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kadeu · 3 years

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THE DECK; OCTOBER 2024

Sweet breeze! Good riddance summer. Now, usually we adore the summer season, the fashion, the events, the lively shows and all the trouble the socialites get up to. And yes, the fashion was there but eyepatches in the heat are not ideal. Our beloved socialites flocked to the beach and we have enough tales of drunken debauchery yes, and even those who remained in the city with their enchanted blocks of ice and selective guest lists, we still have heard the deeds. But the heat, something about this summer’s heat, made it not as enjoyable.

Speaking of the beach, there is mourning up in the highranked hills of Diamonds. Once Kings, demoted in scandal to Jacks, the Sobongs have met rough waters while enjoying what was supposed to be a calming row out to sea in Umibe. Their staff reported that, “the once peaceful seas suddenly became enraged as if a Tempest beset it and pulled them under.” The Sobong fortune is now up in the air as the only true heir, their son Korain, has long been presumed dead. Korain's only heir is none other than Ace of Diamonds Moon Ara, but sources say the Sobong's will doesn't name their estranged granddaughter at all.

It is rather fortunate though, inheriting a vast sum, especially when one half of the marital income pool couldn’t even afford box seats at the other’s place of employment. We wonder just how much money is in that estate. Enough to kill for? Only time will tell.

In Hearts, once jeweler to the elite facecards yet now blacklisted from those circles, Lee Hyeonju seems to be looking from Hearts for a way into Diamonds. Formerly disgraced now reinstated Academy Professor Parker Luke, seems to have accepted the advances of Hyeonju and has been spotted every night for two whole weeks within his apartment. Sources close to both men say that Hyeonju has been giving the professor the royal treatment in hopes he sponsors his defection!

Whispers throughout Heart society say that the Ace of Hearts, once an avid patron of Hyeonju’s has refused his service in lieu of newly popular Fae artisans. The Ace’s mood as of late is unreadable on that topic, but sources say Hyeonju has been barred from his presence and that has other highrankers and artisans have been following suit, preferring to not gain the Ace’s disfavor. This has lead to instability in Hyeonju’s prospects in Hearts. No wonder he is looking to flee to Diamonds.

But he’s not the only one out of favor in Hearts. Ex-courtesan turned restaurant owner, Meesong Nari has been seen without her usual entourage of Zuihuo guards and attendants. Rumor has it she has been kicked from that mansion she was gifted and the Clan favor mark is gone from her arm. Not sure what she did to separate herself from that protection and comfort but we are sure all those bridges she burned ascending in the ranks will happily revisit her. They tell us as kids right? What goes up must come down. Watch your back Nari.

THE TENSION BETWEEN CLUBS AND SPADES;

Amidst the growing tensions between Clubs and Spades, Ace of Clubs Mallick Sai Shah, held the opening for his Hunter’s Lair. It seems it was mostly a hit, with fights breaking out away from the venue, not in it! One club said, “it’s better to just enjoy things now than wait for whatever comes next,” and we’re considering stitching it on tunics and selling them as aid relief! Business owners suffering from Spade mandated ban through the Joker found it hard to mingle and feast while their own stores suffered. Worse, a gag order was in place against all negative comments on Spades. We sense a lot of fake smiles and grumblings over bread but can’t confirm as we were refused an exclusive invite to report the event!

Still, as an unbiased news source, we gladly accepted the request for a sit down with Ace Shah to address the actions taken in his faction. Our reporter braved the streets of Clubs to give a completely impartial interview.

How has it been as an Ace? The jump from low ranker to sitting atop the faction must be hard.

Hard? Surprising and unexpected would be the words I would use to describe how this whole situation feels. I used to be a highranker after all and making my way up to even higher ranks before a tragedy struck me, was that an unknown fact?

But you’ve never been Ace? How is that jump?

No, never been. The title itself is not omnipotent, it has its limitations and brings forth unwanted attention that stands in the way of the current progress we wish to bring to the faction. But it's an important role even if only in word, one has to still use it respectably. But the short answer is the jump is still happening. Ask again in a few years when I've landed where it takes me.

How did you think of the Club council? Is it true you were inspired by the Diamond council?

I didn’t think of the Club council, it was a meeting of minds, I wouldn’t have been able to have any council at all if it was only my contribution going into the making of said council. While I have a deep respect for Diamonds and how they tend to go about their politics, I can’t say I was thinking about them when the idea came to be, I was more concerned on how it would affect Clubs in general and how it would be accepted within the faction. But I can now see why they have one, it has its benefits and I applaud them for having the idea to immediately instill it in their system.

How many people really support you as ex-resistance? Can we even believe you’ve left the criminal enterprise?

I can’t possibly begin to tell who truly supports me as ex-resistance or not, but so far I haven’t had anyone personally challenge me in the faction so in this case I think that means even through reticence people might just believe in the good I want for this faction.

That’s definitely a tough one, all I can say is I was young, hurt and I made mistakes. If I can be forgiven for them then I will be happy, if not I will understand. However, to be judged for the mistakes of your pasts when you’ve recognized them and clearly show that you’ve completely turned away from them, that’s an unfortunate way to see the world or the people around us if you ask me. But yes, to your question, you can believe that I’ve left the criminal enterprise.

I suppose you maintain your innocence in the killing and raid on spade? If you didn’t do it then who is behind such a foul act?

I absolutely do, I had nothing to do with the unfortunate incident even if allegations brought forth the information that some key evidence might link me to it. My hands are clean and I can’t even begin to think of who would be behind this. But whoever it is, the council has decided to lead an investigation into the matter because it’s not just my name and reputation that is on the line, it is also the honor of this faction that will be yet again tarnished. If you find any more clues before we do, I’m certain you’ll pass the message to the rest of the city, won’t you?

Of course! So you suppose you are being framed? Why would anyone frame an already known murderer?

I don’t take lightly to being called a murderer, but if that’s a title I have to wear for ridding the faction of an Ace who cared none for the lives of the people he wanted to lead to an unending civil war and unrest, then there’s not much I can do about it. But yes, I’m being framed, because of the criminal enterprise’s affiliation I had in the past and the label of murderer I have on my back. I mean, wouldn’t you say it’s easier to believe that I would be the one behind someone’s death and demise considering those two demeaning factors? It’s even a little unfair to not see how blatantly obvious they went about it.

You must know, the Academy was attacked a few years ago with your resistance taking ownership. Were you not involved?

The resistance I was part of and that I do not own, you mean? I did hear of it when the incident occurred. I was not involved and I found it disheartening. I'm against attacking innocents and causing the loss of innocent lives.

We’ve heard that your people were harassing Spades in your faction? Our sources say, ‘Urine and feces were tossed on a patron in a popular tavern for saying ‘Spades should be respected.’ Should Spades not be respected?

I’ve had no time to hear these rumors but of course Spades should be respected. Everyone deserves respect for that matter, tossing urine and feces doesn’t seem like a respectful action taken either. But if this rumor is true I can simply apologize for the mistreatment and ask that less impulsive measures are taken in the future because, as you can see, I don’t have any means to control anyone to stop tragedies from occurring. If I did you wouldn’t be here as no shipment would have been ambushed and no lives would have been lost. Unfortunate, isn’t it?

This Ace of Clubs only brings more questions when questions are asked. He made it clear to our interviewer that the resistance was a mistake he made in youth and he acknowledges them as all as criminals. He even seemed scared to admit the inspiration for the council he created in Clubs. Maybe those on his council are the real danger here. ‘A meeting of minds’ he claims, but it sounds more like he was coerced by darker agents. We’re certain this council is filled with the same resistance criminals he is trying so hard to claim he has separated himself from.

And yet he proclaims his innocence, insists he is being framed. In round about words he points to some conspiracy with no proof of innocence offered. And where is this council if they are unified in their ruling? Should they not have joined this interview to show their unified cause? The future of Clubs is bound to be as blood soaked under this Ace as the last. At least that Ace stood solidly on one point without a questionable background and motive.

His unwillingness to out other vagrants that would no doubt bring that peace to the faction like he claims to want, make his alleged innocence and investigation a joke. Our own investigation finds King of Clubs, Wainwright Rook, with high suspicion for the fight that broke out in his tavern. There a Spade had feces and urine thrown on them which led to a brawl that left the very foundation of the tavern with a cracked that travelled up the building. Yet Ace Shah acts ignorant of it. No wonder Spades must do their own investigation.

In Spades, they are increasing drills and the policing of their border. We wonder if an invasion will come soon. Whispers amongst their ranks lean to disdain for the Club Council. Refugees who chose to leave the safety of Spades were met at the border with medical personnel and fighters as if the Club Council thought that Spades were abusing those they rescued during the terror of the war between their last Ace and the new one and his resistance criminals. The council passing suspicion to Spades who have done more for their corner of the city is laughable.

Well, at least the weather is cooling down. Hopefully that eases some of the tensions. The weather is predicted to be far more comfortable though still a bit warmer for the season. We’re calling it a second attempt at summer.

NOW PLAYING AT THE PALACE;

Fresh from the mind of director Ace Moon Ara, comes a gruesome tale of lost love and revenge. With intense, dark themes, The Palace recommends not bringing children to this production and reminds all of it’s patrons that the theater is NOT responsible for the adverse affects the production may have on younger minds or weak stomachs.

The Fiendish Barber of Kadeu

Evil Judge Turpin (Budrelda Beryl) lusts for the beautiful wife of a simple barber, Benjamin Barker (Adrian!). In order to claim the beautiful woman for herself, Turpin frames the barber, and has him transported to a far away prison for a crime he did not commit. Returning after 15 years and calling himself Sweeney Todd - the new name given to him by the fiend he managed to conscript, the now-mad man vows revenge, applying his razor to unlucky customers and shuttling the bodies down to Mrs. Lovett (played by Ara’s protégé from Wing Theatrics), who uses them in her meat-pie shop. Though many fall to his blade, he will not be satisfied until he slits Turpin's throat.

Its a wonderful start to the fall season, our reporters loved their screening but warn of its hauntingly good effects.

#the deck;#lrpg

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scalpelandrose · 2 years

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🌹🐺 Once Upon A Märchen: Red & the Wolf (Fairy Tale Land AU) 🐺🌹

-> A fairytale AU collab with @the-phoenix-and-the-witch, @conchasweetheart, and @lariflames involving different fairy tales and worlds of wonder. I was particularly passionate about this one, being fascinated by fairy tales and folk tales and having taken a class specialized in them, so the concept outline got a bit lengthy. However, this was extremely fun to do

Original Create Date: October 19, 2021

Theme Song: Wolf Moon by Type O Negative

Märchen: Little Red Riding Hood

Concept Summary:

“Don’t wander too deep into the forest & don’t stray from the path,” many people would warn, out of fear of being snatched by the frightening unknown. In the town of Lumira this sentiment stands true, as even 5-year olds are given knives and flares in case the horrible unexpected happens. The beasts and ghouls in the forest feed on flesh and fear. Yet, over the years, it appeared that it was in fact the humans that were feeding on the expense of the supernatural, with the mass hunts and purges they embarked on every other Sunday.

Whenever a wolf head or pelt was brought back to town, or the agonizing cries of ghouls slip from their cages, Michelle would feel tears welling up in her eyes as a child. What distinguished man or beast, when the hunters in her town jeered and mercilessly gutted their prey like any other predator? She often contemplated such things when she traversed into her Grandmother’s cottage in the woods wearing her red hood that gave her the nickname ‘Red’, until one day, she heard a whine in the bushes. She knew that straying from the path was strictly warned against, but something about the whine sounded vulnerable and bereft…almost like a lonely cry for help. When she pushed past some brushes and went near a currant bush, she found a black wolf puppy laying on its side and shivering from an arm injury. That wolf pup was Law. At that time, she was not aware that he was a werewolf pup, as a wide-eyed child, herself, so she took him in her basket and headed over to Grandma’s house to see if something can be done for the poor creature. Her grandma was aware that the creature Michelle brought was a werewolf pup, but seeing how deeply concerned and affectionate her granddaughter was to the poor thing, she didn’t have the heart to tell her to leave it outside the door.

After his wounds were tended to, the black pup still dodged Michelle’s touches and pats, being distrustful of humans, for the reason why he was injured in the first place was due to hunters poaching his family. It was rumored that drinking the blood of werewolves brought you longevity, that eating their flesh would grant one the strength of a thousand men, and that killing one on a Sunday meant one’s transgressions may be forgiven by Heaven—all of which were half-truths or lies. Law did not want to become indebted or get close to a human, yet she never left his side when nursing him back to health, even going so far to take him home with her, so she could make sure he was safe. Her parents knew that telling her to let the pup go would be futile with her stubbornness, so they told her she can keep him, so long as she hides him in her basket if she has to go out.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. I promise,” she’d tell him with a pure smile.

Over time, Law became accustomed to her pets and being held in her arms and felt that she should know his name. So one day, he continued dragging books with the word “Law” in their titles, such as “Principles of Lumiran Martial Law,” “Anthology of Ancient Law,” and “Crimson Law,” until she understood.

“Your name is Law?” she asked in wonder at her friend, to which he replied with a nod of his head.

The two children were inseparable, and he would accompany her on her routine visits to her grandmother. One time, when Michelle slipped on the icy path during the winter, he led her to a healing spring he knew, and that spring became their play place and sanctuary ever since. That was…until a proclamation was announced that anyone housing a creature of the forest would be punished and that a bounty was out for the last Nocturne Wolf—which was Law.

By then, Law had become attached to Michelle and considered her a companion and something more. However, knowing that he could endanger her by being by her side, he gave her a chaste lick to her lips one December night when she was asleep and stole out of the house, leaving with her, a single tooth. For the next few weeks after his disappearance, Michelle cried her eyes out, both missing and feeling a part of her ripped out with losing her best friend. She was scared of not knowing if he would live or be ok. However, she found some solace with the tooth he left her and she fashioned it into a necklace that she never was seen without. Law always kept a close watch on her whenever she made her routine trips to her grandmother, but it always broke his heart seeing traces of sadness on her face. The year after, the Hunter’s Guild grew into too much power & they ended up establishing an oligarchy in Lumira.

Years passed by and both of them grew into adulthood, but even apart, it was like they never left the other’s side. Michelle would visit their special spring and leave food, books, or blankets for him and Law would leave her signals about which paths to take on moons where the forest grew more dangerous. There were times Michelle would divert certain hunters to a different direction if they seemed bent on bloodlust, and in turn Law tore anyone who attempted to harm her into shreds, before they could lay a hand on her head. Eventually, Law developed the reputation of the “Big Bad Wolf,” for giving hunters a run for their money. However, with the increased hunting and aggression, the forest became hostile and at times dragged people into its dark thickets to never be heard from again. One day when traversing during full moon, Michelle was grabbed by branches and dragged along the forest floor. She tried to cut the branches with her knife, but to no avail, until Law came out from hiding and slashed them with his claws. It only took a single lock of eyes for them to recognize eachother and for repressed feelings to surface.

He accompanied her to her grandmother’s cottage, answering any questions she asked on occasion, but when they neared the cottage, they saw three groups of hunters at the gate anticipating him. It seemed that her grandmother had disappeared without notice overnight and now hunters were both investigating the cottage and using it as a stakeout. A skirmish ensues with the duo taking on 12 hunters, until they had to steal away, when reinforcements came. Thankfully, a wolf’s stamina and endurance allowed Law to take Michelle back to his wolf den, where he had been living alone all these years.

The two catch up and allow the suppressed feelings to overflow that full moon night. As much as Michelle didn’t want her parents to worry, she could not go back, because the hunters knew her face and would take her to inquest for ‘sympathizing with the wolf.’ Besides, she was comfortable in the arms of her wolf and after she woke him with the same gentle caresses she gave when she found him injured in the bushes all those years ago, he marked her as his mate, to be bound for eternity. But there was still much to be done. It appears that the heads of the Hunter’s Oligarchy of Lumira were the very people who slaughtered Law’s family and that Michelle’s family were taken into confinement for refusing to help ‘hunt’ her when given the chance to choose. Stealth missions, adventures, secrets revealed, capture, solidarity of märchen, and a grand showdown follow, culminating into an intense conclusion that shakes Lumira to its core. But when the dust settles, Michelle can be found resting in affectionate content within Law’s embrace, holding their own pups who are a testament that humans and märchen creatures living in harmony.

-> Tagging: @undercoverweeeb, @gabrielasalazar18, @simp4ace, @jazminetoad

#once upon a märchen #fairy tale au #red riding hood #big bad wolf #little red riding hood #f/o x s/i #self ship #self shipping #self ship community #one piece self insert #trafalgar law x s/i #michellaw #law x michelle #moodboard #concept #scalpelandrose

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fanfic-collection · 4 years

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Loki x Reader: October 9 - Candle

I’m kinda excited how this one turned out. please oh please comment

Sitting on the couch in the late evening light, you shifted your wedding gown idly. Your long white skirts flowed around you, cascading out in a pool on the floor. Shifting your feet uncomfortably, you thought to yourself, wondering if it would be proper to take your heels off, was it too soon, did your things arrive? Did you have your house shoes to wear yet?

You glanced at your newly betrothed husband standing in front of the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantle, leaning towards the fire in a seeming effort to get warm. From your first wedding dance with him, you found that he was always cold. You wondered if he was ever warm.

Biting your lip, you looked around the spacious parlour at the ancient and expensive decorations. Before your family had fallen on such hard times, your manor had been filled with expensive paintings and statuettes but nothing on the grandeur that your new husband had. And the age of them, some of them looked centuries old. You wondered how he had amassed such a collection, for he seemed so young.

You stole a glance back at him; his long black hair hanging in curtains, his tuxedo with its tall color still high around his neck as he stood beside the fire, gazing into its crackling flames. Had he forgotten you?

The wedding had been a grand affair. Your family was pleased to marry you off and your new husband fronted most of the expenses, including a large dowry to your family that more than paid for your family's debts, and settled them nicely for the foreseeable future. On top of that, they knew you were taken care of and this count would see that you were taken care of, given a home, and would birth future generations; heirs to the family fortune.

You swallowed, birthing. Shifting your legs awkwardly, as subtly as you could at the thought of what was to come on your wedding night. This man was young, you appreciated that your parents had found a suitor who wasn't old and decrepit as many of your lady friends had been wed to, and you found in the fleeting conversations you had with him, he was charming, he could make you laugh and though he did not smile as much as you wished, he had a quick smirk that suited you well enough.

Finally you conceded that you were allowed to be comfortable in your own home and you took your hat off, setting it down on the couch beside you. Some of your pinned up hair came loose, having been held precariously in place by the hat. The pins and knots held to your head begged at you to let your updo down, but you did not want to waste the beauty that had taken so many hours to achieve. Surely your husband should enjoy your appearance, was that not the custom?

“Something on your mind?”

You started, looking over at him, not realizing that he had turned from the fire and was looking back at you taking off your hat. “I, Loki, my husband.”

Loki, for indeed that was the count's name. A curious name you had thought and yet it suited him, a mysterious air about him, with his mischievous green eyes, tall sharp cheekbones and achingly pale skin. His long black hair impeccably kept, slicked back and feathered down to his shoulders. He was always dressed in the finest of suits, sometimes with a cloak when he traveled and other times, like now, without one. He seemed to have a fascination with green and gold accents, emeralds and the precious metal; and given his wealth he was in no short order of affording either.

