#probably hadn't thought he'd get to stay king for more than a few weeks so thought he'd enjoy it while it lasted

[deans-writing]

Get The Fuck Out

Character: (TMC) Dean King

Warnings: Analog horror, unreality horror (somewhat?? be wary), brief drug use (just pot though)

Notes: hi

He hated Wisconsin. Was it right to loathe an entire state just because of one shit stain of a county? Probably not. Though Dean wasn't the kind of man to ask if something was right about how he felt, he just felt. At the very least, he wasn't paying too much for his apartment. The lesser fine for living was likely due to the fact that there were a lot of people missing. Almost on a daily basis people were replaced by a missing poster stapled to wood. It was eerie to walk by the same street light every day, just to see more and more pieces of paper where there only used to be a few.

Nonetheless, he would just stuff his hands back in his pockets, take a deep breath, and continue his walk to work. It bothered him. Deeply so, actually. But what could he do? What could anybody do? He knew very well why people were going missing. He had brought the information to the police, he'd called, he'd done everything he could. Nobody would answer. The other end would go silent, they'd hang up, or they would simply tell him to leave. He got the same stare every single time. He could read people like literature, and he knew that they knew. Something was seriously fucked, and no one would do anything.

Who could?

That was the question that weighed heavy on his mind for four months. For every single second of the sunlight, and for the excruciatingly long and fearful hours of the night. He hadn't felt safe in ages. Not after he met evil itself in an alleyway, not after its body seemed to grow up on realizing it's been spotted. He could hear the bones, or what it made up to be bones, crack and snap in place for its new form. It stared through him, before it began to take long and disjointed strides towards him.

Dean consistently wondered afterwards what would've happened had he stayed. If he'd followed his lifelong instinct of fight, or if he'd frozen up. What would it have done if it caught him? Whatever it wanted, it certainly wasn't going to be good for him. He ran out of that alley. He forgot about the shortcut entirely. The long way home seemed to stretch on for eternity during that run. His arms and legs screamed for mercy, for just a moment for him to ease up. Instead, he continued to tense them with each painful movement.

It likely stopped chasing him after a block, or it didn't chase him at all. He didn't pay attention. He didn't turn his head, he didn't even listen out for its footsteps. All he could hear was his heart pulsing in his ears, and his scatterbrained thoughts that likely just added up to "FUCK WHAT IS TH- OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WHAT THE HELL." It seemed the most likely.

Then, he heard other stories. At first he'd just brushed them off as lunatics, driven mad by the fucking boredom the county brought. After that night though, after feeling that crippling terror, he knew for a fact they weren't just the ramblings of madmen. Maybe some were exaggerated, or twisted, yet there was a layer of trust somewhere in there. He'd done his best to piece things together to form solid evidence, but how could he? He knew how insane it sounded. And who was going to be able to get a video or actual pictures of the evil before it got its hands on them?

Dean tried to ignore it. After a few weeks, he stopped trying. The evil didn't though. If anything, it got so much worse than that first night. That was a chance encounter, a random interaction with something terrifying. Then it followed him. It followed him to his one safe haven, turning it into a den of horror that had its claws firmly dug into his stomach.

It spoke some days. It used voices of those it had no way of knowing anything about. Friends, ex-lovers, family. None of which were with him in the county. For a moment, each time, he still believed it was really whoever's voice it had taken. At his locked door, by the window, over the phone. Without really listening, it was easy to believe. But it's when he actually tuned further in, listening closely.

It could only create an imitation, one with flaws. It couldn't stop how its voice distorted and seemingly crackled, how the pitch would shift drastically in a matter of nanoseconds. It couldn't hide the fact it wasn't actually a person. The fact it was intelligent enough to even try proved a few things. One, it clearly wasn't stupid. It could play tricks, it could plot. It knew just how to fuck with someone.

And two, it knew him. In some way, it had learned enough about him to figure out just what would lure him out. Like worms on a hook. He couldn't figure out which one scared him more.

Dean tried to ignore it most of the time. Sitting on the couch, turning up his tv while he lit up a joint. Those were the nights he found himself not caring if it finally broke through the door or not. If he was going to go out, he'd rather it be while having a bit of fun while stoned. And that's exactly what he found himself doing yet again, almost the moment he got home from work. He hadn't even bothered to take off his shoes or jacket.

On his couch with burning paper between his lips, and smoke drawing deep into his lungs. The knocking around his house had only grown louder the longer he sat there, as if it craved his attention. Or his fear. Probably both. Dean took a deep drag from his joint, before bringing it away from his lips and exhaling heavily. The smoke blew into the air, painting the empty space ahead of him a transparent white.

The door not too far away from him rattled, shaking the hinges with its harsh treatment. Dean glanced over, looked back in front of him, then glanced back once he realized it wasn't stopping. He could hear the doorknob slamming back and forth with the wood. "Let me in." Something snarled on the other side, before scratching pierced Dean's ears.

What sounded like claws met the door, carving into it. "Open the door." The thing on the other side continued, before all went quiet. Dean found himself staring hard at the locked entry. It was as if it had realized it wasn't scaring him as bad as it once did, so it tried something new. If the plan was to scare him, by god was it working.

The quiet only helped to settle a deep feeling of unease in the pit of his gut. Dean set the joint down and stood up. Not to open the door, obviously. Just in preparation for whatever the evil had started to plan for him. His fists clenched at his sides, though he knew he wouldn't be able to fight it off. Dean kept his mouth shut tight, refusing to let himself be known any further to it.

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

Its scream made the walls shake in place, which was followed by it rattling the door once more. It violently slammed into itself, and he could see the wood at the hinges begin to splinter from the force. "WHAT THE F-" He took a quick step back, watching for another moment while the evil began to force its way into the apartment.

Dean dashed towards the closest window, reaching up to allow his shaky hands to find the lock and switch its position. The door behind him was giving way, and fast. He flung the window upwards, not caring how hard it smashed into the top of itself while it opened. He peaked his head out.

Two stories up. Dean turned his head down, staring at the gap between the window and the ground beneath. His crippling fear of heights made itself very well known, forcing him to shake like a leaf. He'd been through knife fights, constant brawls, near death experiences- yet he was still so petrified of a drop. It was funny. What wasn't funny was the fact that he could hear a part of the door break off.

