photos and files they had been given. Morgan finally spoke up, his voice filled with determination. “We’ll find whoever did this.”

--

JJ laid on the dock, swinging his feet which dangled off the edge. The tips of his boots barely skimmed the water. In one hand, he pinched a joint between two fingers. His eyes were closed, and occasionally he sucked on the joint, enjoying the calmness that overwhelmed his system, easing the anxiety that had been overwhelming ever since he saw John B disappear the night before.

They had finally eased off the search once there was word of his escape. He was out of Kildare County, out of jurisdiction. 

With no more cops hanging around, JJ could finally return to the Chateau. He knew he couldn’t go home - his dad had probably realized that JJ had stolen the keys to the Phantom by now, and JJ would be a goner. Being at the Chateau was familiar and comfortable.

Both Kiara and Pope had returned home to be with their families. Ever since two nights before, JJ had been at the Chateau, Kiara having dropped off food from The Wreck to last him a few days.

JJ was too caught up in his thoughts to hear the footsteps making their way down the dock until someone spoke. “JJ Maybank?”

He knew the voice of a cop when he heard it; JJ bolted upright, immediately jumping into the water, his joint long forgotten as he plunged under the water and started swimming.

Arms suddenly wrestled him. “We just want to talk, kid,” someone said, and JJ threw an elbow their way. Whoever had jumped in and grabbed him was too big, and wrestled him back to the dock. “Grab him, Spence.”

Hands pulled JJ back onto the dock. “You’re not in any trouble, JJ.”

JJ struggled in his hold, but more hands were on him, and he knew he couldn’t get away.

“Alright, you got me, congratulations,” he said, throwing his hands up. “John B didn’t kill Peterkin, he didn’t kill anybody.”

“Hold up, kid,” the first man said. JJ saw that they weren’t dressed like normal cops, and the man soon confirmed his suspicions. “My name is Derek Morgan, this is Spencer Reid, we’re with the FBI. We just have a few questions.”

“Ask away,” JJ said, exasperated. He was cornered on the end of the dock by the two agents.

“We’d like you to come with us,” Agent Reid explained. “To take an official statement. You won’t get in any trouble and you’ll be able to leave whenever you want.”

“If your friend is innocent, we want to help him, all right? That’s what we’re here for.”

Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the fact that John B was gone and safe. Whatever the case, JJ nodded, allowing the agents to walk him to their SUV to take him back to the police station. He was more than aware of all the looks everyone gave him. JJ greeted them, in typical JJ fashion, and he was brought into an office.

A blonde woman was sitting at the conference table, papers and files spread out before her while she spoke on the phone. JJ recognized the photos of the two square groupers that were killed, hauled up in nets by some fishermen. His stomach turned at the memory of them breaking into John B’s house. 

The agent set the phone down onto the table before sticking out her hand. “My name’s Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ. You’re a friend of John B’s?”

JJ laughed. “JJ, that’s a good name, I like it.” He smiled with satisfaction as Jennifer’s face flushed red. “Look at that, we even look alike, we’re both blond bombshells.” 

“This is JJ Maybank,” Agent Morgan interjected, a smile tugging on his lips, too. 

“Well, all right, JJ. Can you tell us what happened? From the beginning? We found that the officers here tended to have a… biased report, so sorry about that.” Her eyes shifted slowly towards Deputy Shoupe.

“Nah, it’s all good. I have a bit of a reputation here, so that doesn’t surprise me.” JJ couldn’t help but throw a wink towards Shoupe. “Ol’ Shoupe and I here know each other pretty well.”

There was a pang of satisfaction inside JJ as Shoupe sighed. “Just shut up and talk, Maybank.”

“Aight. So, JB’s dad was looking for this gold his whole life, ya know? He went missing at sea about a year ago. Then this month, after Agatha, my friends and I were out fishing and we found a sunk boat. It belonged to Scooter Grubbs, and we were like ‘oh, how did he get his grubby little hands on it?’” he paused, clearly proud of the joke he made. “Anyway. Scooter turned up dead and we found a compass in the boat. It was JB’s dad’s. So we were like ‘holy shit, it’s a ghost compass’. But after we found that compass we were chased by some guys, total square groupers - they tried to shoot us! Then they next day we went to ask Scooter’s wife about it but found the guys there, then they came to JB’s house looking for him and the compass. Then we found a map and tape recorder to John B from his dad in this creepy ass tomb the compass told us to go to, and we knew something was up.”

JJ paused for dramatic effect. Everyone, even Shoupe, was watching and listening intently, Jennifer scribbling down notes as a tape recorder played on the table. Agent Morgan was visibly amused by JJ’s storytelling.

He continued with the story. “So we found the shipwreck, right? But there wasn’t anything on it. So we were like damn, someone beat us to it. But then John B started mackin’ Sarah Cameron-”

Agent Reid made a confused face at his slang.

“Mackin’. You know, making out, dating, Sarah Cameron. Turns out, there was a letter left by Denmark Tanney. He was the sole survivor and hid all the gold at the Crain house. But this is where it gets good,” JJ said, leaning forward, as if the story wasn’t thrilling enough already. “Ward Cameron must have known that John B was looking for the gold. He had him move into his house and must have overheard him talking to Sarah about the gold. The gold was gone. Ward loaded it up in his plane. While this was happening, John B went to Lana, Scooter’s wife, and she told him everything. About how Big John and Ward were looking for the gold, and they were about to find the merchant, then Ward shoved John and split his head open and dumped him over the side of the boat.”

“We have agents talking to Lana Grubbs right now,” Jennifer said, and JJ nodded vigorously.

“Good. Oh yeah, JB said Ward took him fishing and tried to kill him with a gaff hook. That ring any bells?” JJ looked from Morgan to Reid, and then to Jennifer, who just nodded. “So turns out Scooter found his body and got the compass. Then he was coming back when Aggie hit. After JB found out, he was pissed, man, and we went to the runway to stop Ward from stealing the gold. He was taking it and Sarah to the Bahamas. JB went out to try to stop him. He said Peterkin showed up to arrest Ward, but then Ward’s kid Rafe - he’s a crazy motherfucker - shot Peterkin, John B ran because Rafe was gonna shoot him too, then Ward called our friend Shoupe and said John B shot her and denied everything.”

“Did you witness anything at the airport?” Morgan asked, walking to sit down beside JJ.

JJ shifted uncomfortably, filling with guilt. “No, we ran once Peterkin showed up. I’m on probation. I didn’t need to get caught out there. As far as I know, the only people who were there were Peterkin, Ward, Rafe, John B, and-”

He stopped speaking as Jennifer’s attention was immediately diverted, her eyes locked on something outside the window. JJ’s head whipped around, seeing the one person he never wanted to see ever again. All of his cockiness and charm was gone the second he laid eyes on his father.

“Reid, lock the door,” Jennifer said quietly as Shoupe and Morgan slipped out of the office, leaving the three of them. From outside, JJ could hear yelling, the voices of his father and Shoupe unmistakable.

“Don’t let him anywhere near me,” JJ said suddenly, almost pleadingly.

“Who is that?” Agent Reid asked, and Jennifer nodded as if acknowledging that she was thinking the same thing.

JJ muttered, “My dad,” wheeling his chair out of view from the window.

“We won’t let him near you, okay?” he heard the woman say, and JJ just nodded. “I’m going to call the rest of my team to see how it’s going, you can stay in here. It’s safe here. We’ll be back soon with some more questions for you.”

JJ nodded again, opening his eyes and watching the two agents leave the room, closing and locking the door behind them. 

He sat alone for a while before pulling out his phone. He noticed he had several missed calls and texts from Pope and Kiara; he called Pope back, greeted by the frantic sound of his voice. “Dude, where the hell are you!”

“Bro, the FBI is here looking for whoever killed Peterkin,” JJ said, not answering his question. 

“You’re talking to them?” Pope asked in a worried but hushed tone. “JJ, you’re actually talking to feds?”

“Hey, they wanna help John B, man. Help him and put away the Camerons.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I told them everything, Pope. They’re talking to Miss Lana too. Who knows, if you or Kie back me up-”

“JJ!” Pope was yelling now. “JJ, do you know how many laws we’ve broken? No, JJ.”

JJ opened his mouth to say something, but quickly hung up the phone as the door opened and a two stoic, official looking men walked in.

“I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Rossi,” the taller one stated. His tone was flat and hard, and JJ instantly didn’t like him.

“Are you here to take my story again? The recorder’s right there bro, I don’t even think she turned it off.” He pointed to the tape recorder, which was still running.

“No, we’re here to ask if you would happen to know where Rafe Cameron could be hiding.”

“His house? It’s really big, you might want to check everywhere.”

“We did a full sweep of the place,” Agent Hotchner said in the same disinterested tone. “Any friend’s place? Anything like that?”

JJ sighed. “He’s this guy’s bitch. Some basehead named Barry. If my dad’s out there, ask him about where to find him, he buys coke off him. Rafe does, too. The two of them jumped me a few days ago.”

“Do you know where he lives?” the other agent asked, his voice slightly softer. “His father isn’t speaking, we’ve arrested him but can’t find his son.”

“Where’s Ward? I’d like to talk to him.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that, son.” Agent Rossi pulled out the chair next to JJ and sat down. “Where does this Barry guy live?”

JJ sighed. “Shitty little trailer on the west side of Sunshine street. Ironic, huh? Dude’s full of sunshine.” He paused as Hotch watched him through narrowed eyes. “Second place south of the Dollar General, you can’t miss it, it’s a shithole.”

“Thanks, JJ,” Agent Hotcher said, and the two men left, closing and locking the door behind them again.

Sighing, he kicked his feet up onto the chair that Agent Rossi had vacated, rubbing at his temple. He had barely eaten since John B left, and barely slept. His high had worn off, leaving him tired and with a subtle yet persistent headache.

“I want this fuckin’ thing to be over,” he muttered to himself.

A voice made him open his eyes and walk over to the window. Ward Cameron was walking through the main space of the station, his large strides quickly covering ground, followed by two officers. He was yelling at Jennifer, the agent hardly flinching as he berated her. The glass muffled his voice, but JJ could tell he was pulling either the wealth card or the my-daughter-ran-away-from-home card on her.

“Hey Ward!” JJ yelled, pounding his palm against the glass. “Ward!”

The man’s head eventually turned to see JJ, and seconds later, he was at the pane of glass, yelling at him. 

“You’re a fucking murderer, Ward!” JJ yelled, ignoring the words Ward was throwing at him. Your friend could have killed my daughter. You ruined her life. You ruined my life. You’re a liar. JJ countered with words of his own. “You killed Big John! You killed those men! You tried to kill my best friend! Your son killed Peterkin! You don’t care about your family, Ward!”

The last sentence made him snap. Jennifer and two officers were trying to restrain Ward, but he shoved them off, picking up and chair and throwing it at the window.

Luckily, the window was made for scenarios like this. Ward couldn’t touch JJ, and both of them knew it. They kept yelling until they finally cuffed Ward, leading him out of view, JJ’s face still pressed against the window, his body shaking with rage.

He flinched as the door opened, and Agent Reid came in, standing in the doorway sheepishly. 

“What do you want?” JJ muttered, plopping back down in the chair he had been sitting in before.

The agent shrugged. “Just thought you might want to talk, is all. Nothing you’ll say leaves this room.”

JJ regarded him through squinted eyes, his arms crossed across his chest. “Why do you think I need a therapy session?”

Reid shrugged again. “Thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. You’ve been through a lot recently. I can tell there’s more going on than what you told us.”

He sighed. “Everything just went to shit so quick. My best friend was framed for murder, he left, and now my dad wants to kill me the first chance he gets. And once they get the Camerons I’ll be expected to resume life as normal.” He threw up his hands for effect. “Life was never normal, life was never good. It’s fucked, man.”

--

JJ sat with Reid for another hour or two. The small talk had eventually drifted into an awkward silence, broken by more yelling.

“I didn’t do it!” JJ heard from outside the office. He could recognize Rafe’s voice anywhere, and it filled him with rage.

Reid had forgotten to lock the door. In one fluid motion, JJ was on his feet, throwing the door open, running and tackling Rafe, knocking him from the agent’s grasps. Grabbing his shoulders and throwing him against the ground, JJ collapsed to his knees, one on either side of Rafe.

He was helpless with his hands cuffed, and Agent Morgan pulled JJ off Rafe, restraining him. “Easy, big guy,” Morgan said cooly. “We’ve made the arrests, JJ, your friend’s name is cleared. You can get out of here.”

“What?” JJ asked stupidly, looking to a woman he had not yet met. She had long, straight black hair.

“You’re free to leave. Your story matches up with what Lana Grubbs told us, and we were able to recover a gun from the Cameron residence that matched the type used in the murder of Sheriff Peterkin.”

At that, she followed the others, leaving JJ standing in the middle of the police station. He could hear muffled shouts of Rafe, which dissipated after a door slammed.

It was over. JJ almost didn’t know what to do, so he just left.

A body collided with his, then another. He struggled at first, but recognized the arms wrapped around him, and melted into Pope and Kiara’s embraces.

“They made the arrests,” JJ found himself saying. “JB’s gonna be okay.”

tagging @jellyfishbeansontoast @pixelated-pogues @kookkyra @poguesoftheobx @shawnssongs @stargazingstarkey @letsgofullkook @jjmaybcnks @ims0golden @jjsmentalpolaroids @queenk00k @sortagaysortahigh @thegreatestofheck

[impractical-au]

Impractical Ch. 2

<<Chapter 1 An ALiPverse Story Note: Parts of the beginning have been revealed in the Origins stories but this is the official story! You can read those to get an idea of what’s going on but be wary of spoilers! Chapter 2

Roman sat on the couch of his shared apartment, hunched over with his mask in his hands. It was crudely made with his limited knowledge and a few hours online searching, but he was proud of it. He ran his thumb over a part of the border that held on a piece of gold ribbon that was hanging on by hot glue. It was uncomfortable to wear but it was his. It’s what made him Prince Charging. It’s what allowed him to run around and help people as he had always dreamed.

It did nothing against his best friend who had discovered his secret anyway. He knew he had to be careful around Patton, but his friend had listened to him as he shamefully hung his head and admitted to running into danger on a daily basis. To his surprise, Patton had admitted to knowing about it before they had moved in together before walking off to make them some tea so they could talk.

 “Okay!” Patton walked in with two mugs in his hands, eyes focused on them so he didn’t spill either as he walked. “Got the tea ready! Just how you like it, here you go.” “Thanks, Pat,” Roman took the mug and let the warmth soak into his hands. He had removed his gloves just before his mask and now was grateful he had done so. He looked into the dark liquid at his poor reflection. He never really looked at himself as Prince, usually throwing on the costume as quickly as he could for fear of being caught. 

 He felt Patton take a seat next to him with his mug in his hands. “Roman?” He glanced up and noticed Patton’s expression, wondering what thoughts were running through his friend’s head. “You okay?”

 “I’m fine. You’re, uh, taking this a bit better than I had expected, I suppose…”

 He felt a weight lifted as Patton smiled before looking down at his mug. “Yeah, well, I did want to talk to you about it first. You know, calmly…” Patton turned toward the doorway to the kitchen. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to just drop that on you.”

 Roman placed his mug on the table atop one of Patton’s punny coasters and shook his head. “No, no! It’s fine! You were worried for me, I can understand that.” He reached over and placed his hand on Patton’s knee. “I appreciate how accepting and caring you’ve been.”

 Patton’s eyes flickered to the doorway again before turning back to his tea. “There’s something I have to share with you, Ro.”

 “What is it?”

 Patton looked at the doorway as footsteps approached. Hugging himself close was someone who looked exactly like Patton wearing the same outfit. He smiled and waved a bit before turning his gaze to the floor. “Hi,” he spoke softly as if worried his voice would give out on him.

 “You have a twin?” Roman looked between the two before Patton shook his head. “Am I missing something?”

 “Roman,” Patton placed his mug down next to Roman’s and turned toward him. “This is Two. He’s my… duplicate? I’ve called them my Pals. I can make them… from myself.” Patton looked over at Roman and shrugged. “I have powers too?”

 Roman stared at Two before he started to smile. “Patton, this is amazing!” Roman shot up from his spot on the couch and tugged on Patton’s arm, pulling him up as well. “You have powers! We have powers!” Patton chuckled as Roman started bouncing around. “Yes, I do! I was trying to plan on how I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want to before you told me first. I didn’t want to pressure you into revealing your secret.” Roman started giggling and Patton began bouncing with him. “You seem excited!”

 Roman gasped and stopped grabbing Patton by his shoulders and smiling. “Become a hero with me!”

 “What?!”

 ---

 “-new about the newest hero in town, the Vigilante, has spread since the recent shooting downtown.”

 “That’s not what I said!” The hooded figure threw his hands in the air, gripping the remote as the local news prattled on about the same things they’ve been repeating every hour. However, they played the clip of him calling himself The Vigilant and then said his name wrong.

 He wasn’t a vigilante! He was vigilant! Determined and stubborn to keep the city safe. He swooped in and saved the beloved hero Prince who was in danger! He deserved to at least have his name said correctly!

 “Virgil!” The figure on the couch jumped and fumbled the remote before quickly changing the channel. “You want anything special for dinner?”

 Virgil looked over the back of the couch to his father who was watching the tv carefully with a frown. “I’m fine, dad. Whatever you want.”

 His father looked at him with a pout. “My little hero goes and saves the day and he doesn’t want anything special for dinner?”

Virgil couldn’t hold back the wince that spread across his face. Found out so easily. “You know about that?”

 “Hmm,” His father stroked the whiskers on his chin. “A mysterious hero with the power to ‘teleport’,” his father even dared to use air quotes. “Suddenly appears dressed with a dark purple aesthetic? Must have nothing to do with my anxious son with a similar style and the ability to stop time and move around who reads far too many comic books. Nope, no connection.” Virgil pulled his hood down over his face and turned away. “Come on, now. Be glad I’m not freaking out over the fact that the thief had a gun.”

 “I’m surprised you’re not, honestly.” Virgil peeked up from his hood. “You worry as much as I do.”

 “I’m honestly trying not to think about it. Hasn’t quite sunken in yet.”

 “I’ll take advantage of your good mood, then.” Virgil turned and leaned his arms on the back of the couch. “Can we have Chinese for dinner?”

 “I know how to cook!” Virgil raised a brow at his father’s statement. “Come on, Virgil!”

 “Come on, James!” Virgil grinned as he spoke his father’s name. “Chinese! Besides, you’ll make me wash the dishes when you’re done ruining dinner anyway.”

 With a sigh, he watched his father turn around and pat his pockets down for his phone. “The usual?”

 “You know it.” Virgil spun back around and turned back to the news, watching clips of him and the Prince once more with a smile on his face. It was terrifying at the moment but right now? He had no regrets for what he did.

 ---

 “Come on, Pat!” Roman followed Patton down the sidewalk like a lost puppy. “Please?! We could do so much together!”

 “No, Roman. I’m glad you’re helping people but it’s just not for me! What good could I do?” Patton kept marching toward the bus stop, gripping the strap to his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Besides, I have to go to work!”

 “You mean you have to go flirt with that guy on your route?” Patton flushed and ducked his head, ignoring his best friend as he trailed along. “At least tell me about him! When are you going to ask him out?”

 “He’s not interested. I’m not even sure if he’s gay or anything.”

 “Excuses!”

 Patton sighed and finally stopped walking, turning to find Roman right on his trail. “Look, I like him, but this isn’t some romance movie. We’re just friends!” He shuffled his feet a bit and looked away. “Actually, I’m not sure if he even sees me as a friend. We just talk on the bus.”

 “You said he was cute and had the same glasses and liked mystery novels!” Roman pouted. “Sounds like a rom-com to me! Why not at least try to bring it up? Try to see if he’s even interested?”

 “I’m sure he’s not interested in me. He might not be single!”

Roman put an arm around Patton and started walking toward the bus stop once more. “Well good thing you have me!  Your personal wingman!”

 “Roman, no.” Patton shrugged the arm off but kept walking. “I appreciate it, I do! But I just want to keep this a friendship right now. Maybe, if I think I have a chance, you can help.”

 Roman sighed heavily through his nose as they approached the stop. “Fine, but you read a book for this nerd. I think you’re close enough.”

 “Hey! Agatha Christie is worth it! It’s such a good book, Ro! I can’t wait to see how it ends!” Roman watched as Patton’s face lit up. “Now Logan and I are reading through the books to talk about them together! It’s great.”

 “As long as you’re happy, I won’t interfere.” Roman watched his best friend prattle on about his crush and the topics they talk about until he saw the bus pull up to the stop. “Have a good day at work, Pat. I’ll see you tonight.”

 “See ya, Ro!”

 Patton got on and swiped his card before heading to the area he normally sat in, waiting excitedly for the stop Logan would hop on. 

 Logan. He was younger than Patton and worked at a bookstore, which was a surprise. He didn’t seem much like a people person, but he loved books! Patton could relate to that. Although a job at the library was originally his mother’s idea, it wasn’t one Patton was upset by.

 When Logan’s stop came, Patton perked up and waited. After the exchange of people, he slouched in his seat defeated. Logan didn’t work today. How had he forgotten that? It was Friday and Patton didn’t work over the weekend so he wouldn’t see him then either. When did he say he worked next. Tuesday?

 Tuesday. Patton could wait a few more days until then. He pulled out a book from his bag, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Logan had said it was his favorite and Patton had signed it out immediately. He was still at the beginning and already hooked. He could finish it by Tuesday and then he could talk to Logan all about it!

 Patton’s heart fluttered as he flipped open to his bookmark and kept himself busy for the rest of his ride.

 ---

 “This just in! The Vigilante has made another appearance downtown to help the Prince! Wait, it looks like the Prince is… attacking him? Perhaps the Vigilante isn’t as much of a hero as he had thought!”

 “Listen here, miscreant! I’m grateful you helped me the other day but we are rivals from here on out!”

 “Are you kidding me, Princey?! I just want to help!”

 Logan watched the broadcast with great interest, eying the new ‘hero’ as he bickered with the Prince. “Interesting.” He smirked and stood from his couch. “I’m going to need a closer look at these two and I have just the idea on how to do it.” -- Taglist: @arandompasserby @waywordwriter

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.08

The apartment seemed larger and more echoey than usual. Nairi tossed her keys onto the counter and tried not to react to the clatter. Agatha shifted to lean against her kitchen counter, looking a little uncomfortable in the sparse room.

“Do you want a drink or something?” asked Nairi, to be polite. She didn’t exactly have anything, but it was too late to take it back now.