Loki raised his eyebrow, and you could tell intuitively that you had said something that amused him. “I am, that is what the ceremony was for today, yes. I believe I saw you in attendance.”

You pursed your lips, blood rushing to your cheeks. Tilting your head in admittance of him besting you, you replied, “I am aware, I was merely wondering why you were staring so intently at the fire, I figured you would be sitting with me on the couch, or I thought perhaps since it is our wedding night, should we be doing something else?” You trailed off, voice rising in pitch until it was little more than a squeak.

In a sultry voice, Loki gazed at you clearly amused, “Are we that eager? So quick to have our way with me?”

You gasped stammering, “I, no, that's not what I meant at all.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps I should just go to bed.”

Loki reached for a flask on the mantle that you had not noticed and took a sip. You waited for him to offer you a drink but he did not. “Perhaps.” He replied. “Or...” He trailed off thoughtfully.

You looked at him curiously, glancing at the flask, then back to him.

“Oh no, you wouldn't like this.”

“How would you know, I can handle my drink.”

Your husband chuckled and shook his head, he seemed to be laughing at an inside joke. “You are far too young for something like this.”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your brow, before grunting and crossing your arms. “We are equals in marriage, you are not my father.”

“But I am your keeper.”

You jut your chin out before gritting your teeth, “Do not trivialize me. The times may be against me but I will not be treated less for it.”

Loki set the flask down, closing it and straightened himself to his full height. For a moment he stared at you, fixated, like a hunter on its prey and you worried if you had said something too far. You had heard of women who had spoken out against their husbands and grave results that followed. Slowly he stalked over to you, across the room until he was just at the end of your skirts.

“Stand up.” He ordered, his expression unreadable, tone even more so.

A trickle of fear went down your spine and you slowly stood. Straightening your shoulders, you stood to your fullest height and to your disappointment, you were still quite a bit shorter than him. Tilting your head up, you gazed up into his eyes and stared back at him, attempting to stare him down. There was something feral in his eyes, but you did not blink.

Lightning fast, Loki's hand shot up. You couldn't help yourself, you flinched, preparing for the strike upon your face, so this was how it was to be. His expression softened as he looked at you, gently brushing back a strand of hair from your bare shoulder. “You fear me.” He murmured gently.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him once more.

“Little bird, you're trembling.” Loki twisted the strand of hair in his fingers as he gazed down at you before sliding his cool hand along your neck and down your clavicle.

“I don't know you.” You whispered.

Loki nodded, “I'm so sorry. Yes, we are equals. I promise I will never strike you.” He pulled you into his arms and embraced you, gently stroking your back, one hand gripping your hair.

It took a moment for you to realize there were tears in your eyes as you leaned into his chest, relief flooding through you. You sighed into him, collapsing into his chest and hugging him back as tight as you could.

“I will not do anything you are not prepared for.” Loki whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You whispered back into his chest. It struck you how quiet his heartbeat was, in fact you couldn't hear it at all.

Slowly he pulled away, “I have to show you something first.”

You furrowed your brow at his sudden change in tone. He had been so comforting and understanding and once again was serious and in control.

Loki stepped over to the fireplace and for the first time you noticed a blue candle resting on the mantle. He lifted it in its container, preventing the wax from dripping onto the holder's hand.

You don't know how but he seemed to wave his hand over it and as if by magic, the candle lit.

“Come.” Loki said simply, reaching out for your hand, the other holding the candle in front of him and he turned to leave the room.

Taking your skirts in your free hand, you accepted his gesture and followed after him, curious of what he had to show you.

When the two of you had left the warm glow of the fire and the lit candles, now into the darker corridor, you could see that the light cast by this mysterious blue candle was cold and blue. It did not cast a warm glow like most candles did. Something about this candle felt ominous and unearthly.

Loki guided you up many staircases, down many halls, through doorways and passageways. You tried to keep track of where you had been but you quickly lost track, all you knew was that you ventured ever upward.

One thing that vaguely stood out in your mind, was the lack of reflective surfaces in the house. Each room you passed, there were no mirrors; no brass knobs, no glass baubles, nothing that might cast a reflection. This did not perturb you but you did find it odd and made a note to ask Loki about it later.

Finally you saw one last staircase and could tell there would be no further. It led to a large empty room save for a tall canvas covered object at the opposite end of the room, illuminated vaguely by the moon from a skylight. A sliver of light cast into the dusty room from the crescent moon outside. The blue candle however, cast eerie shadows everywhere.

Loki exhaled softly, when the two of you finally climbed into the small attic room, nerves seeming to come from him.

“If you want to see strange and otherworldly things, take this candle.” Loki whispered, “A new world is open to you.”

You looked at Loki confused, staring up at the large object covered by the thick canvas sheet.

Stepping beside the canvas, Loki gripped the sheet, holding the candle out to you. “Do you accept?”

How could you say no when you had come so far?

Looking at him, still confused, you nodded. “I accept.”

Loki handed the candle to you, and you stood in front of the object. You felt a rush of cold flood through you, the candle filling you with a cool light instead of warmth.

Stepping back, Loki reached up and grabbed the canvas and tugged at it, the sheet fell to the floor in a flourish. When the dust had settled, you found that the flame had gone out and it was impossible to see.

“Loki?” You whispered. “Loki where are you?”

“I'm right behind you love.”

You felt him press against your back, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Abruptly the cold blue flame relit in your hand and standing before you was a massive floor to ceiling mirror. You gasped at the antique sight, so old and beautiful, immaculately kept.

Slowly your mouth started to close and you tilted your head. “Loki, but you're not...” You twisted your body, still feeling his arms wrapped around you.

Grinning from ear to ear, long fanged canines, needle sharp, Loki smiled down at you. “Yes my love?”

The candle blew out.

#Loki x reader #ficbit #one shot #october 2020

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 3 years

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Samhain

Christmas Tea (3000 words) NYE Bubbly (1500 words) Valentine’s Day Chocolate (2100 words) Happy Birthday Sam (2000 words) Samhain (3600 words)

Sam X Rowena A/N: did anyone ask for 3600 words of Samwitch Witch!Sam? No? Well, I still wrote it. Also managed to delete the first posting, so trying again.

Tags: sex, so much consensual sex, oral sex, finger banging, discussion of edging, some language, mild dirty talk, fisting, magic sex and/or sex pollen, alcohol, Rowena being irresistible, size kink, hand kink

It had been almost a year since the first time that an invitation to Rowena’s apartment turned into a sizzling night of sex for her and Sam. Since then, they had celebrated several holidays and spent many more visits just enjoying one another.

While their relationship grew, Sam’s understanding and practice of magic had grown, too. Before, he had assisted Rowena with a few spells when needed, but had never studied spellwork for any purpose other than undoing the results. Now, he was gradually learning the rhythms of magic, the phases of the moon, and the cycle of a witch’s calendar.

He might light an occasional candle, or burn some herbs - really, nothing he hadn’t been doing as a hunter for years. Although Dean teased him about being Rowena’s protege, he certainly wouldn’t consider himself a witch.

He did notice, from time to time, that he felt increasingly aware of Rowena’s power. At first, he brushed it off as just the intense physical attraction between them, or his interested attention to her every word and move. But there were moments, he could swear, where he actually saw her manipulate the forces of magic, like light around her body.

He understood more than ever how important Samhain was to Rowena. He knew that it was the most powerful Sabbat for a witch, the starting point for the Wheel of the Year. Still he was surprised when she told him she wanted - no, needed - to join her that night. He couldn’t imagine what she had in mind. But she had called, so he went to her.

He didn’t know what she was planning, but he also didn’t want to come unprepared. He found a bottle of wine called Witches’ Brew, so he bought it. Rowena had very specific tastes, so she might hate it, but at least he wouldn’t arrive empty handed.

On October 31, Sam knocked at Rowena’s door. She greeted him wearing black from head to toe, sheer black, some kind of shimmery thin robe that clung to her curves and swirled around her every motion.

She took the wine and led him to the kitchen. He watched her hips sway as she walked, taking in the fact that her underwear was little more than bits of lace and lacing across the cleft of her ass. The room was aglow with banks of white candles casting a warm light over everything.

She uncorked the bottle and then turned to face him. “This wine is better heated.” He watched as swirls of light coiled upwards from her hand around the bottle, and was not surprised when the glass she poured him was hot. He took a sip. It reminded him of her kisses, that spicy sweetness that he could never get enough of.

She seemed to know it, too, as she met his gaze with a smirk. She raised her glass and he followed suit. For a long moment, the two of them sat and sipped in comfortable silence. Finally, she spoke again.

“There is a spell a witch can only perform when she has another witch for a lover, one who is true of heart and same of soul.”

She reached for a wide shallow bowl at the other end of the table, one Sam had not noticed before.

“What-” She silenced him with the press of her fingers on his lips. Without thinking, he kissed them. She smiled to herself and dipped those fingertips into the water that filled the bowl.

“Look,” she commanded.

He watched as the water rippled and clouded, and then faded into a scene of the woods. Between the trees he could just barely make out - Rowena, walking on and on. At first it was almost too dark to see, but the moon rose, growing and grew full and heavy as she continued her journey onward.

The moon in the scrying bowl was pearly bright when the image of Rowena reached a broad slab of stone, an altar, he supposed. She was not alone, there was a taller figure there, and as he peered more closely, he saw that it was him. He watched in the water as they joined hands before it rippled again, a glow covering the water, and the scene disappeared.

“I need you, Samuel. For days now, since the new moon, I have been - denying myself the pleasure of sexual release. Saving, so to speak, for tonight, for you. “My power will increase immeasurably if you will complete this cycle with me.”

“So you want me to -?”

“Perform this spell with me. Pleasure me, satisfy me, make love to me all night long.”

Her green eyes were wide and bright, the words spilling like stars from her glossy lips.

He didn’t have to think twice before nodding. “For you, yes, whatever you ask.”

The smile that crossed her face was smug, as if she had no doubt that he would agree. She stood and gathered a few things before taking a seat again.

“Oh, and one more thing. Once the spell is cast, it must be satisfied. I am trusting you with this.”

He nodded again, unsure how to answer.

Rowena sprinkled herbs over the surface of the water before reaching out. Sam took her hand in his and allowed her to weave a broad ribbon between their joined fingers and then around their wrists. He helped her tie it in a knot, binding his intention with hers. She murmured words in a voice too low for him to hear and the ribbon dissolved into a ring of light, tiny sparks sizzling downward.

She stood up, and he stood with her. Their lips met as she sank into his arms with a sigh, and he savored the flavor of dark wine and spices in her mouth. More than ever, her kisses felt magical, lips pressing, sucking, tasting, exploring, all hot and slippery and close.

Sam was so lost in her, in the warmth of her body in his hands, that it took him a little while to realize that she was whimpering, grinding against him shamelessly like a cat in heat. She was always open with her desire, but this was something new.

“What do you want?” he murmured as his lips pressed down the column of her neck. “Tell me, my queen, tell me exactly what you want.”

“Take me to bed, my love.” she begged.

He raised one eyebrow and looked around. The couch, the table - plenty of times in the past, they hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

She followed his gaze and shook her head, her eyes wide and imploring, “Bed, now.” As if to make her point, she pulled away, tugging on his hand, nearly dragging him down the hall.

The bedroom, like the kitchen, was arrayed with candles on every side. Sam drew in a deep breath of the air, heavy with incense. In the flickering flames, he saw goddesses, crystals, and cards, the shadowy light making everything seem more arcane and fantastic.

Rowena lay back against the bank of pillows on the bed, her hair like coiled vines against the silky dark sheets. She reached for him, hands curling with need. He stripped off his clothes before kneeling on the bed at her feet.

Instead of leaning into her grasp, he sat back, sliding his hands along her pale legs, pushing the sheer cloth of her gown up in voluminous folds. His hands settled around her waist, thumbs stroking the dip of her hip bones. He pulled down, fingers spreading to cup the swell of her ass as he slipped off the bits of lace and ribbon that made up her panties.

She was bare before him but still he took his time, pressing kisses to her creamy thighs as she whimpered and sighed.

“Don’t tease,” she murmured.

There was nothing he loved more than to tease her, to hear her beg. But he had promised to do whatever she asked. He lowered his face into the copper curls over her sex. The taste of her was better than the best wine, warm and wet.

He had barely begun with his lips and tongue before she bucked up against his face, the softest sighs falling from her lip as her legs shook around him. He paused, took a breath, and then pressed in again. He slipped one finger, then another into her. Her entire body drew up, quaking under his attention, before she let go with a cry.

“Samuel,” she panted. “I’ve waited long enough. I need you, inside me, now.”

It was the easiest command he had ever obeyed. He slid up, over her, meeting her mouth with the taste of her still on his lips. She was whimpering again, begging, her hips rising up to grind against him.

He looked at her and saw her eyes were glazed with desire. “Are you sure-?”

“Please,” she cried, her fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders.

Sliding into her was like coming home, the tight wet heat of her so close and perfect. Sam heard himself moaning, unexpected and needy.

“Yes,” Rowena panted. “Please, I need you to, goddess, fuck, Sam, I- you-”

It was nonsense, the broken curses falling from her lips, but watching her mouth was enough, the contrast between her beauty and the profanities. Sam trailed his lips and tongue down around her breasts as she tilted her head back, gasping and panting.

He felt her clench around him and he groaned her name. For one long moment, he was lost- in the woods, under the light of the moon - and then he slammed back into his body. He came hot and helpless inside of Rowena as she cried and tightened and let loose underneath him.

For one long breathless moment they clung to one another, sweaty and shattered. Sam could just see stray sparks of magic trailing off Rowena’s skin, into the dim light around them. Finally he rolled onto his side. Rowena made a soft sound of loss before he turned her into his embrace. He trailed his fingers softly over her hair, feeling her racing heart next to his. Finally her breath slowed and settled.

“Shower?” Sam asked gently. She nodded in response. Sam stood up and held out both hands, pulling her to her feet. He helped her out of her gown and guided her to the bathroom, where he turned on the water steaming hot, the way he knew she liked it, as she twisted up her hair. They stepped into the shower together, bodies pressed together, slippery wet in the close space.

Sam took Rowena’s body wash and lathered it over her shoulders, caressing her skin with open palms. He rubbed her back in broad circles before she spun to face him. He took his time, fingers following the trail of the water over her body, across her collarbones and down her ribs before he pressed up, farther, cupping her small high breasts in both hands. He circled her nipples, watching them rise and harden under the creamy bubbles of body wash.

Her mouth dropped open, lips curving as her hands groped for his waist, tugging him against her. She shifted, pressing her thighs together. “You can’t just- I need- more, please.”

“Ok, hang on.” He murmured, “Let me, we’ve gotta take care of the soap.” He spun until she was under the shower, spray bouncing off her shoulders as the water sluiced down her skin. Once the last bubble swirled down the drain, he turned again so her back was pressed against the end of the shower.

He knelt in front of her and looked up to meet her gaze. Her face was expectant, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He lifted one of her legs, hooking her knee over his shoulder. He steadied her with his hands around her waist as he dipped between her thighs. Her soft whines and panting moans echoed off the walls of the shower as he pleasured her until she came again, going limp in his grasp, trusting his grip to hold her up and not let her fall.

Once she could stand on her own two feet again, Sam turned off the water. He grabbed one of the luxurious fluffy towels and patted her dry from head to toe. Her pale skin was already pink from water and pleasure. The shower had washed off her makeup, leaving her face bare. She looked younger like this, softer. He covered the freckles on her cheeks with whisper-light kisses, and her eyes widened, pools of green framed by her wet red lashes.

“Come back to bed with me,” she murmured, holding out one hand. He reached for her, let her lead him, following her every wish. Back in the bedroom, in the wash of candlelight, her skin seemed luminous, lit with a glow from within.

They lay on the bed together, facing one another, lips meeting and parting and meeting again. Sam’s hands roamed her bare body, over every curve and angle. He knew her, this was familiar, but he never tired of touching her, holding her. As his hand strayed lower, pressing into the dip of her hips, she whimpered.

Her fingers closed around his, drawing his hand up to cup her face, nuzzling her cheek into his palm.

“Your hands, goddess,” she murmured. “I think about them all the time, think about all the things you can do. I want you so much, want your hand inside me.”

“I know you love my fingers, love how you come on them for me,” he whispered with a kiss.

“No.” She pulled back and looked at him, green eyes wide and hot with lust. “Your hand, your whole hand.”

He sat up, running one hand through his tangled chestnut hair. She followed his movement with a glance, unable to stop the whimper that fell from her lips, watching the way his fingers slipped through the silky strands.

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed with doubt.

“Have I ever lied to you or been anything other than completely honest with my desires?” Her voice was low, breathy and utterly convincing.

She was, as always, right. He slicked his hand with lube before slipping two fingers into her, working her over with his thumb as he pumped his fingers in and out. This was familiar for them, from their very first time.

“More,” she gasped, and he obeyed, adding a third finger, curling up against her as she clenched down around him. He kept up his pace, whispering endearments and encouragement until she came with a high whine.

“You still want this?” he stopped to check. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I know you won’t. Please, do as I ask.”

He nodded and tucked his thumb against his palm, pressing into her slow and steady, giving her time to stretch around him. When his knuckles slipped into her, she hissed sharply. He paused, waiting, until she drew a deep breath and nodded.

He rocked his hand, taking his cues from her increasingly frantic groans of pleasure. Her head tipped back, slim fingers fisting handfuls of the sheets.

When he heard her first low curse, he knew she was close to letting go. He smiled as he lowered his mouth to her, lips ghosting over her clit with the lightest of kisses as he turned his knuckles again inside her.

Her back bowed up, arching off the bed, hips tipping toward him, her entire body taut and quivering. Her breath tore into ragged moans and her thighs shook around his ears. This time he was waiting, watching, and saw light envelop her entire body in a wash of iridescent color. She cried his name in ecstasy as she came.

He eased his hand out slowly, stroking her through the aftershocks that left her trembling and flushed, little bursts of magic still sparkling off her skin. When her body was fully relaxed, he stretched out next to her and pressed his lips to hers. Her cheeks were blushed pink, little curls sticking damply to her temples.

The sheer amount of pleasure they had enjoyed together was incredible, to say nothing of the magical power she had revealed. He could’ve kept going, was aroused and wanted so much more. But he could see that, for now, she was done. He would wait.

He went to the bathroom to wash up and returned with a damp cloth and a towel. Her eyes were closed, heavy lashes fluttering open under his touch. She watched lazily as he wiped her skin with strong sure strokes.

Then he slid into bed behind her, pulling the covers up over her and tugging her back against his chest. She nuzzled against him, her movements slow and sated. He slipped one arm around her, holding her, keeping her close. He didn’t quite catch her words as she drifted off to sleep, but it sounded like she called him, “...my witch, Sam.”

The full moon shined through the bedroom window, casting a pale beam over Rowena’s alabaster skin. He watched her for a long moment, wondering not for the first time at her reckless vulnerable beauty.

He didn’t feel worthy of being her lover, much less her partner in magic. He didn’t deserve to work a spell with her, not even one as wonderful as this one. But she had chosen him. And with that thought in his mind, he fell asleep too.