He snapped his head back, looking on in shock as a corner of the door had been ripped off. Dean couldn't see what was doing it, but he could obviously tell that it was making its way in at an alarming pace. "Holy shit." He murmured under his breath, turning back to face his other option. He could either find out just what the evil wanted, which he couldn't imagine would end well. Or, he could just jump. It would suck, it would be terrifying, but at least he had a higher chance of surviving. He had to pick his poison.

The door behind him shattered. He could hear pieces of it fly through the living room and hit the wall, his furniture, (what little he had) and the floor. Its presence filled the air with a feeling he'd never experienced. Breathing became difficult, and it was like fumes were wafting into his eyes.

Without further hesitation, he chose the only thing a sane man would in his situation.

Dean flung himself through the open window, his ankle catching on the edge for nothing more than a second before he continued the fall, uninterrupted. The wind blew past his face and forced the sides of his jacket behind him. The pavement had looked soft in his earlier years, but then and there, it looked like hell. The impact proved it to be just that.

He landed on his chest. The little air from his lungs he had was forced from him. He began to pant for air, fighting the fact that his throat and lungs closed up tight upon impact.

Something in his sides cracked, almost being knocked loose. A rib or two, most likely. It didn't feel like he was being stabbed internally at least.

Dean brought himself to his knees, ignoring the fact it felt like he'd been hit in the chest and stomach with a hammer, repeatedly. His hands dragged against the pavement as he used them as pillars to push the rest of his body up, getting back to his feet. He craned his neck upwards until his eyes found his window, where they then widened.

The being he'd run away from leaned out through his window. It stared down at him, emotionless. If there was at least hatred, disgust, anger, disappointment, anything- he could've learned something. But, no. All he saw were dead eyes, with lips that looked as though they'd been crudely drawn on to an otherwise blank face. It slithered back into his apartment, then his lights shut off.

He turned away. Dean reached into his pocket, taking out his car keys. A part of him was grateful he'd forgotten to hang them up yet again. He continued to try and desperately breathe as he stuffed his other hand in his jeans pocket. He wouldn't be staying at his apartment that night. A motel seemed better, albeit pricier. Money didn't matter when it came to his life though.

As he sluggishly limped to his car, he couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't broken line of sight. Well, it always felt like that. But right there, it was... Amplified. Like it was just out of his sight, but still watching.

Always watching.

#dean king #writing #tmc #the mandela catalogue

[kaesaaurelia]

sphinx of black quartz

For @whumptober day 19, using the prompts "psychological," "I'm not as stupid as you think I am," and the lyric prompt, "I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me."

Continued from Day 1, wherein Crowley definitely did not move into the bookshop, took a nap on the couch afterwards, and when he woke up his lungs hurt and he passed out, Day 2, wherein Muriel carried him into Maggie’s record shop, because they hoped a human might understand better than they do what was wrong with him, Day 10, wherein Crowley’s illness was causing strange and terrible weather, and help from Heaven was not forthcoming, Day 13, wherein Crowley got even worse, but Muriel thought they might’ve worked out what had happened, and Day 14, wherein Muriel and another angel worked out a very unpleasant cure for Crowley.

Content warning for brief discussion of emotional abuse and stalking.

Once Crowley was able to do miracles for himself, he found his way into a luxurious condo nearby, which someone had foolishly put up on Airbnb. He stayed there for a week and didn't pay, and when he got back to the bookshop he was in much better spirits. He returned to Whickber Street and pushed the door to the bookshop open, bracing himself for lingering traces of holiness. Instead he was nearly knocked back into the street by the sheer volume at which Ozzy Osbourne was trying to make the lyric "Supernatural king / Takes Earth under his wing" scan right.

Muriel looked brightly up from what they were reading and said something Crowley could not actually hear, but they turned the volume down with a sort of "calm down" gesture. "You're back!" they said. "Are you feeling better?"

"Ehh, I was fine, just fancied a bit of a holiday," said Crowley, not looking them in the eye.

"Does it feel all right in here? Less holy? Maggie lent me a whole stack of records that were supposed to be very evil," they said. "I tried playing them backwards like she said, but they sound much better going forwards. They also don't seem all that evil? This one's just about how the apocalypse was supposed to go," they said.

Crowley shrugged. "If I've learned anything about humans and their knowledge of good and evil, it's that some of them could've used a few more bites at that apple."

Confusion clouded their face briefly, probably because they were trying to square Causing the Fall of Man was bad, evil, and definitely against God's will with If only Man had Fallen a few feet further, perhaps he'd better understand both the depths of cruelty and the soaring grace which he was capable of. "Well! I'm glad you're back," they said. "And feeling better. I was thinking, actually, um. I was thinking I might try drinking tea today."

"Really," said Crowley, trying not to look as amused as he felt.

"I've -- I've been practicing with water," they admitted, as if this was a scandalous vice they had which they were letting him in on. "It's surprisingly nice. I was talking to Arariel the other day and they asked me how it was, and I had to admit I hadn't tried it at all."

"They asked you about tea?" Crowley asked.

"No, water. They worked very hard on water. They're so nice. I'm going to be certain to let the Supreme Archangel know they helped save you from Hell trying to kill you."

His whole mood soured at the mention of Aziraphale, and he was very doubtful that Hell would try to kill him with something holy, since it hadn't worked the last time and it probably took a lot of doing, getting your hands on holy things, if you were Hell and therefore said holy things burned your hands. It had to be Heaven doing this, which either meant that someone was going behind Aziraphale's back, or... no one was going behind Aziraphale's back. "Yeah, well. Sure that'll be... very exciting for Arariel," said Crowley. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna go yell at the plants."

"Have fun!" said Muriel, and turned the Black Sabbath album back up.

--

And Muriel was content in the knowledge that they had saved Crowley from Hell's machinations for about a month. It was a very exciting month, and they learned lots about Earth.

They had learned caution -- how to look both ways before crossing the street, and also to check that the Bentley wasn't in motion anywhere within a three-block radius. They'd learned how to change their plans quickly, when they'd wanted to go somewhere and their carefully-memorized knowledge of London public transit was meaningless in the face of the reality of delays. They had learned the basics of deception -- they could, in fact, stay after closing at the British Museum if they simply told the workers that they also worked there. And they'd learned the merits of not panicking when a dreadful and unexpected thing occurred, such as staring at John Dee's mirror too long and becoming trapped in it, after closing, at the British Museum. (Crowley had come and fetched them out again, and thus they also learned the merits of letting someone know where they were headed.)