“Uh, just water? I think I’ve had enough to drink already.” She punctuated this with a smile. A small one, but it eased the lines of her face a little and made her seem less uncomfortable.

“I can do water,” said Nairi, returning the small smile. She pulled her fridge open and grabbed one of the water bottles from the middle shelf, trying not to dwell on how little else was in there. “Do you want a glass?”

“There’s no need to get fancy,” said Agatha drily, taking the bottle. “Thank you.”

Nairi nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear and shifting towards her couch, acutely aware that her conversational skills were lacking. She shrugged her jacket off and draped it over the couch, and when she looked back Agatha’s eyes were following her movements, tracing the lines of her arms and lingering where her shirt was rucked up a little at the waist.

She hummed softly and tugged her shirt off over her head as well. “Is there anything I need to know before we hit the sack?” she asked casually.

Agatha swallowed her mouthful of water and took a moment before she answered, cheeks faintly pink. “Well, I’m not terribly experienced, if that’s likely to bother you?”

Nairi shrugged. “It shouldn’t. I meant more like; do you have any ‘don’ts’?”

Oh,” said Agatha, and she considered it for another moment before shrugging back. “I mean, like I said, I haven’t really done a lot. I guess if I say stop then—?”

“I can do that,” said Nairi, unhooking her sports bra and feeling Agatha’s gaze intensify as she dropped it on the couch with her shirt. “Don’t touch my hair, okay? And no biting.”

Agatha took another drink of water and set the bottle on the kitchen counter, nodding. “I can do that,” she echoed.

“Great,” said Nairi. She turned and walked towards her bedroom, and Agatha’s footsteps followed behind her.

Agatha was very good at listening. And even better—she didn’t once ask about the tattoos.

*

Nairi had spent what most people would likely consider an excessive amount of money on her mattress. Her first goal had been ‘big’, and with the amount ‘big’ cost in terms of mattresses, apparently ‘very comfortable’ came included. She’d slept very well since she’d moved in, especially since she’d pulled out the window and replaced it with one that didn’t open.

The sensation of sleeping as long as she needed to and waking up well-rested was both novel and extremely enjoyable, so she liked to do so as often as possible. It was just nice to wake up at her leisure and enjoy the empty space. Nothing in her system, nothing weighing on her. She had an alarm on her blackberry in case she slept too late to open the dojo, but most days it wasn’t necessary, and besides, no one was showing up for the noon timeslots anyway.

Her pillow was soft and springy, still fresh, and her eyelids were comfortably heavy and dark. There was a comfortable stillness to her state; almost all the way asleep, and then a hand touched her shoulder.

She didn’t think so much as react.

She grabbed the hand at her shoulder with one arm, locking it to her chest as she rolled, pulling out her knife with the other. She used the momentum of the roll to knock them both to the floor, straddling her presumed assailant and pinning them with a forearm to their chest, knife raised by her temple, scowl on her face.

Agatha yelped, staring up at her with wide-eyed shock and confusion, and Nairi woke up the rest of the way. “Oh my god,” she said blankly.

Agatha said something that sounded very rude in a language Nairi didn’t understand.

Her heart was racing like a hummingbird’s under the skin of her throat where Nairi hand was twisted in her shirt collar, her breaths shaky and jagged in her chest. “Sorry,” Nairi forced out after a moment, releasing the fabric in her hand with fingers that felt too stiff and standing up quickly.

Agatha pushed herself onto her elbows where she was sprawled on the floor, blinking owlishly up at Nairi as she tucked the knife back into its holster. Her eyes looked smaller without the glasses, darker, and she raised a hand to her throat, rubbing at the skin where her neckline sat. “…Do you always sleep with a knife?” she asked eventually. From the look on her face, it wasn’t what she’d meant to ask.

“Yeah,” said Nairi, almost settling into a guard stance and catching herself at the last moment, folding her arms over her chest. “Sorry, again. I should have, uh, warned you.”

“Right,” said Agatha, slowly pushing herself up off the floor and rubbing at her wrist where Nairi had grabbed her. “Guess I’ll know for next time.”

She’d only muttered it, and from the faint reddening of her cheeks, Nairi guessed she hadn’t meant to say that either.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing down to tug uselessly on her shirt for moment in the hope that Agatha might think she hadn’t noticed. Linden had a way of making dumb jokes that pulled all the awkwardness out of a conversation, but Nairi wasn’t particularly good at it. She tried anyway. “You’ll just have to like, throw something at me instead.”

It worked, somehow, and Agatha snorted, brushing her hands off on her hips as she looked back at Nairi. “Something heavy, to give me an advantage, I think.” She had a wry little smile and her eyes seemed a little more amused, the hem of her borrowed shirt shifting along the top of her thighs as she brushed her hair out of her face. “Can you pass me my glasses?”

They got dressed quietly across from each other, Nairi turning her back reflexively. It was early for her—not even nine o’clock—but the adrenaline from her wake up had cleared most of the fog of sleep from her system. Her mind was a little sharper, a little less disquiet. Agatha was buttoning her shirt from the night before, tugging it a little to frown at a wrinkle, and Nairi watched her for a second. “Do you want a cup of tea or something?”

Agatha glanced up at her as she buttoned her jeans. “I’m more of a coffee person,” she said, almost apologetic about it. “I was actually thinking about breakfast, though?”

She really had to do something about that empty fridge of hers. “I don’t have coffee in the house yet,” said Nairi, echoing the apologetic tone and trying to sidestep the inevitable question about why she didn’t even have a box of cereal in her cupboard. “Do you want to eat out?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Agatha smiling at her. “What did you have in mind?”

The vegan café down the street flashed in front of Nairi’s mind with no other suggestions, and she shrugged. “No idea, actually.”

Between the two of them, they managed to end up in McDonald’s with matching egg breakfast muffins. Agatha inspected hers carefully for the absence of bacon before she bit into it, and Nairi belatedly glanced down at hers as she chewed. Hers also had no bacon; she was fine.

Agatha was watching her over her large coffee, her eyelids lowered like she was trying to be discreet about it. “You know,” she said eventually, shifting a little in the hard, plastic seat. “People keep telling me how good fast food is when you’re hungover. I don’t think I believe them.”

Nairi chewed her rubbery puck of egg thoughtfully and shrugged. “Most of the people I used to know with dealt with hangovers by drinking more and complaining about it.”

Agatha laughed. “Ah. Linden’s people.” It wasn’t really said in a kind tone.

“I honestly thought Linden was on team junk food,” said Nairi, thinking of the litany of text messages she woken up to the previous week extolling the virtues of chicken nuggets. It had gone on for eight or nine messages before Linden abruptly remembered that Nairi was vegetarian and had sent five more texts that were just series of punctuation around colons and parentheses that somehow managed to look repentant.

“No, no, she definitely is,” said Agatha quickly, nodding. “I just meant—I don’t know, the kind of people she’d hang around.”

Was Agatha not the kind of person Linden hung around? She seemed to have multiple grad student friends who weren’t Agatha, after all. “How did you guys end up becoming friends?” she asked.

“Oh, my boyfriend cheated on me with her,” said Agatha very casually, sipping at her coffee.

“Oh,” said Nairi, and she could almost physically see the red flags lining the conversational path in front of her. She should ask something else; ask about literally anything else. “So, you both like drinking coffee though?”

Wow.

Agatha seemed to find this very funny if the curl in her lip was any indication. “One of the other things we have in common, yes.”

“I just, Linden doesn’t drink tea either, and,” said Nairi, well aware she was fumbling the conversation and deciding to settle for just explaining herself. “And if I’m going to be having coffee-drinking company over more regularly, then I don’t want to be, uh, a bad host. So, um, what kind of coffee do you like?”

Agatha brightened considerably at the question, which Nairi figured meant she hadn’t completely bombed the conversation. “Definitely not this,” she joked, holding up her cup, and Nairi smiled back at her, relieved.

Her free hand crept across the table and slipped under Nairi’s, and Agatha finished her breakfast with a small smile on her face.

Nairi tried to ignore it. Physical contact, it was supposed to be good, especially the non-violent kind. Falling asleep with Agatha’s bare thighs pressed up against her had definitely felt good, in a way that wasn’t even sexy, particularly, but this—she couldn’t quite figure it out. She just… didn’t really want people touching her.

She rubbed her thumb over the back of Agatha’s hand and ate her deep fried hashbrown, ignoring the unease building in the pit of her stomach.

Her cell chirped in her pocket and she dug it out, Linden’s name on the caller ID. “Hi,” she said, glancing at Agatha across the table before looking around the room.

“Hey!” said Linden, sounding strangely cheerful. “Did you have a good night? Got Aggy off okay?”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, wondering if she was imagining the innuendo in the words. “We’re just grabbing breakfast.”

“Real-ly?” asked Linden, her tone hitting a strange pitch on the second syllable as though Nairi had just told her the most interesting thing in the world. “What, did she grab a crowbar and pry you out of bed?”

“No, we were just hungry,” said Nairi, ignoring the dig at her sleeping habits. “You’re not too hungover?”

“Well, I took a piss when I woke up and got drunk again off the vapours,” said Linden promptly, “But I’ll be fine once I sober up. Tell Aggy to charge her phone—talk to you later!”

She hung up before Nairi could response, and she pocketed her cell, looking back up at Agatha.

“Anything urgent?” asked Agatha, retrieving her hand to crush up their food wrappers and set them on the tray.

“Just Linden checking in,” said Nairi, leaning back to let Agatha stretch over and grab her trash. “She said something about you needing to charge your cell?”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, I forgot that the world ends when I don’t have my phone on to answer texts for a whole hour after I wake up. Do you want to go find some good coffee for your kitchen?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Nairi, standing up. “Do you have the time for it?”

Agatha smiled at her. “Yes.”

[padfootagain]

The King And You (VII)

Part 7: Farewell

Here comes a new chapter for my Caspian series! Our poor King is going through a lot… but he's building his team up and oh dear, what a team…

I hope you'll like this new chapter!

Word Count: 2504

You talked with Agatha for what felt like hours. Caspian disappeared in the distance, and you wanted to follow him, but the old woman stopped you. She argued that he had a lot to take in, that he needed time. You guessed she was right.

So, you walked back inside, and talked. She told you everything she knew about her mother's family: her sister and brothers dying when they were still so young, the stories they believed in. And for a reason she couldn't fully comprehend, Agatha believed in them as well.

And it sounded crazy. Utter madness. Bananas.

But no matter how many times you turned the story around and around in your head, you couldn't find any better explanation. Maybe you were being conned by a pair of very convincing criminals?

Then, why did your heart tell you it wasn't so?

Narnia. Aslan. Wars. A white witch. Winter. A stone table. Telmarines. Talking animals. A star. The Dawn Treader…

None of it made any sense.

With doubt still blurring your thoughts and questions twirling around your mind, you took a look at the time on your phone. Caspian had left more than an hour before. It was more than time to go looking for him. After all, God knew what kind of troubles the man could get himself into.

You gave your phone number to Agatha and told her to stay home, in case he would come back. Meanwhile, you would drive around the neighbourhood in his search.

You passed tall red trees, and pretty white houses of a too-perfect street. White fences were all that was missing to render a classic American neighbourhood. Above you, the sky was getting grey with clouds heavy with rain.

The distraction of your drive didn't make your mind quiet. But despite your doubts, and despite the fact that you couldn’t believe Caspian's and Agatha's tale, you couldn't find a way to believe that they had ill intentions either. So, maybe they were both crazy, nevertheless, you couldn’t just abandon Caspian like this. After all, he had been nothing but nice to you since he had stumbled into your life. It wasn't fair to simply abandon it, your conscience couldn't allow you to act like this.

Twenty minutes passed and you couldn't find him anywhere. You were starting to fear that something might have happened to him. He could have been attacked, or hit by a car, or kidnapped, or simply lost his way which, given his global appearance and attitude, was already a disaster…

You almost missed his form sitting on the grass, under a maple tree. You parked your car quickly and hurried towards him, but as you approached his motionless figure, you slowed down your pace. There was something quiet and still around him, a saddened aura that you felt reluctant to disrupt, so you approached cautiously, stopping a couple of steps away from him. You stood there for a moment, silent and as motionless as him, your eyes on his shoulders and the back of his head.

"Caspian?" you called in just a whisper.

But he didn't react at all.

"Are you okay?"

Again, your words were left unanswered.

So, you slowly closed the distance between the two of you to sit by his side. He didn't turn to look at you, didn't move at all to acknowledge that he had as far as noticed you were there. His gaze was set on a random point of the horizon, and you were sure that his eyes saw without looking. It was written all over his face that he had been crying for a long time.

You wanted to say something, but found yourself at a loss for words. You merely sat uncomfortably next to him instead, searching for things to say that seemed to fly out of reach every time you opened your mouth.

As you lacked words, you reached to hold his hand instead. His fingers were cold and calloused, but reassuring, for a reason you couldn't fathom. After a moment, he reciprocated your gesture.

And he was grateful that you didn't try to reassure him with empty words about feelings you couldn't understand. He didn't need someone to tell him that things would be alright, that they understood, that he wasn't alone…

Because things would not be alright. Because you didn't – couldn't – understand. Because he was alone…

Did that mean that he would give up? No, he couldn't. He was King, his people needed him to find a way back home. He would fight for them to his last breath, this was a vow he would never break. But for now, he didn't need a denial of the facts. He didn't need lies to be told in reassurance. He knew that he was going to face hard times, he knew that he had lost the help he thought he could get in this world decades before. He was lost and needed to find a way back.

But then, you were holding his hand now. You were sitting on the grass with him, skeleton leaves cracking under your weight as you shifted to sit cross-legged. And just like you couldn’t begin to fathom the kind of pain he was facing, he couldn't imagine how hard it was for you to believe him. Yet, you were still here. He believed that actions spoke better than words.

As he held your hand in his too, giving it a little squeeze, as to check if it were real, he reckoned that maybe, after all, he didn't have to be alone.

"Can you stay with me, for a little while?" he asked in a shaky breath.

You gave his hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"Of course."

And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t deny that his pain was real. No one could fake pain that well.

Could he?

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Eventually, you went back to Agatha's, and she offered Caspian and you to stay over for dinner, a simple, quiet meal that lifted Caspian's spirit a little. He was silent for most of the time, until you reached the dessert.

"I'd like to see them," Caspian broke a silence that had settled for a few minutes around the table. "Their… tombs, I mean. I'd like to go and see them."

"Well, my mother wanted her ashes to be spread in the ocean, and that's what we did," Agatha answered. "We don't have a tomb. The rest of her family is in England."

"Can we go there?"

"No, you can't," you shook your head. "I mean… you need a passport and everything to go there. And it's not like… getting a ride to New York, you have to take a plane."

"A plane? What is a plane?"

"A… mean of transportation. Nevermind," you brushed his remark away, taking a sip of water. This day had been way too crazy already for you to spend half-an-hour explaining him what a plane was, you just didn't have the strength.

"Is England very far?"

"Yes, it is."

"I see. And what about this… pass… part?"

"Passport. It's an official document that states your identity. You need one to get in and out of countries. And you'll need one to get in England. But if your whole fairy tale is true, then I guess you don't have one, do you?"

"I am afraid not."

"And you won't get one using official ways. I mean, you didn't exist before yesterday."

"And that will be a problem?"

"Yes, they want to know like… where you were born, proofs of who your parents are… and your parents aren't even of this world, are they?"

"No, no… they weren't. I see, that is a problem indeed."

"No, you can't leave the country. I'm sorry, but there's no solution."

"But I need to walk in the Pevensies' footsteps. Go where they found their own passages to Narnia. Maybe one of the doors is still open."

"You can't go to England."

"Actually… I might know someone who could help us get the documents we need," Agatha quietly said.

Both you and Caspian looked at her, but if the King stared at her with hope in his eyes, your gaze was filled with confusion.

"I… might know a man who can get us the papers. We… dated. A long, long time ago. But we kept in touch, and… well, he owes me."

"Who is he?" you asked.

"Roger. His name is Roger O'Malley, and… well… I might have helped him run away from the police a few decades ago."

"He's a criminal?!"

"Well, you said yourself that we couldn't use official channels for this, they will just ask a ton of questions that we cannot answer. Roger must know how to find a passport, I'm certain of it."

"That… is the craziest idea, ever. What did he do anyway, this Roger?"

"Oh, nothing violent. He worked for this… businessman in Chicago and then in New York."

"You mean… he's a mobster?"

"Oh, he's retired now!"

You looked at Agatha with wide eyes, before throwing your hands towards the ceiling in desperation, huffing, your voice turned high-pitched in your near-panic state.

"Oh, yes, of course! Pardon me! If he's retired now, then all is fine! We should definitely ask a retired mobster to get us fake IDs and passport for this gentleman here, who will answer, if asked about his profession, that he's a Duke in a magical land called Narnia! For proof, he walks around dressed up like in a musketeer! You're right, that is a brilliant idea. Actually, the only glitch we could get in this perfectly sensible plan is passing the security checks at the airport with his BLOODY SWORD!"

"Actually, I'm the King of Narnia, not a Duke," Caspian corrected you, which only made your panic worse.

"Oh, pardon me, Your Highness! Of course, he's a King! That'll solve all of our problems! Maybe, as he's royalty, they'll give him a hot towel and a tiny chocolate on his pillow when we're all rotting IN JAIL!"

"Now, now, calm down, child," Agatha replied with an annoyed voice.

"This is a terrible, terrible idea," you fought back, stated a fact that seemed so obvious to you. "Don't call me to bail you and D'Artagnan here out of jail once you get there, huh?"

"Well, do you have any better plan? A single idea, even?"

And you had to admit that you had none.

You and Caspian exchanged a look. He didn't understand the whole issue, but he did get that what Agatha was offering was going against the law. However, he didn't have much choice.

"Agatha, if we contact your friend, can you promise me that no harm will come to anyone out of our actions?"

"Of course!"

"Then, I have to take the risk. Even if the way you describe, as I understand it, seems to go against some of your laws. Going to England might be my only chance. However, considering the risks you might be facing, I will travel on my own and undergo the purchase of this… passport on my own."

"I can go with you," Agatha shook her head, and her tone was final. "In fact, do you have a place to stay here?"

"He slept at my place yesterday," you answered.

"Well, then, you can stay here for as long as you need. After all, my family considered you one of their own."

Caspian gave her a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Agatha. For everything. But I don't want you to get into trouble on my behalf…"

"Nonsense! It's gonna be a lot of fun! Dear, I haven't had so much excitement in my life in a long while. And don't you worry, my dear, I'm sure we'll find a way to bring you home."

"How do we contact this… Roger?" you interrupted, bringing back the conversation towards practical issues.

"I'll call him! I have his number. You were of great help, but I will take care of Caspian now. You don't have to worry about him anymore. Nor getting into jail."

Caspian reached across the table to take your hand in his in a gentle, warm hold.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me. I don't want to be a weight…"

"Don't mention it," you mumbled, uncomfortable. "Anyone would have done the same."

Caspian gave you a warm smile.

"No, I don't reckon that's true."

"Will you be okay?"

"Yes. I think I will. Agatha will help me, you need not worry about me anymore."

You huffed again.

"You're a lot of trouble though. I think I'll keep on worrying about you for a while."

You exchanged a soft smile.

"Well, I guess… Agatha has my phone number, so if you need anything, you can call me," you offered.

"Call?"

You chuckled and showed him your phone.

"You can use that to talk to someone who's away."

"Your society is most impressive. Even if our magic is different, yours is just as strong the magic ."

"It's not magic, it's science," you replied.

"But isn't magic only science that we can't yet understand?" Agatha replied with a mischievous look, and the two of you laughed.

"I guess that's true."

You helped to clean the dishes, helped Caspian to settle down too. But then you were standing before the threshold, ready to leave without him, and you had to admit that it felt strange to part with him. If you were being honest with yourself, you even felt sad. Despite how crazy this whole ordeal was - and that you still didn't believe in his whole backstory - as you looked at him standing there, before you, giving you a warm smile while his dark eyes were tainted with pain, you knew that you would miss him.

"Good luck, then. And… call me if you need help. Otherwise, I… guess it's a…"

But your voice broke before you could say the word, and when you tried again, nothing came out but silence.

Caspian took your hand and brought it to his lips in a soft, slow movement, hesitant. As if he wasn't sure you'd let him go through with it, as if he wasn't sure it was adequate, but it felt right to do so, so he did it anyway. His lips lingered on the back of your hand for a few seconds too long, by Narnian standards of politeness, but you wouldn't have known anyway. You told yourself it was just one more eccentricity. Nothing more, despite the jolt of electricity that ran up your spine then.

He gave you one last tender smile.

"Farewell, Y/N."

You nodded, unable to understand the tears in your eyes, but you freed your hand and turned to walk to your car anyway.

You didn't look back as you drove off the street. You kept on repeating to yourself that at least, now, your life could go back to normal.

And that was a good thing, right?

 ****************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27​ @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx​ @jbluevelvet​ @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​ @stuckupstucky​ @snek-shit​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @i-padfootblack-things​  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​@jigsawlover10​ @emyyjemyy​​ @addictedtofictionalcharacters​ @staringmoony​@geeksareunique @giggleberts @sad-orange-thoughts @aylinnmaslow  @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @wearetalkingtoyou @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse @cutie-bug @purplocity  @rockintensse​ @newtstarmander​ @shinebrightlikeafanbase​ @millionsleeplessnights @goldenor5 @raquelbc2003  @carolinesbookworld​ @roses-in-your-country-house @mcrmarvelloki​ @marvelcapsicle​

[bang-and-a-blintz]

Through the Darkness

CHAPTER SEVEN - RED AND BLUES

Fandom: Dracula (2020)  

Relationship: Dracula/Roxana(OFC)  

Rating: Mature  

Warnings: None  

Word Count: 3,708

In hindsight, Roxana probably shouldn't have had three strongly poured bloody marys. She should have switched to something less filling after a big meal; like a vodka soda, if she felt like keeping to the same liquor, or a gin and tonic to stir things up. Unfortunately, all the tomato juice and grits and bread and sausage and eggs did not mix well with the sight of someone's throat being literally torn open.

It was nasty, but at least now she could jot down 'successfully grossed out a five-hundred-something-year-old vampire' in her list of lifetime achievements.

"Well, that was…unexpected." Dracula said after a moment, his hands hung in the air like they were held up by marionette strings, "Revolting, yes, but I have to admit, this is a first."

"I…um, I would apologize, but -"

"Yes, you should be sorry! This is an Ermenegildo Zegna." He growled lowly and the Italian name slid off his tongue in such a way that it sent shivers down her spine. Not entirely unpleasant ones, she'd be loath to admit.