That night, Sam dreamed of the scene Rowena had shown him in the scrying bowl, picking up where the vision had left off. He saw himself with her on the broad stone altar, naked in the glow of the moon. He caught glimpses of some of the things they had done together. As the moon grew low just before dawn, Rowena lay back in his arms. Her magic was visible in bands of light circling her body, weaving between them, sigils sparking off into the trees.

“Samuel,” he heard her whisper his name softly, and his eyes slowly opened. He saw Rowena in his arms, just as he had dreamed, but without the forest or the magic. Just holding her, loving her, was magic enough for him. As their lips met, he let his hands slowly roam her body, her beautiful generous body that had given him so much pleasure.

He could tell the spell had been satisfied by her response, by the way she hummed lazily, without the desperate desire that had driven their sex the night before. Still he had to ask-

“Did it work? Are you so much more powerful now?”

She threw back her head and laughed, full throated and free, before fixing him with an intense stare. “You saw it, didn’t you, in your dreams?”

He knew better than to ask how she had seen it too, and instead just nodded.

“You did so well, took such good care of me.” Her hand cupped his face, thumb easing across his bottom lip. “Thank you, my love.”

“Not like it was difficult, not with you.” Their lips met again and again, slow and seeking and deep. Rowena pressed closer to him, movements languid, pulling his body towards hers. He followed her lead, caressing her with strong sure hands, even as the touch of her fingertips left shivers on his skin.

She pushed his shoulder back, not that she could move him, but showing him wordlessly what she wanted. He rolled back, tugging her with him. She sat up, shaking her hair back from her face as she straddled him. She planted both hands on his chest and ground down, drawing a sigh from his lips.

His hands circled her waist as she took him in one hand and guided him into her. He saw her bite her lip as she sank down around him slowly. He let her set the pace, content to watch the way she moved, her endless sensual grace.

Finally he tugged her shoulders down, so she lay atop him. One of his arms slipped around her back, embracing her, while the other settled over the small of her back, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass. She moved in a slow sinuous wave, rolling against him until a groan punched from his lips.

“Come for me, one more time.” His voice was low and ragged, his hands sliding down over her thighs to pull her knees up around his waist. She rocked from side to side as he went deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside of her.

Her mouth dropped open in a long moan, her hands curling into fists against his chest, and he felt her clamp tight around him. He gripped her waist, swiveling her down, grinding their bodies together as he thrust up over and over until finally she cried out, high and breathless. Only then did he let himself go, too. His vision went dark as his release hit him, and he glimpsed stars out of the corners of his eyes.

For a long moment the two of them just lay like that, as close as two people could get to becoming one. The moment stretched, curved around them, the only sound the beating of their hearts.

Sam didn’t want to break the silence, but when he glanced down, Rowena was looking up at him, her gaze bright and hopeful.

“I’ll always do whatever you ask,” he promised softly. She nodded just once before their lips met again, sealing his words with a kiss.

Thanks to @mskathywriteswords for the preread. @songofthecagedmoose made the graphic of Rowena in the sheer gown.

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting

Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness

Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach @lilsylvia @marril96 @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose

Dean Curious:@adoptdontshoppets @awesomesusiebstuff @deangirl7695 @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @stoneyggirl @wayward-gypsy @winchesterxfamilybusiness

#samwena #sam x rowena #sam winchester fanfiction #rowena macleod fanfiction #celebrations

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lucy-268 · 4 years

Text

Photographs and Memories

A/N: This meets a couple of challenges. First a request from @openheart12; next, @wackydrabbles where the requirement was to use I can't believe you remembered (noted in bold); and finally, @julychoiceschallenge run by @samgtt700 where the challenge for July 17 is moon.

A/N 2: I actually did my own moodboard for the first time with some coaching and encouragement from @oofchoices, so thank you again!

A/N 3: This doesn’t actually fit in with my chronological series as I’m envisioning Charley as an attending and they’ve been together for a while at this point.

A/N 4: I gave Ethan a bit of a backstory here and named his mom Karen. I also gave her an older sister and a niece.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters belong to PB

Series/Pairing: Open Heart - Ethan x f!MC (Charley Valentine)

Word count: 1514 (oops, but at least it’s under 2,000)

Request is from here

Alan was still on the phone when Charley stepped outside onto the deck. Ethan was stretched out on the Adirondack chaise staring up at the night sky. She settled herself on his lap and curled against him. She could tell that he was still annoyed.

“Looks like a full moon tonight. If I’m remembering my astronomy correctly it’s the Hunter’s Moon.”

Ethan kissed the top of her head, and she could feel him smile. “It’s also the Harvest Moon this year.”

“Showoff,” Charley teased, snuggling closer.

He shifted, wrapping his arms and jacket around her as protection from the cold October night. He nodded his head to the corner of the deck. “See where Jenner is lying? I used to have a telescope set up there. I spent many nights out here looking up at the sky.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, watching the night sky. Finally Charley had to ask. “So, your Aunt Nancy was your mom’s older sister?”

“I can't believe you remembered that! I mentioned it once during your second year. Yes, she was. And we don’t discuss her any more than we do my mother.”

“But-”

“No. Nancy made a decision to not have anything to do with me or my dad when my mom left.”

“You’ve never even met your cousin Lisa? Has your dad?” Charley shivered.

Ethan pushed up, displacing her from his lap. “It’s time to go in. I don’t want to be responsible for you freezing to death.” He called Jenner as they walked to the door. The dog got up and stretched, plodding to the door. “Tonight, please, girl.”

Charley stepped into the kitchen and opened the jar of dog biscuits. Ethan held open the door and Jenner trotted into the kitchen and sat up, waiting for her reward. “Good girl.” The dog took her treat and headed for her cushion by the fireplace.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Lisa. Thank you for calling.” Alan disconnected the call and turned to Ethan. “She’ll be here around ten to drop the boxes off.”

“Fine.”

“Ethan,” Alan began.

“I said it’s fine, Dad. Lisa has nothing to do with mom leaving and Nancy pretending we didn’t exist. It doesn’t mean I’m going to consider her family or even a friend, but I can be civil for as long as she stays to drop off a box or two. She can even stay for a cup of coffee for all I care.”

——————-

Charley woke alone the next morning and the sheets on Ethan’s side of the bed were cool so he had been up for a while. The blanket at the foot of the bed was messed up so she knew that Jenner had been in with them sometime during the night.

She showered quickly and dressed before heading to the stairs. She crossed the threshold of Ethan’s childhood room, scanning the walls and shelves of his past. On the shelf were all of his high school yearbooks. She went to pull out his senior year when a voice stopped her. “I brought you coffee.” Charley turned to see Ethan leaning against the doorjamb, smirking at her.

“One of the times when we come down here, I’m going to spent at least a day in here going through your past.” Charley took the coffee mug out of his hands and preceded him down the stairs.

“I would be more than happy to let today be that day.”

“I’m sure you would, but we don’t want dad to have to deal with Lisa by himself. It also isn’t fair to Lisa,” Charley reminded him. “Do I smell bacon?”

“You do. There’s also pancakes.” Ethan glared at her as she turned at the bottom step. “Don’t even say it.”

“You are a fabulous cook. You could’ve been a world class chef! How can you not make pancakes?” Charley gave Alan a hug as he turned off the stove. “Good morning, Dad. Why didn’t you teach him how to make pancakes?”

Alan smiled, handing her two plates of pancakes and bacon. “I couldn’t teach him all my secrets; he’d never come home to visit me.” He grabbed a third plate and they sat at his kitchen table.

Jenner padded over, sitting next to Charley resting her chin on Charley’s leg. “Don’t give her bacon,” Ethan warned as Charley handed the dog half a strip.

Afterwards, Charley cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, listening to Ethan and Alan discuss Lisa and Nancy. “So, you’ve never met Lisa, either, Dad?”

Alan shook his head. “No. The last time I saw Nancy was about a month before your mother left. She was still living in Waterbury and she had just found out she was pregnant with Lisa. After your mother left, I reached out to Nancy and she told me that she didn’t know where Karen was, she wasn’t interested in ever speaking to Karen again, nor did she want anything to do with either of us. That surprised me, because she had always adored you.”

Charley leaned against the counter. “That sounds strange. She never said why?”

Alan thought for a minute. “No, but-“ He was interrupted by the doorbell.

Ethan reached the door first and opened it to a short blonde with ice blue eyes staring up at him.

“Um,” she stammered, looking at him trying to balance the boxes. “I’m looking for Alan Ramsey? Is this the right place?”

Ethan grabbed the boxes out of her hand. “Yes. Come in, please.” He kicked the door shut after she entered.

“I’m Ethan.”

“I thought you were too young to be Alan.”

Alan spoke, “Please, sit and make yourself comfortable. I’m Alan, and that’s Charley, my future daughter-in-law.”

“Oh, you’re engaged? When are you getting married?” Lisa looked from Ethan to Charley. Charley laughed and Ethan looked startled.

“We’ve only really just begun talking about maybe getting married, someday. Alan just thinks we should do it already,” Charley laughed.

As the four visited, Lisa told Alan and Ethan that Nancy would mention them from time to time but said that her mother had always felt Alan wouldn’t want to hear from her again.

Ethan asked, “Did she ever say why she wanted nothing to do with us?”

Lisa thought for a while. “I think she was really angry with Aunt Karen. She said that when grandfather died, Karen wouldn’t help mom plan the funeral. Then, she just disappeared. Mom said that she was so lost when her dad died and then her sister left. I think that mom was just mad at everyone about everything. I think she wanted to reach out and didn’t know if you would talk to her again.”

Alan said he wished he had known; he would have loved meeting Lisa and seeing Nancy again. “After our last conversation I didn’t feel like I should call her. I guess I hoped she had called me.” Alan asked her, “Do you need any help with your mom’s things?”

“No, I don’t. After clearing out her parents’ house, she never really accumulated much stuff, so I don’t have a lot of ‘things’ to deal with. Her stuff was mostly clothes, a bookcase of books, and a few pieces of jewelry. Oh, there is her kitchen.” Lisa laughed. “She loved to cook, so she had a lot. But I don’t have much, so that works well.”

Lisa nodded to the two boxes she brought. “I found these in her bedroom closet with your name and phone number. She left me a note saying she hoped the phone and address were still correct. I didn’t open them, she had them taped.”

“Do you want to see what’s in them?” Alan asked.

Lisa checked her watch. “No, it’s for the two of you. I need to get back to Connecticut and it’s a two-hour drive.” She left with a promise from Alan that she’d keep in touch.

After she left, Alan got a knife to open the boxes. He handed it to Ethan. “Care to open them?”

Sensing he was about to refuse, Charley grabbed the knife and wrapped Ethan’s fingers around the handle. “Open them. Please.”

Glaring at them both, Ethan set one of the boxes on the coffee table and opened the first box. He lifted out a photo album and handed it to Alan who flipped it the pages. “I haven’t seen these photos in years. Karen was always sending her parents pictures of Ethan.” There were three photo albums in total. Alan flipped through the first, Charley looking over his shoulder.

She yanked the book out of his hand. “These are baby Ethan! I – I need these!”

Ethan tried to grab the album out of her arms, but she held tight and clutched it to her chest. “No! I’m keeping this!”

“It’s for Dad,” Ethan began.

Alan interrupted him and grinned at Charley. “She can have them. I already have plenty of baby pictures.”

Charley smiled at Ethan and he gave up, knowing he would not win this round. He leaned over and kissed her. “Whatever you want.”

My tag list: @oofchoices @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst @aylamreads @catchinglikekerosene @choicesficwriterscreations @ohchoices

#open heart #dr. ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey x mc #ethan jonah ramsey #choices open heart #open heart fanfiction

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deafchild2000 · 4 years

Text

TO/Legacies Headcanon: Keelin and Rafael are Related!

Alright, before I get started let me make this clear: Keelin is NOT Rafael's mother! I'm sorry, but since we don't know her age (but assume she and Freya are physically close in age) that leaves no notion that she's his mother. Plus, it would have been canon via telling Freya!

So, like the title says, Keelin and Rafael are related. Why? Well other than just to connect the two to Hope, there's an interesting logic behind it:

Rafael was born in October of either 2010 or 2011. His father's name is Walt and his mother's name is Lucia. They met while doing active duty in Afghanistan where Lucia triggered her Werewolf Curse.

Lucien Castle was still alive as well as his company, Kingsmaker Land Development Inc, being up and running.

And before March 24th, 2014, the year Lucien was killed, the Malraux Werewolf Bloodline was exterminated by him and his company for their venom, with Keelin making it out alive possibly because she doesn't share the Malraux name (it was her grandmother's maiden name).

Walt built a cage for Lucia and it was after a particular Full Moon where she found out the couple found out she was expecting. How would she know that unless someone told her?

Now, I took the time to create a narrative that I think pretty much explains what happened:

Lucia was an orphan who grew up relatively believing she was human. When she was 18, she enlisted and joined the U.S. Army. At some point, she was shipped off to Afghanistan, met, and fell in love with Walt, with whom she lived with when her tour was over. However, after she made her first kill, she changed. At first, upon returning to the States, it was initially assumed that she had PTSD because she was angry, couldn't handle crowds, and more.

That was...until her first Full Moon.

After that, Lucia probably went looking into background to find her family or where she came from. And that led to....

The Malraux Pack.

She managed to find them and went to learn all she could. Eventually she became close with them that she alternated between them and Walt (but not having introduced each other yet). In fact, it was because of them, especially the women, that when Lucia didn't turn during an annual Full Moon, THAT'S when she discovered she was pregnant. She was terrified but happy. However, she sought out council for recent discovery and how it affects her curse.

But then, that's where things fell apart. When Kingsmaker LD Inc. and hunters-for-hire came gunning for the Malraux pack, she was there and undoubtedly fought to protect her newfound family. But she was also identified right before she escaped! Not risking bringing those hunters back to her home with Walt, Lucia went on the lamb for the duration of her pregnancy, constantly moving and evading any threats she thought was following her.

By the time she was full term, Lucia gave birth to a baby boy on the most clichest time of the year: October 31st, 2011.

It's more of a joke at first, but the baby got itself got named "Rafael" for the odd abundance of Rafeal costumes from "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" franchise but also for the meaning. In turn, she gave him the last name "Waithe" as it's a Scottish derivative from "Walter", meaning "strong warrior", which was her baby's father's full given name. In a way, she hoped to reunite father and son one day by doing that.

She kept him for a while, but then she felt like she was being hunted again. She started traveling again. But Rafael kept getting sick, so Lucia made the difficult choice to put him up for adoption. But before doing so, she managed to find a witch who crafted a powerful spell. The circumstances were that it cloaked Rafael's connection to the Malraux bloodline so that anyone else tracking her won't also be able to find him, also safeguarding that if Rafael did trigger his curse and/or had a witch search for any biological family, it would lead to Walt only.

However, the only way to break the cloaking would be exactly with what made it: The blood of two members of the Malraux bloodline. It was the blood of Rafael and Lucia that helped cloak him, so it would be his blood and another's to help uncloak him.

Because Lucia didn't divulge in the name of her familial pack to Walt, he was in the dark of where or whom to look for. Meaning that by the time Rafael would grow up and meet Walt, neither of them would know of the Malraux Bloodline, protecting them both but leaving so many questions unanswers.

Since the cloaking spell was active for years, the biggest loophole to take down the cloaking would be: Siphoning. If a Siphoner could channel the magic put if the spell, it could be broken.

So, that's my take on Keelin and Rafael being related and part of the Malraux bloodline! Basically, Lucia sought out her birth family to found out more about her werewolf curse but fled to protect her lover and unborn child when Lucien Castle began hunting the bloodline. Of course, there's a 50/50 chance Keelin might have met Lucia.

While it's all up to how you see it, it would be an amazing arc to Rafael's character to know more behind his werewolf past (beyond his birth parents) and give Keelin an arc AND opportunity to be apart of Legacies and find out that a piece of extinct family is alive after all!

#the originals #the vampire diaries #legacies cw #legaciesedit #keelin malraux #rafael waithe #headcanon #Malraux pack #Legacies #hope mikaelson imagine #freya mikaelson #Keelin #Freelin

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prosopopeya · 3 years

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New Year’s Meme

this survey has been a tradition among my friend group for YEARS, but i haven’t filled it out since 2015 apparently. i’m not entirely sure why except 2016 was the year a lot of stuff changed for me, namely in that i finally got out of school in some form and started a new job, but i also had a few health problems that kept plaguing me (thyroid medicine being off, vitamin d) and my anxiety was all over the place. so here we go i’m doing it again and feel free to do it too if you want!!

1. What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before? tried on wedding dresses. taught virtually. dealt (poorly) with drunk teenagers. performed in a pep rally. wore face masks all the time. i’m going to lump in living with someone. jon moved in october 2019, but i don’t think i did this quiz last year so. taught ap.

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year? i don’t really like resolutions. they put too much pressure on me and i am a fragile person when it comes to setting expectations and living up to them. i did want to try to read more this year, and i maintained that until the pandemic, and then just kind of gave up requiring myself to do anything but live.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? i don’t think so. a coworker did.

4. Did anyone close to you die? jon’s cousin committed suicide in march or april. the circumstances were pretty upsetting. um. andy died in february, very suddenly. andy was my high school boyfriend for four years with whom i had a very... he scarred me in a lot of ways when it comes to sex and consent. it’s taken me a long time to unpack all of that. and i struggle with how much any of that was his fault or just bc he was a stupid kid too. our mutual friends had nothing but nice things to say about him on fb. anyway. he would guilt me into saying he’d kill himself if we broke up, and jon’s cousin killed himself over his girlfriend. so that was a complex part of the year.

5. What countries did you visit? none. literally the week before the quarantine, we went to asheville to visit jon’s cousin.

6. What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020? maybe a different job? or at least some peace at doing mine.

7. What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? march 13 we cancelled classes and had a technology training day; the 15th we had another one, and then we were virtual the rest of the term. it was such a sudden shift and while i so loved working from home tbh, it was such a relief after a supremely shitty january/february work-wise, i still had a lot of keyed-up, stressful days centered around transitioning to being the senior upper school spanish teacher. i hate it!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? writing 50k in the month of november. i have literally never done that before and actively reject nano as being typically unhealthy for how my mind works, so it was nice to do it entirely by accident.

9. What was your biggest failure? mishandling the drunken teenagers on that field trip in january.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? i sit crosslegged in my virtual teaching chair and i did it so much that my ankle hurt for the entire summer.

11. What was the best thing you bought? we put a deposit on our elopement in ireland. jon’s wedding ring. (i didn’t buy my wedding dress.)

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? my best friend at work who keeps me sane and is represented by benny in my au, which other than the fact that he is not my sidepiece, is perfect he is crucial to my survival at work and i love him so much. (also he is gay and the french teacher so the benny parallels just keep coming). everyone who tore down a statue in virginia (and other places, but especially monument avenue). everyone putting their lives on the line during this pandemic.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? guess! but aside from all the obvious, i found out a friend of mine at work voted for trump. my work bff and i had been trying for years to sway his politics, but that had us both deciding to give up on him.

14. Where did most of your money go? food, ALCOHOL. god., our savings account. i did a pretty excellent job saving this year, though a good deal of that is because jon moved in and makes more money than me, and also we split all the bills.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? my wedding dress but strangely only when i went to try it on after it came in bc after the purchase i was so sure i’d made every mistake possible. my wedding band. wellbutrin changing my whole life. and, last but certainly not least, the gay angel and the bi(lingual) hunter. i wouldn’t have survived nov-dec in school without that distraction. the election.