And most importantly of all, they'd learned a lot about expectations and betrayal. It had started when they encountered a very nice human who told them all sorts of flattering things about their outfit and their performance at karaoke night. The human had offered to buy them a drink, and they'd explained that they didn't really drink much, although they were working on getting used to tea, which seemed to confuse the human, but then the human had asked if Muriel would give Nina a note.

Muriel had said yes, and immediately regretted it the next day when Nina's face went still and unhappy at just seeing her name written on the outside of the envelope. Then she'd scowled and told Muriel she didn't want to hear from Lindsay, at all, ever again.

Muriel had tried to explain, no, there must be some mistake, the Lindsay Muriel had heard bits and pieces about was cruel and horrible, and this human the note was from was none of those things! -- but before they could get very far, Maggie grabbed their arm and tugged them away gently, and Muriel had let them.

Once they were outside the coffeeshop, Maggie had said, quietly, "Muriel, you've got to understand, the person you met might've been really really nice, but there's a difference between nice and kind."

"But --"

"It's not your fault, you're -- you're new around here," said Maggie, "and loads of humans would've made the same mistake, I know, I knew this girl at uni whose boyfriend managed to get into -- look, that's not the point, the point is, Nina does not want to talk to Lindsay. Lindsay's done all sorts of things to try to get at her, and she isn't interested. She told me the other day she had to reset a bunch of passwords so she could sign back into a website she hasn't used in ages so she could block Lindsay there."

"Did Nina tell Lindsay that she didn't want to --"

"Yes, of course she did," said Maggie, "but that's the point, isn't it? You can be really awful in a really nice way, you know? It's like -- it's like how Crowley is really mean sometimes, but he's kind."

"But he --" Muriel considered this. "He is very grumpy."

"He's grumpy and grumbly and the most dramatic thing on two legs," said Maggie, "but when it comes down to it he's good, he just doesn't like to hear it. Lindsay isn't... I mean, I don't know Lindsay. I've known... a lot of Lindsays, a lot of people like that, I'm not saying Lindsay is evil, but someone who's politely, nicely trying to get a hold of their ex who they said the most awful things to, and who's so persistent that Nina had to sign back into LiveJournal to block them, which -- well, apparently we were on very different parts of LiveJournal, which is definitely for the best, but I feel so awful for her, I made a joke about MySpace and Nina said 'Yeah, already had to do that one,' and can you imagine -- well, actually, no, I suppose that doesn't mean much to you, but trust me, it's horrifying and also a completely ridiculous thing to have to worry about unless your ex is Tom. Anyway. Look. My point is, you can't just look at how people say things and assume nice means good. Sometimes it just means they don't want you to look too closely at what they're doing."

"Well. I suppose it's a good thing I don't really drink things," said Muriel, "because this human, this Lindsay, wanted to buy me a drink -- which I did think was odd, usually humans buy things for themselves, don't they? -- but who knows what sort of poison might've been in it."

This had prompted a brief moment of stunned silence, and then, after several more questions, Maggie had explained, awkwardly and with much apparent embarrassment, about certain human courting rituals, pronounced Lindsay "incredibly tacky," and then come up with several other descriptors Muriel didn't quite understand, but they were clearly very bad.

At any rate, Muriel had avoided Lindsay at future karaoke nights, and when Lindsay tried to confront them about the note, a small, fierce fire had burned in Muriel's soul and they had reached into Lindsay's head and switched off the ability to persist in this awful behavior, and now Lindsay would go get a nice calming glass of water and drink it instead of trying to contact Nina ever again.

(They related all this to Arariel over the summoning circle; they'd taken to calling Arariel whenever something interesting and Earth-y happened, because Arariel had seemed so bored, and been so helpful, and they understood being bored and wanting to be helpful. Arariel had appreciated the thing with the water, too. "Hydration is supposed to be good for humans!" they'd said. "So I think that counts as a good deed on two levels. What does water taste like, anyway?" And that had been a whole conversation, but they'd also admitted, uncomfortably, that sometimes they'd had supervisors act like Lindsay -- all nice on the surface but actually very unkind -- and Muriel had to admit that angelic behavior wasn't as different from human behavior as they maybe liked to think.)

And so, their time on Earth had prepared Muriel well for the unexpected challenges ahead.

The challenges ahead, as it turned out, were embodied in two angels called Pahadron and Kabniel, who showed up out of nowhere at the bookshop one day. Crowley was out doing... something -- Muriel did not know whether he was actually gluing coins to the ground or whether that was an obscure joke -- but they sensed something holy approaching, and they barely had time to turn off the record player before the doors swung open and the two other angels were there. They were familiar with Kabniel, who had been one of their supervisors in Heaven, but he'd had to introduce Pahadron, who they only knew from the company directory.

Kabniel had started off well enough, praising Muriel's excellent work, their quick adaptation to fieldwork, the way the shop looked tidier now that all the books were sorted by the first letter of every sentence. They did not get the impression he approved of the plants, but he didn't say anything about them.

And then Pahadron had said, "Yes, of course, Muriel is doing an excellent job, but what we really need back is the saint's relic."

Muriel, who was still thinking uneasily about why they'd felt they had to turn off the record player, when really there wasn't anything objectionable about the song that had been playing, except that it always made Muriel very sad, because after all Iron Man had time traveled to the future to save everyone, surely he didn't deserve such rejection from humanity! Only of course the answer was never to become the monster you had set out to defeat. But if Muriel had been there for him, things would have been different.

Anyway, something made them very sure that Kabniel wouldn't have understood that, and for all that they had just met her, Pahadron definitely wouldn't understand that. Pahadron smiled at Muriel. "I do hope you didn't throw it out. It's very valuable."

"Oh, Muriel's very conscientious, they wouldn't just throw something out like that," said Kabniel.

They had not. They had put it in a little plastic bag like detectives sometimes did on television, and labeled it clearly. The note that had come with the candle, the wax, and the little glass container were also all sealed away in separate bags. They had wanted to keep them on hand as Evidence. At first, digging through the file cabinet, they'd looked under B for bone, but then they remembered that it was actually filed under K for knucklebone, and their mind whirled. Pahadron had said it was what we really need back.

What they really needed back was something they had, presumably, already had at one time. Perhaps Hell had stolen the relic from them? It was best to keep an open mind, no matter what Crowley muttered under his breath about Heaven.