"Who cares about a suit? You just ended that man's life!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took a few steps back to distance herself from the vampire. "Besides, you clearly can afford another one."

Dracula rolled his eyes and sighed, his hands now working on their own accord as he began to carefully peel the ruined jacket away from his body. "It's not about the money, Roxana, it's about the craftsmanship and quality of the items; think of the countless hours spent meticulously sewing and sizing each individual article of clothing. All of that dedication and hard work tossed away just because you can't stomach a little bit of blood."

"Unbelievable." She began to pace in a small circle, dragging her nails quite viciously and repeatedly through her unruly locks. "You care more about some bits of fabric than a human being's life."

After shaking off the chunks from the coat, he placed it sloppily over the corpse and started working on his vest. There was that ferocity that he recognized in her, it reminded him of Agatha, and it was that Van Helsing fire that was not so easily snubbed. "You will come to learn, my dear, that death is part of the journey. It is the finished masterpiece. Think of it as your magnum opus! It is the very thing that defines the meaning of every life and is nothing that you should be afraid of."

"You're missing my point completely and, for the record, I'm not scared of death."

Dracula was relieved to find the button-up shirt underneath his vest to be unscathed, but also a little more than slightly intrigued by her statement. He would, how they say, put a pin in it and return back to that later. "Then why are you so upset? It's not like you knew him."

She groaned and threw up her hands in exasperation. Roxana was not about to try and teach an old vampire new moral tricks, that was well above her pay grade.

Rolling up his sleeves, the Count set out to retrieve his belongings from the pockets of his jacket and then fitted the dirtied clothes onto the dead body. For the final touch, he slid his Ray Bans over the man's glassy eyes. "Ah, good enough, I suppose."

Dracula took a step back to view his handiwork while absentmindedly wiped the remaining blood from his face. Roxana stopped her pacing to stare dumbly at the sight before her. The mugger was propped up against the wall with his head drooped down to the side, covering the neck wound so it looked like someone who had little too much fun and passed out on the sidewalk. Not an entirely uncommon sight in this city.

"Please tell me you're not just going to leave him here."

He looked at her with raised brows, "And what would you have me do?"

"Clean up after yourself!" Roxana cried out. The adrenaline rush she got from witnessing a murder had not completely dissipated so now she was left grasping a bout of minor hysteria. "I would think that would be obvious!"

Dracula laughed, "That's rich coming from someone who just upchucked her dinner all over one of my finest suits!"

"Because you decided to floss your teeth with some dude's carotid artery."

"Why are you surprised? You know what I am!"

"Well, excuse me if I was a little caught off guard because it's a hell of a lot different seeing a vampire up close and in action as opposed to a tiny, shitty computer screen!" She was nearly shouting, oblivious to the desperation in her own voice as he drew closer. Her neck craned upwards to try and boldly keep eye contact while his grin grew to make him look like the cat who caught the canary. "Stop smiling like that!"

"Make me." His tone was teasingly low, those eyes wicked and sharp. She noticed how lively Dracula looked after he fed. It was unsettling.

WHOOP! WHOOP!

They jumped apart as sirens suddenly yipped at them and a bright flashlight waved back and forth between their faces. The dark street was instantly flooded by the red and blues spinning on top of the police car.

"Oh, fuck me." She murmured with wide eyes. Her hands instinctively started to raise a little before she forced them back down, reminding herself to act casual.

Dracula leaned over slightly, "Is that an invitation?"

"Please shut up." She hissed back, shooting him a glare. "And no, it's not."

He made a facial shrug and then smirked, tossing her a casual little wink just to rile her up. The short, frustrated huff he got in return was satisfying enough.

"Everything all right here?" The cop rolled down his window and peered out at them. "And how about your friend over there? He's not looking so great."

The light shined over the dead guy leaning against the wall and the pair froze, glancing at one another.

This was her moment, she could tell the officer about the murder and maybe he could protect her against…the vampire. Oh, who was she kidding? Dracula would quicker snap her neck and drain the officer before risking the chance of exposure like that.

Meanwhile, her inner moral soldiers battled fiercely inside her brain over whether or not she should even say something about the murder. On the one hand, the count was a vicious blood-sucker who killed a man in a blink of the eye without any remorse, but on the other hand, it was technically self-defense…on her behalf anyway.

Logic eventually won when she realized that even if she did rat him out, it was highly unlikely the cop would even believe the truth. She would sound like a crazy person. The mental image of Dracula laughing and waving while she, hands uncomfortably cuffed behind her back, watched on with teary eyes as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance because the cruiser she was detained in drove off to the nearest prison…or an insane asylum. Whichever was closest.

Be killed or incarcerated? Neither were ideal. So Roxana went for door number three instead.

Dracula saw the look on her face. The look of a scared little rabbit getting ready to bolt. He had already tensed in preparation for her to make a sudden move but, to his surprise, that peculiar look vanished and Roxana smiled.

"All good here, officer! And yes, unfortunately this drunk pleb is with us. We were just about to get a ride back to the airbnb, sir." She shrugged her shoulders with a laugh. "It was his first time on Bourbon Street."

"Yes, I do believe he had one too many bloodys," Dracula was pleasantly surprised by her change in demeanor and happily played along. "Poor man vomited all over himself before we could find him a bin. Such a lightweight."

The officer squinted a little and they waited with bated breaths as he took a moment, which really felt like ages, to decide whether or not he believed their story.

"Alright then," He said at length and pointed to Dracula, "You make sure they get home safe now, ya hear?"

Roxana's eyebrows rose in disbelief while the Count grinned toothily, stepping over to her. She felt his hand slide up her spine and rest in a light grip around the back of her neck. "Of course, officer. I'll take care of them."

With a nod, the cop turned off his lights and drove back down the street, making a left at the next corner. Roxana let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and dropped her shoulders.

That was a close call.

"My, my, your heart is racing, Roxana." Dracula murmured into the darkness that had enveloped them once more. His thumb brushed over her pulse point and he was thrilled when it spiked at the touch. She went to move away but halted her step when she felt his grip tighten, those claws threatening to make a cut. He turned her to face him and firmly, but gently tilted her head back to force her to meet his stare.

"That was your chance. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Please," She scoffed and jutted her chin out defiantly, "We both know it would've been pointless."

"Still," He spoke softly, his head angling back as he observed her, "You could have told the police officer the truth."

"And have you kill us both? I think not. Remember, the foundation showed me those videos and I know you're immune to bullets. So what good would that have done me?"

Dracula stared at her for a moment and then wetted his lips slowly before speaking, inching closer and closer towards her face. "For the last time, I'm not killing you yet because I wish to get to know you, but if you keep bringing it up, I might feel inclined to change that timeframe."

"Well are you going to be this intolerable all the time? Because if so, then just get on with it, I'm in no mood to play a long con here, big guy."

"No, I do believe the fun has just begun."

"Great. Just great." Roxana was truly done. She could still taste the bile on her tongue like acid, it made her feel disgusting, and she wanted nothing more than the day to end. "Now, if you'll let me go, I'm in desperate need of a shower, a toothbrush, and a bed. Maybe a nightcap too because the last twenty-four hours of my life have been absolutely fucked."

Acquiescing her request, Dracula released his grip and allowed her to distance herself from him once more. He watched as she dragged a hand down her face and heaved a sigh; her blue eyes almost shined in the darkness up at him as she gave him a tired half-assed glare. She then turned and started walking towards Canal Street.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." She called over her shoulder, her manners be damned. "Goodnight, Dracula."

The Count gawked when she didn't even give him a second glance and he did nothing but watch as she made her way to the end of the street and disappeared around the corner. He truly did not understand that woman. Perhaps it was ingrained in the Van Helsing blood to be habitually nonplussed by his vampiric prowess.

He pulled out his cell phone with a sigh as his thoughts drifted to the dead man wearing his now-ruined five-thousand-dollar suit and about a quart of said Van Helsing's DNA. Dracula needed to get rid of that evidence before it came back and bit him in the ass. No pun intended.

"Hello, my lord, how was your day today?" Renfield sounded chipper as ever.

"I need you to dispose of a body."

Dracula grinned from ear to ear as he listened delightfully to the unfiltered frustration in Frank Renfield's long-suffering sigh.

—

What a day, Roxana thought as she shuffled onto the streetcar and plopped down in one of the wooden seats. With a lurch, the machine squealed and rattled as it moved forward along the track. She winced; the benches on these particular modes of transportation were incredibly unforgiving on one's posterior.

Blankly, she stared into nothing, not paying attention as the buildings passed by. The events of the night played on repeat in her mind. A real vampire killed a real person right before her eyes. Was this really real life now? She was too exhausted to try and figure it out.

She felt like an outsider looking in on her body as it ran on autopilot. Her hand pulled the string to stop the car and somehow her feet managed to take her all the way to her front step without incident.

Fifolet meowed at her incessantly by the door but it sounded muted and far away as she unlocked it. Robotically, she made a beeline to the bathroom and shed her clothes along the way. Not even waiting for the water to warm up, Roxana stood unflinchingly under the cold spray and began to clean herself as the temperature increased to the cusp of scalding. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red and raw. When she was finished, she pressed her forehead against the tiled wall and closed her eyes, simply listening to the water roar around her.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand up to gently wrap her fingers around her neck and couldn't stop her mind from wandering…from remembering the distinct sensation of another hand. His hand. She could almost still feel the vast expanse of his palm grasping her jugular and those impossibly long fingers curling nearly all the way around. Or how he leaned so close until he was just a breath away and anytime she would inhale, those fingers would tighten ever-so-slightly against her flesh.

Roxana's eyes shot open and she dropped her hand like it was on fire. Goosebumps lit up her arms and legs, despite the scorching water. Slamming the nozzle off, she threw back the curtains and began to dry off with furious gusto.

He was a vile creature. A feral beast. Not even human. The mere memory of his hands on her should be enough to appall her entirely. It must be delirium, she thought stubbornly, shaking the abhorrently traitorous images from her mind. She wrapped the towel around her head and strode towards the bedroom.

"I just need to go the fuck to sleep." Roxana muttered to herself and swiped the half-empty bottle of bourbon from the counter on her way. She collapsed onto the bed once she reached it, but sleep did not find her. Instead, she laid awake through the early hours of the morning, watching the ceiling fan spin on and on and on. She steadily knocked back the remainder of the liquor until the corners of her visions blurred and her eyelids became too heavy to keep open.

By the time the sun had risen in the sky, the bottle had rolled underneath her bed, long since emptied, and her light snores could be heard along with the chirping birdsongs. Fifolet patted over and curled up next to the woman, resting her paw gently on her outstretched arm and knowing that her human would be needing comfort now more than ever before.

—

The rest of the week flew by without any sort of batty drama and Roxana was grateful for it. She had a light workload with only two dinners scheduled and each went off without a hitch. All felt to be back to normal within her world. The weather wasn't comfortable yet, unfortunately, so she spent most of her free time relaxing at home. Not that she was using the cold as an excuse to stay inside and away from a certain someone. Nope, not a chance.

After that night, she had woken up with a righteous hangover and truly believed she had made up everything that had occurred in those twenty-four hours, but the textual evidence on her phone proved otherwise. Dracula had messaged her just once, to make sure she had made it home after their encounter, which she had to begrudgingly admit was rather sweet. Other than that, she was surprised to hear nothing more from the Count.

Roxana was cherishing the peace and quiet while she could. She knew that this whole interaction with Dracula was almost one-hundred-percent going to end up with her premature death. It wasn't hard to understand that hanging out with vampires and certain mortal peril basically went hand in hand. Not to mention the pesky fact about her being directly tied to a bloodline of women who had quite a lot to do with this ancient warlord and, spoiler alert, both of those women were killed...by him. So she intended to enjoy the calm before the storm.

Her phone went off next to her as she was boiling a pot of water for her own dinner and she saw an unknown number flash up at her.

"Hello?"

"Ah Miss von Hels, this is Keres Grimaldi. How I appreciate you taking the time as I am sure you must be terribly busy." The cold, feminine voice on the other line was not who Roxana had expected.

She blinked and then glanced around. The only plans she had this evening were drinking a bottle or two of wine, eating pasta, and watching some mind-numbing sitcoms. Yes, she was terribly busy. "Oh, no, not a problem at all. What can I do for you, Miss Grimaldi?"

"I would like to go over some of the details for this upcoming dinner." Keres' tone was icy and authoritative, leaving no room for nonsense or frivolous chatter. Roxana had a hard time imagining this woman throwing any sort of convivial party. "First, I believe you are aware of the delicate situation I am in, as head of the council, and the reason I chose your restaurant as the location once more is that I know that you will handle these delicacies with the same discretion you do with all of your soirees. Your clientele is famous and you appear to have the subtlety to maintain secrecy."

Roxana could not tell if this woman was being deliberately facetious or if she just always had the demeanor of a robotic bitch. Realizing very quickly that she wasn't about to get many words in, the chef put the phone on speaker and began to record the conversation so she could go back over it later to write the details down in her schedule. Work smarter, not harder. With a smile, she continued stirring the sauce as Keres plowed onward with her demands.

"The dinner will take place on the last Friday of the month, just two weeks before Mardi Gras. We shall be seating ten and you will provide meals for only five. It will be just you there and no other employees during the dinner, absolutely no exceptions."

"Okay, I'll have them leave before the clients arrive. You understand that includes my valet, right?"

"Yes, the transportation will be taken care of, therefore parking will not be an issue."

Strange, Roxana thought to herself while pouring the pasta into the strainer. "That works. Anything else? Dietary restrictions?"

As the words left her mouth, she winced and silence filled the room. It was a perfectly normal question under any other circumstance, but perhaps not this one.

"I noticed the other night that you seemed to be familiar with Mr. Balaur."

"I…um," She wasn't sure how she should answer the woman, "It was the first time I had met him, but I guess you could say we have mutual acquaintances."

"Miss von Hels, you are aware of his vampiric nature, are you not?" Well, Keres was certainly not tiptoeing around the subject.

"…Yes."

"Good, that's one less tedious explanation. I will provide the necessary dietary requirements, so you need not worry yourself over that. As for the mayor and his partners, you will want to contact them and decide on a menu that will suit their needs."

"Easy." She poured another glass of wine and took a long drink. "Anything else?"

The line was quiet for a moment and she had to check to make sure the call hadn't ended before Keres spoke up, "No, that will be all for now, Miss von Hels. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you for calling, Miss Grimaldi, I hope you have a great rest of your evening." Roxana really appreciated clients who were straight to the point, for it was often a headache to deal with indecisive people.

"One more thing," Keres' voice made her hand stop midway from pressing the end button, "Watch yourself around him. I've spent some time with Mr. Balaur in the last few years and I have never seen him look the way he did at you and this concerns me, not for your wellbeing of course, but for the future of our council. I will not have him go feral again, not under my watch, so if you know what is best for yourself, I would advise you to attempt to maintain a distance and use the utmost caution."

This caught Roxana off guard and her brows furrowed, "Then why are you having the dinner at Sanguine, if you are so concerned about this?"

Keres let out a laugh and it was anything but joyful. It lasted a beat too long for something that couldn't even be considered humorous and continued to send chills fluttering down Roxana's neck with a foreboding sense of danger.

"Oh, I know better by now than to try and take his toys away."

Taglist:

@festering-queen​ @vissidarte213​ @moony691​ @allis143​ @torntaltos​ @apocalypsenowish​

[fleursowl]

Now and Forever

An unprompted fic that came to me in the middle of the night. I don’t remember writing it, which is a little creepy, but ah well.

Warnings: infidelity (kinda??), a LOT of angst, barely barely there but if you squint you can see where it would be suggested smut

Simon

I didn’t want to do it. Hell, I wish I hadn’t done it. But I did.

Baz had too much to deal with, too many problems and fights to face to deal with me. After all, he’d fallen in love with Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the future Mage, the magician.

And now I am none of those things- except Simon Snow. I still don’t feel like him very much, either.

I don’t feel like him especially when I lie in the spare bed of Dev’s flat, ignoring the worried messages and missed calls from him.

You’d have thought he’d given up by now.

It’s been a two weeks, after all.

Two weeks since I walked out.

Baz

The only way I know he isn’t dead is through Penny.

She’s sitting opposite me, her eyes sad, but not the my-best-friend-is-missing-and-could-be-dead type of sad, the yes-Baz-I-know-he’s-breaking-your-heart type of sad. She refuses to tell me where he is, though.

“Come on, Baz.” she attempts, poking my foot with hers. “You haven’t even left the flat for two weeks. Dev and Niall will be there, and Micah, and everyone else-“

“Fine.” I interrupt, just to get her to shut up. Crowley, I can’t stand living with myself. “I’ll come.”

Simon

I’m not sure why I let Dev persuade me into coming. After all, I’m hiding, arent I? Hiding from Baz- hiding from my responsibilities- hiding from my life. But I suppose it’ll be a good distraction from all of those things.

When we get there it’s just me, Dev and Niall- Trixie and her girlfriend (I forget the name) haven’t arrived yet. There’s a boy across the bar looking at me unsubtly underneath his eyelashes, and it makes me feel slightly ill. I stand up, and the blood rushes to my head.

“I’m just going for a smoke.” I announce, and make accidental eye contact with the boy once more before walking into the alley and lighting a cigarette.

“Hi.” the boy says, appearing next to me and leaning against the wall.

“Hi?” I say more uncertainly, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being pushed against a wall and being snogged within an inch of my life.

It’s weird. I’ve only ever kissed two people in my life, and this boy isn’t like either of them. Agatha was soft and tentative and never really there, always chaste- and Baz was, well, Baz was everything.

This boy is neither of those things. But he’s a distraction.

A small, choked noise is made to the side of us, and we jump apart. Well. I jump. The boy’s hand is still on my hip.

I look to the side, and, standing there, is Baz and Penny. Penny looks extremely uncomfortable and also rather scared, but behind that is a pity I can’t bloody stand to see.

Baz looks ruined.

Baz

Simon Snow is standing in front of me. Simon Snow, who I haven’t seen in two weeks. Simon Snow, my boyfriend. Or so I thought.

I’ve been stabbed before. I’ve been shot before. I’ve been shoved inside a coffin with no food water air or blood, and it was nothing like this.

Nothing compares to this pain.

He’s standing there, panting, with his hair messy just like I make it, and his cheeks red just like I make them, and his lips swollen just like I turn them. Except, this time it wasn’t me.

I’d always had my suspicions that I wasn’t alive, but now there’s no doubt. There’s no way in hell or on earth that you can feel like this, feel this pain, have this screaming mantra in the back of your head, have this hand clutched around your heart, without being alive.

Oh, how I wish I was dead.

Simon

His grey eyes have turned almost black, and he’s shaking.

“So,” he whispers, clenching his fists, “This is where you’ve been.”

“Baz, no, it’s not-“ He’s walking away. “Baz- wait!” I call desperately after him.

“Let him go, Simon.” Penny says sadly. “There’s nothing you can say right now.”

But I’m not going to do that.

I’ve known for a long time now, and seeing the hurt in his eyes, the raw betrayal, the pure, truthful pain, I’m in pieces. This is how it feels, I think, this is how it feels to be in love.

I’ve liquidised and I’m spilling down, down, down into the drains like the scum I am.

How could I do this?

I set off at a run towards our flat- his flat- yet I still don’t meet him on the way there. Curse him and his long, fit legs.

To my surprise, there’s still a key in my pocket.

Well. It’s now or never.

Baz

As soon as I reach our flat- my flat- I collapse onto the nearest chair by the table, still shaking.

The tears take a while to come, shock having numbed my brain and nerves. But oh, when they come, they come. I’m crying him a river, yet he’s basking in the ocean, and I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I’m drowning-

At some point I must have thrown a vase across the room- the vase he produced when he pulled a bunch of roses out from behind his back on the third week, mumbled stutters of I know you’re not a girl but immediately covered by an intense kiss that lead to an intense tangle of sheets and gasps and first times.

There’s a noise at the door, but I don’t register it. I’m slumped over the table, my hands in my hair, and for one of the first times in my life, I don’t care what I look like. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t even breathe. All I can do is sit here and cry, sit here and hurt hurt hurt.

Simon

I’ve never seen Baz cry before. Sure, he got a little teary at the end of Titanic- even though he vehemently disputed this- and sometimes he cries a little in his sleep, in the middle of what seems to be a bad nightmare, but by the time I’ve shaken him awake and pressed soft kisses to his forehead, he’s fast asleep again, cheeks already dry.

This is nothing like that.

This is an avalanche.

He’s sitting at the table, shaking. Still shaking. There’s a- Crowley, is that a pool of tears on the table? I turn, and see a smashed vase on the other side of the room.

Fuck, this is it.

“Baz.” I say quietly, moving towards him. He startles, looking up at me, and tears are still streaming down his cheeks- pooling in his eyes and then spilling over, accompanied by heart-wrenching shudders. “Baz, love, I-“ I reach towards him, and he flinches away so hard he falls off his chair.

“You don’t get to call me that right now.” he says, and where there would be venom, where I know he intends for there to be venom, there is just a chasm of sadness. I pull up a chair, and sit.

He stands up, and walks out of the room.

Oh, Crowley.

Penny

Simon Snow is an idiot, and you heard it here first.

Well, maybe that’s a little harsh. He isn’t an idiot. He just doesn’t think. I know he’s in love with Baz, but I also knew that Baz has been in love with him since second year. I just decided not to tell Simon.

But Crowley, you’d think Simon would’ve worked it out. A fool could’ve seen.

The same goes for Baz- the amount of times he’s quietly confessed to me that he doesn’t think Simon loves him is, well, shocking. A fool could see the love Simon has for that boy. He just doesn’t always know how to show it.

And now it’s all going to blow up. I’m not going to be a part of it this time. I’ve had enough of fixing them. They need to work this out themselves, for once.

Simon

Baz is sitting by the window with his knees pulled into his chest and his chin rested atop them. It makes him look younger, and my heart tugs. I sit down on the floor next to him. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

“I’ve never been the best with words.” I start, and a flicker of something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. “But I want to try.”

I get up, and sit cross legged opposite him on the window seat, taking his hand.

He doesn’t pull away. It’s a start.

“Having my magick taken away from me- giving my magick away- is like- it’s like a part of me is missing.” I begin, and his eyes briefly meet mine before he looks away. He looks pitiful, even now. “And I’ve tried to fill that missing part of me with other things. Things like you, and Penny, and Dev and Niall, and- I don’t know, just, having someone. But I need to be someone.”

“You are someone.” Baz whispers. “You’re everything. You’re everything to me and Penny.”

We stare at each other for a few, intense seconds, and my breath is taken away.