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2020? the entirety of taylor swift’s oeuvre this year, maybe specifically “this is me trying”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: i. Happier or sadder? happier, i suppose, perhaps contrary to what should be the case, but wellbutrin is a hell of a drug. ii. Older or wiser? wiser. ii. Richer or poorer? richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? reading. cleaning. exercising.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? stressing. chaperoning.

20. How will you be spending Christmas? so, an update; last year was the first year i didn’t go to my mom’s for christmas. i was supposed to see her for thanksgiving last year, but she basically told us not to come bc she wasn’t feeling up to it (cool!), and we went to jon’s for christmas and my mom’s for new year’s.

this year, obviously we couldn’t go to my mom’s. instead, we rented a little cabin by the lake. it was perfect; it was really really nice inside, the beds were SO SOFT, the pillows were the best things i have ever laid my head on, like i took off the pillowcases to try to find the brand. we had a little tiny christmas tree with tiny ornaments from walmart that we decorated. the 23rd, we went and picked up our wedding bands. we slept two nights in the (cold) back bedroom so i could wake up and look out at the lake. it snowed for christmas. :)

we opened presents on christmas eve, per jon’s family’s tradition. on christmas eve, we also went to his family farm and sat outside and hung out a little. every year his family does like a secret santa sort of thing and i got my first present in that exchange, which is notable bc jon and i are not yet officially married. i got a remote control car -- jon’s idea bc i couldn’t think of anything, and he was so delighted to hear that i loved playing with rc cars when we went to the beach as a kid.

christmas morning we facetimed my parents and opened some presents together. then jon and i marathoned mandalorian (after spending the previous few days watching several die hard movies), and then we watched wonder woman 1984 which was a bad movie.

21. How will you be spending New Year’s Eve? ok LAST year for new year’s, we were in a hotel room, so that was nice, bc it meant minimal stress with my parents. i had always wanted to go to this restaurant near us that has a special new year’s menu, so we did that. the night before or after i think we went to cheesecake factory, which was also amazing.

this year currently i’m tumbling and he’s playing pokemon, and in a bit we’ll try to time it so we finish schitt’s creek in time for the new year.

22. Did you fall in love in 2020? i re-fell in love with supernatural so that was nice.

23. How many one-night stands? 0. i submit we should randomly change question 23 each year to something more relevant to any of our life experiences.

24. What was your favorite TV program? what did i even watch this year. schitt’s creek. mandalorian. i mean obviously we know supernatural. the circle. are you the one (the queer season). pose. unsolved mysteries. we’re here! perry mason. watchmen. oh maybe that mcdonald’s monopoly fraud documentary. avenue 5. i’ll be gone in the dark. of those i think my favorite maybe is... pose or we’re here.

OKAY UM. on my 2014 version of this there were a bunch of questions about tv shows that i’m putting back in if only for the memories:

25. Which TV shows did you start watching in 2020? the haunting of bly manor, which we still need to finish. derry girls.

26. Which TV shows did you let go of in 2020? HERE’S WHY I WANTED TO RESURRECT THESE. here was my answer in 2015: “supernatural. goodbye, my sweet prince.” CAN YOU EVEN FUCKING BELIEVE

27. Which TV shows did you mean to get into but didn’t in 2020? Why? so far, queen’s gambit and that one on hulu with catherine the great. EVENTUALLY. 28. Which TV shows do you intend on checking out in 2020? fleabag. queen’s gambit. 29. Which TV show do you think you might let go of in 2020 unless things significantly improve? idk i drop things pretty regularly if they don’t entertain me 30. Which TV show impressed you least in 2020? GUYS HERE’S MY ORIGINAL 2015 ANSWER: “supernatural. :(”

anyway back to the rest of the quiz:

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? every person who refuses to listen to facts and information.

26. What was the best book you read? killers of the flower moon: the osage murders and the birth of the fbi, or the his dark materials series.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? well i knew about tswift so i’m not going to count her albums. i will count this song that jon played for me once in the car that got stuck in my head for two weeks straight and led me down into a great related-songs spotify playlist: through the roof ‘n underground.

28. What did you want and get? a wedding dress and a very specific kind of wedding band. a gay angel. a christmas getaway. animal crossing.

29. What was your favorite film of this year? idk i don’t know how many films i saw this year. maybe mucho mucho amor: the legend of walter mercado

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? i was 32. we went to an escape room with a BUNCH of people -- work bff, my old work bff and his wife (old bc he quit and we’ve fallen out of touch :(), the cool new physics teacher and his fiancee, and the aforementioned trump voter and his wife, before we knew... we went out for brunch/lunch after. it was pretty great!

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? not having to chaperone that school trip in january. dean being bi in english as well as spanish. cas just ilke, appearing in 15x20. not having to physically go back to work this fall.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? no! real! pants!

34. What kept you sane? jon. supernatural (in a way?). animal crossing for a while. wellbutrin! i haven’t really been able to detail this yet, but finally i did something about tumblr and my therapist making me think about adhd. my doctor gave me wellbutrin (bc i lack any official diagnosis and was on anxiety meds anyway, and he was like let’s try this!) and it’s fucking. it’s a fucking godsend. surprisingly enough, my students. trying to provide them a safe space has been a calming thing for me.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? jensen ackles’ silence. misha collins again, i guess.

36. What political issue stirred you the most? the summer was so fucking intense. i guess though it was me trying to exert my influence in a responsible way with my students without trying to try to make them feel uncomfortable but then one kid was a vocally upset trump supporter after the election and i had to try to defuse that situation.

37. Who did you miss? my old work bff. several old friends that i’ve fallen out of touch with bc i have no object permanence.

38. Who was the best new person you met? people i met through the spn resurgence!

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2020: if you manifest it in an au, it will come. no really though. maybe that expectations are only as important as i make them out to be.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year: usually i have a hard time coming up with anything for this and i default to looking at my most played songs of the year. my most played song of the year received each and every one of its plays within the month of november and you can guess why. anyway see if this works

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met - the night we met, lord huron

#happy new year #annual meme

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buncompass · 4 years

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“Are you ready?”

I opened my backpack for one last check.

“Flashlights, EMF reader, laser grid, night vision camera, backup batteries...Yeah I think I’m set!” I pulled my flashlight out and closed up my bag.

“Okay, let’s go.”

We stepped out of the car and looked around. Other than the solitary dome light from the car, the abandoned yard surrounding us was a void being carried on a breeze. The branches of low-hanging trees swayed and beckoned as they danced into the shallow pool of light around us, raising the hair on the back of my neck in an instant. Despite the full moon, the tall reaches of the pines blocked off almost all of the night sky. I glanced over at Adam. He pulled his own flashlight out and clicked it on before closing the door behind him. The beacon he produced got lost up the front walkway before landing squarely on a crooked, heavily-graffitied door. I turned my light on - the equivalent of an additional match in a coal mine.

“You should start filming before we even get in.” Adam suggested. He sent his flashlight across the yard to illuminate various odds and ends. “I don’t want anyone saying we faked anything.”

“You got it.” I stuffed my flashlight away, pulled my phone out of my pocket and attached my tripod and light. No more holding a flashlight and phone at the same time for us, no sir. We were professionals now. I opened the livestream and pointed my rig at Adam. “Five seconds,” I said. He hurriedly ran a hand through his hair as he turned. After a breath, he set his regular “I’m amped to be ghost hunting” grin to his face.

“What’s up, ghoulfriends?” He asked, his focus entirely on the camera. A few of our streamers began to respond immediately. The chat box along the bottom of the screen was awash in ghost emojis and greetings. One of my many jobs was to keep an eye on the chat for any hints or tips. There was nothing there for me yet.

“I’m Adam, the creature behind the camera is Carlie, and we are here at the Angel House for our Halloween spooktacular livestream event!”

I panned away from Adam and focused on the walkway leading up to the abandoned structure. With a jerk of my head, I directed Adam to get walking. The Angel House wasn’t close enough to be in focus yet. He fell into step next to me, out of view of the camera.

“The Angel House, so named after its late owner, Maurice Angelo, has been recommended to us multiple times. We’ve read the reports you’ve tagged us in and decided that Halloween was the best option for our investigation.” I said, filling my role as historian. “For those not in the know, Maurice Angelo died under mysterious circumstances in the early 1880s. He had no known children, and evidently left his home and grounds to the town. Now, nearly 150 years later, the Angel House sits way in the back of a conservation land. It has been unoccupied this entire time.”

As I spoke, the house began to fill the frame of my phone. What had once been a handsome Victorian manor home was now a sagging, warped building. I paused to let the viewers get the full effect of its broken windows, peeling siding, and crooked front steps. A section of wall to the far left side of the house was broken open. The front porch had a collapsed roof and broken floorboards. It was like the house itself was discouraging entry.

The chat box continued to fill as more viewers signed in to the stream. I watched for a couple seconds and smiled when one viewer posted a gif of a small girl with black pigtails. The gif was then repeated by others, all agreeing on what the house looked like.

“They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky..” I sang softly into the phone. More emojis lit up my screen. Our viewers were thrilled.

“They’re all together ooky, the Addams family!” Adam picked up the tune as we marched up the steps to the front door. He leaned forward and pushed it open on shrieking hinges. Our lights filled a cavernous foyer. Adam stepped ahead of me and I held back, careful to keep both him and the room in frame. A double staircase faced us, leading into the two opposite wings of the house. A broken, dusty chandelier hung above us. We paused again in the middle of the room, scanning the area for both the benefit of our viewers and ourselves.

“Do do do doo,”

Adam clapped.

“Do do do doo!”

He clapped again.

“Do do do do, do do do do, do do do do,”

Someone clapped directly behind my head. I yelped and whipped around. The camera was pointed directly where I heard the sound. Adam, wisely, stayed put. This was our first piece of evidence - we didn’t want viewers thinking we were messing with them.

“What did you hear, Carlie?”

“Someone beat you to the last clap for the song, Adam.” I said. There was nothing behind us. I was staring out the open front door. My camera light bled out onto the porch, illuminating only a few feet out. Two busts sat on either side of the door on the inside along the wall. There were no additional doorways on the front wall of the house.

“Okay ghoulfriends,” Adam said. I panned slowly back around to where Adam stood. “This right here is why we wanted to do our first ever livestream at the Angel House! It seems we have a kindred spirit in here with us.” He grinned at his own pun. I provided the obligatory groan, glad to hear my voice had evened out. It’s hard to take ghost hunters seriously as is, let alone one who shrieks at the first piece of evidence.

“The Angel House has exactly two reported deaths. The first being Mr. Angelo himself. The official report stated that he died of an undisclosed illness in his bed. The second reported death took place in 2001, on Halloween night. Exactly 19 years ago today.”

“October 31, 2001 had the happy happenstance of having a full moon on Halloween. In fact, today is the first Halloween full moon since that night.” I added. Adam gestured to the rooms on the first floor beyond the staircases. The investigation had begun.

“On that date, local urban explorer and photographer Shawn Johnson decided to do a walkthrough of the Angel House. Now, Johnson was not a paranormal investigator. He was just a guy who loved exploring. While researching the house, we discovered his blog. The link will be posted on our page after the livestream.” Adam’s voice grew softer as we passed the staircase and walked towards an open doorway to the next room. It was a common theme for him - he started each investigation big and boisterous. When it came time for the actual investigating, he softened his tone. Something about big, empty, derelict buildings gave the same feeling as being in a church. As though simply by talking, we were being disruptive.

“Johnson believed that it was the unknown that made people nervous, not spirits or ghouls. So he opted for a nighttime exploration of the Angel House to prove, without question, that there was no such thing as ghosts. He wrote a preliminary blog post about it and outlined his plan for the night.” I explained. My tone matched Adam’s.

“Unfortunately, Shawn Johnson never posted his follow up entry. He never made it out of the Angel House. His roommate woke up and checked his bedroom the next morning and found it empty. The police found Johnson in a guest bedroom on the second floor of the house, where he had died from blunt force trauma to the head. To this day, no one has found his camera.”

The chat box on the livestream was nonstop. Our fans were suggesting their own theories, expressing hope that we would find Johnson’s camera, and recommending what rooms to look in. I glanced through the thread. Nothing of relevance to the moment.

We tiptoed over the threshold and found ourselves in a large kitchen. A cast iron stove lined one wall. The kitchen table, which at one point must have been beautiful with its intricate carvings and detail, was missing a leg and slanted to one side. Dust covered everything around us. Each step filled the air with an additional cloud. We poked through closets, looked out the windows, and opened every cabinet door. Nothing stirred. After a few more minutes of exploring. Adam signaled me to focus on him.

“So the main reason Carlie and I decided to start livestreaming was for better accountability. Believe it or not, we do read every single one of your comments and it breaks my little ghost-loving heart that you guys think we fake evidence.” Adam laid both hands over his heart and looked off into the distance, an exaggerated look of betrayal on his face. The chat box pinged with assurances in response. I grinned.

“Whenever we investigate, we really do come alone. We don’t scope out places ahead of time, we don’t set anything up ahead of time. We do as little editing as possible, we just trim down on time to fit our investigations into a reasonable length. And to prove to you that it really just is us here, I want to direct your attention to the floor.”

I aimed the tripod down to our feet. Both of us wore heavy combat boots laced up tight. It had taken exactly one step on a rusty nail wearing Converse back in our early days to encourage safe footwear.

“As you all can see, the floors of the Angel House have a pretty thick layer of dust. No one else is here. Every touch, every footstep, is 100% us.” Adam continued. I recorded our last few footsteps. The heavy treads of two pairs of boots, one smaller than the other, marked our way across the dilapidated kitchen.

“No activity has been found here, so it’s time for us to move on!” Adam walked back into frame. I recorded his feet for good measure, so that the viewers could see the footprints he left on the 140-year-old floors, when he stopped.

“Carlie, what the hell.”

“What?” I asked. I panned up to his face. He was looking at the floor ahead of us. I walked forward, keeping him in frame until I scanned farther up to the entryway to the kitchen.

A third set of footsteps was clearly imprinted in the dust. It looked as though a third person had peered into the kitchen before walking away.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Come on!” Adam walked briskly toward the doorway. The third set of prints had come up from the perimeter of the foyer beyond the room. They were large, clearly men’s, but the tread did not match Adam’s in the slightest. I aimed the camera up to Adam’s face.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think we should follow them back to their source. If there’s someone else here, that could be unsafe for us. I want to see where they came in, because we would’ve heard someone come in the front door.”

“Right.” I agreed. We left the kitchen and walked along the third set of tracks. The chat box continued to roll. A few people thought we were messing with them, because why else make a big deal of our footprints if not to set up a mysterious third set? One commenter suggested we were intentionally misdirecting them.

“It looks like whoever this was came down from the second floor.” Adam pointed at the tracks on the side of one of the grand staircases. I aimed my camera light around the area behind us. Only our tracks followed the third.

“I guess we should just follow it up.” I suggested. Adam nodded and took a breath. Me and our viewers watched him steel himself as he led me forward to the staircase.

“Oh, hey, battery and service check.” I reminded him. “If it ends up being just some creepy rando I want to be able to call for help.” He pulled out his phone and checked.

“87%, full service.” He showed his phone screen to the camera and held it as the lens adjusted to his screen’s brightness. Once the camera registered his home screen, he pulled it down and tucked his phone into his pocket. Immediately, the chat box exploded. I held up a hand to keep Adam where he was. The thread was filled with exclamations and questions.

“Adam, the viewers saw something behind you.”

“What?” He looked behind him and shouted. I rushed forward and looked where he was pointing. The third set of steps had circled back behind him and gone up the stairs. I scanned up the staircase. In my first shot of the footsteps, they had been leading down on the left side. Now there was another set of the same footprints going up the right.

“EMF, now!”

I turned away from Adam so that he could access my bag. I kept the camera level as he dug through the pockets, searching for the tiny, handheld device that read electromagnetic frequencies. In a previous video, we proved that it was not set off by either of our phones or equipment, so Adam bypassed the explanation and held it up. The little range of lights flashed immediately from green to red.

Something was in there with us.

“Okay ghoulfriends!” Adam said, his voice an excited whisper. “The mysterious third set of tracks starts down the staircase and it looks like they loop around the back of the foyer. Whoever is here with us must have peeked in on us in the kitchen before going around the far end and then up the stairs behind us.”

“It can’t be some random person!” I said. “Our prints are the only ones from the front door and these steps originate somewhere upstairs! Unless some homeless person floated up there we can rule that out entirely.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Adam led the way up the stairs. We walked up the middle, keeping the mysterious footprints clearly on either side of us. At the top of the stairs we looked around. The EMF reader remained staunchly red.

“If we follow the prints to our left, we’ll see where they came from. If we follow them to the right, we’ll see where they lead. What do you think, everyone? Which way should we go?”

The chats were evenly divided. The viewers erupted into an argument about what made the most sense for capturing evidence of a ghost. Some argued that seeing the source would debunk the possibility of a third person in the house with us. Many argued that if we followed to where they lead, we’d see if it was a person. Some pointed out that either way, we’d be able to figure something out through a real-life sighting or process of elimination.

“It seems like our ghouls can’t decide!” I said.

“Well, then it’s a good thing we live in the future! Extra tripod please!” Adam reached for my bag again and took out a smaller handheld tripod and light. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, set it up, and held it up.

“If you go back to our main page, you will see that we now have two streams! Stick around with Carlie if you want to see the source, and bounce on over to me if you want to see where they’re going!”

I watched as half of our viewers left the current chat.

“Okay Team Carlie, are we ready?” I asked. The chat lit up.

“And Team Adam, are we set?” Adam asked his own chat. He shot me a thumbs up.

“Then Let’s Ghoul!” we both chanted. With a little wave at each other, we both turned to our respective quests.

The left hallway was as dark and dusty as the foyer below. A few doors to my right hung open, and a few more seemed to not have doors at all. They were simply yawning expanses of darkness until my camera light passed over them. The loss of Adam’s massive presence heralded the return of the creeping feeling on the back of my neck. I felt my entire body stand at attention, took a breath, and walked into the darkness. I directed my camera down to the floor. The mysterious third set was still to my left.

“As you guys can see, the footprints are a pretty decent size.” I stomped my foot next to one of the steps. Even with my big boots on, the extra set was larger. “I’m not sure what shoes looked like in 1880, but I’m fairly certain they didn’t have running sneakers. I wonder if we’re looking at the footsteps of the late Shawn Johnson?”

Talking to the chat made me feel less alone. I read their responses and theories as I walked to the far end of the hallway. The trail led me to the last door on the left.

It was closed.

“Now that’s weird. Look at this! The steps clearly walk out through the doorway, but the door isn’t open. Do you think whoever did this doesn’t have to worry about doors?”

I took a breath.

“I guess there’s no use delaying this, huh? Okay, ghoulfriends. Let’s do it.”

I kept the camera focused on the doorknob as I reached forward, grasped the cold, tarnished brass, and turned. The door opened inward, dragging along the dusty floor and mussing up the footsteps. I quickly panned up and did a sweep of the room. Nothing stirred.

“It looks like we’re in a bedroom.” I whispered to the chat. “It doesn’t look grand enough to be old Mr Angelo’s bedroom. This must be a guest bedroom.”