They did not panic; it hadn't helped them to escape John Dee's mirror, after all, just brought it perilously close to shattering. (Contrary to popular opinion, it was much harder to escape a shattered mirror than a whole one, because each shard was yet another mirror to escape.) They were cautious; they tried to look at all sides of the problem before proceeding. They planned their route well. And they were prepared for a betrayal. "Sorry," they said, having found the bone after all, "could you just clarify which saint's relic? I wouldn't want to give you the wrong one." Not that they had another one to give, but theoretically Kabniel and Pahadron might've come here by mistake.

"The one from the candle," said Kabniel, a smile masking what Muriel knew to be mild irritation.

"Oh! The housewarming gift?" Muriel asked. Just to be certain.

"It is a charming human tradition," Pahadron informed them. Pahadron did not seem terribly charmed.

"Did you send it on behalf of the Supreme Archangel?" Muriel asked. Because the note had been signed in his name. "That was very kind of you." Because it had, probably. They probably thought they'd been doing the right thing, going behind the Supreme Archangel's back and doing something to drive away a demon they thought Muriel couldn't handle and wouldn't get on with.

"Oh, yes," said Pahadron. "And, if you don't mind -- I'm told you have great attention to detail, Muriel -- how long do you think it took to kill the demon?"

To kill the demon.

Muriel smiled. They did not panic, they were cautious, they planned. They planned for betrayal. No, they thought, as that small fierce fire in their soul lit once more; they planned a betrayal. "It took quite a while, actually," said Muriel, in fact he still hasn't died from it, "but as you can see, he's not here anymore." They hoped Crowley had a lot of coins and a lot of glue and a lot of ground to cover. They paused. "Before you take it, though, I would like you both to sign a proof of receipt for me. Just in case."

"What proof do you need? We're here, we'll receive it, and that's the end of that," said Pahadron, frowning.

"Yes, but we must do things correctly," said Muriel. "We mustn't do them incorrectly, at least."

"They're not wrong," said Kabniel. "Got to have all your T's crossed and your I's --"

"Open?" Pahadron asked.

"Dotted," said Kabniel, perplexed.

"Ah. Of course." Pahadron also seemed perplexed.

Muriel was not perplexed. Muriel was mentally piecing the boilerplate they needed together before sending it all to Aziraphale's printer. "Just a moment, I'll get you the forms," they said. They kept the saint's relic in their pocket so Kabniel and Pahadron couldn't make off with it if either of them turned out to be cleverer than they thought Muriel was.

They came back, forms and carbon paper in hand.

"Now, I need you each to sign here, here, and here," they said, "and initial here, and then here, you have to copy this sentence down on the line below. The full sentence."

Pahadron pursed her lips. "I, Name, declare by my own hand that I personally received the saint's relic which I caused to be sent to Angelic Embassy X, also called A. Z. Fell & Co, on or about -- hang on, what does it mean, 'I, Name'?"

"You're supposed to write your name," said Kabniel. "I, Kabniel, not I, Name."

"My name's not Kabniel," said Pahadron, irritably, "that's your name."

"I know that," said Kabniel, "but -- look, just --" He took the pen and wrote out the sentence himself, then gave the pen to Pahadron and dictated the sentence to her.

"Wonderful!" said Muriel. "But you do have to do all the other signing, and the initials, and..." They waited while the two angels signed and initialed and dated things.

"Is that it?" Pahadron demanded. Her politeness was wearing thin.

"Almost!" said Muriel. "At the very bottom here, could you write Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow?"

This took both Pahadron and Kabniel by surprise, but they had a very good explanation ready, one that had worked on several angels in the past. "It's a human thing," they said. "It's weird, isn't it?"

"Sounds a bit idolatrous," said Pahadron, disapprovingly.

"Oh, no, no, don't worry," said Muriel. "No, the sphinx of black quartz isn't being worshiped. It's just a very good judge of vows. Humans are weird," they reiterated. Mostly they wanted to see if either of the two angels wrote their y's the same way the person who wrote the note had. Aziraphale didn't, but somebody clearly did, and they wanted to get as many handwritten y's as possible on the form, but they felt like a sample of all the other letters would be a good idea too.

Grumbling at the weirdness of humans, Pahadron and Kabniel dutifully wrote out their pleas to the sphynx of black quartz. Muriel handed over the saint's relic, and kept the signed form. They did not offer to make copies, although they would have if Kabniel had thought to ask for them. They had what they needed.

After a quick telephone call warning Crowley to avoid the two angels, they contacted Heaven to make an appointment with the Supreme Archangel. This time around it wasn't urgent, and they could be very, very patient as they waited.

#whumptober2023 #no.19 #psychological #I'm not as stupid as you think I am #lyric #good omens #fic #emotional abuse cw #stalking cw #muriel good omens #anthony j crowley #nina good omens #maggie good omens #text #fiction #kaesa op

[worstloki]

Would Loki really cry if he had a best friend who loved and cared about him unconditionally?

first of all: yes

second of all: yes

there are loads of reasons for this but the first the foremost I think is that the lad was betrayed by everyone he could’ve considered close to him in Thor 1. and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing or any kind of indicator of how he normally behaves, but he spends maybe 70-80% of the film being generally overrun by emotions and crying about it. he literally spent his whole life being drilled into thinking he was inherently lesser than others and if having everyone he thought could’ve cared ripped away from him in the span of a few days put him in a constant state of emotional inequilibrium you’d better believe gaining someone who loves for and cares for him would be an equally jarring realization albeit in the other direction. it may even be more emotionally overwhelming considering he would’ve at least suspected that people didn’t value him as much as Thor his whole life, but his self esteem doesn’t really seem to be enough that he would suspect someone would genuinely care for even some of it which is when the confusion and general ‘overwhelmed’ part comes into play when he’d realize.

second off, we’re given loads of proof that even when people prove time and time again that they don’t really care for him he still cares for them. he is still impacted by things they say and/or do even when he covers it up well. boyo’s biggest character trait and personal flaw is literally that he’s selfless and forgives people too easily for slights against him. he just doesn’t hold a grudge because he’s sentimental it’s ridiculous. not only do I think his affinity for expressing emotions would extend to people who he knows are not actively abusing him but i’m almost certain that every time he’d remember there is someone who cares he’d have a miniature crisis and have to just process that because he’d have to personally come to terms with and remember that he was actually lovable and spent his whole life surrounded by people who just didn’t. It’d mean having to process a very real traumatic event and a life-time of small comments and lesser but no less real toxic environment which he may have believed at some point that he would not be able to leave, but had stayed in, and still holds feeling for.

tldr; yes, because he hasn’t processed past trauma including being betrayed and finding out he wasn’t cared for/loved unconditionally by people he’s known his whole life. yes, because loki is a person with the self-destructive habit of caring too much for people who don’t even deserve it and I refuse to believe he wouldn’t extend that affinity towards and put that energy into people who do care.