“I just- for fuck’s sake Baz, I have so many emotions.” I groan, banging my head against the window. It rattles. “And, the way I feel about you, it- it scares me sometimes.”

“I scare you?” Baz whispers, looking up. If I thought he looked hurt before, in the alley, this is a million times worse. This time it looks like he hates himself.

“No! Baz- Baz, love, that’s not what I meant.” I whisper, stroking his hand with my thumb. “I meant- the way I feel about you- how intense and powerful and consuming it is- that scares me. And, well, I’m not the Chosen One anymore, am I.” I laughed humourlessly. “That’s who you fell in love with. My magick. So I had to leave- before it got worse. Before you were tied down with a useless, uninteresting sod like me.”

“Simon Snow.” Baz whispers, “If tonight has proved anything, it’s that you are far from uninteresting.” He leans forward, taking my other hand. “I didn’t fall in love with the Chosen One. Yes, that’s what first attracted me to you, but that’s not what I fell in love with.” He takes a deep sigh, closing his eyes. “I fell in love with the boy who jumped in a lake in the middle of winter to save a baby bird. The boy who eats crisps at his desk, and can’t concentrate unless he’s chewing on something. Who always wakes up smiling, no matter what nightmare he’s had the night before. Who never gives up on his friends, ever, and always sees the good in people. Who has faults, and flaws, like every other fucking human being, but is inherently a good person. And that’s you,” he jabs me in the stomach, “not your magick.”

“You love me?” I whisper, caught massively off guard.

“Crowley, Snow, is that all you took from that? Yes, I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time now, and I don’t intend to stop anytime soon.” he says, raising an eyebrow at me. It contrasts so greatly with his red-rimmed eyes that I burst out laughing- or crying, I’m not sure which I’m doing.

“Fuck, Baz, I love you, I love you, I’m so in love with you” I laugh-sob, collapsing into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Baz nuzzles into me, his body relaxing.

Baz

He’s home, and he’s in my arms, and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter that he smells like another boy and cheap alcohol, he’s here. He’s crying into my chest, and I’m crying into his shoulder. But we’re both laughing.

“Wanna go shower?” I offer tentatively. Simon pulls off me, and nods, wiping his eyes. We stand up, and he takes a deep sigh. “Yeah, that would be good. I feel, I dunno, unclean.”

I pinch my nose and smirk at him. “Yeah, and you smell it too.” He grins, and punches me on the shoulder.

Simon

I could live as long as eighty, and I will never get used to the sight of Baz naked. He gets in the shower before me, of course, bloody bathroom hog that he is, and I nearly slip over when I see him.

Crowley, he’s fit.

I move towards him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Hello there, Snow.” he says without turning around, and I hum softly into his shoulder.

“Any reason you’re being so touchy?”

I let myself relax into him, the full weight of everything that happened sinking in.

“I’m sorry.” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his neck. “I didn’t like it.” Another kiss. “‘Was strange.” Another kiss. “Not like you.” Another kiss. “Nowhere near as good as you.” Another kiss. “Didn’t even want it.” Another kiss. “I’ve missed you.” A longer, heavier kiss.

By the time I’m finished Baz is flushed- he must’ve drunk before he went out with Penny- and is panting slightly. He spins around, his hands on my waist, and fixes me with a look that makes me shiver all over.

“Let’s get his smell off you, shall we?” he murmurs, pressing me against the wall. I sigh in relief, and tilt my head back.

This is home. This is where I want to be. In Baz’s arms.

Now, and forever.

[hovercraft79]

Hello

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 6, 021

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: smoking, bitterness

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since Ada Cackle last set foot on Cackle’s Academy grounds. But while her destiny can be delayed, it won’t be denied. Alma has finally demanded that her prodigal daughter return and prepare to take up the mantle of leadership. Is Ada ready for everything that entails? Maybe. There’s one surprise, though, that she never saw coming.

Notes: This is a slightly revamped entry from last year’s Hackle Summer Trope Challenge. I’m including it because it’s actually the first part of this year’s challenge – the ‘school’s out’ trope will pick up after this installment.

My plan is to fill in some of the gaping holes in the canon storylines: when Ada met Hecate, Hecate becoming a teacher and deputy head (as well as coming to terms with her confinement) and finally, the time period where Ada and Agatha tried to co-head the school. Somewhere along the way, these two might even fall in love.

I’ve kept everything within canon (though I did keep the 13-year age difference between Ada and Hecate, there’s certainly room for Ada to be older than that). If you notice anything that I missed feel free to let me know. This is using the ‘First Time’ prompt from last year.

The title comes from Lionel Ritchie’s song of the same name.

Thanks to Sparky for finally whipping this wip into shape.

 The sun disappeared behind a cloud just as the dark figure on a broomstick began her descent towards the ground. “Fitting,” she muttered under her breath. She touched down lightly in the middle of the courtyard, sliding off her broomstick and stretching the muscles of her lower back.

Staring up at the castle, she snapped her fingers and a lit cigarette appeared at once. She took a deep drag, blowing a dense cloud of smoke across the lawn. It all looked much the same as it did the last time she was here, nearly twenty years ago. It felt smaller, though, like an old dress that didn’t quite fit anymore. Another drag, another cloud of blue-gray smoke.  Another time, she thought. She raked her fingers through her windblown hair – or tried to anyway.  The tangled mess refused to cooperate.

“You’re hardly the picture of a proper headmistress, Ada.” Alma Cackle appeared in front of her daughter, waving the cigarette smoke away.

“Criticizing before you’ve even fully materialized? That’s quick, even for you.” Ada dropped her cigarette onto the grass and crushed it with her boot. “Good thing I’m not Headmistress, then.” She placed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Well met, Mother.”

“Welcome home, Ada. You’ve been gone too long. It’s time you started preparing for your birthright.” Alma transferred Ada’s belongings to her rooms. “I’ve cleared Mrs. Drill’s old room for you. It’s been empty since she left to spend more time with little Dimity.”

Ada nodded. She hadn’t fancied staying in the room she and Agatha had shared as children. Too many memories coupled with too much emptiness without her sister there. She’d barely tolerated the two years she’d spent in the room alone, after Agatha had been sent to Wormwood’s.

“Come along then.” She looked pointedly at Ada’s jeans and the faded Pretenders t-shirt under her leather jacket. “I’m sure you’ll want to change into something more appropriate.” Alma turned and walked towards the castle door.

Rolling her eyes, Ada nonetheless followed her mother into the castle. “I don’t reckon you’ll see me in traditional witching robes any time soon.”

Alma sighed but didn’t argue. “Have you spoken to your sister lately?”

“She sends her regards,” Ada said, suddenly very tired. They’d spoken, all right. Agatha’s angry words still scraped inside her skull. Favorite. Betrayal. Abandoned. Why didn’t Agatha understand that Ada didn’t have any more choice in this than she did? They were each forced to live out a destiny based on nothing more than which name came first on a birth scroll.

It’s not like she’d asked for this.

She’d spent nearly twenty years being anywhere but here. She’d left for Weirdsister’s the week after she’d finished her final term at Cackle’s. She’d stayed for summer terms, spent holidays with friends whenever she could and taken an entire year to broomstick across Europe – sometimes with Agatha, sometimes not. She’d taken her teaching credentials to Moonridge High School and then on to Amulet’s Academy. Now she was back. Home, she supposed. Her mother had left no room for argument. In a few years, Alma would retire, and Ada would be headmistress. It was time for Ada to assume her place. She’d start by teaching a few Potions classes, lifting the load from the insufferable Miss Gullet. Then, she would take over as Deputy Head Mistress, learning the ins and outs of running an academy. It all seemed rather bleak and planned out as far as she was concerned.

Ada studied the dining room. The banners had been replaced, but the food was just as bland and the chairs just as uncomfortable as they’d ever been. She’d forgotten how cold it was in the castle and already regretted giving up her leather jacket for a long-sleeved denim shirt.

“Do you have your lesson plans sorted yet?” Alma asked. “You’re taking over the first and second years, correct?”

“For now. I’ll be adding a level each term until a permanent Potions teacher can be hired. Everything is ready, Mother. I’ve taught Potions before, you know.”

“But you haven’t taught it here, Ada. I’ll not have my own daughter coddling the girls. Cackle’s has a long—”

“A long tradition of top marks in Potions, yes, Mother, I know.”

Alma was about to reply when Miss Gullet interrupted her.

“Don’t you fret, Mrs. C. I’ll keep an eye out for her.” Miss Gullet reached across and patted Ada’s hand. “After all, you couldn’t ask for a better mentor than yours truly.”

Gwen Bat, the Chanting teacher, threw her napkin down on her plate. “I rather think I could, Miss Gullet,” she snapped as she pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Cackle, I’ve lost my appetite.” She walked stiffly away, disappearing before she’d even gotten halfway to the door.

Blinking back and forth between Miss Gullet and her mother, Ada wondered what that was all about.

“Oh, never you mind that old witch.” Miss Gullet waved Gwen away. “She’s been in a mood ever since that dodgery old wizard did a runner on her. Can’t say I blame the bloke.”

Ada looked at her mother, but Alma just shook her head. Later, she supposed, she’d have to get the story later. For now, Ada would be content to get through dinner and retire to her rooms. A headache pricked just behind her left eyebrow, and she felt certain that a tumbler of Witch’s Brew would be just the trick for getting rid of it.

----- 

For the third time, Ada ran her finger along the spine of each book on the library shelf. She couldn’t quite believe that Thornapple’s Advanced Potionry wasn’t there. Humming softly, Ada checked the adjoining shelves, just in case. She didn’t find it there, either. Hands on hips, she huffed her hair out of her eyes. Ada glanced around as if she didn’t already know she was standing in the restricted section of the library. Students weren’t allowed to check these books out. They weren’t even allowed in this section without explicit permission. A long-forgotten memory wriggled its way out of a dark corner of Ada’s brain.

It was the middle of the night and the library was much darker than Ada expected it to be. She cast a tiny light spell – about half a second too late. “MONA! Look out!” Ada pointed at the lamp on the table, but Mona had already knocked it with her elbow. Her heart pounded in her chest as the lamp tipped, wobbled, then settled back on its base. She’d scarcely relaxed when Agatha’s hissing made her jump again.

“Will you two be quiet! We’ll never hear the end of it if Mother catches us in here!” Agatha leaned over Mona until the she shrank back, huddling next to Ada. “And if I miss the dance at Weirdsister’s next week, you’ll never hear the end of it from me.” Agatha whipped around and continued sneaking through the library. “And put that light out!”

Ada and Mona exchanged worried glances and crept along behind her, fumbling their way into the restricted section. Agatha had bamboozled the young new librarian into revealing that the wards surrounding the restricted section only kept the books in; it didn’t keep the girls out.

“I still don’t see why this dance is sooooo bloody important,” Mona griped.

Once again, Agatha spun around and glared. “Because Georgie Wintercherry will be there, which means Judith Starling will be there. Which means I will be there. No silly rule that you have to be at least seventeen is going to keep me out of that dance. That toad isn’t getting her claws in him if I can help it. If you weren’t such a little girl, you’d know that.”

“Toads don’t have claws—”

“Shut UP, Mona!” Agatha hissed.

“Well they don’t! And I don’t know what you’re on about – you’re three months older than me. Ada’s older than you!”

“Don’t get me started on that bloody thirteen minutes.”

 Ada shook her head, pulling herself back to the present, though she couldn’t keep her eyes from finding the volume they’d been after that night. They’d found it then, too, but hadn’t been powerful enough to make it work. Agatha hadn’t been able to sneak into the Weirdsister’s dance, and Judith had indeed gotten her claws into Georgie – their oldest girl would soon be entering Cackle’s. Looking back, Ada realized that night was probably when the seed for the plan to take their mother’s power had been planted in the garden of Agatha’s brain. Oh well, Ada thought, it doesn’t pay to travel down some old roads. Gathering up the rest of her books, she made her way to the circulation desk, reminding herself to smile at each student as she passed.

“Ada!” Miss Inkwell wriggled a pinky in the air. “I mean, Miss Cackle,” she said in her poshest voice. Ada rolled her eyes and dropped her books onto the library counter, thunking much louder than Ada intended. A dozen heads popped up, as curious students looked to see who was making all the noise.

“Sorry, girls!” Ada ducked her head and waved. “Carry on.” She turned to Miss Inkwell and grimaced.

“Don’t worry about it, Ada. You probably just woke half of them up.” She pulled Ada’s books towards her. “Gracious, you do have a bit of light reading planned.” Her eyes widened as she read the titles. “You must be planning to keep those girls on their toes!”

“It’s really for me – just trying to keep the old quill sharp.” Ada tapped her temple with a long red fingernail. “Um… I wasn’t able to find quite everything I was looking for. The card catalog shows that we should have a copy of Thornapple’s Advanced Potionry in the restricted section, but I can’t seem to find it. I can’t imagine that someone would check it out.

“Thornapple’s?” Her eyes widened when she heard the title. “Ada… that’s some advanced work, even for Fifth Years… surely, you aren’t…”

“Merlin’s beard, no! I’d rather live to a ripe old age. The truth is, it’s been a while since I’ve taught Potions; I’ve been teaching Spell Science for the past eight years. I need to brush up.”

“I see… best get cracking then.” Miss Inkwell summoned a well-worn box with a drawer, its walnut finish darkened by age. “Let me just check on that book for you.” She slid open the drawer, and expert fingers flipped through the cards. “Oh! Why yes, it is checked out, but it’s due back in on Tuesday. I’ll set it aside for you.” Smiling sympathetically up at Ada, she was just closing the drawer when a loud crack and puff of yellow smoke came from the far end of the library. “Let me just…” She held up a finger and transferred away.

Ada glanced back towards the sound but decided Miss Inkwell would have things well in hand. She pulled the drawer around to sneak a peek at the card. Maybe she would ask whoever had it if they were finished with it. She pulled out the card and read the name: H. Hardbroom, written in precise script. Ada thought she’d met everyone on staff, but apparently she hadn’t. A second puff of smoke wafted over the bookshelves. Sighing, Ada transferred into the thick of it.

-----

“Stop fussing with the collar, Ada,” Alma said without looking up from her paperwork.

“It itches.” Ada tugged again at the offending collar.

“You’re whinging like a petulant child.” Alma finally looked up, peering at her daughter over the top of her bifocals. “It’s better than that ridiculous leather jacket you insist on wearing.”

“Hmpf.” Ada pretended to check her list of preparations for the Yule Party. The jumper was warmer than her motorcycle jacket, but she’d never admit that to her mother. She’d already stopped wearing her concert t-shirts, mostly, bowing to her mother’s persistent insistence that they weren’t professional enough, even if they were hidden under her robes. She knew her mother wouldn’t be satisfied until Ada wore the same drab skirts and frumpy jumpers that she did. Never, Ada vowed to herself, no bulky jumpers – sleek power suits would be her signature outfit once she was Headmistress. “I’m going down to the kitchens. I want to go over the preparations for the Yule Dinner with Mrs. Coriander.” If she expected more than a grunt from her mother, Ada didn’t get it.

By the time she arrived in the kitchen, Ada was doubly glad for the jumper. No matter how many warming spells they cast, it just wasn’t possible to heat the entirety of the castle in winter. Corridors were simply left as they were.

Ada opened the doors to the hurly-burly of the kitchen and realized immediately that she was in the way. Pressing herself against the wall, she finally spotted Mrs. Coriander on the other side of the kitchen, going through an order of produce with a young woman Ada didn’t recognize.  Holding her breath, Ada made her way across the kitchen, dodging floating pots of boiling soup, flying vegetables, and a near-miss with the backswing of a meat cleaver. She reached Mrs. Coriander just as the unfamiliar witch transferred away. “Bouncing bats, Edna! I had no idea it would be so… chaotic!”

Edna Coriander laughed a raspy, acid-washed laugh. “Just you wait, Miss Cackle. Now that the last of the produce is here, we can really get our skates on.” She passed off the basket of vegetables to a kitchen witch that scurried by. “What can I do for you?”

Ada picked up a sheet of paper that had been blown off the table by the passing witch: the receipt for the produce. Ada scanned the items, impressed at the variety of plants available at this time of year. The name at the bottom caught her eye, H. Hardbroom, written in the same neat script she remembered from the library. She turned to ask Mrs. Coriander about the young woman but was cut off by the squawking of three different time crows going off at once. Now was certainly not the time. With a jaunty wave to Mrs. Coriander and a shout of ‘good luck’ to the rest of the kitchen witches, Ada transferred out into the hallway. Breathing in the sudden quiet, she wrapped her jumper tighter around her chest and began the long trudge back to her mother’s office.

-----

“Have you finished with the expense reports yet, Ada? We need to pay this month’s bills before next month’s get here.”

“Almost, Mother, there’s one that doesn’t make any sense.” She levitated a notice to her mother’s desk. “It’s for a grocery delivery, but not to here, to Darkwood Cottage.”

Alma didn’t even glance at the paper; she just flicked her fingers and sent it floating back to Ada. “Just pay it.”

“Why would I pay it? Why would groceries be delivered to Darkwood?” Ada snatched the bill from the air. “I’ll speak to the grocers; I’m sure it’s a simple mista—”

“Pay it, Ada!” Alma barked. Forcing her voice back to calmness, she went on, “It isn’t a mistake.”

Ada may have spent the better part of the last twenty years away, but she remembered her mother well enough to recognize that this bill represented A Thing. And whatever it was, it was something that her mother didn’t want to get into. And that meant Ada had to ask. “What is this about, Mother? There’s something you don’t want to tell me.”

Alma took her glasses off, methodically cleaning and recleaning the lenses with a cloth she’d magicked up. Ada held her tongue, certain that any more pushing on her part would shut the entire topic down.

Finally, Alma put her glasses back on and looked up with the saddest, weariest eyes Ada ever remembered seeing in her mother’s face. “I guess you may as well know now; you’ll become the Sealkeeper once you take over as Headmistress.”

“Sealkeeper? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Ada felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

“No. You wouldn’t have, thank the heavens. It’s old magic. I think Hecate is the last witch requiring a Sealkeeper.” Alma gestured to the chairs in front of the fireplace and summoned her tea set. “Not quite ten years after you’d graduated, I think you were at Moonridge at the time…” Alma poured herself a cup of tea, thinking. “No matter,” she said at last. “You’d been gone a while, and we’d started a new term and were just getting to know our new girls. There was one… Och, Ada, she was a real firecracker, that one. Bright, lively, clever little thing. Still holds the record for the highest scores on her entrance exams. Her name was Joy – and if ever a girl was suited to her name, it was her. Joy Hardbroom.”

“Hardbroom? There’s a Hardbroom that sells us produce and checks out books from the restricted section of the library. You don’t mean that Hardbroom?” Alma nodded and sipped her tea. “Hang on then… aren’t the Hardbrooms also that old-fashioned family that keeps lobbying to bring back the boundary rules that separated us from the Ordinary world?”

“That’s the one. Remember that about them; it’s important.” She summoned a plate of biscuits and offered one to Ada. The Hardbrooms… old magic. Powerful. Unyielding in their adherence to the Code. They brought Joy up the same way – in a very strict, very structured household. But like I said, Joy was bright, curious, vivacious. I think coming to Cackle’s was the first time she’d ever had any sort of freedom at all.”

Ada frowned. This already sounded like a story with a bad ending. “What happened? When Joy got all this freedom…something had to have happened.”

“To this day I don’t know where she got the idea, but during her second year she decided to sneak down to the village one weekend.” Alma vanished her teacup and hoisted herself to her feet. After a moment staring into the flames, she started pacing in front of the fireplace. “Seems the girl spent weeks in the library working out how to get past the wards. Too clever for her own good it turned out. That first trip to the village was like getting dosed with Faerie dust. She went back again and again. Found an Ordinary girl with just enough magic that she could see through the Concealment spell.”

“How is that even possible? If she could see…” Ada joined her mother at the fireplace. “What happened? Did the girl expose Joy as a witch?”

Alma shook her head. “No. Rumors had been going around that Joy had been leaving the grounds, but nobody thought she was going to the village. At least not until Miss Willowbark found a poster in Joy’s room. It was for a music festival that had happened in the village.”

A chill settled in Ada’s chest, right behind her breastbone. Willowbark. She’d never met a person less suited to teaching than Imelda Willowbark. She hated children. She was a stickler for the Code – for all rules, really. “She got caught, didn’t she?”

“Breaking one of our highest laws. Imelda wanted her expelled. Immediately. I… well… after what happened with your sister… I wanted to give her another chance. Imelda went to the Great Witch to try and have the girl expelled. Fortunately, the Great Witch sided with me. Joy wouldn’t be expelled, but she would be confined to the Academy for the remainder of her schooling.” Alma shrugged. “It seemed reasonable. She could go with her parents on holidays, but during term she would be confined to the school grounds.”

“But something else happened, didn’t it?” Ada did a few quick calculations. “She’s got to be twenty-three… twenty-four? Why does she get groceries from Cackle’s?”

“I need to show you something. Come along.” Alma held her hand out. Ada stared at it for a handful of seconds before grasping it.

The next thing she knew, they were standing at the edge of the forest on the south side of the castle. Before them stood a statue of a girl wearing a Cackle’s Academy uniform. “I don’t remember this being here.” Ada circled the statue, noting the detail. She ran a hand down the statue’s arm. It was exquisitely done. Too exquisitely. A knot began to form in the pit of her stomach.

“You wouldn’t.” Alma stepped up and brushed some dirt and leaves from the shoulders. “This is Indigo Moon, the friend Joy made in town. Her best friend.”

“How…” Ada snatched her hand off the girl’s arm. “How did this happen?”

“Loneliness. I don’t think anyone understood just how lonely Joy was. I know I didn’t. I should have, though. When her parents refused to pick her up on holidays, I should have seen about her, but she insisted she was fine. Turns out, she was miserable – isolated and lonely. Desperate for her friend.”

Ada brushed tears out of her eyes. She wasn’t one to break the Code, not after everything that had happened with Agatha, but surely they had to see that sometimes what a young witch needed was understanding. She turned back to Indigo Moon. “How did this happen, Mother?”

“Joy stole my Wishing Star. She couldn’t leave Cackle’s, so she brought her friend to her. Then she gave her magic so she could stay.” Alma shivered as a cold draft of air whistled through the trees. “Night’s falling. Let’s finish this up in my office.” She transferred them back.

“I don’t reckon I need to tell you what happens when you give magic to a non-magical person, do I?” Alma asked once she’d settled herself back in her chair.