A section of the wall was broken open. A massive branch had long since crashed down into the bedroom, leaving its rotted corpse behind. The furniture, having been exposed to the elements for who knows how long, bowed out at odd angles after absorbing moisture from outside. An ancient broken mirror stood facing the gaping hole in the wall. The shards of glass had been scattered along the floor.

With my scan of my surroundings complete, I panned back down to the footsteps on the floor. Debris from the broken mirror and furniture pieces obscured what had once been a clear path. I followed them around the derelict bed towards the broken section of wall, placing my steps carefully.

“I’m not sure how secure this section of the house is.” I said to the chat. A few well-wishers told me to be careful. “If I feel like there’s any chance that this floor is unstable, I’m going to go find Adam. I’m looking for ghosts, not construction projects.”

I picked my way over to the mysterious source of the footsteps. The soft, rotted branch covered it up. I placed my foot on the floor next to it and pressed.

“I’m slowly applying pressure to the floor here. I’m not hearing any creaks or groans or anything, so I think I should be good.” Confident that the floor would support me, I stepped over completely and pushed the branch with my foot. It barely moved. The footsteps were clearly coming from beneath it. I looked around and spied a dresser not far behind me.

“Okay guys, I’m going to put you right here and see if I can move the log. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!”

The camera light was aimed directly where I needed to be. I carefully squatted down, placed my hands underneath the damp, rotted trunk, and heaved. The tree creaked against the remaining wall.

“One more time, I think!” I called back to my camera. I pushed again, and with a crack, the branch broke over, exposing the floor below.

The footsteps came from the broken wall.

“What the hell?” I looked at the section of wall. There, nestled between the interior and exterior walls, was a battered camera.

“Oh my GOD you guys, I think I found Shawn Johnson’s missing camera! Hold on, this is insane!” I stuck my arm into the wall. The moment my fingertips met plastic, I heard a rush of footsteps behind me.

“What the--” Something sharp hit the back of my head, and I went down.

***

The floor was cold and hard beneath me. The back of my head throbbed. I opened my eyes, but saw nothing. Terror flooded my lungs as I blinked. I waved my hand in front of my face. In the darkness, I saw the stirrings of movement. My vision was fine; it was the room that had gone dark. I groaned and pushed myself up. Nausea stabbed through me. I leaned back against the wall and waited for the feeling to pass.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Someone else was here. They hit me. They took my phone and tripod rig.” I sat on the floor and stared around the room, willing my eyes to adjust to the blackness. Shapes gradually appeared around the room. There was the bed, the dresser that had held my camera, the broken mirror across the room. Once I was sure my eyes were as focused as they could be, I pushed myself up against the wall and eased myself up.

Whoever hit me had done an excellent job. Standing made me aware of how out of proportion I felt - my arms and legs felt too long for my body. Could I have brain damage? Was this just leftover dizziness? I shook my hands in an attempt to change the way they felt. No luck.

“Shit.” I whispered again. I shook my head and made myself focus. I had to find Adam. We would call the police, wait in the car, and everything would be okay. A shaky plan, but a plan nonetheless. I left the room feeling asymmetrical.

The darkness enveloped me in the hallway. I paused to listen but heard nothing. Adam’s voice was so distinct, so easy to pick out, that he couldn’t be up on the second floor anymore. I would’ve heard him even if he were doing his excited livestream whisper. I walked down the hallway, keeping my hand on the wall for support. The camera light had spoiled me; I had never known such intense darkness. If Angel House had been creepy with poor lighting, it was menacing in the dark. I kept my focus on one thing: finding Adam. Whoever blitzed me thought I was already down, so I had to assume they were otherwise preoccupied. I stared around me, hoping for a break in the darkness, when my hand left the wall and found the railing to the grand staircase.

Quickly and quietly, I stole down the staircase and looped back to the kitchen. Just before the doorway I paused and listened, hard. Not a single noise. I peered around the frame and looked in. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was an expanse of darkness. I could make out the shapes of the lopsided table and stove, but not much else.

“Adam?”

No answer. I kept heading forward. We had only explored a small portion of Angel House, so the rest of the building was an unknown. I had no idea what else was on the first floor. My hand trailed along the wall next to me. The far corner of the room approached, a faded picture staring back at me. As I walked nearer, the face in the picture grew larger. I stopped and stared. The face in the picture was hard to make out in the darkness. I took another step. The face in the picture grew larger still. Panic had finally started to settle in my ribcage. I strode forward, determined. The expression in the picture matched mine.

He had a long face, a broad nose, and dark eyes. I turned my head to get a better look. He turned with me. I shook my head. He did the same.

It was a mirror.

“What the hell. What the hell. What the hell??” I shouted.

My voice, his voice, echoed across the empty foyer. It didn’t matter that there was someone else in the house. It didn’t matter that someone had tried to attack me. What mattered was that, somehow, I was staring out of someone else’s eyes into someone else’s face in a mirror. He was tall and thin, though somehow familiar. I leaned against the wall, bracing my considerably larger frame on a man’s hands and stared into the mirror. I took in the bold eyebrows and stubby facial hair.

“Shawn Johnson,” I realized. Adam and I had studied his blog. There had been exactly one picture of the photographer. While he was exploring some old church somewhere he ran into another urban explorer. They had stood, arm in arm, grinning into their camera before exploring the church together.

The camera!

Pieces began to fall into place. Shawn Johnson had died in a second floor guest bedroom. The report we read named blunt force trauma. That would explain the head pain. Had he been murdered? Did I have to relive his last few moments because I found his camera? Or was the ghost of Shawn Johnson trying to get me to understand something else? I dropped my hands from the wall around the mirror. Of course. The tree. The trees surrounding Angel House had swayed so easily in the breeze when Adam and I had pulled up. The branch I moved had been huge. It must have fallen into the tree, hit Shawn in the head, and knocked him out.

So why was he here? And why was I with him? I paced in front of the mirror. Shawn hadn’t been a paranormal investigator. He was an urban explorer and photographer. He had come here to disprove the paranormal. I snorted. Before I could even begin to think of the irony of that theory, a car door slammed in the distance.

“Adam!” I called out. Had he gone out to the car to look for me? I ran along the side wall of the foyer and stopped in front of the window. There, down the front walkway, stood Adam. He was facing someone and gesticulating at the house. A bright light shone in my direction. Adam must have gone for the police. He obviously couldn’t expect to find out that I had been possessed by the ghost of the guy we were hoping to find. He had gone for help. I smiled. This was going to be an interesting conversation. But on the bright side, I’d be able to take Adam and the cops to Shawn Johnson’s camera.

I watched Adam fall into step with his companion. They walked up the walkway together, and I heard their voices lilting back and forth. There was no hurry in their stride. Their conversation sounded formal, informative. I pressed my - Shawn’s - face against the glass.

Adam was walking up the walkway with a young woman, carrying a tripod. He was walking up the walkway with me.

I watched us trek across the front porch and heard my own voice begin to sing.

We were walking up the front walkway the way we had earlier in the evening. I was watching myself film Adam as he clapped in tune to the theme song. The front door shrieked open, just as it had when I had been the one operating the camera, Adam and the other Carlie walked into the foyer. I approached us, stunned. We were staring around the foyer, panning across for shots. I came to a stop directly behind what should have been me.

“Do do do doo,”

Adam clapped.

“Do do do doo!”

He clapped again.

“Do do do do, do do do do, do do do do,”

I clapped.

#short story #halloween #the addams family #ghost story #haunted house #this was fun give me critiques

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nightprince · 4 years

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Day: 15 Myth

Day 15 of @oc-growth-and-development OCtober. This one is about my female Bosmer from the Elder Scrolls. This one was a lot harder than I had first thought.

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Cylinan had always just considered it another myth that her mother had told her in order to scare her when she was a child. Her family was never overly religious, the old stories meant to scare her into obedience or to keep her from wandering the woods when she was a child. It hadn’t worked. Whether that was because Cylinan had always been curious, or just a rebellious child was debatable. Still, nothing had ever felt quite right than whenever she was wandering the forest at night, the moons hanging high in the sky. One such story had always stuck with her, and she wasn’t too proud to admit that she had spent many nights in the forest searching it out.

It was the story of the great spirit which guarded the forest. It was said to be a majestic stag unlike anything else. Its great antlers easily twice the size of other stags, its fur a pure and ghostly white. The magicka which radiated off it a visible blue aura. It was said to be the avatar of one of their many gods, tasked with protecting the forest and punishing any who dared to harm it. As Cylinan grew older, she stopped actively looking for the great spirit and thought nothing more of it than the other stories she had been told.

It was before her now, standing within a clearing, the moonlight the only illumination peeking through the great trees of Valenwood. Cylinan approached slowly, lowering her bow and stowing it on her back. “Great spirit,” she said, lowering herself to her knees in a bow.

“So another hunter approaches,” the spirit’s voice echoed around her. “Have you come to beg for my blessing?”

“Who are you?” Cylinan breathed out. She had a nagging suspicion that this wasn’t just a normal spirit, which meant it could be a daedra.

“Who am I?” a voice growled from next to her ear, and Cylinan did her best not to flinch away. A massive wolf spirit stepped around her to stand next to the stag. “I am the prey,” spoke the stage. “I am the hunter,” spoke the wolf. “I am the hunt.” The spirits spoke at the same time, creating a strange dual-tone to their voice, as if one had spoken a half second after the other. “I am Hircine.”

A shiver shot straight down her back that had nothing to do with the cold night air. She knew of the name Hircine. Of course she did. Who wouldn’t know of it? Hircine, the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, and to whom all werebeasts gave patronage. As the realization of who was addressing her washed over Cylinan, her first reaction was to reach for her bow and draw an arrow. She didn’t, afterall, she couldn’t hope to fight against the Daedric Prince himself. Still, she was sure that Hircine noticed the obvious twitch of her hands that went for her bow.

“Tell me, child of the forest, are you prey or hunter?” The Daedric Prince inquired.

Cylinan had the feeling that no matter the answer she gave she would fall into a trap. She supposed that was the point. She was talking to a Daedric Prince, and they were well known for their deceit. Yet a part of her was oddly excited regardless of what Hircine meant. Regardless of what he had planned. Besides, she already knew her answer. Didn’t she? She had known it since she was a child wandering the forest. She had known it since she had first picked up a bow and the first time she had hunted. She knew she was not prey.

Yet even as she thought it, she knew that wasn’t completely true. She was Bosmer, and she held great respect for the forest and those that inhabit it. She knew that one wrong move and she could easily turn from hunter to prey. She knew that there were plenty of animals within the forest greater than her.

“I am both.” She simply said, her eyes narrowed and her stare hard as steel.

“Good response.” Hircine laughed in reply. “Then you have my blessing, use it well.” The wolf spirit rushed her… and jumped into her.

Cylinan felt the change take her instantly, giving her no time to fight it. Though she found that she had no desire to. Her limbs elongated and her hands and feet turned to claws. Her head shifted into a muzzle and fur grew all along her body. She howled into the night as the transformation finished, it was time to hunt.

#the elder scrolls #skyrim #bosmer #female bosmer #wood elf #oc-growth-and-development #OCtober #fanfiction #writing prompt

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duhragonball · 4 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (130/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[10 October, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

Luffa's star-yacht, the Emerald Eye was constructed as a civilian pleasure craft, but under her ownership it now served as the de facto flagship of the interstellar Federation she had created. As a Super Saiyan, she had little need for fleets or armaments in battle, but she needed the transportation to get her from one battlefield to another. The current war against a cult of alchemically-enhanced Saiyans had kept her very busy. When she wasn't liberating a Federation planet from Jindan cultists, she was recuperating from her wounds or traveling to her next battle. Today, she was en route to a conference with the Federation's civilian and military leaders to discuss the situation. In preparation for this, she contacted her allies in the field to compare notes. The dining room of her yacht had a set of video conference monitors. Luffa sat alone at the table, scooping reheated pottage from a large bowl and eating it with her bare hand while they spoke.

"I've fought this rock creature thing on a dozen different planets by now," Luffa said. "All of them were attacked by Jindan Saiyans beforehand. I think their mission was to prepare those worlds for whatever magic trick he's using. Whatever it is, it assumes the form of King Rehval, Seltiss' father, and it talks like him too. I've gotten pretty good at fighting them, but they're too strong for most of our forces. Katem might do okay on his own, and maybe a few dozen of Seltiss's troops could figure something out, but your fleet wouldn't stand a chance, Marshall."

To Luffa's left, a screen showed Seltiss, leader of the Saiyan Free Company, with Xibuyas. They were teenagers, and uncomfortable with Luffa for a number of reasons, not the least of which was her claim to be Xibuyas' mother. But Luffa was rather accustomed to making other people uncomfortable. To her right, Marshall Ryba Booth sat at a desk in one of his fleets' command ship. Physically unimpressive, Booth's only real power lay in his political savvy and his sway over the Federation's military.

"And how do we stop him?" Booth asked. "The Saiyan invaders have been difficult enough to handle without some indestructible rock creature backing them up."

"The one thing in our favor is that he only seems to be able to manifest himself in one place at a time," Luffa said. "So far, he only seems to be using this power to draw me away from his underlings. That tells me his main objective is something he needs his troops to accomplish. Maybe he wants them to take something from the planets he's been sending them to, or he wants to conquer and hold territory. His rock body can't move from place to place, or he'd do it himself."

"What's to stop him from destroying Federation planets?" Booth asked. "He has more than enough power. Even his weakest soldiers could do it."

"It's not a small thing, destroying a planet, Marshall," Luffa said. "I'll let the kids explain it, and we'll see if they learned anything."

Xibuyas opened his mouth to object to Luffa's tone, but Seltiss spoke first, and he remained quiet. "You're right, Marshall," Seltiss said. "It doesn't take a Super Saiyan to blow up a planet. I could do it, and I'm not nearly as strong as Luffa or Xibuyas. I know some Saiyans who are weaker than I am, and they still have the raw power to damage a planet's crust. That wouldn't cause it to explode, but it'd still be enough to render it uninhabitable. But most Saiyans know better than to use that much power carelessly. Tactically speaking, it just isn't worth it."

Luffa smirked with approval. "Very good. Your turn, Katem. Why's it a bad idea?"

"My name is Xibuyas, and I didn't come here to play your games," Xibuyas grumbled.

"Oh, chill out, Xibuyas," Seltiss said. "Just answer the question."

He sighed and did as she said. "Everything a Saiyan needs is on a planet," he began. "Food, air, water, the light of a full moon. Oh, there's battle to be had in space, but no one wants to be cooped up in a starship, afraid to cut loose for fear of wrecking their own life support system. Planets are sturdy enough to support the Saiyan lifestyle. They're too valuable to destroy. Only a fool would annihilate one without a very good reason."

"Well done," Luffa said. "Rehval's a coward, and a bastard, and a lot of other things, but he's not stupid enough to tear down a potential resource. If nothing else, he knows we have to stretch our forces pretty thin to defend the Federation. If he starts blowing up our planets, he'll make it easier for us to defend the ones that are left."

"My father still thinks of himself as a cosmopolitan head of state," Seltiss said. "I don't understand why he's taken this aggressive posture, but I'm sure he plans to advance his standing in the galactic community. He might conquer your Federation, or weaken its influence, but if he destroys it, he'll only be proving that he's a rampaging monster. He would be undermining everything that the Rehval Dyansty has been trying to do for the Saiyan people."

"No, it's worse than that," Luffa said. "Your father's got some kind of god complex now. It's not just about good standing in galactic politics. Now, he wants people to worship him. Either way, he can't blow up all the little people, or there won't be anyone around to thank him for it later."

"Can you defeat him, Luffa?" Booth asked.

"I managed to knock those rock bodies of his around pretty good," Luffa said. "The trouble is that he can just abandon it and move on. Make another one someplace else. I can't hurt him unless I find his real body, and that could be anywhere."

"Well, his followers won't tell us," Xibuyas groused. "I've interrogated plenty of them, and it's always the same result. They'd sooner die than betray him."

"There must be some limit to his power," Seltiss said. "His base must be close to Federation space for him to animate all these creatures."

"Even if that were true, it's still too big an area to search," Luffa said. "And we can't commit our forces to look for him because we're stuck on the defensive. Our only option is to whittle away at his goons. But it's the only option he's given us, so it must mean we're playing into his hands. The whole thing's pretty damned annoying."

"Which is why the Federation Council has ordered this conference," Booth said. He rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands. "It's been almost eight months, and if there really is no end in sight, then we need to plan ahead for a prolonged conflict."

"A waste of time," Xibuyas muttered. "We should be fighting, not wasting time with a gaggle of bureaucrats!"

"Oh, I agree," Booth said, "but this is what happens when wars grow old. Strategy gives way to policy, and the public has to be reassured that this is all worth doing."

"Cheer up, boy," Luffa said to Xibuyas. "You and I can spar a little if you get bored."

He winced with disgust at the suggestion, and Luffa grinned with satisfaction. King Rehval had raised him to hate her, and he still did, even after he had turned against the king. Teasing the young man was the closest thing they had to a relationship.

"We ought to think about how to search for my father," Seltiss argued. "I agree that we can't spare the ships, but there has to be some way to track down his base. Until we do, we're just treading water."

"What are thinking, Seltiss?" Luffa asked. "Hire a few bounty hunters to snoop around?"

"It's worth a try, right?" Seltiss said with a shrug. "They don't even need to find anything, just as long as they can point us in the right direction."

It pleased Luffa to have Seltiss on her side. Rehval had turned her son against her, so turning his daughter against him seemed appropriate. The girl was too interested in fashion and poise for Luffa's liking. Her bright pink hair dye and pressed suit coat made it hard to tell she was a Saiyan teenager, but she made up for it with her skills as a leader.

While they were talking, a crewman entered Booth's room and whispered something to him. "Hold that thought, ladies," Booth said as he began tapping buttons on his computer. "I've just received reports that a Saiyan surrendered to a patrol ship near Qongoding. He was dressed in the same red uniform the Jindan cult uses."

"Surrendered?" Xibuyas asked in disbelief.

"That fortuneteller of yours didn't say anything about this, did she?" Seltiss asked Luffa.

"No," Luffa said, "but Dotz can't predict everything, and she's been focusing on attacks. If this guy turned himself in without a fight... Where is he now, Booth?"

"On his way to you, apparently," Booth said. "He kept insisting he has vital information, but he refuses to talk to anyone until he sees you, in person. So the captain decided to grant his wish."

They all looked at one another for a moment, and Luffa finally said: "I think I'll be a little late to that conference."

*******

[12 October, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

So far, Guwar's plan had worked. Knowing as much as he did about the Jindan Cult's tactics, it was easy for him to enter Federation space without running into any invasion ships that might have tried to stop him. The trickier part was avoiding the Federation's Saiyan allies. Guwar had heard that bands of Saiyan mercenaries had joined the Federation cause, but he hadn't expected there to be so many of them. It gave him a shred of hope that King Rehval could be stopped, but it also made it harder to enter Federation space. He was certain that a Federation patrol would accept his surrender, but a Saiyan would show him no mercy at all.

And so, he couldn't truly relax until he was aboard Luffa's ship. Once the patrol ship took him into custody, they rendezvoused with her star-yacht, and a blue-skinned woman crossed over via a docking tunnel. Instead of leading him back to the yacht, she studied him carefully, without a word of explanation.