#i'm not kidding when I say loki would cry at having a friend #i do actually think mcu loki would #after they realize they actually have one #he's just suffered so much and I blame his behaviour as Odin in Thor: Ragnarok as not thinking anything good could last for him #probably hadn't thought he'd get to stay king for more than a few weeks so thought he'd enjoy it while it lasted #but I'm assuming Avengers 1/TDW/Infinity War characterization here not Ragnarok #I apologize if I rambled a bit #but it's canon that Loki had zero friends and we're not told why but with the way he's treated I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want any #he probably thought the warriors 3 and sif were his friends at some point #by Thor 1 he knows they value Thor more than him #but at some point he would've been younger and naiver and not known #you see we see Loki in Thor 1 as ridiculously wonderously good at jumping to correct conclusions #but we're not shown how he gets to that point #we know Loki's been ignored since they were kids thanks to the vault scene #but in Thor 1 Loki still hasn't given up on being treated as an equal #he gets growled at by odin and he manipulated thor into things and he knows people won't outright listen but he TRIES #which means he never gave up on receiving love/care even though he also acknowledges the slim chances of receiving it #i'm repeating myself but he's ridiculously empathetic and generally is ridiculously patient and and has crazy strong perseverance abilities #you'd have to manage to care for him and he'd recognize it but spend time doubting it so much #it would be quite a bit to process after a lifetime of not having any friend #and depending on what part of his timeline anyone proved they cared/loved him wouldn't change the fact that he'd cry #it would just change the amounts of cups he'd be able to fill with tears #and before anyone calls me out on it: yes i know emotional responses aren't directly equivalent in the 'opposite direction' #im just saying he'd be equally overwhelmed #you'd have general undertones of the same emotions (confusion sadness maybe a touch of fear... plus happiness) #i'm not an emotionologist and I guess it'd depend on his emotional state at the time but he would definitely get a pang in his heart minimum #there would at LEAST be teary eyes even if he'd cover it by thinking ''of course someone can care for me i'm great'' by the end of TDW #he'd frankly be '?!?' at realizing someone cares for him even conditionally because he associates having a use with being appreciated #he's smart and luckily self-aware enough to recognize unconditional love even if he won't admit it to himself and has no relative comparison

[willowbird]

regarding prompt game: 2-2-7 Andreil

Wanted to go with Erik's parents poolhouse, but I can't resist an orange yacht!

Lol I'm gonna call this one "Arooooommates". Get it? XD

--

"This is a really dumb idea," Andrew said as he looked up at the garishly orange yacht.

"Hm? Why?" Neil tilted his head as he looked over at him, looking very much like the insufferable puppy he was.

Andrew stared at him for a moment, considered spelling it out for him, then sighed and shook his head, instead moving forward to board the stupid boat.

It had all started with their landlord. Their prissy, judgemental, anti-shifter asshat that had suddenly evicted them because he found out he and Neil spent as much time on four legs as they did on two. Oh sure, he'd said it was because of (completely fabricated) "noise complaints" - seeing as it technically wasn't legal to evict someone just because they had hair in places you didn't - but the timing was awfully fucking suspicious when only a week before Landlord Dickbag had glimpsed Neil's second form for the first time.

Andrew had been ready to show the fucker exactly how dangerous it could be to threaten the den of a wolf - but he decided not to risk the indigestion. Instead, they'd left a couple bags of shit in the guy's mailbox and were cleared out the next day. They lived feral for a few weeks after that - nothing either of them hadn't done before - utilizing their gym membership for a place to maintain hygiene in their human forms.

Then, two days ago, Neil had arrived at the nightclub they both worked at saying that he'd found them a place to live.

Andrew sighed as he entered the inside of the yacht, looking around at the modest space. There wasn't any furniture, but past the open area Andrew supposed was intended to be a living room or party area he could see a fully outfitted kitchen. At least they wouldn't have to keep eating fish and rabbits every day.

"Do you hate it?" Neil asked as he stepped in behind him - and if he were anyone else, Andrew might have thought he heard a note of insecurity in his voice.

Andrew shrugged. "I do not think wolves were meant to live on water."

"We aren't normal wolves."

"No, we are not." He hated to admit it, but the longer he thought about it, the more appealing living on a boat seemed. They could stay docked - or they could just... go, whenever they wanted. Together. "It will do," he added as an amendment, and dammit, he could feel Neil's grin.

"Great! There's one more thing, though." Neil moved past him, heading for the stairs that would lead down into the belly of the small yacht. Andrew followed, mentally rolling his eyes - sure Neil was about to tell him that on condition for them getting the boat they had to do some outrageous favor for whomever he'd acquired it from.

Then they reached the bottom of the stairs and Neil gave him a sheepish grin over his shoulder. "There's only one bedroom."

Before Andrew could really process that, Neil opened one of the doors on the small landing and walked into the bedroom. Inside was a single king-sized bed and a double dresser. The wolf in Andrew was at full attention now, pleased and excited and proud of his m-- of Neil. Because, well, that's the thing, wasn't it? In wolf form, Andrew and Neil weren't just pack. They were... more. But wolf-brain worked a little bit differently than human-brain and Human Andrew... look, he wasn't afraid to call Neil his mate. He wasn't. It was just... complicated.

And so, in their previous apartment they'd each had their own bedrooms - even though they only ever slept in Andrew's.

"Tell me if it's a no, and I'll tell Kevin to sell the boat to someone else," Neil said. His voice quiet but steady, calm. This was Neil asking for something, Andrew realized. He was asking, but not expecting any particular response.

Andrew stayed quiet for long enough that most people probably would have pestered him for an answer. He wandered further into the room, trailed his fingertips over the soft fabric of the quilt that covered the bed. Neil waited patiently, staying by the door as Andrew explored.

"We will need to invest in more blankets if you expect us to live out on the water," Andrew advised mildly.

"Check the closet."

Andrew raised a brow over at him, then looked around until he found the door that must lead to the closet. Inside, on the shelf above the bar where they could hang their clothes, were at least twelve blankets of various thickness and design. "My, you came to this prepared," he muttered dryly.

"You're a nester," Neil responded casually - and damn him, Andrew could hear the fond smirk in the lilt of the words.