Ada leaned forward, elbows to knees, cradling her head in her hands. “No.” Everyone knew what happened. Magic in the Ordinary drove them mad. And turned them to stone if they didn’t relinquish the magic. How many of Witchdom’s childhood stories involved an Ordinary getting their hands-on magic and the terrible consequences that followed? No one ever gave up their magic in the stories. “So what happened? Her confinement just became… permanent? Even though she was a child?”

“Eventually, yes, that’s the punishment she received. She would remain confined to the Academy grounds for as long as the girl remained stone.”

“But she was a child!” Ada threw her hands into the air. “This is just like Agatha! One mistake and your whole life gets taken away from you?”

“The Code is the Code for a reason, Ada!” Alma pointed towards the forest.  “What about that little girl out there, Ada? Her life got taken away as well.”

“Don’t try to defend this, this, abomination of a decision that you imposed on a child!”

“That I imposed?” Alma laughed bitterly.  “You’re suffering from bloody delusions of grandeur if you think a headmistress has that sort of authority. No, Ada, that punishment came from the Great Witch herself.”

“But you didn’t try and prevent it, did you, Mother?” Ada was shouting now. “She was a child, Mother, and you just let her life be ruined, exactly like you did Agatha.”

“Prevent it? No, Ada, I didn’t try to prevent it. I argued with every last breath I had for them to confine this brilliant little girl to Cackle’s instead of stripping her of her magic, erasing her memory and throwing her out to the Ordinaries.”

Ada sucked in a lungful of air so fast she choked.

“That’s right. They wanted to strip every drop of magic from her blood. Publicly. Turn her into an example for everyone. Her parents were perfectly happy to have her confined if it kept it all private. It worked. The Great Witch made me responsible for her. That’s why I’m Sealkeeper. It’s why you will be, too.” Alma slumped down in her chair. “As long as that girl is stone, Hecate remains confined to the grounds.”

“Hecate?”

“Her middle name. Joy changed her name after that day. She changed everything about herself. How she looked, how she acted, what she went by. I can’t even imagine the guilt that little girl felt – still feels. She caused the person she loved most in the world to cease to exist.”

Ada dropped into the chair across from her mother. An Ordinary life with freedom but no magic? Or a life with magic, but no freedom? Ada wasn’t sure they’d really done Joy, or Hecate, any favors. “And no one’s been able to reverse the spell?” She knew the answer before her mother shook her head. “So, what did you do with her?”

“Do? I did whatever I could for her. I gave her as much freedom as I could. I gave her free reign in the library so she could try to find a spell or potion to restore Indigo. I brought in a counselor once a week to help her deal with her guilt and shame.”

“Did it work?”

“For a time. It took a while, but eventually, thanks to one very persistent young witch, she made new friends. She had a new best friend, but it all fell apart when they graduated. I think that’s when it truly became real for Hecate, when she watched them all leave but she couldn’t.” Alma shrugged. “As for her future… I made sure there was no mention of any of this on her school record and arranged for correspondence courses. I offered to arrange for a tutor so she could get her teaching credentials in case she ever wanted to work as a teacher here. She never expressed any interest in it, and I don’t blame her. She moved to Darkwood Cottage and keeps to herself. We provide her needs and purchase her vegetables and potions ingredients. On rare occasions I’ve been able to persuade her to join us for the odd ritual or holiday.”

Ada leaned back in her chair. It was a lot to take in. “Am I her… jailor? Warden?”

“NO!” Alma snapped. “If it were up to me, she would have been free to leave years ago. Her original crime isn’t even a crime anymore. “But it isn’t up to me,” she sighed. “The Great Witch placed the wards herself, and only she or her successor can undo them. As long as Indigo Moon remains stone, Hecate is confined to Cackle’s. If Indigo is ever restored, you’ll be able to remove the ward. It doesn’t happen automatically.” Alma summoned a bottle of wine and two glasses. Ada accepted hers gratefully. “Truthfully, Ada, I don’t think she’d leave even if she could. I don’t think she’d leave Indigo behind.”

Ada downed her glass in a single gulp and immediately poured another. Some days, she really wished Agatha had been born first.

-----

“What do you mean, we’re out?” Ada stared at the empty cupboard. “How can we be out? I know we ordered more than enough nettles.” Mrs. Coriander wrung her hands for an answer. “What happened to the ones we had?”

“As best I can tell, the Spell Science Fourth Years were working on some sort of healing spell and accidentally summoned a plague of locusts. All I know is more bugs flew through my kitchen than I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Ada shook her head, struggling to keep her cool. “Where can we get more? The market?”

“Sorry, Miss, I tried them straight away. We cleaned them out with our first order. I tried the other markets, too.” Her hands twisted harder. “I’m so sorry, Miss Cackle… With everyone wanting nettle soup for the spring meal… We’ve got all the dairy and such for the more traditional part of the meal.”

At least there’s that, Ada thought, ruefully. The nettles were the main ingredient in the soup Cackle’s served for their Imbolc luncheon – the very same soup that Christobelle Cackle had served the first class of girls over a millennium ago. Back then, it had simply been her favorite soup, made from the first greens of spring and appropriate for feasts celebrating new beginnings, such as Imbolc and Selection Day. Now, time had rendered it an honored tradition, passed down through generations of Cackles and carried on by countless former students.

New beginnings, her mother had said, as had every headmistress of Cackle’s Academy that had preceded her. Ada wasn’t about to be the one that broke that tradition – or tell her mother that they couldn’t make the proper soup. Her nerves screamed for a cigarette.

Ada pushed the craving away, for now. “It isn’t your fault, Mrs. Coriander. You were hardly responsible for a plague of locusts.” She squeezed the cook’s arm. “Go on and get done what you can. I’ll try to come up with something.” Ada nodded, trying desperately to convey confidence she didn’t feel.

Ada strode down the corridor, her heart and feet both flying as she raced to the potion’s storeroom. She rifled through every shelf, adrenalin sparking like magic when she spotted a jar labelled ‘nettles,’ but it crashed just as quickly when she pulled the jar down and saw they were spiny-leafed nettles. Her temper started sparking along with her adrenalin. Miss Gullet caused this whole disaster, or allowed it, yet she was nowhere to be found when it was time to put things right. Trying to think clearly, Ada studied the jars and boxes, searching for anything that might work as a substitute, but there was nothing.

She slid down the wall, cradling her head in her hands. Why did she ever think she would be capable of being Headmistress. She felt something roll against her foot, a jar of dried flower petals. She turned the jar and read the label – Dog’s Mercury. The label was handwritten in small, neat script. Ada’s eyes narrowed – she recognized this handwriting. It was the same handwriting she’d been seeing on the grocery receipts. For produce. Hecate Hardbroom’s handwriting. It was a long shot, Ada knew that. But… She pushed herself to her feet and summoned her broom. She could be at Darkwood Cottage in less than an hour. “What do I have to lose?” she muttered to no one in particular as she mounted her broom.

 -----

From the sky, Darkwood Cottage, tucked at the very edges of the Academy’s extensive grounds, looked warm and welcoming. Up close, Ada could see how worn and tired it had become. It was tidy, though. She could tell that it wasn’t being neglected. As she touched down, she felt the slight tingle of magic as she passed through the occupant’s wards. Glancing about, Ada was impressed by the neat rows of vegetables off to the side of the cottage. The front garden was a jumble of flowers and herbs, each one healthier and lusher than the last. Clearly, powerful magic had brought spring early to Darkwood Cottage. The desperate spark of hope glowed a bit brighter.

Ada leaned her broom against the house and knocked, straightening her clothes as she waited. Feeling unusually self-conscious, she wished she’d taken the time to change out of her dark jeans and Iron Maiden t-shirt. She’d been planning to change later, of course, but then the whole business with the nettles started and…

The door swung open, and Ada found herself face to face with a beanpole of a young woman. She looked down at Ada with eyebrows raised impossibly high – whether that was from surprise at finding Ada on her doorstep or the severe bun that sat atop her head, Ada couldn’t know.

Smiling as brightly as she could, Ada bowed deeply. “Well met, Miss Hardbroom. I do apologize for showing up unannounced.” Dark eyes traveled up and down Ada’s body, frowning, and once again Ada wished she’d taken the time to change. “Please forgive my appearance, it’s been a rather hectic day.” The young woman was still staring at her, and Ada couldn’t tell if it was confusion or distaste that was winning the battle for her expression. She held her hand out, hoping that would break the tension. “I’m Ada—”

“Cackle. Mrs. Cackle’s oldest daughter.” With a start, she raised her hand and returned the formal greeting. “Well met, Miss Cackle.” She straightened and opened the door wider, beckoning Ada inside. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Ada dropped her hand and followed Hecate inside. She explained the problem with the nettles, but her eyes never stopped roaming the inside of the cottage. Shelves filled with potions ingredients lined the walls. Hundreds upon hundreds of bottles and jars sat neatly in rows, each labeled with that same precise script Ada remembered. It was better stocked than any potions lab Ada had ever seen. Finally, her situation explained, Ada couldn’t contain herself anymore. “This is incredible, Miss Hardbroom! I’ve never seen any lab as well turned out as what you’ve made here!”

Flushing with obvious pride, Hecate looked around the room herself. “It’s my life’s work, I suppose you could say.” Her shoulders sagged as her eyes dropped to the floor. “I assume you know… my circumstances.”

“Mother told me.”

“I’m sorry for the burden I’ve placed on you.” Hecate turned around and made her way into the pantry, returning a moment later with a pair of wicker baskets. “I know where to find what you need. There’s a grove that’s sheltered; plants usually sprout earlier in the season. I can transfer us there in a moment, if you’ll allow me?”

Ada nodded and held out her arm. The strength of Hecate’s magic surprised her. No wonder she’d been able to visit the Ordinaries and harness a Wishing Star. In no time, both baskets had been filled and the nettles magicked back to the kitchens.

“You’ve saved my skin, Miss Hardbroom,” Ada said as she helped Hecate clean the baskets and put them away. “I didn’t fancy having to tell Mother we couldn’t make the traditional soup.”

“I expect not,” Hecate said, drying her hands. “Your mother has been very kind to me, though, certainly kinder than I deserved.” She gestured to her kettle. “May I offer you some tea? Or do you need to get back for the banquet?”

“The banquet, I’m afraid.” A thought struck her. “I would be honored if you would join us, Miss Hardbroom. After all, we would hardly be having the banquet if it weren’t for you.” At least I wouldn’t, Ada thought to herself, Mother would have me cleaning out the kitchen bins for sure.

“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Cackle, but—”

“That’s a yes, then? Excellent!” Ada’s cheeky grin was contagious, and soon the younger woman was agreeing to go.

“You don’t have to fuss over me, you know,” Hecate said as Ada was mounting her broom. “Just because I’m bound to the Academy doesn’t mean that you’re obligated to me in any way. I’m content here, and my work keeps me busy.”

Ada thought a moment. Hecate’s work, no doubt, consisted almost entirely of trying to find a potion that would release Indigo Moon. She’d seen the bookshelves filled with journals, and a quick peek at an open one on the kitchen table had Ada itching to read more. “That’s something we have in common then, isn’t it?” Ada asked, leaning on her broom. “We’re both tied to this place, in one way or another. I hope that we might be friends.”

Hecate blinked in surprise – then blinked again, trying to keep tears at bay. “That would be… I don’t... If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Ada said, holding a hand out as she mounted her broom. “I’ll see you at the banquet, then? It’s at the usual time.”

Hecate reached out and shook Ada’s hand. “At the banquet. I’ll be there early, in case you need an extra pair of hands.”

“Well met, Hecate Hardbroom. I’ll see you then.” Ada pushed off and made her way back to the castle, certain that she’d just met someone extraordinary.

[diningpageantry]

Leading (You’ll Marry a Music Man)