"Haven't I seen you before?" Guwar asked.

"I doubt it," she said.

"I'm sure of it," Guwar said. "The eyepatch, the red hair... I wouldn't just forget--"

"He's clean," she suddenly said. "I'm bringing him aboard."

It was then that he noticed the earpiece in her left ear, and he realized she was talking to her ship. Then she put a gun to his lower back and nudged him to lead the way through the docking tunnel. As they walked, he finally realized where he had seen her before. That bar on that planet where he first ran into Treekul and Endive. Endive had disguised herself as Luffa, and Treekul had been dressed up as a blue alien with red hair. It was all part of some test to see if Guwar could be trusted before they recruited him in the quest to find the Jindan Cult. He suddenly remembered that Lesseri, the third woman in their gang, had actually trained under Luffa for a short time, and she must have based Treekul's disguise on this alien.

It all felt like ancient history, but it must have only been a few months ago. He had lost track of time since joining the cult, but he was sure it couldn't have been that long ago. It hurt him to think of the others. He had harbored a certain affection for Treekul and Endive, and he had only recently learned that they each felt the same way about him. And now that he finally knew, he would probably never see either of them again. Well, it saved him the trouble of having to choose one of them, he thought bitterly. He disliked Lesseri, but he had no idea what had happened to her, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit to himself. For all he knew she was long dead, another martyr sent to the Federation to die in King Rehval's pointless war.

Though he knew it wasn't fair, he resented this blue alien woman for reminding him of all of this. He supposed that Lesseri's little test had failed. At long last, he had chosen to betray them to Luffa after all.

"In here," the woman said as she led him to a small room.

He noticed the word "brig" on the door, though the lavish accommodations made him wonder if he had misread the sign. There were two rooms which might qualify as holding cells, and each of them had a fake plant and a magazine rack. The whole thing looked more like a waiting room than a jail.

"I guess even rich people have to put their unruly guests someplace, huh?" Guwar said. The woman didn't reply. She just nudged him into one of the cells and activated a force field to seal him inside. Even in his weakened condition, Guwar expected that he could break through the field, or even smash through the walls around it. The woman seemed to agree with his assessment, which was why she kept her plasma pistol trained on him while they waited.

A few minutes later, Luffa entered the room. She ignored Guwar and spoke with the blue woman instead. Guwar wasn't surprised by any of this. This sort of treatment was what interrogations were made of. They would do whatever it took to rattle him and shake his self-confidence. What bothered him instead was how much shorter and younger Luffa looked in person. There were bandages wrapped around her shoulders and arms, and bruises on her face. He knew that she had the ability to transform back and forth from her glowing golden form, but she looked so normal right now. Almost pathetic.

This was the miracle warrior he had risked everything to find?

"I'll take it from here," Luffa said, and the blue woman left them alone. Luffa found a chair and shoved it in front of Guwar's cell before taking a seat. She didn't say anything at first. She just stared at Guwar, like a bird-of-prey regarding its next meal.

"I know where he is," Guwar said. "That's all you wanted to know, isn't it? The last time we met, you were chasing me because you thought I knew something about Rehval. Well now I actually do, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Nagaoka, right?" Luffa said. "I've never heard of it, but that's where you want me to go, isn't it?"

"You already knew?" Guwar asked, somewhat anxiously.

"The patrol crew who brought you here? They went over your ship's computer core," Luffa explained. "I was talking to them while you were moving into your new 'quarters.' Now, I'm pretty sure you could rip your way out of that cell, but I think you're smart enough to know what'll happen to you if you try to leave."

"I know things that weren't in the computer," Guwar said. He hadn't counted on anyone to backtrack his navigation logs, and suddenly he began to realize how expendable his life would be once he revealed all his secrets. "I was part of his cult. He shared the Jindan power with me. He took the power away from me when I left, but I know how it works, and how to deal with it. I can help you plan your attack, but you need to move quickly! He thinks he's invincible, but if he finds out you know where he is, he could pack up and move to a new hiding place--"

"Why should I believe you, Guwar?" Luffa asked. "You don't have much credibility where I'm concerned."

"I risked my life to come here!" Guwar exclaimed. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"Sure it does," Luffa said. "It means you're more afraid. Something's got you so scared that you'd rather risk flying into a war zone and turning yourself in to me. You figure if you give me some intel on my enemies, I'll protect you, instead of turning you into a red stain on the ground. But being desperate doesn't help your credibility. Kind of the opposite, really."

"I don't believe this!" Guwar snapped. "The last time we met, you were chasing me across the universe for information on Rehval that I didn't even have! Now I'm coming to you with his exact location and you threaten me?"

"Let's say I believe you," Luffa reasoned. "Most likely, you ran to Rehval because you thought he could save you from me. Now, you're running to me because you're afraid of him. That makes you a coward, Guwar, no matter how you slice it. Right now, I'm disgusted to breathe the same air as you."

She made a derisive snort as she crossed her arms, and waited to see how he reacted. The fearful look on his face was no surprise to her, but then his expression shifted, and he looked more insulted than afraid. And then she was surprised to see a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

"No," he said. "I don't buy it. That holier-than-thou act of yours doesn't wash with me."

"Really?" Luffa asked.

"If I'm so offensive to your presence, if you're so confident that you can get along without my help, then you would have killed me already. You can still kill me right now, so what's stopping you?"

"Suppose you tell me," Luffa replied.

"You're the one who's desperate, Luffa," Guwar said. "I can see it in your eyes. For all your power and majesty, you want to end this war more than Rehval does. That's why he's using attrition tactics against you. He knows you care about the people who live in the Federation, and that you can't stand the mounting civilian casualties. Oh, you may be an invincible warrior, but no matter how inevitable your victory is, you won't be able to bring back the war dead. You need a way to end this conflict quickly, and the only way to do that is to take the fight to Rehval, and this 'coward' you're looking at is the only lead you have."

Luffa glared at him for what seemed like an eternity. Then, at last, she jumped out of her chair. For a split-second, he expected her to tear through the force field and rip him to pieces. Instead, she simply laughed, which somehow felt almost as terrifying.

"Well, I guess you've got a little spine left after all, haven't you?" she said. "There might be hope for you yet, Guwar."

"Please," he said wearily. "You have to listen to me. You've got to believe me."

"Oh, I will, Guwar," Luffa said ominously. "I just need to confirm something first. You say you were part of Rehval's cult, but I can't sense the Jindan power in you."

"I already told you," he said, "it was taken from me when I turned against him."

"Sure, and I can sense how much weaker it's made you," Luffa said. "But that could just mean you've gone soft without any battles to fight. No, there's only one way to be sure you really were part of his cult, and I was kind of hoping you'd admit you were lying to me so that I wouldn't have to check." With that, she shut off the force field and stepped into his cell.

"What are you doing?" Guwar tried to ask, but before he could finish the question, Luffa planted his hand on his face and concentrated.

"Rehval fixed up his goons with something called the 'Mindworm'," she said. "It keeps telepathic beings from reading their minds. The last time I ran into it, it felt like I poured hot spices into my skull. So if you're only pretending to be in with the cult, I'll see it in your thoughts. But if you really joined Rehval's side, then you should still be... Aaaah!"

She released him and staggered backward as she grimaced in pain. Guwar stepped towards her, unsure how to proceed, but Luffa waved her hand in a wide, awkward sweep, producing enough of a ki force to knock him away from her and onto the floor.

"You idiot!" he shouted. "The Mindworm is a booby trap! Even a brief exposure to it will put you into a coma!"

It had never occurred to him to warn her about the Mindworm. He didn't think she would do anything so impulsive, so reckless, and now she was seconds away from becoming a vegetable. To think he had pinned all of his hopes onto this stupid girl! He had begun to wonder if she might really be a Saiyan messiah after all. Against King Rehval, anything less wouldn't be enough to save their species. But no, she was no better than the rest of them, and when she fell, there would be nothing in the universe that could protect him...

"Wrrrrrrong," Luffa growled through clenched teeth. "I told you I encountered this once beforrrre, and it didn't stop me thennnnnn..."

She screamed, and then balled her fists and tensed her body until she was transformed. She couldn't see Guwar with her eyes closed, but she could smell his fear and sense him scooting across the floor in a feeble attempt to put some distance between them. He didn't have to worry, but Luffa saw no pressing need to tell him that. Instead, she focused on the battle that mattered, and as she turned her immense power inward, she began battering her hands against her head and chest.

"I'm... not just another pretty face!" she snarled. "Creeps like you think they can get the drop on me once in a while, and that somehow proves I'm not so tough after all. But there's more to being 'invincible' than just winning lots of fights. It's about... unngh... about taking the worst shots... and finding ways to overcome them!"

She cried out one more time and when the light of her aura subsided, she opened her eyes and stood before Guwar completely composed. The effects of the Mindworm lingered, but she had dispelled them much more quickly than before.

"There," she said, still maintaining her glowing golden form. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe I should try that again some time and use a stopwatch to track how long it takes me to shrug it off."

"You... you...!" Guwar babbled. Luffa shook her head and walked towards him. Before he could try to scramble away, she grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up over her head.

"Oh, calm down," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not while there's a chance that you could be useful to us. Even if you are lying to me, there's no doubt that you've been involved with the cult."

"I'm not lying!" Guwar pleaded. "I can prove what I'm saying, I swear it!"

"Good for you," Luffa grumbled. "Because you're going to get your chance. I may not be able to interrogate you telepathically, but Marshall Booth has all sorts of people working for him who know a lot of creative ways to get information out of people."

She tossed him into a nearby chair and chuckled as he nearly fell over.

"Welcome to the Federation, Guwar," she said. "It might be an unpleasant stay at first, but if you give me Rehval, I promise we'll make it up to you later..."

NEXT: To Win the Peace

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #zatte #xibuyas #seltiss #guwar #ryba booth

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fanfic-collection · 4 years

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Loki x Reader: October 1 and 2 Alone and Shadows

IT IS GOOD TO WRITE AGAIN

yea so sorry about that other one, I was dealing with some stuff and wanted to cope with Loki. October is halloween prompts so lotsa vampires/werewolves/and monster Loki sorry if that’s not your thing (it’s hecka my thing) Maybe in December (if I’m not doin holiday stuff) I can convince myself to look at my abandoned WIPs (cus November is NaNoWriMo, should I share my story that has a character that is based on Loki? because every story needs a character based on Loki??) Idk anyways, here’s some Vampire!Loki fun

You pulled your thin cloak tighter around your neck, wishing you had thought to bring something warmer. Cursing the night guards and knowing if you had actually brought a traveling cloak they would have grown suspicious, you made your way down through the many halls of your family's estate. Soon you were at the edge of the lawns and into the forest, hurrying away on foot.

Storm clouds loomed ominously overhead, great black cumulonimbus tall and awning arching across the sky. Before you had fully realized it, they split open and a torrent of rain fell upon you, soaking your thin cloak, meant only to keep you warm within your house and down to your night shift.

You cursed at the sky.

As if in response, a boom of thunder echoed back at you and a flash of lightning.

You yelped softly, ducking your head, and scampering faster to your destination. A little storm wouldn't keep you.

Just as quickly as the storm started, it ended.

Finally, slowing your pace, you came upon the clearing. It was magical as ever, though dark with the storm clouds high over head. You cast furtive glances, seeking some signs of him, the man you loved. Squinting your eyes you peered into the gloom at the thick canopy on the other side, finally crossing out into the open and pulling back your hood as you looked around.

Now you were truly exposed, if an ambush of hunters or worse were to happen... you swallowed hard.

Then you saw him, as beautiful as ever. More glorious than the rising sun. Also infuriatingly dry somehow. Your beloved.

The tall dark haired man stepped forward from his cove of trees that had sheltered him from the rain, stepping into the clearing, brushing away at the damp droplets off his black cloak.

“Loki.” You breathed.

The man smiled at his name, his mouth opening just so, revealing sharp canines. Slowly his mouth dropped open some, staring at you agape as his eyes trailed up and down your figure and you suddenly became very aware of your thin shift soaked through by the rain storm.

Loki cleared his throat and forced his dark eyes back up to your blushing face, “Hello, my love.” He purred, his voice far deeper than normal.

You swallowed hard, shifting your legs nervously.

Slowly Loki reached out a hand for you and you took it. He pulled you flush against his chest, your wet gown against his very dry suit. Loki gazed down at you admiringly, his free hand holding your back pressed against his body, before moving to reach up and stroke your face. The other hand still held yours as he gazed down at you lovingly.

Once more he slid his hand down to hold your lower back, pressing you into his body as the two of you held a dancer's pose, gazing into each others eyes. Standing on your tiptoes you pressed your forehead to his.

“Were you followed?” You asked.

Loki grunted, pursing his lips. “No. Were you?”

“Of course not.”

Smiling again, Loki nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before slowly beginning to lead you in a dance. “Dance with me in the dark, won't you?”

You smiled at him, gliding along the clearing. The two of your bodies entwined, a perfect duet as you spun round and round, the rhythm of your heartbeat casting the beat to the music that did not play.

Soon the storm clouds parted and a full moon appeared overhead.

Your shadows joined you in rhythmic dance, swirling along the ground of the forest clearing, faster and faster as the two of you spun and dipped. Laughing and giggling, lost in the moment. As if you could stay in this time forever, perhaps this night would never end, that you and he could stay here forever. Alone together and would never have to go back to your respective lives.

A twig snapped.

Loki straightened up. “You should go, we've been here too long.” He glanced at you, sliding his hand down your side, his thumb running along your bosom and to your thigh as he eyed you appreciatively. A strained sigh escaped his mouth as he turned away biting his lip.

“Until next time.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his hand.

And like that the spell was broken.

#Loki x reader #one shot #Halloween prompts #ficbit

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

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The Very Witching Time (3 /4)

Witching Wednesday is here and I am SO EXCITED to share this chapter!!

But first, THANK YOU to everyone reading and especially those of you who’ve shared stories of your dogs and how dog!Killian reminds you of them. I’m beyond thrilled to hear that! Please give me ALL THE DOG STORIES.

In this chapter we have Samhain traditions and Emma and Killian’s bond, Cora’s plan coming to fruition, a WITCH FIGHT, some pretty epic magic, and Killian being a very good dog indeed.

(there is also some graphic-ish violence, so be prepared...)

The brilliant art is by @gingerchangeling and the wonderful event is managed by @cssns. And I am kept sane by @thisonesatellite who is the best ever and SHE KNOWS WHY 💕💕💕

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.

RATING: M, mostly for future violence

AO3 | Tumblr

TAGGING: @thisonesatellite, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @jennjenn615, @resident-of-storybrooke, @teamhook, @thejollyroger-writer, @winterbaby89, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd @shireness-says @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree

(if you’d like a tag, please let me know!)

CHAPTER 3:

Those sweltering days that in the midst of summer seem endless eventually drifted, as they always do, into autumn, shortening and cooling to a delicious crispness until Emma with a happy sigh unpacked her sweaters from their cedar chest and aired them in the garden. As the weeks tipped into months she and Killian fell into a comfortable routine of days spent in the shop and evenings in the garden or before the wide stone fireplace in the living room, curled up on the sofa with his head in her lap as she read a book or watched a movie, absently stroking his silky ears. He slept beside her each night, his head resting on her hip and his paw draped over her waist, a pose that she found oddly protective, but though she rolled her eyes and told him she was perfectly safe in her own bedroom even if he slept at the foot of the bed, she secretly loved the warmth of him and his soft breathing at her back and the gentle way he licked her chin to wake her up whenever she was tempted to oversleep.

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” she groused one late October morning, wiping her chin and pushing Killian away. He sat back on his haunches and watched her with a bright, expectant smile.

“Is this because I promised you pancakes today?”

“Aye!”

“Crazy dog,” she said fondly, scratching his ears and dropping a kiss on the impossibly soft spot on his forehead just between his eyes. “All right, let’s go.”

“Aye!” he barked, leaping off the bed and racing down the stairs as she grabbed a cardigan to throw over her flannel pajama pants and tank top, shivering in delight at the chill in the morning air. She loved October.

Already Emma’s witchy-senses, as she called them, had sharpened in anticipation of Samhain and the Hunter’s Moon, set to coincide that year for the first time in more than three centuries. Magic shimmered in the air, carried on the brisk autumn breezes and rustling through the leaves that blazed brightly in shades of gold and burgundy, umber and terracotta, and a yellow like distilled sunshine. The sky that morning was blindingly blue, reminding Emma of Killian’s eyes, with soft wisps of white cloud and a vee of Canada geese soaring south on the crisp winds. Emma opened her door and breathed deeply, inhaling the air and the magic, until Killian’s whimpers grew too impatient to ignore. She turned to look at him, sitting under the table with an expression between a scowl and a pout.

A scout. A powl?

Autumn made her whimsical, Emma reflected.

That morning she had several loads of new merchandise for the shop: engraved Samhain candles and turnips carved with impish faces, magically preserved —Emma would have no truck with Halloween pumpkins— alongside dense loaves of dark-grain bread made from a recipe passed along the generations of her family, and jugs of apple cider to wash it down. After breakfast she loaded Killian with as many bags as he could carry (What am I, a pack mule? his wounded expression said) saying a quick spell to lighten the weight of them before hoisting at least as many of her own.

She smirked at him and he shrugged.

{Sure you can manage all of that, love?} he barked.

Whether it was that they had simply grown more attuned to each other or perhaps something deeper Emma wasn’t sure; she knew only that she heard Killian’s voice regularly now, speaking to her in clear, deep tones and full sentences. He had a British accent, she was amused to note, and an affinity for endearments.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags,” she retorted.

{Indeed. But it’s a long walk.}

A long walk through a forest ready burst at the seams with magic, he didn’t say, but she knew that was what he meant. Emma couldn’t recall a time when she had seen the forest magic so potent. The very air crackled with arcane energy, energy that could sharpen even our ordinary observer’s senses and attune them to the smallest shiver and twitch of motion through the trees. Energy that could, and did, awaken normally dormant creatures and pull them forth from their sanctuaries to be caught in the corner of that observer’s eye, or to slink along behind him with creeping footsteps only to vanish the moment he turned, leaving no trace behind save a whisper through the dry leaves and a lingering suggestion of menace.

The effects of this heightened energy did not confine themselves to the forest. In Emma’s garden the apple trees yielded triple their normal amount of fruit and her chrysanthemums bloomed wider than her hand. She herself was buzzing and restless, full of an odd, untethered anticipation, an expectation of something she couldn’t put a name to even when in exasperation she resorted to the scrying mirror and tarot cards she normally scorned as parlour tricks. For the past few nights she had struggled to sleep, tossing and turning for hours in her bed before giving up and spending the time in her workshop instead, magic almost igniting in the air as she blended and brewed and murmured incantations over bubbling cauldrons and Killian lay curled in a corner, watching her with amusement tinged with concern.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, despite her own lingering unease. “It’s just how magic is this time of year. Granted this is stronger than normal but it’ll calm down soon. In December I practically hibernate.”

{Just don’t overdo it, love. You still need to sleep sometimes.}

And Emma did sleep, eventually, once the importunate energy had been channeled and the dawn was breaking over the cliff edge, she would lean against Killian as he guided her up the stairs to fall into exhausted slumber and awaken mere hours later when his gentle licks reminded her that it was time to start another day.