"Utter those words where anyone else can hear them and I will drive this boat out to international waters and toss you off the side." Threat delivered, Andrew sighed and looked from the blankets over to Neil again - and yup, there was that fondness. Andrew allowed himself to bask in it for a moment before he turned back to the closet and said, "You stocked the closet, but did you stock the kitchen?"

"No, I didn't know if you'd say yes."

"Yet you bought enough blankets to warm a trip to Alaska." He did not phrase it as a question. Neil answered him anyway.

"Andrew, a stocked kitchen says nothing. I want you to be my mate."

How he could say it so easily, so confidently, so calmly, filled Andrew with a strange rush of heat that was almost but not quite like rage. He did not bother to bank the heat and instead fanned it by turning around fully to face the other man. Neil was watching him, waiting, his expression open and curious but not expectant. And still so infuriatingly fond.

"Neil Josten, are you attempting to court me."

Neil shrugged. "I thought blankets would be more approriate in this case than a pile of dead rabbits."

Andrew's wolf was miffed. "You did not seem to have a problem with a pile of dead rabbits before," he said before he could stop himself.

Neil smiled. "No, I didn't. But it isn't your wolf I'm asking, Andrew."

And, well, there wasn't much Andrew could say to that. So he looked over his shoulder toward the closet, which was still standing open with Neil's... courting gift piled on the top shelf, then dragged his gaze back to the man himself.

He sighed. "How long will it take for Day to get here with the paperwork?"

It took a moment for Neil to absorb this, then his whole body perked up. If he were in his other form, Andrew would bet every cent he had that his stupid tail would be wagging. "Is that a yes?"

"It was not a 'no', Josten," Andrew said with as much judgement as possible - a rushed attempt to cover the swell of other things in his chest.

Neil was unbothered and he finally entered the room to join him near the closet. "Andrew, did you just agree to be my mate?"

Somehow, their hands had become entwined. Andrew wasn't sure which of them reached and which of them accepted. In the end, it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that after a moment, Andrew sighed and this time he allowed his own fondness to escape - at least here, in the privacy of their den, for his mate's eyes only. He wore that fondness on his lips and in his eyes as he looked up the scant height difference between them and said, "Yes, Neil. It is a yes."

Then he didn't wait for Neil to ask to kiss him, he just reached up and hooked a hand behind his neck, tugging him down to seal their mouths together as one would seal a promise.

#asks #aftg prompt game #andreil #shapeshifters #wolf!neil #wolf!andrew #andrew minyard #neil josten #andrew minyard x neil josten #my writing

[justice4harwin]

Light’s Corruption- Chapter V

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Summary:With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty

Rating: 18+

Click here for chapter 4

As usual, tags are in the comments. If you dont wanna be tagged, dont be afraid to let me know. If you wanna be tagged, let me know too. I dont bite...anymore lmao

Chapter 5: Heartrenders

Days went by, and they turned into weeks. The leaves fell off the trees, a crunchy sea of red, orange, yellow and brown, and Alina wanted to pile them all on and throw herself inside.

She'd do it the first chance she got, but for that she had to beat the gardeners before they took the piles and burnt them to depressing ashes.

She talked to Michail some more during they rounds around the lake and had her rematch with Natasha.

She lost. Again. She laughed it off. Again. Natasha said she hadn't been so easy to defeat that second time, to which Alina smiled almost genuinely. Progress.

Baghra refused to see her still, and Alina was too proud to go back to her, so she tried to practice on her own. She'd hide away on the far sides of the gardens where the other grisha rarely went to and try to gain more control. It was a slow process; the temptation to let her power run free and vast was always there and trying to tame that always left her exhausted. She had no trouble falling asleep, yet each day the bags underneath her eyes seemed to deepen, as did her appetite. Alina was pretty sure that summoning should be for the better, but more than once, she had thoroughly considered laying down on the cold grass and take a nap there instead of walking all the way back to the Little Palace.

The General wasn't back yet, and much to Alina's confusion, frustration and shame, she worried. Maybe that too had something to do with the bags underneath her eyes. She tended to dream of him in all kinds of scenarios, each less pleasant than the last. It made her wake up sweaty and choking for air.

More than once, she almost wrote to him, only if just to make sure he was alright. But he had to be. Otherwise, word would've spread quickly…right?

She always talked herself out of it though. His presence was missed, her mind was making up all kind of tricks to make her reach out to him like a pathetic girl begging for attention.

The thought reminded her of Baghra's opinion of her, which only strengthened her resolve to not write to him.

She had had enough of begging, enough of getting scrapes of affection from a man who hadn't even bother to write once; she wouldn't do it again, no matter how much her heart tried to pull her to him.

But then her eyes would drift back to the black, shadow rose that laid on her nightstand, the little bit of gold on its inside long dead, and her heart would race and some form of reassurance would fall gently over her, like a blanket shielding her body.

She'd reach out and take it in her hands. It had no thorns. Her fingers would run through its petals, as soft as those of a real rose, but with something deeper in there. There was something more alive inside that rose than in any flower in all of Ravka; it was deep, powerful, and dark. It scared and alluded to her in the same measure, and she'd stare at it fascinated for an unfathomable long time.

She wondered if The Darkling could feel her caressing his shadows; and how he'd feel about it.

Besides Michail and Natasha, Alina didn’t seem to be progressing very much. They exchanged niceties and some jokes, even paired up during training, but there was not much more to it.

She told herself to be patient. These things took time.

One early afternoon, Genya showed up on her room unannounced. Alina hurried to hide her rose inside her nightstand; she wasn't sure why, but she wanted it to be her little secret.

"The Queen just left Os Alta." the redhead smiled. "As did the king. They'll be gone for two days on a hunting trip."

"A hunting trip?"

"Yes, where they kill animals for the fun of it. Like one of those brutish size competitions men seem to like so much."

Alina snorted.

"So?"

"So…"there was a gleam to her friend's eyes, and the summoner leaned back and frowned slightly, almost scared. "I could sneak you into the Grand Palace and into Her Royal Bitch's wardrobe."

"We'll get in trouble, Gen."

"Oh, please; have some faith in me." she placed her elbows on the desk and her chin atop of her hands, almost looking angelic. "Do you really think I'd get you in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you're wrong." she straightened up and tugged on Alina's arm. "C'mon; there's so many gowns and habits: she rarely wears them twice. We're not stealing; no one will know."