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN 2019

DAY 12 - SONG/MUSIC INSPIRED

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701131

Word Count: 4746

Rating: T

Summary: The Spring Formal is quickly approaching, and Simon wants to dance with his girlfriend. He doesn't know who else to turn to...

~~~~~~~~~~

“She… asked me to dance with her,” he says, picking at his cuticles. They’re rough, just like the rest of the skin on his hands. Dried and cracking, with small slits peeled away to expose not-yet scabbed open flesh. “But I don’t know how to dance.”

“What makes you say I would know how?” I sound so cruel when I mock him. I really shouldn’t be doing that--it’s bordering desperate nowadays. This used to be fun, like a proper game of cat and mouse, but now it’s just boring. More like checkers (or “1001 Ways To Repress Your Crush”).

Snow shrugs, eyes focused on his nail beds. He really is atrocious with personal care. Sure, his hygiene is good enough, but he lets the small things slip. His skin stays dry in winters, and ever since he started growing wispy bits of facial hair last year, he rarely gives himself a clean shave. It must be hard for everyone else to tell, but for me, I can’t help but look at his upper lip. And his lower one, too.

“Don’t all posh kids get dancing lessons as a kid?” he says clearly, and without a hint of sarcasm. He really thinks we did.

My only instinct is to snort, settling my book onto my chest despite having been drawn away from it for the past minute or so. “Honestly, Snow, it’s not the dark ages. We don’t have ceremonious balls anymore.”

When he frowns, his whole face moves with it. Puppy dog eyes--pout and all. “Agatha had dancing classes. I’d assumed that was usual.”

“Well it’s not.”

He chews on his lip, staring at me from across the room. His dresser door hangs open, a few ties loosely dangling haphazardly on a knob. “Does this mean you’re not going to help me?”

“What made you think I was intending on helping you in the first place?”

“Rich people like charity cases. Makes ‘em seem normal. Seem human.”

My brows narrow up at him, jaw setting. He’s ridiculous. Absolutely, out of his mind, ridiculous. “Oh, poor little Snow wants to be a charity case now, does he?” I slide the book off my chest and settle it onto the night stand in front of me. Interjecting before he has the chance, I clear my throat and raise my gaze back up to his. “Allow me to clarify the situation. You want me to give you dancing lessons so that you can dance with your pretty little girlfriend at the spring formal next week?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s nothing in it for me besides a sense of, what, charity work?”

“Well, I don’t have much else to give you, do I?”

I purse my lips, drumming my hand onto the mattress. Crowley. This is already a bloody mess (quite literally, given his skin’s still bleeding a bit from the picking).

“Please?” He adds, reluctantly. It sounds a bit like when you’re a kid and your parent prods your shoulder for the sake of manners. I can’t help but imagine Bunce being the one who taught him that.

“Merlin.” I swing my legs around, planting my feet flat on the floor as I feel his eyes follow me. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Is that--”

“Don’t push it, Snow. Leave it without the verbals.”

He stares at me, dumbfounded. “But, why?”

“You cock up any verbal communication.” I watch as he opens his mouth to protest, then immediately snaps it shut and clenched. “I’m going to say this once, and this once only. I’ll help you with this… this thing, so long as you shut up and listen. Deal?”

He nods, lips twitching into a half-frown, half straightened and tight-lipped.

I nod back to him, standing and crossing my arms over my chest. “Should we start now then?”

“I--well--”

“Yes or no, Snow.”

He rubs his neck, shirt lifting a bit as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah. Sure, yes.”

Despite his words, when I step closer, he steps back and raises his hands without a second thought. I just roll my eyes, arms staying crosses as I watch him scramble about.

He recollects himself quickly, cheeks going a tad bit pink as he clears his throat. “Music?”

Well, he does have a point. Shouldn’t be getting myself too carried away.

Reaching into my back pocket, I draw my wand and point it into the air. Without it being pointed at him, Snow flinches back in the slightest as he throws his eyes towards the floor. I simply utter “You’ll marry a music man.” Out of the walls leaks soft sounds of a gentle melody, one easy to sway to.

Snow’s eyes lift as I offer a hand, bowing my head. Hesitantly, he reaches out and takes it. His palm is rough and warm, and when my fingertips trail up his wrist, I can feel his pulse padder against my skin. It makes for such an intimate moment, with the raise of his eyes up to my face to the shaky offer of his other hand.

Sliding my wand back into my pocket wastes me a precious moment of uncomfortably trying to hold Snow in a faked out, bullshit, “angrily” agreed upon dance lesson.

Because, in all honesty, I want to do this. 

Sort of.

I want to have Snow close--to feel his breath on my skin and his strong, clumsy hands settled onto me. I want to feel him sway with me; to feel his trust in my movements. I want all the world of him in a dance.

What I don’t want, though, is him knowing.

Even settling his palm to mine overwhelms me with the all-encompassing fear that he’ll somehow find out. I’ll let it slip, or he’ll finally learn to look through me in my weakest moments.

Given our history, I should be more afraid of him stabbing me (or me draining him), but instead I’m here running myself in circles in fears of him knowing more to me than anybody else does. And that’s terrifying.

There’s truly nothing more heartstopping than the look in Snow’s eyes as I wrap my fingers around his free wrist. Heartstopping, as both breathtaking and fear-evoking. Especially as I settle his hand against my back, head tipping up as he stares up at me glassily.

I wish he wasn’t this beautiful up close.

“Fall into step,” I tell him with an uncharacteristic softness to my voice, nudging his foot with mine before I start carefully stepping into a basic waltz. He tries to follow after a moment, basically just rocking on his feet.

After nearly a minute, I notice the issue upon us. “Move your hand to my shoulder,” I order, hand slipping around his arm and settling onto his upper back. I feel him tense below me.

“Wha… isn’t this putting you in lead?” he mumbles, a bit confused but having the right idea.

“Exactly.”

“But--”

“Just watch what I’m doing,” I shush him,, eyes down at our feet. “Watch how I move.”

He grumbles something inaudible, head hanging as I start back into step. It’s slower this time, and we fall more into a sway as my feet drag across the floor. I whisper quiet commands of where to move, how to step. He, somewhat, follows them, while stepping on me a few times in the process.

It’s nearly dark before he realizes they’re serving dinner.

He snaps away, letting the music of the room fade out as he backs further off from me wordlessly. Not to my shock, he can’t look me in the eye (even as he gives a short wave to head off).

By the time night falls and I wander back into the room after my trip to the wood, he’s asleep with his back to me.

It’s odd--it hurts. It aches as nothing else between us has before, and I can’t quite pinpoint where it comes from. The odd rushed sensation of him ripping himself from me (albeit, understood, given food was in question) leaves me with a cold pang in my chest. Does he want to keep dancing? How long are these “lessons” supposed to last?

I sit at the edge of the bed, watching the rise and fall of his body as it rakes over my brain. Why me of all people?

People like him. People love him. People adore the way he smiles and listens, given he barely talks at all. It's absolutely past me as to why he asked me of all people, when he could just ask around class until he found someone who didn't prickle at his touch, just to learn some quick dancing.

Unlacing my shoes and laying back, I listen to his soft inhales and exhales, mixing with the soft sloshing of the moat so near to us.

The window's open, and it's freezing.

He's shirtless and cuddling his blanket, not letting it drape over him.

I'll leave it; he'd want that. I'll do anything he wants. It's so painfully unfair that I crumble so quickly for him, but it is how it is.

Even as I close my eyes and try to sleep, I overwhelm myself with the reality that I'm practically dancing Snow right into Wellbelove’s arms. I'm letting him be happy.

Which doesn’t feel quite right. It feels overwhelming selfish, ultimately, to be giving him these dance classes. I could have fully told him off; told him to google it, or to trust that Wellbelove already likes him as the oaf he is. But I didn’t. I decided that, of all places, the space in my arms is where he’s meant to be (at least, for now).

And, as the next day comes upon us, I find that I'm almost excited at the prospect of our lessons.

When he asks me, I try to force an exasperated expression before waving my wand and letting the music pour.

“When can I lead?” He complains, dropping his hand to my shoulder. “I will be leading, after all.”

“When you learn to follow,” I hiss, taking his palm and cupping our fingers around one another’s hands. His thumb rubs once against my skin, and I mock it up to a fluke.

At least he falls more relaxed now, body less rigid to the slow, spinning movements we share. In fact, it feels too relaxed. Too unstructured.

“Don’t fall behind, Snow,” I snap as he trips up again, head flying down to watch his feet. “And don’t look at yourself. Crowley, you’re helpless.”

“I--” he starts, frowning and shooting his chin back up to face me. His eyes narrow, and he starts to smell a bit like a charred matchstick. “Fuck you I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough, obviously.” My head turns away, facing the wall. For some unknown and fully unfair reason, I can’t look him in the eye so close. It stings--it feels like lemon juice. I hurt enough being this close already.

“Fine!” he snaps, letting go entirely. “Lesson done for today, then. Prick.” He picks up the blazer he threw onto his bed and storms out of the room wordlessly, leaving it reeking of smoke and ash.

I hate that it makes me want a cigarette.

What I hate more, though, is his now blatant acts to ignore me, down to the end of the day. Turned away again, curled into himself and keeping the window wide open. I shut it tonight, perhaps more of a spiteful gesture onto my feelings for him rather than his actions towards me.

Either way, fuck this.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly as I count. One day, two days, three days, four… the dance is now six days away. Which, of course, means at least five more lessons. Brilliant.

The next day feels the same. We have our lesson, we snap a bit, but this time we make it through over a half an hour before I head off to practice.

The next few days flow just the same--we dance, we bicker, we finish for one reason or another. We don’t talk about it. There’s something forbidden held in the words of our actions, therefore it goes unspoken. Unnoted.

In fact, we barely speak about anything until three days before the formal when Snow looks at me and says, “I thought you said you didn’t know how to dance.”

I slowly dip my head down, staring at him incredulously. “When did I ever--”

“You said you didn’t have dance classes.”

“I said not every posh kid had lessons,” I correct, holding his hand tighter as we continue to step. “I never said anything about my own classes.”

He lights up to that, a grin spreading across his face. “Aha! I knew it! You had rich little dance classes, huh?”

Automatically, I sigh and lift my head so my eyes stare anywhere else but him as I exhale. “I took two years of dancing because my stepmother thought it was a good idea. There. Happy?”

Snow laughs, hand squeezing mine as we spin. “How old were you then?”

“Started when I was seven,” I monotone, still looking up, to the side, and just at anything that isn’t him. “Had a little suit and everything.”

“Awhh,” he sighs. I can feel his smile, and it makes me feel sick. “I bet you were actually nice then.”

“I doubt it. My siblings are ankle-biters as it is now. Couldn’t be much different than them.”

“Didn’t know you have sisters…”

I dare a glance at him, raising a brow teasingly as I us about and watch the clear, overwhelming openness on his face (Crowley, it hurts). “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Simon Snow.”

The wiggle of his index startles me, making me tense as he laces our hands together. I’m about to tell him off, opening my mouth for a jab, before he speaks up before me. “I want to know those things.”

“Why?”

“Because… we don’t always have to fight. We’re not fighting right now.”

“We could be.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t.”

My jaw hangs open as I narrow my eyes at him, unsure of what to address about this first. “Snow--”

“We don’t have to be enemies,” he urges, suddenly dropping away from me. The music quickly fades, distancing as he steps further. “Are we enemies now? Do you want to kill me when we do this?”

My lip pulls to a snarl. “Yes. Always, obviously,” I blatantly lie, crossing my arms over my chest as Snow blinks, then pouts, lips twitching and working up to a rightful fit of emotions.

“Always the villain, huh?” He grumbles, rolling his eyes at me before picking up his blazer. “Fucking fine. Look. Forget about what I said, then.”

“Fine.” I feel disgusting. I want to punch myself. I want to throw myself to the merewolves. “Would rather forget.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

We stare at one another, his brows pulled close and skin practically buzzing with frustrated magick whizzing about him before he huffs, shaking his head and leaving the room. Leaving me. Leaving me alone, with my thoughts. Alone with my frustrations for something that could’ve been something, if I just hadn’t been myself…

Suppose that’s always what it boils down to. I’m a devil of my own creation.

I swallow my nerves and go to clean up, then head to the catacombs.

By the next day, there’s rumours going about over Snow and Wellbelove’s relationship. Something about a fight after he went down to dinner. I try to get a reliable source before the evening, but all I get is word on a tiff that went off between them, that someone saw Wellbelove leave Snow alone in a hallway corner looking all distraught, and that they’re both definitely single for the upcoming formal (most likely a suggestion for me to move on to Wellbelove. Sadly).

I don’t quite believe it. I don’t want to believe it, for the same, sinking, selfish feeling of wanting to keep Snow for these dancing lessons, but the confirmation comes in the bitterest of ways.

“Hey, uh…” Snow says, stopping in during the break before dinner. I’m at my desk, halfheartedly attempting to concentrate on an essay for Linguistics. “You don’t have to worry about the lessons anymore.”

I pull my lip up, covering my sinking chest. “Right, after a few and now you believe you’re a prodigy. Well, I can tell you, Snow, you’re definitely not--”

“She broke up with me, you prick. Thought you’d known by now, given you’re all up on her,” he grumbles, giving me what looks more like exhaustion than a death glare. “Don’t have anyone to dance with anymore, so I don’t need to learn shit.”

I try not to look surprised. I try not to look curious. I try not to look hopeful, of all things. “Ah. I see.”

“Yeah.” He scratches his neck, looking at the wall and exhaling before repeating, “Yeah.”

“Do you have anything else to note, Snow, or are you going to stand there and be a distraction?”

I hear Snow grunt and grumble for a minute, going to grab a jumper before locking himself in the bathroom for a minute. During the moment he exists in the room, I keep composure. At least visually. In actually, I’ve gotten six words written onto my page, and my mind is running at a million words a minute.

Of course he doesn’t notice when he leaves. He avoids looking at me, grabbing back his bag and slamming the door as he leaves.

We don’t address it.

Not for days.

Not even as the formal draws closer.

I do notice that Snow promptly fucks off a few hours before the event begins, and when I peer out the window, Bunce is trailing behind him in-tow, seeming to talk very exaggeratedly (with wild hands and even wilder hair). This, luckily, leaves me time to get ready. Wear the usual singular decent outfit I bring along every year. This year, I was allowed to pick (much to my father’s dismay and my stepmother’s delight). Maroon suit, yellow undershirt. My hair is slicked, my shoes are polished, and I look like I’m meant to be--composed and untouchable.

I leave with time to spare, stopping off to meet my minions before the trail along back, heading towards the chapel. They chat mindlessly about classes, then gossip a bit about Snow (Niall actually believes he has a shot with Wellbelove, which he asked for my blessing over once. I gladly gave it). I don’t give much input, busying myself with adjusting and readjusting my cuffs.

The formal itself is rather boring. With student government decorations, and the music clearly playing from somebody’s CD collection--I ache knowing what The bloody Mage has done with technology on grounds. The food seems edible if you’re desperate, and the punch hasn’t been spiked, but I look hot, so I’m not going to leave until everybody sees me.

Everybody including Snow, who isn’t here yet.

Which is a shame, given I can’t quite whore myself out in my own room without risking anything and everything. No, I must be sophisticated out here.

Although, it does dawn on me an hour in that they could have easily been whisked off to a typical, dramatic adventure. One of which that he won’t be back in time to see me looking fit. Shame.

I consider sulking off for a while, watching in boredom from the side of the room, but something suddenly changes about the room--about my space, in particular.

I’m looking the opposite direction as someone falls into place beside me, nearly arm to arm and smelling so, so familiar.

“Can I repay you for a dance?” Snow says, voice soft and muffled under the overwhelming hum of the crowd mixed with the terrible speakers.

I whip my head around, getting a good look at him.

His suit is a bit small. Looks like he got it fitted a year, maybe a year and a half ago, and has since grown wider and bolder. But the simplicity is forgiving, and the soft, springiness of his newly cared for hair makes him somehow more appealing.

Crowley. I’m going to throw myself to the fairies.

“You have more than one dance to repay for,” I say, flicking my wrist and staring at him. He’s worrying his bottom lip, and I fear he’ll draw blood. “But… I’ll allow one. What did you bring me, then?”

He outstretches his hand, palm closed. I’m expecting a little strip of paper that reads “Fuck you”, or something equally as childish, but I’m instead greeted by a blank, offered hand.

“A dance back?” he asks, softer than ever. I worry I’m going to snap at him immediately, and ruin everything. Which, I believe he sees, because he’s squaring his shoulders and standing his ground. “I’m serious. Just a dance.”

“You want to dance with me? In public?” Snow, throw me off a moving train, or do something as equally destructive as giving me everything I want, and then some.

He nods, hand unwavering. “Yeah.”

I watch it in the pink and purple light. He’s got a mole on his hand, at the top right corner of his palm.

I can’t stop myself from reaching out and brushing a fingertip over it, then slowly sliding my hand onto his and warmly closing at it. “So long as you know the consequences,” I warn, trying to sound harsh. I think I may sound scared.

But thankfully, he laughs, and pulls me off the wall. “I know, I know. You’ll take me by my shoulders and launch me into space for this, or whatever. Just let me thank you.”

He takes me out onto the outskirts of the dancers (which, truly, I am thankful for, given crowds are overwhelming to my senses, but he doesn’t know that). At first, I believe he’ll move to our usual positions, but he quickly beats me to it and takes the lead. I shock a bit, raising a brow as he smirks and scrunches his nose.

“I think I’ve learned enough to have this, don’t you?”

“Not really, but I’m not in the mood to squabble tonight.”

He shrugs, pulling me closer into him. “Fair enough,” he hums, “Still got me leading, then.”

“Fuck you,” I mumble, trying, as always, to keep my eyes away from him, but tonight, it feels impossible. He smells cleaner than usual, and he seems well cared for.

I have plenty of questions. Ones I refuse to ignore.

“Where had you run off to tonight, hm? Fighting a hoard of innocent Barbell Bats?”

“Sort of. Not really. Started with a mission, then Penny and I got attacked by Slime Serpents,” he starts, looking off distantly as he rambles. “And of course, we get trapped in downtown London of all places, reeking of the nasty slime, but thankfully alive. In the end, we make our way to her parent’s place, showered, and borrowed some clothes to come to the formal before they drove us back. Quick mission, but I, uh, wanted to be here for this.”

“Why?!” I can’t help but ask, squinting at him. I wouldn’t care nearly that much about something as mundane as a Watford formal.

But he looks at me. Crowley, he looks at me, clenching his jaw and swallowing. A moment passes, and I wait nervously, watching his every move, feeling his every step, before he shakes his head and curses.

“Nothing. Just… don’t want to miss any time here.”

I feel myself exhale, nodding and turning my head away. Merlin… “Figures.”

With that, his hand rubs my back in the slightest, making me stiffen and inhale sharply. He looks up at me, and I instinctively avoid eye contact. This is getting to be too much. “I’m going to go,” I mumble, starting to pull back.

He looks confused, brows pulled together and jaw hanging open as I gulp and shake my head, backing further away.

“Go find Wellbelove, Snow. Have your fairytale dance--I’m sure she’ll want at least one, even if you’re broken up.”

“But, Baz--”

I’m already out the door, heading to the dorm and leaving him far behind.

The stupid, lovesick part of me believes he’ll make a mad-dash behind me, telling me to stop and wait because he loves me, but nothing of the like follows. Instead, it’s silent, with just me marching alone past groups of younger students flocking towards the dance.

In the room, I remind myself, once again, to never anticipate anything Simon Snow does, because whatever outcome you’re expecting, it’ll never quite be right.

Which, is proven true, because he’s back early. Not… a mad dash, but far before the dance let out, either.

He looks worn, and frustrated, and utterly exhausted.

I’m already in bed, reading and in my pyjamas.

When the door closes, he doesn’t move. He stands by the doorway, staring at me for an extended minute and making my insides feel like mush.

“What is it, Sn--”

“Shut it,” he mumbles, starting to stomp closer. I recoil, shocking myself upright and against my headboard and wondering where exactly he’ll punch me, but instead getting shocked by the way he stops at my bedside and waits. And stares. And looks at the edge of my bed, letting me shift aside nervously before he takes a seat and plays with his hands.

I’m holding my breath, counting the moments until he does something, but then I realised I may just asphyxiate first.

“Snow?”

He shakes his head, head snapping up towards me. He looks in a haze, looking me all over before his hands surge out and, before I can even process it, he’s settling them onto my jaw and drawing himself into a kiss.

I freeze against him, eyes wide and mouth suddenly so, so warm. His head’s tilted in, and his hair is in my face, and he’s so close. He’s here, against me, and I’m worrying I’m hallucinating until he’s pulling away, hands kept to my face.

I don’t let him. I yank him back in last minute and press my lips back, hard. Probably letting the fact that I don’t know anything about this show, too, but I’m not sure that matters. Simon Snow wanting to kiss me (I assume--he started it, after all) is all that matters.

We’re not kissing long before he pulls back and apologises, cheeks pink and warm, and smelling of cinnamon sugar. Or, at least, to me they are.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve--”

“Crowley, Snow, never apologise about that,” I murmur, dumbstruck and blinded by the moment. “I’m… what happened?”

“Aggie broke up with me because of you,” he mumbles, hesitantly setting a quick peck onto my lips, which I take happily. “Said I talk about you too much. I pay more attention to you than to her. I think she’s right.”

My eyes are shut, so I can’t see his expression, but I want to believe so desperately that he looks beyond enamoured. I can’t imagine it.

I open my eyes, then, and I’m blown away with how he actually looks.

Half-lidded and exposed. Warm. Like he’s ready to latch to me any minute.

“Why did you kiss me?” I feel myself say.

“Because,” he starts. “I figured one of two answers. You kill me, or you kiss me back. I thought about it earlier, when Penn and I were out. She asked me why I wanted to be back so much, and I told her the truth. That I wanted to see you dance. She gave me hell for that one, but I got the point eventually. And I couldn’t wait after I knew.”

The patience in this one, huh.

“Merlin,” I whisper, hesitantly setting my hands onto his shoulders. He presses into me, happily, with a soft hum and a cheerful grin.

“Well, you didn’t kill me.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever,” he whispers, licking his lips. He’s right. He doesn’t know it, but he’s right. Not ever.

I shrug, then look at him, feeling myself soften up. I move to cover it, pulling him in for another kiss.

“Snow,” I mumble onto his lips. He nods, letting me continue. “Please, never take the lead in dancing again. You’re painfully awful at it.”

He grins, laughing against me. “Noted.”

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 15

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 6453

Chapter: 15/17 (All chapters)

Summary: It's the night of the ball, but will things go as planned?

Read on AO3

AN: This is one of my fave chapters, I'm excited to post it :D

———————————————

Simon adjusted his circlet so it wasn’t lopsided. It always did that, what with his thick hair and quick movements. But it wouldn’t for much longer. After tonight, he wouldn’t have to wear it again. Thank the Gods for that.

Though he really wanted to wear his dragon outfit, Simon had to wear a suit David picked out. It was made of grey silk with some darker, sparkling embroidery, paired with matching grey trousers and buckled shoes. Baz would say he looked like the glittering night sky or something. Simon thought he just looked silly.

A knock at the door jolted Simon from his thoughts. He nearly ripped his button off in frantic flailing. “Uh, who is it?”

“It’s me, Simon.” David’s stern voice was unmistakable even through the thick wooden door.

Simon straightened his coat, pushed his hair back, and tried to ignore how dry his mouth had become with nervousness. “C-Come in.”

David stepped in, grand green cape trailing behind him. He was wearing his full ensemble tonight. Cape, gold embroidered tunic, and official crown. It was an intricate, magically made designed piece of metalwork. Golden vines wound upwards and around his head, inlaid with bright green gems and topped off with a red feather on the left side. He held his head high, shoulders back. The perfect picture of a king. Not for much longer though. Simon felt bad for moment. Until he remembered Philippa, and Canterbury, and those forlorn faces in the procession.

“Good evening, sir,” Simon said, hiding his shaking fingers behind his back.

“Good evening, Simon,” he replied. “Are you ready for the ball?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I-I put on the grey suit you wanted...”

David’s eyes swept over Simon from his feet to the top of his unruly hair. “Yes, I can see that.”

“So, I’m ready.”

“Hm, not quite.”

Simon frowned, looking down at himself for any flaws. “What? But I-”

“Here.” Simon looked back up. David held a beautiful carved wooden box in his hands. He slowly lifted the lid, and Simon’s eyes went wide. “You have to wear this.”

It was a crown similar to David’s, made from gold and deep emeralds. The vines reached up and twisted, like they were made to be put in front of Simon’s curls. And right in the centre sat a large violet gem. It was the colour of the Mage’s School uniforms. Simon remembered off handedly mentioning once that he liked the colour a lot. So David was listening for once. It was heartwarming. Simon almost felt bad that he was about to lose his throne. Almost.

“Oh,” Simon squeaked, “wow. This is...wow.”

“A crown prince deserves a proper crown,” David said grandly. “I thought it would be right to debut it tonight, along with your future Queen.”

Simon hoped his gulp wasn’t too obvious. It took every ounce of his strength to not jump out of his skin. “Right, right. Thank you...father.”

David nodded stiffly. “You’re welcome, Simon. Put it on, we have to get downstairs.

“O-Okay.” Simon carefully lifted the crown from the box. It was strangely warm for something made of metal. He ran his thumb over the delicate vines and leaves. It was beautiful, but Simon knew it wasn’t for him. Maybe he’d give it to Baz later. Until then, he would just have to grin and bare it. Slowly, he put on the crown. The warmth encircled his whole head, radiating through his body. It felt good on sitting on Simon. Maybe he would actually keep it afterwards. Do prince’s...lovers (he still didn't like that word) get crowns? He hoped so.

“How does it feel, Simon?” David asked.

“Good,” Simon replied, mouth stretching into a wide grin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It certainly works for you.” David said. “Let’s get going.”

Simon nodded. He followed behind the King, still smiling, looking forward to walking into the ballroom with his crowned head held high.