Never once did it occur to her examine the intimacy of her relationship with this dog, or to find anything peculiar in the fact that she often forgot he was one. To her he was simply Killian, her trusted companion, and she could no longer conceive of her life without him.

She smiled at him now, as laden with their magically lightened bags they headed into the forest, side by side on the winding path in what had become their customary manner: Killian trotting slightly ahead and Emma a step behind, her hand resting on his neck, deep in his thick fur. The fur beneath her fingers stood up higher than usual, the muscles beneath it tense and vibrating when he growled deep in his throat at anything that troubled his canine senses.

That morning, those things were many.

“Hey,” said Emma soothingly, stroking her fingers down his neck. “It’s okay. I know it’s creepy but the covenant is still in place until Samhain, and there’s no reason it won’t be renewed. There’s nothing for us to fear in this forest.”

Her voice was calm and certain but Killian could smell the perfume again, faint but unmistakable, and dread settled heavily in his chest. Whatever demons may lie on the other side of the forest barrier, he thought, they couldn’t be worse than the one already loose on this side. As Samhain approached he found himself staying closer to Emma’s side as they walked through the forest, curling tighter around her as they slept, his senses ever alert for any threat to her.

Protect her, the garden magic whispered each time they left the safety of its walls, and each time he gave the same response.

{Always.}

There was nothing Killian wanted more, nothing he was more devoted to than Emma’s safety. In these past weeks with her he had come to understand his role in the events that would soon play out, had come to see how everything he had done in his life, every decision he had made and every path he had chosen had led him here, to this woman and this moment and this task. He knew what he would have to do and though it terrified him he faced it unflinchingly. Only Emma mattered, and he did not intend to fail her as he had failed already at far too many things, for far too many people.

And so he preceded her through the forest and he snarled at any danger. For the present it was all he could do.

When they arrived at the shop Killian stood patiently as Emma unloaded the bags he carried then went to curl up in his bed, now an actual dog bed she had magicked for him out of the old hessian bags and some woollen packing material. Emma freshened his water and rubbed his ears and he snuggled down thinking wryly that this was really everything a dog could hope for in life. Resting his chin on his paws he watched Emma as she busied herself with setting up the Samhain wares, arranging them on the shelves and tables and humming brightly.

The shop was busy as it had been all month; October was always its busiest time even without the forest’s energy, which managed to seep into even the stoic New England souls that inhabited Storybrooke. Their eyes were brighter, their conversations snappier, and they found themselves stopping in to buy warded candles and tumbling stones to place in their windows without conscious thought.

By the early afternoon Emma had sold all her bread and cider and most of her candles, and was absorbed in arranging the remaining turnips artfully alongside some bags of smoky quartz tumbling stones when the doors opened and Regina walked in.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Um, hi,” she said. “Mary Margaret’s not here.”

“I’m not here to see Mary Margaret.”

“Oh.” Emma stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and waited for Regina to say why she was there. When the other woman remained silent, she tried again. “Well… can I help you find something?”

Regina looked around the shop and an odd expression softened the harsh cast of her face. “You’re preparing for Samhain,” she said, and the wistful note in her voice struck a chord in Emma even as it failed to surprise her. She remembered the power she’d sensed when Regina had been here before, with her mother. At the time she’d attributed it all to Cora but now she realised Regina had some too. Not as much, but a significant amount.

“Do you practice?” she asked.

Regina nodded, reaching out a tentative finger to trace the carved face of one of the turnips. “All the women in my family do. But my mother— well, she doesn’t hold much with the household rituals. Calls it ‘kitchen magic.’”

“Well, it is!” exclaimed Emma, a bit affronted.

Regina’s lip twitched. “She said it was beneath us and only allowed me to study the High Magic, but my grandmother made sure I knew Samhain traditions.” She picked up a candle and inhaled its scent. “I like them,” she declared, her tone defiant. “They’re… well, they’re—”

“Soothing,” supplied Emma with a smile, filing away that bit of information about Cora and the High Magic. The tingle in her own magic felt it was significant.

“Yes.” Regina smiled back, a faint, anodyne thing but still a smile. “They make me feel connected.”

“Connection is important,” said Emma, surprised by the strength of the one she felt to this cold, haughty woman. As Mary Margaret had, she sensed something in Regina that had been suppressed all her life but was still fighting to get out. “That candle,” she nodded to the one Regina still held in her hand, “is a good one for reinforcing it. Put it in your window with just a simple incantation, and it’ll call the ancestors home.”

Regina’s wistful smile twisted into a wry smirk. “I’m not sure my ancestors are ones you’d want to call,” she murmured.

“Not even your grandmother?”

Pain flashed across Regina’s features and for the briefest moment she looked lost. She opened her mouth to reply when the door opened again to admit Mary Margaret and David.

Regina instantly stiffened, all trace of softness draining from her face and posture.

“Oh!” said Mary Margaret. “Regina! I, uh, didn’t know you were in town.”

“Just passing through,” said Regina. “I’ll… I’ll be going now.” She set the candle awkwardly on the nearest surface and turned to leave.

“Wait,” called Emma, picking it up again along with a bag of the smoky quartz and and offering both to Regina. “On the house.”

The other woman flushed and pushed them away. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“I insist. To get you back in touch with the old rituals.” Emma held them up again and this time Regina took them. Gratitude flashed in her eyes, gone in an instant but no less significant for being brief.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, and left.

“What was that about?” asked Mary Margaret when the door had closed behind her stepsister.

“Call it Samhain cheer,” said Emma, turning to grin at her friends. “Did you bring the log?”

“It’s in the truck,” said David. “Are you sure we can’t—”

“Yes, I’m sure you can’t carry it for me,” interrupted Emma with a roll of her eyes. “You ask that every year and every year I remind you that I have ways of making things easier to carry. And anyway, this year Killian’s going to carry it.”

“Killian?” David regarded the dog with his habitual distrustful expression.

The dog in question looked up at the sound of his name and wagged his tail, letting his tongue loll from his mouth and giving David a look of pure innocence. David scowled and Killian wagged harder. He could tell the man sensed there was something unusual about him but couldn’t quite put his finger on what, and Killian took perverse enjoyment from being as dog-like as possible in David’s presence.

“Yep, he insisted,” said Emma cheerfully. David’s scowl deepened.

“How did he insist?”

“He just did. It’s a witch thing.” Emma patted David’s arm reassuringly. “He lets me know when he wants to help.” She exchanged a grin with Mary Margaret, who knew far more about Killian’s communicative abilities than her husband did.

“Huh.” David looked unconvinced, but Emma just smiled.

“The log?” she prompted gently.

“Yeah, I’ll go get it. Where do you want it to go?”

“Just in the storeroom is fine. Thanks, David!”

David headed out to the truck, muttering under his breath as he went, and Emma and Mary Margaret exchanged another amused look.

“You want some tea?” asked Emma. “I’ve made a special Samhain blend, apple and hazelnut.”

“Ooh, that sounds good. Yes, please,” said Mary Margaret.

Emma went to brew the tea and Mary Margaret crouched down next to Killian, rubbing his ears just the way she knew he liked. “Sorry about David,” she said. “He’s very protective of Emma. They’re distant cousins and they grew up together, and he’s suspicious of any man who gets too close to her.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, but Mary Margaret didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything odd. Her concern warmed Killian, and eased the knot in his chest. He licked her hand to tell her he understood about needing to protect Emma, and didn’t blame David for acting on the same impulse that had been driving him for months now.

Mary Margaret smiled.

Emma appeared with the tea and a platter of the crumbly spice cookies layered with jam that she called soul cakes, just as David returned with a large log slung over his shoulder. He headed for the back room while Emma put a plate of soul cakes down in front of Killian and Mary Margaret poured three cups of tea. Moments later David returned and the four of them settled down to their afternoon refreshment, sipping and munching in companionable silence.

“So you’ve been really busy,” remarked Mary Margaret after they’d all sated the worst of their hunger and thirst. “I mean, you always are this time of year, but this year seems… more.”

“I think it’s the conjunction with the Hunter’s Moon,” said Emma. “And you know it’s three hundred and fifty years since the first covenant, and landmark anniversaries always excite the magic. I’m just really energised.”

“Well don’t overdo it,” frowned David and Emma rolled her eyes.

“You sound just like Killian,” she retorted. David choked on his tea.

“I sound like your dog?” he sputtered.

“Oh,” said Emma a bit sheepishly. “Um, yeah. Witch thing, remember?”

Killian barked. Emma flushed. David scowled. “What did he say?”

“Um, you don’t want to know.”

Killian wagged his tail, tongue lolling. “No you’re right,” agreed David. “I don’t want to know.”

~~🍂 ~~

On the thirty-first of October Emma woke well before sunrise and dressed in a long, flowing gown of unbleached linen. Her bare feet were all but silent on the wooden floors as she slipped downstairs to the kitchen to brew a pot of her apple and hazelnut tea. Sipping on a steaming cup of it, she walked through the house lighting the inscribed candles that stood in every window with a smouldering birch twig —some fires had to be started in the mundane way— and speaking a short incantation over each.

When the first rays of sunshine began to break over the tall stone towers of the house Emma went into her garden, still barefoot, with the birch twig still smouldering. Her long gown trailed through the morning dew as she approached the stone fire circle at the garden’s northeast corner, where branches of apple wood and ash, hazel and hornbeam and cedar were stacked high in readiness. Emma knelt, and touched the birch twig to the tip of an apple branch. It caught instantly, its flame flaring high for a brief moment before settling into a slow burn that would ignite every piece of wood in the circle, bit by bit, until sunset when she would add the oak log David had given her and awaken a flame that would burn bright and steady throughout the Samhain night.

Rising to her feet Emma tugged on the drawstring around the neck of her gown, loosening it and allowing the garment to fall from her body, leaving her naked in the golden dawn light. She raised her arms to the sky and closed her eyes, leaning her head back as the light bathed her pale skin and hair, imbuing her with a gentle glow that pulsed with magic.

Killian watched her, fascinated, knowing he probably shouldn’t see her like this but unable to look away. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, mesmerising in the power that radiated from her slender form.

When the sun crested the towers and hung full in the sky, Emma lowered her arms with a happy sigh, pulled her gown back on and returned to the house. “Breakfast, Killian?” she asked cheerfully, oblivious to his awe. “I’m in the mood for some apple cinnamon muffins.”

~~🍂 ~~

The shop was absolutely heaving that day, perhaps not wholly surprising for an establishment run by a witch, on Halloween. Though Emma vehemently rejected Halloween as a watering-down and commodifying of her cultural heritage, she did consent to give goodies to trick-or-treaters —caramel apples she’d made herself— and to greet them at the door of her shop holding a besom broom.

“Do you fly on that, Miss Emma?” asked a small girl with blonde ringlets dressed in a pale blue princess gown.

“Only on Samhain, Alexandra,” Emma replied, handing the girl a caramel apple that was just the right size for her tiny fist. “And for the Hunter’s Moon, which is also tonight.”

“What’s a hunty moon?” Alexandra’s eyes were wide as she licked the caramel.

“It means the moon will be extra big and low in the sky and it will glow orange,” said Emma, widening her own eyes. “And if you look very carefully you’ll be able to see me flying past it on my broomstick.”

“Wow! Mommy did you hear that?”

“I did, sweetie,” said a woman with the same platinum curls as her daughter. She gave Emma a slightly dirty look. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep after hearing a story like that.”

“I always sleep on Sawn night cuz I know Miss Emma is protecting us,” declared Alexandra, and Emma grinned.

“Don’t be like that, Ashley,” she muttered. “You know kids love my witch stories.”

“And just what am I supposed to tell her when she watches the moon all night and doesn’t see you?” huffed Ashley.

“Who says she won’t?” asked Emma sweetly. “Oh, look, Sean’s waving for you. Come back soon! Happy Samhain, Alexandra!”

Alexandra waved her sticky apple as she and her mother left the shop, leaving it empty and blessedly quiet. Emma turned away from the door with a relieved sigh. She’d been run off her feet all day but now finally perhaps she could take a moment for a cup of tea—

The shop door opened and she suppressed a different sort of sigh, turning to greet her customer.

It was Regina, looking haughty as ever but with a hint of something harried and almost frantic behind her eye that caught Emma’s attention.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine. I— I—” she grimaced and shook her head, then took a deep breath and tried again. “I just wanted to remind you of what I told you last week. About my mother. About how— how she only practices the High Magic. She likes the power of it. She—” Regina choked and doubled over, one hand flying to her throat, the other held out defensively when Emma moved forward to help. “Stay back!” she cried. “I’m fine.”

“But—”

“I said I’m fine!”

Emma held up her own hands and took a step back. “All right,” she said soothingly.

Regina straightened, swallowed gingerly, and glared at Emma. “Just remember that my mother likes power.” Her eyes beseeched Emma to understand. “She will do anything for power.”

“I— see,” said Emma, not really seeing at all.

“I only hope you do,” muttered Regina. “I have to get going before she realises—” she broke off as her gaze fell on Killian, sitting up in his bed in the corner and watching her with wary eyes.

“Where did you get that dog?” Regina asked sharply.

“I found him in the forest.” The tingle in Emma’s magic prompted her to tell the truth. “In August. He was hurt and I healed him, and he’s been with me ever since.”

“Hurt how?”

“He had a broken leg. And— a missing paw.”

“A missing paw,” whispered Regina.

“Aye!” Killian stood and padded to Emma’s side. He held up his silver paw, flexing it for Regina to see.

“She gave you a silver paw.”

“Aye!”

Regina stared at Killian for a long moment, then she smiled. A real smile this time, wide and delighted and revealing just a few too many teeth.

“Good,” she said, then looked hard at Emma. “Remember what I told you, Miss Swan. And look after your dog.” With a final satisfied glance at Killian she was gone.

“What the hell was that about?” exclaimed Emma, looking down at Killian.

He wished he could tell her, but his tongue was as tied as Regina’s.

Instead he shrugged and grinned at her, wagging his tail eagerly. {Look after your dog. That’s good advice.}

Her frown dissolved into fond laughter. “I suppose you want a snack,” she said.

“Aye!”

“Well you’re in luck because so do I. Let’s take advantage of this quiet moment before more trick-or-treaters show up.”

She went to make tea and when they finished their snack break more customers arrived, keeping Emma busy until closing time. But though they had no time to mention the matter again, neither she nor Killian forgot the odd incident, or Regina’s warning.

~~🍂 ~~

As the sun sank below the treetops on the night of Samhain, Emma, again dressed in her linen gown and bare feet, carried the seasoned oak log David had given her out to the fire circle and the faintly glowing pile of wood within it. Holding the log balanced on her open palms she spoke an incantation, one Killian recognised as an obeisance to Cerridwen, goddess of wisdom, transformation, and rebirth. As her words faded into the darkening night, she knelt and placed the log atop the pile where it caught instantly and burst into bright orange flame. Emma bowed her head in a silent moment of reflection and thanks to the goddess, then she looked up and grinned at Killian.

“Let’s eat.”

The bonfire burned high in the corner of the garden, flames leaping and dancing in the night, rising up to lose themselves in the matching orange glow of the Hunter’s Moon just visible above the forest treetops. Sparks swirled and wove through the air on waves of heat, landing but never catching on any of the plants and flowers left dry and vulnerable by the waning season. The garden magic protected them, and Emma’s magic controlled the fire.

Emma brought out plates piled high with cobs of corn and assorted small squashes, which she roasted in the fire and seasoned with butter and rosemary salt. Dessert was hazelnuts roasted in her autumn flower honey, accompanied by toasted soda bread and apple cider.

Killian sat contentedly in front of the fire, nibbling on corn and squash and listening to Emma reminisce about the Samhains of her childhood when her mother and grandmother were still alive, the ceremonies they had held together and how she had learned her craft from them. The wistfulness in her voice when she spoke of them, of her wish to pass their teachings on to her own daughter and her growing worry that this was a joy she would never know, squeezed his heart with a yearning ache. Resting his chin on her knee he looked up at her with adoring eyes, wishing with everything in him that he had more to offer her than canine devotion.

She stroked his head. “I’m so glad you’re here, Killian,” she said softly. “It’s nice not to be alone.”

He snuggled against her side and licked her chin, whining softly.

{I would never choose to leave you.}

It was as much as he was able to give.

As the moon rose and the bonfire waned, the forest beyond the garden wall began to stir. Whispers in languages too old for this world rustled though the leaves as curling tendrils of shadow wove out of the trees to the garden gate, pressing insistently against the wards.

The garden magic ruffled Killian’s fur and scratched his ears affectionately.

It is time. Protect her.

The voice was gentle, and so, so sad.

It knew.

{I will,} Killian whispered back, {I vow it.}

And when the witching hour struck and Emma rose from the ground he was at her side, pressing close to her as they walked together through the gate and into the forest. Emma’s fingers sifted through his fur, more for him than for herself he realised, reassuring him that she knew what she was doing.

He was certain she did. But she did not know what was coming.

Halfway along the forest path Emma turned, heading away from the familiar trail and into the deepest part of the wood. Scrub and bracken on the forest floor parted as she moved through it, her long gown trailing behind her and Killian trotting steadily at her side. Soon they arrived in a small clearing, a perfect circle of soft grass about twenty feet around, bordered by a ring of slender birches and with a squat, gnarled oak at its very centre, its twisted branches rising up and spreading out over the whole of the clearing and its trunk split nearly in two by an immense and horrifying knothole, jagged and gaping like a fresh wound.

The knothole pulsed with a dark glow, clear and visible despite the way it absorbed the light around it, rather like what Killian had always envisioned black holes to be. The shadow tendrils slithered out of it, winding around Emma and Killian and securing them in a grip that was deceptively soft. Killian growled, low and deep in the back of his throat, and Emma’s fingers stroked him soothingly.

She spoke, her voice clear and sure, ringing through the clearing and echoing into the unseen spaces of two realms. “I come at the turning of the year,” she said. “In accordance with the ancient covenant. As the world dies and is renewed so we renew the peace between us. We preserve the balance of the worlds and defend each side from ingress of the other. This is my will as it was the will of my ancestors. As it is yours.”

The shimmering glow of her magic enveloped her, sending dancing golden sparks across her skin as he had seen it do in her garden on the day they met. Her light absorbed the tendrils of darkness that bound them and they began to retreat back through the knothole as Emma’s eyes closed and her lips moved in silent invocation.

So bright was Emma’s light that Killian nearly failed to notice the five pairs of glowing sparks that did not come from her. They came instead from the forest, dark red and malevolent, appearing from nowhere at the edge of the clearing and surrounding it as the still of the night was rent with deep, vicious snarls and a howl that froze Killian’s blood.

She was here.

~~🍂 ~~

Deep in her spell, Emma was conscious of little but the power coursing through her —her own power, seasoned with a hint of the darkness from the other side, dangerous and intoxicating. With the ancient words nearly spoken she grasped the edges of the open barrier and prepared to close it when she was startled by a sudden sharp pull on the darkness, a call to it from another witch, yanking the retreating tendrils of shadow forcefully back through the barrier and tearing it wide.

Gasping, she opened her eyes as awareness of her surroundings crashed into her, of the snarling and howling from outside the clearing and of Killian, hackles raised, circling her like he was trying to guard every side of her at once.