"How many gowns?" she asked, genuinely curious. She had seen the queen on two official occasions, the first time when she arrived from the camps near Kribirsk, and the second when she was invited to her ridiculous tea parade. Still, she had seen her in passing a few times as she strolled the grounds. A part of Alina felt ashamed of the jealousy she felt upon seeing her beautiful clothes and jewels.

There she was, living in a palace, wearing a kefta and being pampered, yet she dared to want more.

"Hundreds!" the Tailor whispered excitedly. "And they'll look much better on us anyway."

She gave in a little to temptation. They would just try them on and leave them again. No one would know, and maybe she'd be satisfied then.

"Alright, alright. But we better not get caught."

"Don't worry, we won't."

They left the bedroom and ran down the stairs, Genya holding onto the blue sleeve of her friend as she rambled about all the different fabrics and patterns and accessories while Alina tried to keep up with her, listening to every word while watching her step. The last thing she needed was to trip down the stairs.

That'd be a sad way to go for her.

"You'll love it. I promise!" Genya turned to give her a smile, but Alina's eyes drifted to the looming figure appearing in her line of vision.

The Darkling walked into the Little Palace accompanied by Ivan, Fedyor and a third heartrender.

It was a woman, a little bit older than Alina probably, but only for a few years. She was tall, with long, brown hair cascading down her back. Her kefta, which hugged her rounded figure nicely, gave her away as a fellow heartrender.

The Darkling noticed them approaching. Alina tried to search something in his eyes, anything that gave away any sort of emotion that could cause in him to see her again, but she saw nothing but his usual coolness.

The Summoner and the Tailor came to a stop and bowed.

"Moi Soverennyi." they bowed respectfully.

"Miss Starkov, Miss Safin; it has been some time." he looked from one to the other. "May I inquire as to your present activities?"

"Nothing we're not supposed to do." Alina spat out, earning herself a dainty elbow to the ribs.

General Kirigan rose an eyebrow.

"I see. See to it that it stays that way."

"Of course, sir." spoke Genya, serious all of a sudden.

The man turned and contemplated the strange woman for a moment, then gestured at Alina with a gloved hand.

"This is Alina Starkov, our Sun Summoner." he looked at her, those pools of grey catching her breath. "Miss Starkov, may I introduce you to Nina Zenik. She is one of my best agents and has just recently returned from an assignment in Shu Han."

The woman's green eyes settled on Alina, taking her in. Something glittered in there.

"So, she is real after all."

"Would I lie to you?" was The Darkling's reply.

"You forgot to mention how pretty she is." Nina ignored him, taking a long, stealth step towards her and catching a tendril of Alina's dark hair in her fingers.

"Um, it's a pleasure to meet you." The Sun Summoner managed to say, nervous under the woman scrutiny.

"Oh, a pleasure indeed, sun bean." Nina smiled, amusement shining in her eyes as Alina's face heated up. "I can't wait to make your acquaintance."

Before Alina could even think of an answer -for the woman's pretty eyes were too distracting- The Darkling cleared his throat.

"Not for some time, I am afraid." he said. Alina finally turned her gaze to him. There was something dark and intense in the way he was staring at Nina's back, his jaw tense. "Miss Starkov has quite the busy schedule."

Alina felt Genya tensing beside her. Nina's eyes slid momentarily, as if she could see The Darkling behind her, and nodded, winking at her before receding.

"Certainly. I can only imagine." she turned a charming smile on him. "Should we discuss my mission in private?"

"Of course." he answered almost, almost too quickly. He made a gesture for her to go in first.

"See you around, sun bean."

Alina choked on her own saliva as she struggled to say her farewell.

Ivan left with them without even glancing in their direction; Fedyor was kind enough to give them each a courteous smile.

Genya was giggling like an idiot.

"Shut up."

Now she was laughing. 

During their training one day, Alina decided to pair up with her. Many grisha gave her a myriad of odd looks, and for a moment, Alina feared she might be about to face another Zoya.

Nina seemed to not to notice them and beckoned her forward.

People seemed to like Nina, Alina observed. The woman had charm and wit; the Sun Summoner really had to try to not get jealous of those traits. She reminded herself that Nina had been at the Little Palace for years, not one season and a half.

They circled each other, taking their measures.

Alina didn't want to be the one to strike first. That always had seemed to go wrong thus far, so she waited.

The heartrender went to the left, so Alina turned, only to be tricked as she received a blow on her right. She winced and stood back, more alert. She didn't want to make a ridicule again.

"You're small and skinny." the heartrender whispered. Alina arched an eyebrow. "I'm bigger and stronger, so your best option is to tire me out."

"I'm not exactly the fastest person."

Nina threw a punch and, luckily, Alina blocked it successfully.

She shook her head.

"Speed and resistance don't need to go hand in hand."

Alina didn't dare to look around to see if anyone else could hear them. She hoped not. Botkin would most certainly disapprove of his students giving each other advice on how to defeat them.

So, with Nina's words in mind, Alina did her best to block and recede. She tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to punch and kick, and received a wince and an "ouch" as Nina rubbed her calf.

The Summoner could feel everyone still watching, Marie and Nadia cheering her on; Sergei and Michail more reserved since she was fighting a fellow red sporter.

Then, Alina caught a glimpse. It was a second, and before she even knew it, she was taking a chance.

Nina was placing her foot down, twisting it as if to test it, and the next she was laying on her back, Alina having all but hurled herself at the woman, grabbing her middle section with all her strength and pushing.

They landed on the ground, and in the disbelief, the Summoner almost forgot to fully immobilize her opponent the way Botkin had taught her.

"You know," Nina gasped, the breath having abandoned her lungs. "There's better ways to get on top of me, sun bean, but if you like it rough-"

Alina blushed in embarrassment, both for having potentially hurt her and for the path those words were leading to.

"Are you alright?" she interrupted hurriedly. "Did I hurt you?"

Nina tried to laugh and cried instead.

"Shit, sun bean. You do have some strength in that tiny body after all."

"Alright!" Botkin clapped his hands twice, coming over toward them. "The little girl wins again, …finally."

Alina was almost offended. At least Marie and Nadia were cheering, as were some others Etherealki. She noticed Sergei and Michail exchanging some coins and scowled.

"Healer." she called, and one hurried to Nina's side.

"It's just a broken rib." the woman said, setting herself to work.

Nina raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm impressed, sun bean. I didn't actually think you'd win."

Alina found a new hiding spot where to practice her summoning. It was a most secluded corner, surrounded by old trees, an unkept stone bench and a dirty sculpture of a woman.