The castle ballroom was grand on any day, but tonight, it was especially awe inspiring. Twenty musicians played a haunting tune that floated through the air like a summer breeze. Large gold tables were covered in the fanciest hor d'oeuvres. The high vaulted ceiling was decorated in magical fairy lights, like glittering snow or far away stars. Everything was so pretty and vibrant. It was like a dream.

Anyone who was anyone from every corner of the kingdom was here tonight, dressed in their finest silks. Simon recognised a few from council meetings and Mage’s School. Trixie and Kerys were giggling together. Obviously their relationship was still going strong. Gareth and Rhys sat in the corner, having a champagne drinking competition. Miss Possibelf was discussing something with fellow teachers. Lord and Lady Wellbelove made the rounds and talked to everyone they could. Simon didn’t know if they were drumming up support because they were breaking off the engagement or staying part of it. He hoped it was the former. Especially since a certain someone was here, even if Simon hadn’t seen him yet.

“Announcing,” Premal, already waiting in the doorway, said, “his majesty, King David Owens of Watford. And his royal highness, Crown Prince Simon Owens of Watford.”

Everyone turned to them with varying expressions, ranging from polite smiles to barely disguised contempt. Simon tried to school his face. He didn’t want to seem too nervous, even though his eyes were darting around.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” David said. “We’re incredibly grateful for your presence and your part in our fair kingdom. Please, eat, drink, and be merry.”

They all clapped softly, the way most nobility did. Simon followed David as they ascended the dais and took their thrones. David’s was plush, while Simon’s was smaller and much less cushioned. He wondered if it was a prince’s duty to be uncomfortable. He couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

Some of the guests went back to milling about, while others approached the twin thrones. Lords and Ladies of the court took turns bowing to them, thanking the King for his gracious invitation and even more gracious rule. Simon wasn’t great at picking up sarcasm (unless it was Penny or Baz), but he swore heard touches of it in people’s voices. And their expressions looked particularly forced. Maybe the Staintons weren’t the only ones affected by David’s policies.

Speak of the Devil, the Staintons were approaching. Philippa looked incredible in her pale blue gown. Her eyes met Simon, and she mouthed “hi”. He grinned back. It was good to know he had more than one friend here. Their parents spoke briefly, words emotionless and professional, then she was being carted away. Simon mouthed, “talk later”. Philippa nodded in reply.

Just behind them was none other than the Bunces, save for Premal. Martin and Mitali were in old but very beautiful attire, as were their children. Simon had to school his expression when he saw Penelope. He was so happy to see her. He needed her tonight more than ever. Their eyes met, and Simon knew she was struggling not to smile as well.

“Good evening, your majesty,” Mitali said, bowing down. “Thank you for inviting us to this grand affair.”

“We at the court want to honour our teachers,” David said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

They all turned to leave. But Simon wanted to speak with Penny, he had to. He turned to David very properly. “Um, Father, would it be possible for me to go onto the floor? I could go...make connections...”

Simon almost groaned at his own flimsy excuse. But surprisingly, David didn’t even hesitate. He just waved his hand and nodded. “Yes, good idea. Just come back later.”

“Thank you, father!” He jumped from the throne, then practically leaped down the steps. He was just so excited to get out there. Go find Penny first, then maybe Agatha and Philippa, then hopefully Baz. He should be here soon. But first, Penelope.

“Pen, hey, Pen!” He called out.

Penelope turned her head, and she was already smiling. “Hello, your highness.”

Simon rolled his eyes as he pulled her into a hug. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Well, that’s not very princely speak.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “but I won’t be a prince much longer, so whatever.”

Penelope pulled back sharply. Her eyes were extremely wide behind her spectacles. “What does that mean?”

Simon grinned ear to ear, squeezing Penny’s shoulders. “It means, there’s a certain someone here tonight. And after I say a certain something to the world, he’s going to gladly take my place as heir to the throne.”

She gasped so loud the whole ballroom may hear her. “Oh Gods, he’s here?!”

“Yeah, somewhere. He’s in the same thing he wore to the solstice festival. I haven’t seen him yet, have you?”

“No, definitely haven’t seen a lanky boy in a silver feather suit. But I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Pen. I-”

Simon froze. Something wavy and black over Penny’s shoulder caught his eye. He craned his neck as much as possible. And he saw a flash of silver too.

“Nevermind, Pen,” he said. “I think I’ve found who I’m looking for.”

Penelope turned her head, looking where Simon’s eyes were focused; On a long, lean back, covered in black fabric and silver feathers.

“He made it,” Simon sighed.

“What?” Penny said. “Simon, what are you-”

“I’ll talk to you later, Pen, okay?”

“Simon-”

“Bye!”

He speed walked over towards him. He was surrounded by a group of girls, probably fawning over him. Simon felt horrible jealousy spread in his heart like blood in water, even though he knew that boy only had eyes for him. But he trusted Baz, and he would be polite. So instead, Simon tapped his shoulder.

Baz turned around, and Simon was met with deep sea eyes and cheekbones sharper than a sword.

———————————————

Baz awoke in darkness. It took awhile for his eyes to adjust to the slight moonlight coming in through the window. He blinked slowly until everything came into focus.

He was on the floor of somewhere small and made of dark wood. It looked like his cottage, but bigger. There was a proper desk, a bookshelf, and some chairs. Books and scrolls were spread out across the desk. Some were stamped with a weird looking cross. Baz recognised it from some of the books the man brought him. This had to be his house. He had brought Baz to his own home.

Baz stood up and groaned. But it came out as a honk. He looked down at himself, and confirmed what he already knew. He was in swan form, with his stupid black feathers and stupid long neck and stupid wings- Wait, I have wings, Baz thought. For once, the annoying, tiring things could actually be useful. Baz stretched them and flapped as hard as he could. He soared up and up, until he was sharply tugged back to earth.

“Honk!” he yelled, hitting the ground with painful thwack. He weakly turned his head and saw exactly what he feared. A small but thick link of chains connected his webbed foot to the ground. Baz was trapped. And he could only wonder what Simon was doing at the ball right now.

———————————————

“Excuse me,” Simon said as he offered his hand, “may I have this dance?”

Baz’s eyes were very wide, and he even took a step back. Simon assumed he just caught him off guard. Maybe he wasn’t expecting Simon to find him so soon, or so late, depending on how long Simon hadn’t seen him. Simon hoped he hadn’t been waiting long.

“Oh,” Baz squeaked. “You...want to dance?”

“Of course. It’s a ball, and I want to ask the prettiest person in the room to dance.” The girls gasped and giggled, hiding behind their fans. Baz still looked distressed, his face all stretched out and eyes bigger than saucer plates. Simon didn’t want him to be nervous. He stepped closer, and Baz leaned back, but didn’t step away. “C’mon, one dance. Then I’ll make the announcement.”

Baz’s brows pulled together. “Announcement? What? I thought-”

“Don’t worry,” Simon sighed, taking Baz’s hand. “We have time. We can dance first. I’ve been waiting to dance with you again for ages.”

He dragged Baz through the crowd. They parted for Simon, making a corridor towards the musicians. The floor was open for them to start the dancing. Simon turned, facing Baz, and tugged him forward. Baz stumbled until they were as close as they had been at the solstice festival. Simon could feel how tense Baz was. He had to be freaked out by everyone watching them. The solstice festival was hard enough, and he was behind a mask. Now his face was out there for everyone. Simon wondered if Lord Grimm or Lady Pitch were watching. He wondered if Baz looked familiar to them.

Simon pulled Baz to him, making the boy stumble into his arms. He heard mumbles and whispers from the people of the court, which he expected. They probably all expected the Prince to dancing with a lady. Not some mysterious bloke in a black and silver feather suit. Even David was watching. His face was stone, but surprisingly not angry. Simon didn’t care. All he could see was Baz, who looked like a dream tonight.

He put one hand on Baz’s shoulder, and grabbed his palm with the other. Their chests were almost pressed together. Baz’s eyes were still wide and nervous. Simon hoped to make that expression go away.

“Let’s dance,” Simon said.

———————————————

Baz had no idea what to do. The chain was strong and showed no signs of budging. No matter how fast Baz flew, he couldn’t escape it. Whatever the man had done, he’d made sure Baz couldn’t escape. Well, that was what he promised, the stupid wanker.

Baz was sprawled out on the wooden floor, wings spread out like he’d hit a window. It felt hopeless. He was stuck here, as a swan, while Simon was Gods know where. The man had promised Simon wouldn’t be able to break the curse. Baz felt a cold stab of dread in his heart when he thought about what that that meant. He hoped it wasn’t like in Swan Lake. He hoped Simon would notice it wasn’t him.

Whatever Simon was doing, it didn’t matter. Baz was stuck here. And wherever this was, it wasn’t where Simon was. Part of Baz wanted to lay on this cold floor forever, resigned to his fate, accepting that his hope was snuffed out like the tiny weak candle it was. Of course he’d never be free. Life was never that kind to him. It was stupid to think he could have all the things Simon promised him.

Simon...

Baz closed his eyes, and he saw so much more than this stupid cottage. He saw a smile so bright it rivaled the sun. He saw freckles and moles that looked like his beloved stars. He saw blue eyes, bronze curls. Simon Snow. The incredible boy who had stolen his heart and given him hope for the first time in his dreary life. Baz could almost hear his beautiful voice from that fateful night, when Baz had set the world on fire.

I’ve never turned my back on you before. I’m not starting now.

Simon had saved him that night, in more ways than one. Simon hadn’t given up on him then, and wouldn’t want Baz to give up on himself now. He would tell Baz to fight for what he wanted. And fight Baz would.

He raised himself up again and looked around the room. The cloaked man kept a lot of weird random shit. Flasks, books, crates, but none of it seem useful for breaking a chain. Nothing short of Simon’s sword could probably break it. Or Baz’s fire, that would work too. He would need a wand for that, which was currently under his pillow back at the lake. If only...

Baz’s eye caught something. It was long and white with black at the end. A wand, sitting at the top of the bookshelf. All Baz had to do was fly up, and he was going to damn well try.

———————————————

Simon wondered if the Solstice Festival truly was a single fluke. Maybe there truly was magic in the air that night. Because he and Baz were dancing, but it wasn’t nearly as smooth as it was that night. They kept falling out of rhythm and Simon stepped on his toes quite a bit.

“Ow,” Baz hissed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Simon said, pulling back. “We were better last time, huh?”

“Were we?”

Simon rolled his eyes, somewhat tempted to kick Baz in the shin even at this oh so momentous of nights. “Yeah yeah, shut up and be formal.”

Strangely, Baz looked genuinely concerned. “But...we weren’t that good last time. Remember?”

“Uh, I didn’t think we were that bad. Thought we were pretty good...”

“If you think so.”

Simon’s mouth opened, then quickly closed. This was odd. Where was Baz’s sarcastic edge? The back and forth that characterized their entire relationship? Maybe he was too nervous for banter. Simon couldn’t blame him. This was beyond nerve wracking.

They were still sort of moving, stepping in a tiny square. Baz was looking down at the marble floor. Simon brought their joined hands to knock up his chin until their eyes met. Baz’s incredible grey eyes. He looked especially pretty tonight, like a glowing sun surrounded his head, blurring everything around him with his light.

“It’s okay,” Simon whispered. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be okay. It’s all going to be fine. Tonight’s our night.”

Baz looked even more perplexed. Simon guessed he was about to ask some inane question made from nerves, not a genuine concern. So Simon pulled him across the dance floor, guiding them with their hands, moving so fast Baz wouldn’t have time to be worried. All he’d be able to think was them, together.

———————————————

The cottage was filled with strained, stressed honks as Baz tried to reach the top of the shelf. Why did he have to put it all the way up there? Baz whined internally. If he had a half inch more of chain, he could reach it. He fell to the floor for the fifth time, wheezing as much as his small swan lungs could. At this rate, by the time he got the wand, he’d be too tired to fly all the way to Simon. Why couldn’t that thing just be a bit lower? Better yet, why couldn’t it be on the floor?

Simon always liked to bash into things as hard as he could. Maybe Baz needed to take a page from his book.

He flew upwards again, but this time only to just above the middle. He pulled back as far as the chain would let him and took a deep breath. For Simon, he thought. Then Baz hurled himself forward as hard he could, hitting the shelf with the side of his wing. Pain shot through his entire being. Sensations as a swan were always strange, but getting hurt was the worst. It seemed having a smaller body made pain more concentrated. Baz winced. He wanted to stop, but he wanted to see Simon more.

Baz threw himself at the shelf again harder. It rocked back then forward again. The wand rolled but didn’t fall. Baz let out a frustrated honk and tried again, even harder, so hard he feared his wing was broken. Come on, come on, he thought, just fucking fall. He looked at the shelf, filled with righteous determination, and flew as fast as he could. He ignored the shooting pain as he hit the shelf, because all he could think of was getting to Simon.

With a long breath, Baz collapsed on the ground, head resting on the floor. He couldn’t do that again. He would break his wing and be unable to fly if he did that again. Fuck, hopefully-

Thunk. Baz opened his eyes, and his gaze was met with ivory and black leather. Oh thank every stupid God, Baz thought. He dragged himself forward and put his wing over the wand until he realised that he couldn’t pick it up. Baz’s deep seated hatred for his swan form somehow got even more deep seated.

Instead of his wing, Baz went with a different option. He grabbed the ivory stick with his tiny swan mouth as he sat up. He couldn’t say a spell now of course, but he could try to recreate that night, when fire manifested from the wand just by thinking. Fire was always easiest for him, almost as natural as breathing. Baz was still a mage, even as a swan. At least he should be.

Baz closed his eyes, pointed the wand at his chain, and pictured fire building in his body, slowly pushing it towards the wand. But the fire didn’t even need to build. It pulled towards the wands like a magnet. Baz liked Simon’s wand, but this one was a tailored glove. He could control it far better. The fire came out in a perfect steady stream, hitting his shackle lock dead on. The metal went from dark grey, to orange, to bright red. It drooped and slowly melted onto the ground. Soon enough, what was once a lock was a puddle, and Baz dropped the wand, the fire ceasing. He thrashed his foot around violently until the latch came undone. And just like that, Baz was free.

He flew up to the window above the desk. It was slightly ajar. With one shove from his beak, the pane flew open, and Baz was out. He zoomed out and up into the night sky. Baz took in his surroundings. He was on some sort of hill on the edge of a forest. It looked like his forest, and Baz knew how to navigate his forest, thankfully. He looked to the west and saw what he was looking for. It was barely a speck from here, but Baz knew it was actually the castle, where Simon was. He briefly thought about changing first, but he’d get there faster on wings. And he had no time to waste.

Baz flapped his wings as hard as possible, and soared towards the castle. Towards Simon.

———————————————

In took awhile, but Simon finally found a rhythm with Baz. It was shaky but it was there. They didn’t soar across the floor like before, but they did move easily. Other people had joined them on the dance floor too, thankfully, so it was less awkward. Trixie and Keris were happily swanning about. Lord and Lady Stainton were having a grand old time together. They were obviously expert dancers. Some of the younger kids were dancing with their parents or each other. It was fun. Though, Penelope was still to the side, arms crossed over her chest and looking really concerned. She’d gestured Simon a few times to come over, but Simon didn’t want to. He liked dancing with Baz. He barely noticed her after a while.

The song changed to something slower, more subdued. Simon slowed down, and Baz did as well. They weren’t really dancing even. They just sort of...swayed. And it all felt perfect.

Simon sighed, squeezing Baz’s hand. “This is great, innit?” he asked quietly.

“I suppose...” Baz said, a bit more cautious than Simon would have liked.

“C’mon,” Simon said, pulling Baz closer, “try to have fun. Just because we’re gonna do something serious doesn’t mean we can’t have fun first.”

Baz’s brows furrowed, mouth pulling into a frown. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

Simon frowned back even harder. “What do you mean what am I talking about? Have you forgotten the plan already?” He shook his head. “Nevermind, let’s just finish this song.”

Simon pressed closer, leaning on Baz’s shoulder. He was surprised how soft Baz felt. The embroidery on the suit was supposed to be pretty rough. Simon didn’t care. All he could think about was being close to Baz right now. Just like how they would be forever soon.

“Simon,” Baz whispered, close to his ear. Simon just hummed and closed his eyes, wanting to sink into the feeling. “Simon, listen to me.”

“What?” Simon grumbled.

“Simon, I have no clue why, but I think you think I’m him. I’m not him.”

Simon’s head bolted up. His heart was thumping a mile a minute. He looked at Baz. His mouth was all pinched in concerned, but his eyes were wide. Simon couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“What? What are you on about?” he hissed in reply.

Baz leaned closer, their faces a breath apart. “Simon, I don’t know his name, but whoever he is, I’m not him. You obviously think I am and I don’t know why, but I’m not. Do you understand? I’m not who you want.”

Quickly, Simon stepped back, though their hands were still joined. He looked over Baz, examining his face. His sharp cheekbones, his soft black hair, his grey eyes. He looked perfect. Actually...almost too perfect. He was practically fucking glowing. Normal people didn’t glow. Why hadn’t Simon noticed that before? He squeezed Baz’s hand, and his skin wasn’t rough. Baz’s hands were always rough. And though he saw it on Baz’s bony digit, Simon didn’t feel the cool metal of his gold signet ring. Simon looked closer at Baz’s face. For a moment, just one moment, he swore Baz’s eyes flickered into a different colour. From deep sea grey to golden brown.

Simon stepped further away very quickly. He blinked rapidly. Baz was glowing, very brightly, truly blurring the world around him. Every part of Simon was telling him not to look but he refused to turn away. Why couldn’t he look at it? Why was Baz looking so damn perfect but acting so weird? Fucking hell, why was Simon's head so hot?

It hit him like a ton of bricks. He ripped the crown from his head and threw it to the ground. It hit the marble with a loud crash. The crown was making a high pitched whine, which slowly died away, along with a glow in the purple gem.

Simon looked up again. The glow was gone. The ballroom was still pretty, but didn’t look like a dream anymore. And standing in front of Simon wasn’t Baz. It was Agatha, dressed in a lovely pink gown, eyes wide and looking extremely concerned. Simon’s eyes swept around the ballroom. Everyone looked very concerned. Considering the prince just threw his own crown to the floor, it was a natural reaction. Simon’s gaze eventually fell to the dais, to David. He didn’t look like everyone else though. If Simon was a betting man, he’d say the King looked scared.

And everything slid into place. Everything just made sense. Like puzzle pieces, or books fitting perfectly on a shelf, or something else like that. All the questions that Simon had never bothered to ask, too focused on just getting Baz free, ran through his brain.

Who stood to benefit the most from Queen Natasha dying and Baz disappearing?

Who was powerful enough to cast such a complicated curse?

Who would want Simon to declare his undying love to the wrong person?

Who had given Simon a crown that made him think Agatha was Baz?

It all made so much sense. Simon’s stomach dropped to the floor, muscles shaking. He and David were locked in the staring contest. He wanted to scream “why?!” in front of everyone, force David to explain himself in front of the entire damn court. But all he could do breathe harshly through his nose, nails almost piercing the flesh of his palm. Everything, all of this suffering, was all because of him.

“Simon...” Penelope’s voice said from next to him. He must’ve not heard her approach in his blinding rage. She tugged lightly on his sleeve. “Si, look out the window, behind us,” she whispered.

Simon looked at her. She cautiously pointed over her shoulder. He whipped his head around, looking up towards the large window. It was hard to see in the dark, but Simon caught a flash of orange and a glint of silver. There was a slight tap, tap, tap noise. Though it was hard from a distant, Simon finally met his eyes. Simon’s lips fell open. Baz, the real Baz, was flying right outside the castle. Gods know where he was before.

“Oh gods,” he finally said.

Baz turned and flew away back into the night. Suddenly, the crowd started simmering with murmurs and contained gasps. Simon whipped around. His blood started boiling. The dais was empty. David was gone.

“Fucking hell,” Simon hissed. “Baz is going to the lake and David’s following him”

“You think?” Penny asked, still standing next to him after everything.

“Definitely. Baz is going to want to be human again and David’s going to try to get there before him.” He turned to her, gripping both her shoulders tight. “Pen, do you think you and Agatha can keep everyone here calm while I go? I-I need to go help-”

Penny gripped his hand back. “Yeah, of course. We can do crowd control. You need to get there quickly, and maybe pick up a weapon.”

Simon nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, definitely. Uh...” He remembered that his sword was all the way in the other wing of the castle. He swept over the crowd, until he saw pale blue. He ran impossibly quick towards her, Penny behind him, until he was gripping Philippa’s shoulder. “Philippa, did you bring your sword?”

“Um, yeah. Simon, what’s going on? Where’s the king gone?”

“Long story. Penny can tell you and Agatha the short version. Did you bring your sword?!”

“Yes, yes! It’s still on my horse. My parents wouldn’t let me bring it in.”

Simon let out a long breath. “Can I borrow them? The horse and the sword? I’ll bring them back, and I have a good reason, I promise.”

Philippa scanned him over. Simon wondered if she was checking him for mental issues. He only hoped she trusted him enough to not question. And when she nodded, he let out a sigh of relief. “Alright. My horse is the white mare with the black saddle bags.”

Simon hugged her so hard his own arms hurt. “Thank you so much, you have no idea what this means.”

“Yeah, I don’t,” Philippa chuckled. “But I trust you have some noble reason. So get going.”

“Right right.” Simon pulled away and turned on his heels. Agatha and Penelope were right behind him. He quickly hugged them both at the same time. “Thanks to you two as well, for everything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

They squeezed Simon back, then Simon had to break away. He let his friends go and dashed out the doors. He could hear the murmurs turn into shouts behind him. But soon those were drowned out by three very strong women who were not having any sort of panic right now. Simon grinned to himself, but made sure to keep running. He flew across the stone floors, letting the grey walls become mere blurs. At the same time, he ripped off his restrictive clothes. Gone were his embroidered jacket, his cuffs, even his fancy shoes. He arrived at the stables only in socks and took just enough time to grab a pair of riding boots that looked like they fit.

Philippa’s mare was luckily quite nearby. She whinnied and bucked away from Simon at first. He approached her with an outstretched hand, shushing her until she finally calmed down. But when he tried to mount her, she panicked all over again.

“Come on,” Simon groaned. “I don’t have time for this.” No matter what he did, the mare kept bucking away. “Oh, fuck this.”

Simon pulled out the sword, not even bothering with the sheath, and ran out onto the great lawn. He was running out of time. No doubt David was riding on his damn cloud to Baz already. Simon needed to get there soon. He needed to be there now. If only he was like Baz, the wind carrying him where he needed to go.

A pain shot through Simon’s back. He seized up and fell to his knees on the grass. There was the sound of fabric ripping. It was hard to tell through all the pain, but Simon swore he felt something...growing from there. When he opened his squeezed eyes again, his jaw dropped. The moonlight and castle torches illuminated his back. And along with his normal shadow was the silhouette of two enormous wings. Simon turned his head, and there they were. Real, honest to the gods wings. They were large and made from pitch black feathers. Simon barely felt their weight, but when he flexed his shoulders they flapped.

“Okay,” Simon panted. “I can work with this.”

He closed his eyes, and pictured himself flying upwards. Before he knew it, Simon was soaring through the sky. The wings flapped so hard the air roared in his ears. The houses were tiny beneath him and the people were barely ants. He honestly didn’t understand what he was doing, but he didn’t care. All Simon cared about was getting to Baz as soon as possible. And when he saw the edges of the Forbidden Lands, he flew faster.

———————————————

Baz had never flown so fast in his entire life. He was used to a leisurely pace, gliding around or above people. Now he was flapping as hard as he could, so much his wings hurt.

Simon had been dancing with that blonde girl with a sort of dazed, dreamy expression. The way he sometimes looked Baz. Baz had tapped the glass all he could and Simon didn’t hear a thing. He had almost left, heartbroken and resigned to his fate.

But then Simon had tossed that crown off so dramatically, looked to the King, then finally to him. And that look in his eye said it all. Simon was unbelievably shocked to see him. Just shocked, not angry or even guilty. It gave Baz the tiniest glimmer of hope. Hope that there Simon was still able to break the curse. So he needed to go to that damn lake then get back to that castle. Baz didn’t know how the curse worked exactly, but he absolutely wanted to be stuck as a human. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Before he knew it, Baz arrived at his stupid lake. He nosedived towards the water. Baz had never transformed in motion before. It was very strange. He spread his wings to slow himself down, but soon was flapping his arms like an idiot. Instead of honking he was panting, and treading little webbed feet became toes pounding against the pond floor. Baz barely even noticed the pain of changing he was so frantic. He splashed water every which way as he sprinted, scaring his poor swan friends. He’d apologize later.

Luckily, his clothes were still sitting in disarray on the ground. Baz threw on the tunic and trousers as he raced towards the cottage. He practically fell on top of his cot, throwing off the pillow, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods,” he whispered, snatching the wand and going back towards the door.

Baz knew exactly what he was going to do. The plan was crystal clear in his mind; Use the wand to levitate up, run as fast as he could to the castle, and get to Simon. They needed to stand up in front of those nobles as Simon declared his feelings, before the man found out. He needed to get there now and-

Just as Baz stepped out the door, he froze in place. There, right in front of him, stood the King of Watford himself. He looked far less disheveled at the ball though. Now his cape was torn up, crown askew, a furious sort of look in his eyes. There was a sword in one of his hands and a wand in the other. It became so clear in an instant. Baz held his head high to mask his fear.

“Hello, sir,” he said as smoothly as possible. “I got out of the chains.”

“I can see that,” David growled. His eyes flicked down to Baz’s wand. “And I see Simon did more than promise to break your curse.”

Baz clutched the wand tighter. “Yes, he did. And he found out who I am too. So, I’m guessing you started the castle fire, killed the Queen, and made everyone think I was dead so you could to take the throne.”

David scowled even deeper. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh? What other reason would you have? A fun little prank?” Baz stepped forward with shoulders still squared. “You murdered my mother in cold blood, ripped me away from my family, and cursed me for six fucking years. All for some goddamn crown.”