She blinked to clear the fog of magic from her mind and recover some composure, and when she looked again five wolves had appeared in the clearing, huge and heavy with fur as black as the night they came from, jaws slavering, eyes glowing red. They encircled her, advancing with bloodcurdling intent and Cora at their heels.

Of course, thought Emma, as the pieces fell into place in her mind. That’s what Regina was trying to tell me.

Cora scorned the household rituals that lay at the heart of white witchcraft. But the High Magic that she preferred required power, and in this world power was not unlimited. To obtain more of it, Regina had said, Cora would do anything.

Anything. Even tear asunder an ancient barrier and drag horror such as she could not possibly comprehend into a place that had no hope of containing it. A place where it could flow unhindered and raze everything in its path. A place where it would never be controlled.

And Cora believed she could control it, and turn it to her will.

The woman’s hubris and dangerous ignorance were almost comical in their magnitude, but Emma was not laughing. The fabric of the worlds had never been so thin, the convergence of Samhain and the Hunter’s Moon had left it threadbare and terrifyingly delicate. It could be torn by a breath, and Emma felt certain that was what Cora was counting on.

“Miss Swan,” said Cora, her icy tones carrying unnaturally across the clearing and above the snarls of wolves and dog. “I am afraid I must inform you that there will be no renewal of your covenant tonight. Or ever again.” She flung out her arms in vicious triumph and the dark tendrils wrapped around her, not binding her as they had Emma and Killian, but caressing her, recognising one of their own.

“What are you doing?” asked Emma, stalling for time as she grasped desperately at the edges of the barrier with her magic, trying to force it closed before Cora had a chance to complete her plan.

“Why my dear,” said Cora, with a smile that held no hint of humour, “I would have thought that was obvious. I am opening this world to the power beyond and I am going to take control of it.”

Cora pulled again with her magic and the unresisting darkness came gushing forth, ripping the knothole in the ancient oak and opening it wide, wider than the breadth of the trunk. Wider than it could possibly be. The slender tendrils broadened into waves, twining and coiling up the branches of the oak and towards the sky, reaching out to the forest beyond the clearing, calling to it in voices sibilant with seductive menace.

Emma gripped the edges of the barrier and held on with all her strength, trying desperately to stop the ripping and knit the fabric back together, but it is far easier to destroy a thing than to repair it and no sooner had she closed one breach than five more appeared in its place, the knothole gaping ever wider.

Cora cackled in triumph as darkness caressed and strengthened her, then the wolves began to advance on Emma again, their bared teeth razor-sharp and glistening in the orange moonlight, and in her terror she lost her grip on the barrier entirely.

She couldn’t fight five wolves and Cora’s magic. Not alone.

Her magic surged and she could feel it stretching, reaching out, seeking… and when it found what it sought she gasped and pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, stunned and reeling from the near sexual sensation of magical transference, of her own power flowing freely into another being across a connection that did not need to be forged— because it already existed, and always had. Always, since the dawn of the world.

“Killian,” she whispered, and he stepped forward, radiant in the darkness as her magic crackled through his fur and set his eyes aglow, like sapphires in a flame. His growl was as none she’d ever heard from him before, sinister and chillingly resonant, and his voice rang strong and confident in her head.

{I’ll handle the wolves, love. You take care of the witch, and see your covenant completed.}

She saw him leap, snarling, at the nearest wolf, and then she closed her eyes and focused, pushing away her fears for Killian’s safety and of the consequences should Cora’s plan succeed. She pushed it all away and focused only on the magic.

Cora was strong and the darkness embraced her, sensing at long last its chance to consume this world as it had done so many others. The twisting waves of it now filled the clearing and beyond, wrapping around the trees and swallowing up the forest creatures, gleefully snacking on their life force and preparing for a feast. But the darkness in its hubris had forgotten that the covenant did not just protect this world from it, but it from the protectors of this world. Powerful as it was, it could not stand against three and a half centuries of clever witches who had each spent her life preparing for just such a moment as this.

Emma reached deep into herself and called to her ancestors across another connection, one she had nurtured all her life with the household rituals her enemy disdained. She called to their knowledge and their wisdom and their power, drawing it out through the thin Samhain night. Light burst from deep within her, flowing forth in bright waves that enveloped the dark ones and burned them away, choked them in a merciless grip until they retreated back through the knothole to the safety of their realm, hissing in fear and fury and releasing Cora as they went. She stumbled in surprise and nearly fell, then spun around to gape at Emma.

“What?” she hissed. “How?!”

“You are playing with forces you don’t understand, Cora Mills,” Emma replied, in a voice not entirely her own. “Cease now, and abandon these foolish plans.”

“Never!” snarled Cora. “I know what I’m doing!”

“You really don’t.” Emma sighed, sounding more like herself. “Remember I gave you a choice.”

She flung out her hand and a burst of light enveloped Cora, sending her flying backwards into a tree and immobilising her. She howled in fury but Emma ignored her and turned her attention to the barrier, seeking out each and every tear in the fabric of the world and closing them for good and all.

~~🍂 ~~

Magic flowed over Killian, flowed through him, through fur and skin and muscle to the very marrow of his bones. He took no time to wonder how it could be that he was sharing Emma’s magic. They had already shared so much between them that it felt natural. Inevitable. He surrendered to it and let it strengthen him, let it coil into every fibre of his flesh and bone and then he struck.

With a mighty leap he attacked, descending on the nearest wolf and sinking his teeth deep into it, ripping its throat from its body. The second wolf was upon him in an instant, tearing him with its own teeth, but Killian threw it off and batted it away with a swipe of his paw, leaving deep gouges in its face that gushed red. Snarling, he leapt on the wounded wolf, snapping its neck with a perfectly placed bite and then pain ripped through him as the other three wolves attacked him in unison. In a blur of fur and motion he could hardly see much less combat, they rent and tore at him, their teeth and claws sharp and their jaws powerful, lacerating his flesh and cracking his bones. They were stronger than he, even reinforced as he was by magic, and he knew, as he had always known, that he wasn’t getting out of this fight alive.

But he didn’t need to. All he needed was to protect Emma long enough for her to finish her spell. Just protect Emma.

Protect her.

Magic and adrenaline dulled his pain and the thought of Emma drove him on, powered his own claws and his teeth as he sank them into his enemies, slashing everything he could reach. Blood was pouring into his eyes but he had no need to see. His canine instincts took over and he surrendered to them, let them guide him until the final wolf had fallen lifeless to the ground and he shook the blood from his vision in time to watch Emma shoot a jet of pure white light at Cora, sending the older woman flying backwards into a tree just to his left and then Killian could see, could actually see the flow of the magic as Emma pulled the ragged edges of the barrier together, closing it and weaving the fabric of the worlds tightly shut.

Killian turned to face Cora and snarled with every ounce of the hatred he felt for her.

Her eyes widened when she saw him, with shock and a fear that filled him with dark pleasure. “You!” she gasped.

{Aye,} he replied, knowing she could hear him. {Me. You’ve lost, witch. Your plans are dust. She’s sealed the barrier and it will never open for you again.}

“We’ll see about that,” Cora hissed, and as Killian watched she pulled up the last of her dark magic and disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

Killian closed his eyes on a sigh of relief then turned back towards Emma, faltering as the magic began to drain from him and he felt how badly injured he was. His front right leg hung useless, ripped from its socket, and his back left leg was broken. Blood drenched his fur, flowing freely from wounds on every part of his body and deep gash across his belly cleft him nearly in two.

That, Killian knew, was that the one that would kill him.

He staggered across the clearing on two legs, dripping blood and dragging entrails as he went, to where Emma sat crumpled in exhaustion on the forest floor. Whimpering softly, he licked her chin —one final kiss to say farewell— and she opened her eyes.

“Killian! You— oh, goddess, what did they do to you?”

He wanted to tell her that it was worth it, that she was everything good in his world and he would die for her a hundred times, but shadows were blurring the edges of his vision and he had no strength for speech. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell gracelessly to the ground, Emma’s cry of distress the last thing he heard before everything went black.

~~🍂 ~~

Emma threw herself across Killian’s body, groping with the dregs of her magic to sense his life force. It was waning quickly, far too quickly; his injuries were too severe and she had no power left to heal him.

“No,” she whispered, clutching at him, sinking her fingers into thick fur made sticky with blood. “No, no, no…”

Desperately, she cried out for magic, for any magic she could find, calling to the forest around her, the trees and the flowers and the earth itself, begging them to help her save him. She reached as far as she could stretch, into the very rocks of her house and the ancient magic that dwelt within, imploring it: Don’t let him die.

And the rocks, who for eons had jealously guarded their energies, hoarding them dispassionately as generations lived and died within their sight, answered her call. Magic such as she had never known surged through her, almost overwhelmed her, and with the last of her strength she channeled it into Killian’s limp form, healing his wounds, repairing his battered body and sealing his life inside it. She could feel the moment he was whole again, and she sighed in relief and in profound gratitude, letting go of the magic and allowing the peace of unconsciousness to sweep over her.

The last thing she felt was Killian stirring beneath her hands, his warm tongue licking her chin, his fur soft again against her skin as he curled himself protectively around her, the strong, steady beat of his heart.

(and now we see how perfect @mariakov81‘s beautiful drawing is!!)

#cssns #cssns19 #magic au #witchcraft au #witchcraft #witches #WITCH FIGHT #cursed!Killian #dog!Killian #witch!Emma #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #gingerchangeling #mariakov81 #profdanglaisstuff #the very witching time

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short-stories-by-alli · 4 years

Text

Backwater Wendigo

This is an original story by me. Please do not reblog without giving credit. If you have questions or suggestions, let me know!

Warnings: Death, violence, blood, cursing

Matthew James drove through the small town of Backwater with a large pile of animal pelts in the truck’s bed. In the passenger seat sat a large, black, three-legged wolf whose head hung out the window, its tongue lolling. Backwater, which only held about a thousand people, sat on the western side of the Yukon. As usual for October, the sky was grey and snow was falling lightly. Though the population was laughably small, the town itself was spread out nicely. There weren’t many buildings in Backwater at all; the courthouse doubled as the town hall and the jail sat in the police station itself. Matt passed an old park, but no one was on it; it was simply too cold. Though he was an outsider amongst Backwater’s residents, he enjoyed living outside of the town. In truth, he lived about twenty miles from Backwater, his house nestled at the foot of the Saint Elias Mountains. Matt made a living selling the pelts, meat and bones of animals that he hunted.

Well, that and formerly selling contraband.

At least in Backwater, Matt was able to outrun most of his past. The residents didn’t like him all too much, but that was fine by him. It wasn’t a goal of his to be liked; he only wanted to be left alone.

Matt pulled up to the fur-trading store to drop off his stock. Seven caribou pelts, fourteen rabbit pelts, and even a bear pelt, all tanned and cut. He was getting paid pretty well today.

He walked into the small shop, the wolf limping at his side, glancing around. He stood out a bit. With his dark clothes, pale skin, violet eyes, long strawberry blonde hair that fell past his shoulders and into his eyes, he seemed muted compared to the customers that wore expensive jewelry and shopped for their next fur coat. There were five other people in there, and they all gave him and the wolf nervous glances. An old, round man, named Martin, came out from behind the counter.

“Mr. James, you’ve come with the pelts?”

Matt nodded, continuing to look around the store.

“Wonderful, wonderful. If you’d bring them in …” Martin stayed clear of the wolf, who watched him with amber eyes.

Matt sighed. “C’mon, Logan.” The wolf pricked its ears towards Matt before they trekked back out to his truck. Carefully, Matt unloaded the furs before walking back into the store, watching as people moved out of his way. Placing the pelts on the counter, Matt studied Martin; the way his round face turned red if he spoke too much, and how his voice was quite condescending. Martin was a customer that Matt had to watch; he’d tried to underpay before, as if Matt wouldn’t notice. The old man clapped his hands together, smiling. “Well, Matt, what do we have here?”

“Seven caribou, fourteen rabbits, an’ a bear.”

“That much?! I say, Matt, you must be one of the best hunters around. What about this. I give you ten thousand, five hundred.”

“No.”

“What? What do you mean? Surely that’s enough.” Martin laughed, though there was a certain nervousness behind it.

“I mean, that ain’t nearly enough, an’ you know it. I got seven caribou, which you usually pay three-fifty for. That’s two thousand, four hundred an’ fifty added up. Then I got fourteen rabbits, which go for about ten dollars. That’s a hundred an’ forty more. Then there’s the bear. That’s worth ten thousand, easy. That’s …” Matt paused, thinking. “Twelve thousand, five hundred an’ ninety dollars. Throw in another two hundred ‘cause I already tanned an’ cut ‘em. Tha’s bein’ nice an’ you know it.”

Martin studied Matt, his eyes narrowed, trying to find a way around this. Matt sighed. “I ain’t as expensive as mos’, you know that. Jus’ give me what I ask.”

Martin gave a nervous smile. “Matt, I can never get around you. Alright, you asked for twelve thousand, five hundred and ninety?”

“Plus the two hundred. Twelve thousand, seven hundred and ninety.”

Martin began pulling money from the safe below the counter. “Right, right. Here…” Martin handed Matt a large wad of money, smiling amiably. As Matt took it and began to carefully count it, Martin called over storehands to help with the furs. Before they could take all of them, Matt plucked two rabbit pelts from the pile.

One of the storehands looked confused. “M-Mr. James, what are you …?”

Matt turned his shadowed, violet eyes to the young woman. “I’m twenty short. Ain’t gettin’ two of the rabbits if they ain’t paid for.”

Martin laughed nervously, “Matt, it was an honest mistake. Here -” He handed Matt a twenty dollar bill. Matt studied the man before taking the money and tossing back the rabbit skins. He sighed as he walked out of the store with Logan. He could’ve told Martin off, but it wasn’t worth the trouble and he tried to limit his conversations as much as he could. At least he had gotten paid.

The drive back to his cabin seemed longer than usual. Perhaps it was the interaction with Martin that had him rattled, or perhaps it was the icy road below him. But somehow - he didn’t understand why - he had a nasty feeling that something bad was about to happen.

He decided not to think about it. Like everything else in his life, Matt felt that if he ignored it long enough, it would eventually go away. Usually, that’s what ended up happening. So, he decided to think about the caribou that he’d shot that morning, and how it still needed to be skinned. He thought about this for most of the drive, until he pulled into his snow-covered yard.

Matt owned about twenty acres of land, and most of it was the forest where he hunted. But in the center of the land, in a clearing next to a small, shallow pond, sat the beautiful log house that Matt had built for himself. It had two levels, with dark, floor-to-ceiling windows in the front and a beautiful deck that wrapped around the lower perimeter. Beside it sat a quaint shed, where Matt skinned and tanned his pelts. All around the small clearing loomed tall, dark trees that hid prey and predators alike.

An hour later, Matt was sitting on a stool in his shed, skinning the caribou with a cigarette hanging from his lips. His nose was wrinkled up, hating this part of the job. Logan lounged on the floor beside him, noisily gnawing on a leg that Matt had tossed him. Quietly, he hummed to himself, enjoying the feeling of the cool, crisp air against his face. He felt the color rise to his pale cheeks, making him feel more awake than usual. Though the shed was insulated and had a small heater, it was still a bit cold inside. Matt didn’t mind; he loved the cold. So, he had taken off his coat, exposing the tattoos on his arms.

A black ring of trees surrounded his left bicep. Covering his entire right arm was a black and grey sleeve that depicted tall, dark trees, a mountain, and the moon behind it. Birds flew across the sky and the silhouette of a wolf paced across his wrist. The black ink only made Matt seem paler.

The pelt was hung up to dry and Matt started to work on dividing the caribou meat and cleaning the bones. He kept the less desirable pieces of meat for himself and Logan; he always tried very hard not to waste any part of the animal. Logan suddenly stopped gnawing on the leg and looked up, his ears pinned back. With effort, the wolf stood, getting to the shed door in only two paces. Carefully, Matt set down his tools.

“What is it, Logan?” He crouched next to the wolf, scratching behind its ears.

He heard it before he got the chance to see it.

It was a low, terrible scream that echoed through the trees. Matt swore loudly, the cigarette dropping from his lips to the floor of the cabin. Quickly, he stubbed it out before pulling on his coat, grabbing a lighter and a can of hairspray. He gave a sharp whistle to Logan, who quickly followed him as he slammed the door shut.

The forest was quieter than usual. The dull sunlight barely penetrated the canopy of pine needles and branches. Matt jumped every time a squirrel ran up a tree or he stepped on a small twig. Though the man was silent on his feet, he felt as if the entire world could hear him stomping through the snow. He could smell blood ahead.

Matt and Logan came upon a doe that had been gutted viciously. She was terrified, but her legs wouldn’t move and she was bleeding out fast. She bleated as the two approached, doing her best to try and get away. Matt knelt to inspect the clean, deep rips across her stomach, stroking her neck and sighing. Covering her face, he quickly put her out of her misery, wincing as he did so. Beside him, Logan growled softly.

“Easy, now…” Matt reached down to pet Logan’s head, but he couldn’t help but think the wolf was right to be afraid. No animal in the forest would’ve left a perfectly good meal, and no animal would’ve been able to leave such clean and precise slashes.

Behind them, the leaves rustled. The air around them was still.

As fast as he could, Matt whipped around, brandishing the lighter. About thirty feet away stood a creature that was at least twelve feet tall. It was a horrible, twisted thing. The body was elongated and humanoid, skeletal but muscular. The hands ended in long, sickly fingers topped with deadly claws. The face, however, was the worst. It resembled a deer skull, with dried bits of flesh still hanging on and twisted, unnatural antlers protruding from its crown. Instead of flat, herbivore teeth, the mouth was full of fangs as big as Matt’s fingers. Rotten patches of fur covered the neck and continued down the horrible body. Red eyes watched Matt and Logan with a sort of human amusement. It seemed to be evaluating Matt. As they watched one another, the creature gave a low hiss that sounded very much like a dry laugh.

It charged.

Matt firmly stood his ground, and just as the creature was at arm’s length, he lit the lighter and released the hairspray. There was a sharp pain in Matt’s side before the creature was suddenly engulfed in the flame, letting out a scream that pierced through the woods; a long, dying noise that echoed off of the mountains. The flame was so large that the tips of Matt’s fingers were scorched, though he couldn’t feel it with the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Finally, the creature fell into the snow, covering the body of the doe it had killed. Its body was a charred husk that was quickly turning to ash, taking the doe with it. The creature had caught Matt’s torso, leaving four long, deep gashes.

Kneeling next to the bodies, Matt shook his head, petting Logan. The wolf had stayed by his side the entire time.

Matt sighed, lighting another cigarette. “Fuckin’ wendigo, ruinin’ a perfectly good day.”

Beside him, Logan huffed in agreement.

Matt groaned softly as he checked his side. The wendigo had cut straight though his thick coat and shirt. He sat on the ground, shedding his layers and readying the lighter. Stitches just wouldn’t fix this injury. The flame hurt, as always, but Matt had grown numb to it. It took a while to close the wounds up, and Matt was shivering by the end. As quickly as he could, he pulled his shirt and coat back on, wincing as the fabric brushed over his newly-cauterized injuries. He finally forced himself to stand, holding a hand over his side as he did. He still had to finish the caribou in the shed.

#short story #OCs #original #wendigo #MattJames #Logan

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