#Price doesnt stick around long since Witch has to finish with her friend

[ghouljams]

Witch does some magic, Fae!Price remembers why witches are so dangerous

this is a longer one(1.4k words), dealing with a lot of spell work, and mostly OC stuff.

One of your friends is laying on your kitchen table. Arms folded to cushion their head, half asleep as you scrub their back with salt. You already washed the table down, chalked your largest circle on the floor, made sure your herbs were prepped. You really don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself. You let your eyes wander to look out your back door, peaking across your garden to your back gate.

“I can come back if you’re waiting on someone,” You friend mumbles, you shake your head. You grab a washcloth and dip it in the copper bowl of new moon water to rinse the salt off their back.

“You’re fine, I want to get this done today.” They hum, sitting up enough to finish their last swallow of tea before passing you the mug.

“You’re always so serious about this.”

“You pay me to be serious about it.” You step out of the circle to put their drained mug in the sink and finish your own. Hyssop tea isn’t your favorite but better safe than sorry. You grab another copper bowl and a small sachet from your cupboard. Another hum from your friend. “Where’d you get the baby ginger?” You ask, removing the small humanoid root from its sachet and placing it in the new bowl.

“Trade secret,” You try not to think too hard about it. There are a lot of things about your friend you try not to think too hard about. “Figure that should be enough to mix a few sessions worth of ash.”

You nod, casting another glance out your back door. You need it open for the sun, for the tie to summer to keep the room warm, but you also need your garden free of distractions. You twist open the jars you’d pulled. Morning Glory, Comfrey, Angelica, Marjoram, Ginger, fuck what are you missing?

“Ruda.” Your friend tells you, their eyes closed peacefully.

“You hate Ruda.” You leave the circle again to grab the herb. It feels like you’ve got everything but the kitchen sink in this bowl.

“The dragon’s blood will cover it,” You pause, at the edge of the circle, stomach twisting, “I can smell it.” Your fingers tighten on your jar, you hate when they do this, talk to you like they know what you’re thinking. Especially when they know better. You step over the chalk circle and deposit a few pieces of ruda in the bowl. You’re quick to strike a match and light the mixture, letting it burn down as you center yourself.

The sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the light herbal small of your garden, the warmth of summer, you do your best to keep your focus on the earth. Stable. Grounded. Your herbs crackle as they burn, the smoke finding its way out your back door, hardly bothering to be contained by your circle. Your house is silent, your fingers are warm and buzzing with potential.

Everything is easier after this, or faster. Magic always seems faster once you set it free to run. You mix the herbal ash with a little alcohol and some chips of dragon’s blood resin to make ink. You clean your needles and set your intention. You trace the patterns already on your friend’s skin and find the breaks that need to be mended, and snap on some gloves.

You poke new lines of honeycomb across their shoulder. Dip your needle in the ink and fix the pentacle on their spine, the salt, the concentric circles. Hyssop, lavender, parsley, you sink comfortably into your work tattooing herbs and wards. You mind is clear, present and gone at the same time. It’s comfortable here. Your friend sleeps as you work, not even twitching as you wipe at the ink. 

You don’t think of it as what it is. Blood magic. Magic you shouldn’t be doing, wouldn’t be doing if it was anyone but them. Magic made just for this singular person, just for their needs. You mumble to yourself as you work, watching the pentacles turn, the sword glint. The honeycomb drips onto the lavender making you wipe at it to check that your lines are all connected. It’s complicated magic, a spell you’ve been weaving and maintaining for years. You trace your fingers around the unbroken ring at the center, the dark abyssal black that fills it. The sink.

You pull back and inspect your work, roll your shoulders, check the time. You pat your friend’s shoulder to wake them up before spraying the fresh tattoo with green soap. They groan and stretch out over your table.

“Feels like a fucking rock on my back.” They grumble. You hum, cleaning your work station to give them room to sit up.

“Gotta charge it, that’s what the sun’s for.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” You help them up, careful to avoid breaking the circle or knocking over any of your herbs. They wave you off as they exit your house to your garden, sinking onto the little stool you’d set out. You hover close by, just to be sure they don’t faint. It’s happened before. You glance at the gate when they do, feeling your stomach flip when you catch sight of Price watching you.

Your friend waves you off, shooing you towards your distraction. It’s good you didn’t notice him sooner, it might have broken your concentration. The last thing you need is for a spell this intricate to backfire.

“You have a client,” Price nods at your friend, you don’t bother looking back at them, sure they’re enjoying the sun.

“You haven’t been around in a while,” You counter. Wincing a little at yourself. Truth for a truth. Though one is more an embarrassing acknowledgement that you noticed his absence. Price smiles at that before covering his mouth, trying to spare a little of your pride.

“Did you miss me?”

“No.” You say quickly. He nods, it’s cute the way you lie to him. “Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to check up on you,” He tells you, you raise a brow, clearly not buying it. The “and” that should follow that statement hangs in the air between you. He’s not impolite enough to impose himself on your hospitality when you have another guest. Especially not when you’re working.

It’s strange though, if he hadn’t seen you bringing your client out, he might not have noticed them at all. They look human, but.

But they don’t smell like anything. They don’t have any presence at all. You smell like burnt herbs, ink, residual magic falls off of you and threads through his. It’s terribly distracting. You’re always distracting. Enough to keep his attention off of whatever is in your garden.

“Well, here I am. No need to drop by just to see me.” Price respectfully begs to differ. He has every reason to see you. Your sincerity in the statement doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I thought you didn’t deal with creditors.” Price leans away from the threshold as you turn to talk to your client. He hadn’t even registered their presence.

“Go wait in the house if you’re all charged,” You tell them quietly. Charged. Price knows that term, what were you charging? The whole person? Your client shrugs and turns back towards the house.

Price’s stomach rolls, and he has to stop himself from taking a step back. Fae trap. The blossoming tattoo on their back hums and moves, alive with captured and contained magic. A seal on the client’s presence, a ward, a living hex breaker, all wild fed magic channeled through your spell work. Not human, just disguised as one. He can feel the hooks spinning off of them now that he knows what to look for. The fae itself doesn’t seem too dangerous, but the spell on their back...

You look up at him so innocently. Sweet as can be, waiting for him to take his eyes off your retreating client. “It’s good, right?” You ask, and he knows exactly what you’re asking. Knows that you know exactly what you’ve created.

You laugh, and wave your hand, “Not a chance, too much upkeep. I’d burn through the ink faster than they do.”

“Bloody hell,” Price swears, unsure what else to say to dislodge the knot his stomach has twisted itself into, "So you let a hunter in but not me?

"Hunters are stupid," you look over your shoulder towards the house, "think with their stomachs, easier to guard against. You on the other hand..." You look back at him, it's clearly a compliment, not one you're willing to say aloud, but he'll take it.

“You don’t have one of those on you, do you?” Price asks, a mixture of pride and apprehension rising in his throat.

#oc: witch #warning do not do blood magic at home or on anyone else #this is a closed course with professionals #woah who is that walking (actual) bombshell? #Price doesnt stick around long since Witch has to finish with her friend #but hes also happy to get the hell out of there #captain john price #john price x reader #fae!Price #i was like do i wanna post this its a lot of OC work? but then i remembered its my blog and i can do what i want #also because this friend is important and i feel like they need a little preview #stupid hunters: ghost and König and lowkey Soap