“No!” David barked. “It’s not like that! It’s-” He sighed, and it quickly became a low, almost menacing chuckle. “What am I doing? I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re just an arrogant brat, even worse than your mother.” He flicked up his wand. “I could try to mess with your memory, like I did after the fire and to Vera when I let her go. But there’s a lot to erase now, I suppose.” He raised his sword next, a menacing grin on his face. “Or, I could just dispense myself of your troublesome behind. And I think you’ve outlived your usefulness, Basil.”

Baz felt all his confidence drain out of him in an instant, along with all the blood in his face. His arm shot up. “Infer-”

David smacked it out of his with one hit of his sword pommel. The wand sputtered out a few useless sparks on the the grass. Baz stepped away, and David stepped closer. He slipped his wand into his cape and grasped his sword with both hands. The steel glinted in the floating lights.

“Goodbye, Basilton,” David said. “Tell her majesty I say hello.”

“No!”

A loud thunk made Baz turn his head. There he was on the roof of his cottage he stood, with a tattered silk shirt, huge black feathered wings, and a longsword that wasn’t his own in hand. He looked like a god, or maybe a demon. Either way, he looked like a force to be reckoned with.

“Simon,” David said, almost sounding exasperated. “Good evening, son.”

———————————————

AN: Oh boy, shit is getting real my dudes. Personally I loved switching between Simon and Baz's perspectives. It was so much fun. Also I know it's no big surprise Davy was behind all this. That wasn't really meant to be a twist for the reader tbh, more a twist for Simon himself. Like it says, he was so focused on just getting Baz free he didn't consider why Baz was taken in the first place, and Baz got caught up in it too. So yeah, this is me over explaining again lol. Next time, there's gonna be a rumble toniiiight! (Yes I'm a musical theatre nerd and West Side Story is the best). Chapter 16 will be posted next Monday :)

[brawltogethernow]

Neutral Element - I Am Well

Installment Masterlist/what am I looking at here || Relationships: FINALLY; Characters: Tarvek and Gil, Agatha; Length: 2k; Content notes: Just when including this section was starting to feel overly precious - Medical stuff! Dissociation! Flashbacks! Body horror? Aaronev Wilhelm leaving sticky residue on things that persists after his death. All conveyed through experimental formatting. This segment was fun. Readmores are still broken on mobile and I’m still sorry.

Tarveka and Gil maintain a careful balance of, ‘Well, it would upset Agatha if something happened to you,’ and not addressing that they can feel each other’s lies of omission.

 *

“We’ve got to put her in a different head,” Agatha declares, staring into the dead eyes of Tarveka’s empty chassis with an air of diagnosis and tsking quietly. “This one’s no good.”

“We can maybe fix up some other things for her, while we’re in there....” adds Gil, pressing close to Agatha to look too.

I will not stand by while you — came the impression of Tarveka in her head, only to pause. Gil was reminded of a finicky bumacat deciding whether to put her paw down after sticking it outside her cave. Hm, that is a good idea. Zengil feels Tarveka shuffling through the half-formed ideas for improvements floating at the top of her mind, which manifests as them rising to precedence without her input. To someone with pretty strong mental control, it’s unusual and somewhat disorienting. Hm, I like that one. Oh, now that is lovely.

Gil wants to tease her for being as vain as a cat too, in this moment where she won’t have to explain the reference and Tarveka will understand and not be able to deny she’s joking, but Tarveka’s appreciation is more that of an enthusiastic connoisseur. Even Tarveka’s interest in clothing that Gil has noted  has surprisingly little of the covetous impulse that Ooh, that would look lovely on me. And Tarveka would know she knew that, and know she knew she knew, and...

Ack.

“Told you,” Gil settles on.

You’re such a mess, impresses Tarveka, plainly referring to the entire train of thought.

 *

I’ll have to commission a whole new wardrobe, of course,” Tarveka coughs. Being able to edit herself to fit clothes could certainly be convenient. The taste alerts her that blood is dripping from her mouth.

Soon she won’t be bothered by concerns like —

Zengil yanks herself out of the blood-red flash of recollection, reeling. Half of her scrambles to place when that happened to her, before it settles in that it never did.

I didn’t see anything?? she thinks at Tarveka, desperate and sheepish.

Tarveka, sick and sulky, doesn’t send more than a mild sense of irritation at Gil, but Zengil still retreats, embarrassed at having accidentally intruded on something so profoundly personal, to lurk sheepishly in the corner of her own head.

 *

Asking me to ride along like this... Tarveka begins eventually, out of the blue and awkward. I would think you of all people...

Gil, for once, is sure of what Tarveka is getting at. She’s kind of cheating right now. “You aren’t like Lucrezia, okay? I invited you in. So stop fretting.”

Gil, mercifully for the both of them, cannot actually see most of Tarveka’s thoughts, but she doesn’t need to to put together stories about Lucrezia with Tarveka’s own manner of conducting herself and see why the clank girl might be uncomfortable, snagged by hooks of misplaced guilt.

Tarveka’s presence retreats into a sulky, defensive ball, trying to shrink into itself and lash out defensively at the same time.

“Of course,” says Gil, voice growing irritated, “you could always just try being a better person instead of a manipulative sneak —”

Oh, don’t you start with me, you brutish, pathetic excuse for a diplomat! You wouldn’t know subtlety if it struck you in the face!

“That wouldn’t be very subtle of it, would it?”

 *

Tarveka considers her body, cracked open on a lab table, for the second time in her existence.

(At this point she isn’t sure she dares call it her life. It almost feels like she’ll jinx herself.)

For the first time, she’s doing so through another’s eyes. The optics of her clank were hers from the start, of course. And the eyes she saw it through were her very own, the originals, slightly myopic and a dull brown color she needs only look at Anevke to see these days, but still somewhat misses.

Her clank body’s first face didn’t move. She just didn’t have the skill or the time, and she would have needed at least one.

Tarveka had already studied the art of dollmaking before she sent her brother for the Muse, and applied those arts when she couldn’t replicate the incredible lifelike quality of Tinka, fighting her own body and racing to beat its inevitable shutdown, damn her father. She made the clank’s face so its expression could seem to change with a tilt of the head, or through association with subtle posture or a tone of voice.

Tinka’s help was invaluable with the more critical problems, before Tarveka’s father broke her too. Aaronev left the world scattered with broken women.

She is staring down at her own corpse and thinking, I don’t want to believe that I am dead, but what if —

Gil yanks them away from the memory with increasingly thoughtless ease — more of a nudge than a yank now, really, a gentle redirect — and tries not to mull on how she now knows Tarveka snuck her own body into her family castle’s medical waste.

She wasn’t bragging about knowing mental disciplines, so instead of letting herself start thinking about how she shouldn’t be thinking about things she shouldn’t be thinking about, inevitably defeating the purpose of the whole thing, she starts teaching Tarveka the Skiff alphabet. Then she moves on to their measuring system.

Base 9? thinks Tarveka. Really?

The number was sacred to an ancient simek—

Waͪrͤrͬiͦorˢᵖᵃʳᵏ, conveys the helpful impression Tarveka gets.

— so it’s sort of a thing. Don’t start. You count time by twenty-four. Twenty-four and sixty.

Yes, but that’s...

Normal here? Gil interrupts sarcastically.

Alright, touché.

 *

Gil is stripped open and vulnerable too, like this. There’s a kind of balance to it that settles the part of Tarveka that wants to be defensive. She’s shocked by the open, raw care the other woman feels, and the soft thread of doubt and hurt she put there.

 *

Tubing twists from the palanquin’s molded container like organs spilling from a fresh Coptic jar and isn’t it isn’t she dead so much to do trapped in this castle trapped —

They emerge with a gasp and Gil forces their attention back to the present project, which is strikingly reminiscent but not the same. It’s not you, you’re with me, please, Tarveka. If we don’t focus you will die.

We will die, corrects Tarveka. Suicidal idiot.

 *

Tarveka is getting better at taking the reins from Gil, remembering how to be flesh. Given all the factors, this is probably a bad thing.

 *

Gil fancies that Agatha is like one of her goddessess — a war queen who built herself wings of iron and sunlight, flew to the realm of the gods, and situated herself among them.

That is the best thing I’ve ever seen, says Tarveka. Really? Do you mind if I use that comparison? I’ve thought of her as like the sun before, you know, but we don’t have any sun goddesses.

She was reading associations out of Gil’s mind, then. Sometimes the queen was associated with Ishana, the punishing burning bringer of life.

Do you think —

That the legend could refer to some solar-powered vehicle? finishes Gil. Yes. I’ve incorporated that idea into some of my designs —

It says iron, but —

It must be from some old word that just means metal, I think.

Ah, like the “apple” of knowledge.

The what?

Now, fͭoͪuͤr of the sͫeͦvͬeͤnᶠᵒʳʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗʰᶤᶰᵏᶤᶰᵍ  popes disagree about this strongly, but...

 *

She grips her right hand with her right hand and feels for a pulse and this is the part where her heartrate should kick up but that’s the entire problem isn’t i —

“You two are spacing out again, aren’t you,” says Agatha, grabbing Gil by the chin and forcing them to look her in the eyes.

Focusing on Agatha is easy. “I’m not going to die on you, I — I  promise,” Gil reassures her. Or one of them does.

“Don’t you dare,” Agatha says, uses her grip to tilt Gil’s head, then leans forward and kisses them softly.

Then she bustles back to work. There’s still ever so much of it.

 *

Tarveka resents the ways the project of building a clank to puppet got away from her.

Tarveka has always placed a high value on her control over her own person. It is a representation of her personal strength which she feels, paradoxically, is both a testament to her indomitable will and an absolute lowest-bar basic achievement everyone should be expected to adhere to. After all, she does.

Tarveka administered as close to total control over her body as possible through the teachings of the Way of the Smoke. She controlled her own reactions. She controlled others’ perceptions of her.

But the incident of losing her body was a mad dash wresting control back from where the void devoured it from the very start, and she did not emerge entirely victorious|took heavy losses in her victory. Yes, she built her new body from its gears up, and it’s a masterwork, certainly, but she didn’t make it her new body on purpose. She didn’t mean to give that much to her father in her first move.

Overplayed her hand.

This single error is representative of a veritable cascade of them. She’s different, now, in ways she’s still only cataloguing. She was never as comfortable around biomatter as some sparks, but she finds she’s less fussed about it now. It took her months to connect that to a new aversive reaction to gutted machines and rust on old wires it takes a light fugue to push away.

Like many things, it’s nothing she ever constructed, not something she programmed. She’d very much like to put on airs and compare herself to Van Rijn with his famous bafflement at his own marvelous creations, but she would be more comfortable with this if she hadn’t created herself.

Is she even still herself?

“Did you know the fundamental components of an organic body experience a massive turnover rate?” says Gil.

“What?” snaps Tarveka, grabbing control of Gil’s own mouth to do it, which is becoming easier the longer she has to grow used to not being in a clank. She isn’t in the mood for a biology lesson.

“You know, the primary building components, uh, they’re round in animals and square in plants —”

“I know what cells are, Zengil.”

Instead of acting called out for being a patronizing know-it-all, Gil snaps her fingers and says, “Right, that’s what it is. Like little rooms. Thank you. I haven’t had reason to brush up on all the basic terminology in the local language. Didn’t usually have anyone to talk to about it, for one thing. Anyway, hundreds of millions —” She picks a flitting thought from Tarveka carelessly “— billions, thank you — of cells die off in a healthy person every day. On purpose! It’s great, really.” She finishes with a bit of the telltale distraction of a spark espousing on their specialty.

“...They do not,” says Tarveka.

“Well,” says Gil, “only some of them.” Tarveka gets a ghost impression, a diagram of the human body forged through in-depth understanding picked out in hot and cold spots. “We’re never the same for long, even if we’re sitting still. We’re not supposed to be. That’s what being alive is!”

Tarveka thinks about this. “Are you talking about necrosis?”

“I’m talking about apoptosis, you morbid little tit.”

“Seriously? You forgot ‘cell’, but you know that word?”

Gil mutters, but the impression Tarveka gets — a stack of secondhand books, at once familiar and foreign and exciting, stacked on a rock in an empty waste — is much more indicative than the actual words, which include “dare defy me”, “show them all”, and “then they’ll see, they’ll all see”, in an impressive but pat three-for-three.

Tarveka chews on a response. “If this is a clumsy attempt to make me feel better —”

“Who, me?” says Zengil. “Be nice to you? Never.”

“— Then it’s working,” finishes Tarveka. “But only a little. ...Shut up, don’t —” stare at me like that? No, that’s not right. This is getting very confusing. “Stop — stop having feelings at me, get back to work.”

“You’re not actually the boss of me, Sturm —”

“If you don’t connect that octave coupler it’s going to catch fire.”

“Ack!”

 *

“Do they realize how weird that looks?” asks Violetta, watching what appears to be Zengil talking to herself while they wait for someone madder than they are to hand them another task.

“They’re sparks,” says Moloch, shrugging. “Do they care?”

*

For a week Tarveka maintains the frequency of checking on her body she had when she’d thought something was wrong. (She’d been right.) She doesn’t have the opportunity to miss her heart pounding and her breath coming fast as she carries on the deception, because her gears whir and grind, and her vision shifts too amber, then too blue.

She goes through the motions of her normal routines, paring them down slowly. She doesn’t really know why she’s bothering when her audience is mostly the palanquin’s bearers. (Pallbearers.) She could order them away for maintenance and only seem like a snappish spark — she could bite, It’s a spark thing, get lost! when she doesn’t open the container, when she drops off the frequency of all her biological maintenance to a dead stop. But they avert their eyes and she doesn’t ever need to.

 *

Agatha grips them by the chin again but this time she just stares them in the eyes, whips out a flashlight and stares more, then says, “You’re integrating too strongly. You two can’t even be trusted to stay fighting?” She tsks. “Incredible.” Then she wanders off and begins writing out papers. They will only find out what’s on them later.

Si vales valeo is an abbreviation of si vales bene est ego valeo, which means “If you are well, I am well.”

[forabeatofadrum]

che col tuo lume mi levasti - chapter one

Notes: I didn’t want to have a huge author’s note on the small prologue, so I didn’t mention it there, but the title is once again from Dante’s Paradiso, canto 1, line 73. It translates to “it was your light that raised me”.

AO3

--

2018

BAZ

Simon Snow loves butter.

Luckily, the Salisbury home is filled with it. Lady Ruth loves to bake. Simon and his grandmother are in the kitchen using an ungodly amount of butter, but it’s the festive season, so they have a lot of cakes to bake.

I try to tell Simon that I’m off to Fiona’s flat, but he’s too busy mixing butter.

But I don’t mind. I love how relaxed he is when he’s around his grandmother. Simon has only known his grandmother and uncle for a little over a year, but they act like they’ve always known each other. It warms my heart.

So I don’t want to interrupt this moment. Instead, I tell Ms. Snow and Jamie that I’m heading out and I ask them to pass the message to Simon.

I grab my coat, knit hat (made by Lady Ruth) and scarf (gifted by Ms. Snow) and I head towards the underground. Fiona knows that I’m coming. She told me that she needed to ask me something important and that it needed to be in private.

I ride the tube and it’s crowded with tourists. Everyone wants to explore London in December. Not me, though. I don’t miss England at all, but Simon and I have family here so it’s expected to come home for the holidays. I’m already dreading Christmas Day. Fiona and I will have to go up to Oxford to have a nice Christmas with my parents.

Well, it can’t be worse than last year, when I took Simon with me. I told my parents that I was seeing someone in December 2016, because I had to explain why I wanted to stay in Salò for Christmas. Besides, Ms. Snow and Simon weren’t known to the World of Mages yet. The Mage hadn’t been declared dead back then.

But by the time the next Christmas happened, Ms. Snow had reconnected with the World of Mages and we decided to show Simon England. We spent Christmas Day at Oxford and Boxing Day at London with the Salisburys.

Christmas Day. What a disaster. My father was clearly uncomfortable with Simon being there, Daphne was overly polite, trying not to look homophobic as usual, but she still insisted on calling Simon ‘my friend’, and Fiona, in her drunken state, suggested that we have sex in my parents’ bed as payback. (It was tempting, but we didn’t do it.). I thought my father had no more influence on me, but the discomfort was too much. I barely acknowledged Simon out of fear for my father’s reaction. It was a mess.

At least my siblings adore Simon, especially the twins. And Simon bonded with Mordelia over something called a Winx Club.

Simon’s family and my family finally came together last summer, when everyone visited Salò. They were all invited for a big lunch at Ms. Snow’s house and of course everyone recognised each other. The Salisburys already knew me, but the Pitches didn’t know that Simon was the son of the recently returned Lucy Salisbury. (Or Lucy Snow. She goes by Lucy Snow now.)

That made it more bearable. Daphne actually calls Simon my boyfriend now. I think my parents were ashamed to be in bad standing with the well-liked and noble Salisbury family. Still, my father isn’t happy.

Ms. Snow’s return to the World of Mages was big news and the fact that she has a son with The Mage was even bigger news. We keep Simon out of the spotlight, at his request, but everyone knows that he exists.

The three of us came up with a cover story for why Simon’s a Normal. We don’t want to tell people the truth. Instead we came up with the lie that Ms. Snow had to flee from The Mage because he did not tolerate his son being a Normal. Yes, The Mage has always been an advocate for low-powered mages, but those are still mages. So Ms. Snow left and Simon grew up in Italy and at a certain age, his mum told him about magic.

Over time, we’ve told some people the truth. Lady Ruth, Jamie, Martin and Mitali Bunce, Agatha, Penelope and Shepard all know and they’ve all sworn secrecy. Literally. With magic.

I am never going to tell my parents. They would love to dance on The Mage’s grave, but I am never going to tell the truth. Honestly, I think we’ve told everyone who deserves to know.

The train stops at the right station and I mind the gap, please when I step on the platform. The walk to Fiona’s flat is short. I have a key so I don’t have to ring the bell. When the lift arrives on her floor, I feel it.

Something’s wrong.

A vampire.

I rush towards her door and I hear a scream coming from behind. I take my wand and the door opens for me when I reach for the handle. I barge in, ready to kill whatever vampire that’s attacking my aunt, and that’s when I see it.

Stevie Nicks and fucking Slick. I stare at my aunt and the man on top of her for a few second before my mind fully registers what I am seeing. When it does, I recoil in horror and I immediately cover my eyes. I didn’t want to see that much of my aunt, thank you very much.

“Basilton!” Fiona scream out. I hear a thud and some other noises, but I don’t want to uncover my eyes until she’s put on some pants. The same goes for the man who was on top of her.

The man, who is definitely a vampire.

I recognise vampires immediately. He’s definitely one of them. At least he wasn’t murdering my aunt. On the contrary, my aunt seemed very happy. (I now realise that she was screaming out of pleasure, not pain.) (Merlin, why am I here?)

“What are you doing here?” Fiona asks at that exact moment.

“You told me to come over,” I tell her.

“I didn’t expect you to get here to early!”

“It’s four in the afternoon, Fiona. I can’t call that early!” I let out an exasperated sigh, “Are you decent? Can I open my eyes?”

Although I will probably never unsee what I just saw. Great.

“Yes, yes, we’re decent!”

I open my eyes. Decent is an overstatement, since my aunt is still buttoning up her blouse, her hair is a mess, and her lipstick is smeared, but at least she’s wearing clothes. I give her a quick look before turning to the vampire.

He looks dreadful and not because he’s a vampire or because he also looks undone, but because he has an incredibly unpleasant face. Handsome in an angry way. Like the lead singer of a band who resents how popular his music is with teenage girls. The best I can come up with is that he looks like a sleazy Kurt Cobain, but that would be offensive towards Kurt Cobain.

He looks at me and I know he recognises me as a vampire as well.

“Baz,” Fiona says, “Meet Nicodemus Petty. Nico, meet my nephew, Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

--

SIMON

Do you know how wonderful it is to have someone in the family who’s as passionate about butter as you are?

My mum’s culinary skills are questionable, but according to my grandma, so were my granddad’s. It’s sometimes still weird to think that I have grandparents now. Anyway, my mum probably inherited her lack of culinary skills from my granddad, but love for food is still part of our blood and I am very happy.

My grandma and I are making cakes for all of our loved ones and friends. Yes, I have friends now. My mum’s best friend’s daughter and son-in-law, to be more precise. I met them last year, after Christmas. My mum, Baz and I were going home to Italy for New Year’s, but before we went home, my mum’s best friend invited us over for dinner.

(Well, she invited me and my mum. I just dragged Baz along.)

That’s where I met Penny and Shepard. Apparently, Penny and Baz went to school together and they were academic rivals. Penny was very confused to hear that Baz hadn’t started university yet, since she dove headfirst into the academic world and she’s on the Coven. She’s very ambitious. Baz has started university by now. He’s doing distance learning, since he’s enrolled at the London School of Economic, doing a bachelor in Language, Culture and Society, but he’s living in Salò with me.

Penny met Shepard around the same time that I met Baz. Penny had gone to America to be with her then-boyfriend, only to get dumped in a humiliating way. But she met Shepard, who’s Normal.

Apparently, that really shook the Bunce family. The Bunces aren’t an Old Family, like Baz’s, but they had some sort of magickal elitism of their own, so when Penny came home with a Normal, her mother threw a fit.

(And a demon was involved at some point, but you know what, I can’t keep up with all of their stories.)

Turns out that my mum was the one that thawed Mitali Bunce’s cold attitude towards Shepard. When my mum reconnected with her, she mentioned that she has a Normal son. (Me. I am the Normal son.). At that point, Penny and Shepard had eloped (for visa reasons, but also for romantic reasons), and Mrs. Bunce welcomed them back into the family and they had a small wedding reception.

And now, Shepard Bunce and I are best friends.

So I am making him an American butter cake, since he is American after all. (I considered making a Sheperd’s Pie until I learnt that it isn’t an actual pie.)

“Looking good, lad,” my grandma says when she peeks inside the oven.

“Thanks, gran,” I say and I grin. I still grin every time I call her gran. “I think it’s almost ready.”

Two hours later, I am standing in front of Penny and Shepard’s flat. They live close to my grandma.

Shepard opens the door and he smiles widely when he sees that I am holding a cake box.

“Knee!” he shouts over his shoulder, “Knee, Simon is here and he’s brought cake!”

(Knee is short for Penelopknee. Apparently, Shepard once called her that by accident, since he thinks Penny’s knees are very cute, and it sticked.)

I follow Shepard inside and I see Penny, who’s decorating the Christmas tree.

“Ah, Simon!” she says when she sees me, “Good to see you! Where’s Baz?”

“He’s still at his aunt,” I say. In fact, it looks like Fiona’s holding him up. “He’ll be here soon, I hope. Otherwise he misses out on cake. Am I the first?”

Penny nods. “Agatha just texted me. She’s running a bit late.”

“Baz will be happy to see her,” I say. Baz often laments that he misses Agatha. Now that I also have a best friend who lives in a different country, I can understand. Shepard and I are only one hour apart, but it’s different for Baz and Agatha.

Now that I think of it, Baz is also running late. He left hours ago. I wonder what is happening at his aunt’s house.

--

BAZ

I spend at least an hour freaking out and hurling insults towards the both of them.

“This is what you wanted to tell me?” I scream out, “You could’ve just told me that you’re dating a vampire instead of waiting for me to see how you get railed!”

I am absolutely hysterical. I don’t know what’s worse: learning that my aunt is with a vampire or walking in on her having sex with a vampire. Both, honestly. Both are equally terrible.

“How do you even know a vampire?” I say and I point my wand towards Nicodemus, “How do I know that he’s not thralling you?”

“Baz,” Fiona lowers my wand, “You are a vampire.”

“Yes, but I am your nephew!” I exclaim.

“I should make some tea. Anyone wants a cuppa?” Nicodemus says loudly. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He probably doesn’t want to get caught between us.

(Also, I could go for some tea. I’m back in England and it’s fucking cold.)

“Baz, let me explain,” she says. She puts her hands on my shoulders to calm me down. She used to do that when I was younger and I hate how it still works. When I’m feeling somewhat calm, I almost sit down next to her on her sofa, but then I remember that my aunt just had sex on it, and I prefer to stand.

“Explain, then.”

“Nico used to be a mage.”

That shuts me up pretty quickly. I blink in shock. Used to be a mage?

Fiona also looks bitter when she says it. “Nico and I went to school together. The two of us were stupid as shit, but Nico’s sister Ebb grounded us. The three of us were the best of friends and we took a piss at everything. Your mother was headmistress back then and she hated that I wasn’t taking my education seriously, but I wanted to have fun. Nico, Ebb and I had fun. And I loved Nico, even back then.”

I need to sit down. I have a bad feeling about this. I still refuse to sit on that sofa, but I pull out a chair.

“But Nico… he wanted to live forever. He left our world, Baz. He crossed over. He willingly let himself get Turned. As punishment, his wand was snapped and he was stricken from the Book.”

I feel sick. A mage willingly got Turned? Getting Turned is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. The vampires that killed my mother also killed me that day. But this Nicodemus Petty volunteers?

Fiona gives me a sad smile.

“I know. I was hurt and betrayed by his actions as well. He tried to take us with him. Me and Ebb. Your mother stopped both of us, in her own way. I didn’t want to get Turned, because I knew that Natasha would kill me for it-”

I suck in a breath. I know that my mother wouldn’t have let me live as I am. I know she got bitten that day and that she killed herself. I had to read it in the Magickal Record when I was still at Watford.

Fiona doesn’t notice, she’s too caught up in her story.

“- and Natasha gave Ebb a job at Watford. Ebb never wanted to leave and your mother make sure that she didn’t have to.”

I remember Ebb. She’s the goatherd. I never spoke to her.

“But a year ago, Nico came back for me. No one can know about it. It’s forbidden to even speak to vampires.” Fiona looks up at me and she gives me a cheeky grin. Yes, I am a vampire, but no one has to know. No one does, except for my parents, Fiona, Simon and Ms. Snow. “So we’ve been seeing each other in secret.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me this?” I bite out. If it has to be a secret, then why am I now part of it? Merlin, can I ask her to spell me stupid. I hope she erases the image of her and Nico having sex in the process.

“This wasn’t what I wanted to tell you, but I also didn’t expect you to get here so early.”

“I have to be at the Bunces later today for a Christmas party. What did you expect?” I tell her, “Wellbelove is coming. What is it that you want to ask me?”

Fiona quickly looks at the kitchen. Then she takes out a wand and she casts a silencing spell around us. Even so, she leans closer.

“Where’s your mother’s sapphire wedding ring?”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

--

End notes: The endearment Penelopknee is a reference to The Mirror Pair by facewithoutheart.