She really wanted to be offended.

With eyes wide, she forgot all about her practice, raced and jumped in, laughing childishly to herself.

She looked up and took in the warmth of the sun with pleasure, her face basking in it as her hands ran through leaves and sticks. It was actually a little uncomfortable, but fun.

She almost wished she could sink in and stay there forever, with the sun warming her body and the crunchy leaves all around her.

There was a big pile of leaves.

"Did you fall?"

A shadow took the light from her face, and she found The Darkling standing over her, looking down with something akin to curiosity.

"No. I just jumped."

"Into a pile of dirt?"

"It's not dirt. Besides, it's fun!" she extended a hand. "Wanna try?"

He huffed. Her cheeks heated up. She should've known better.

He took her hand and pulled her up, the mere contact making everything about him feel more intense as usual.

She held onto him.

"How did you find me?"

"You are my Sun Summoner; did you really think I would let you wander about the palace grounds unguarded?"

"Do you have me followed?" she had never noticed.

"For your safety."

"I thought this was the safest place in all of Ravka."

"I am not taking any chances with you, Alina." he replied, eyes guarded, face soft.

"Well, I've never noticed them."

"It means they are doing a good job. I would not want you to live scared, looking over your shoulder all the time."

"I might as well start now that I know."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. Alina wondered if he noticed what he was doing.

"You are right." he stepped closer, pulling a leaf off her hair. "But you need not fear, especially while I am on the palace grounds."

"Because not even the dumbest drüskelle would dare to cross paths with you?"

"Nor would the boldest noble."

Alina frowned. The nobles of Os Alta?

She nodded slowly.

"I have scared you." he stated, studying her face. "I apologize."

"No, no." she let go of his hand. "You just made me wearier."

"That is just how life at court is." he offered, not unkindly. "This is not just an army sometimes, especially for you and I."

Alina looked at him, questioning.

"There is no one else like us, Alina." he said, approaching her once more. The calmness, the facts were gone, replaced by a fire she wanted to step into. The vehemence in his voice made her shiver and want to take refuge in his cloak. "There never will be."

She thought about it. What exactly did he mean by that?

He reached out again and plucked another leaf from her hair, then took her face in his hands. She tilted her head up, desperate for a look into those eyes.

Her heart drummed on her ribcage, wanting to break free.

"I-" words failed her as he studied her face, like she was something unique he wanted to memorize.

His thumb ran over her lips, and she exhaled heavily at the feel.

"I forgot what I came here to tell you." he whispered in confidence, his eyes on her parted lips.

"I don't care."

One of his hands left her face and wrapped around her waist, pressing her against his hard chest. Alina almost gasped, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, hiding the conflict she had briefly witnessed there.

Alina made a choice.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He reciprocated immediately, holding her tighter and pushing his tongue inside her mouth, demanding a dominance she was more than willing to give him.

She had been kissed, but never like this. It was a first kiss that felt like the last; its intensity so beautifully crushing and chaotic. It was like he was a missing part of her, long searched for and finally found. It was like she was the most precious, addictive treasure, something to be cherished and corrupted at the same time.

Alina was willing to let him do as he wanted with her.

Her hands pulled at his hair, earning a growl. Their eyes met briefly, the desire in them fighting to see whose was grander, before kissing again.

It was like he wanted to pull her closer still, the barrier of clothes too much. Something told Alina that the lack of them wouldn't satisfy either of them anyways.

He kissed her jaw, travelling his way up to her earlobe.

"You make me weak." he whispered harshly, only to proceed to ravish the parts of her neck that were exposed.

"You make me strong." she answered, craning her neck to give him better access.

Growling, he gave her ass a hard squeeze and pushed her back against a tree. She could feel the tug and crunches of the leaves as he buried his hands in her hair but didn't care.

She wanted more.

And more.

She drew his lips back to hers. He reached for the belt which held her kefta closed.

"Sir!"

The next thing Alina knew was that she was standing against a tree, her back aching and her body cold, yet her face hot.

She looked at The Darkling, who seemed almost unperturbed as he smoothly fixed his hair and clothes, standing at a respectable distance from her.

Ivan appeared, seeming to be in a hurry.

Alina narrowed her eyes at him. As if she didn't dislike him enough already, the little shit.

"Moi Soverennyi, you are needed in the king's counsel immediately."

"Tell that grump I shall be there shortly."

Ivan bowed and left, not even acknowledging Alina's presence.

The Darkling cleared his throat. She turned her dark gaze on him, cheeks burning against the cold air, lips probably bruised.

What had just happened?

She wasn't sure, but she wanted to do it again. The Darkling, on the other hand, remained stoic as he stared into her eyes, as if nothing had occurred between them.

"I understand that you have been training on your own;" he said, as if he were talking to any other grisha, ever polite and smooth, voice reassuring yet commanding." I shall speak to Baghra so you may return to your lessons."

"But I don't wann-"

With him gone, the early winter sun felt cold.

"Miss Starkov." he bowed to her respectfully and marched away, disappearing from view within seconds.

Click here for chapter 6

#shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone #Alina starkov #the darkling #aleksander morozova #darkling x alina #alina x aleksander #alina x darkling #genya safin #nina zenik #fedyor kaminsky #fanfic

[l-egionaire]

Owl House Fanfiction: I love The Found Family Trope!

Posted on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417493

Eda had gotten used to a lot of different ways of waking up after her getting her curse.

The first few times it happened, she'd unfortunately routinely woken up to find herself naked. (Titan, was she grateful when she'd finally found a spell that made her clothes change with her and didn't have to keep dumpster diving or "borrowing" clothes)

Once that was taken care of, her post transformation wake ups were slightly more comfortable, if predictable. She'd come too laying on the ground, her body's usual aches, pains, and stiffness seemingly doubled to the point where she could barely move. If she was in someone's house she'd likely be surrounded by overturned furniture and fixtures all covered in claw and bite marks. If she was lucky any people that might've been there would've already run and hid. If she wasn't….well, she knew a good amount of healing magic and potions.  No matter how much damage she might have caused, most people wouldn't turn down having their injuries taken care of.

And after that, things changed. Even if the person she was living with didn't kick her out, she could still see how they acted differently. They avoided eye contact with her, didn't stay in the same room with her for longer than two seconds, and she couldn't help but notice how they always seemed to lock their doors at night, nevermind whether she'd taken her elixir or not. Needless to say, when that happened she was gone before a week even passed. Someone being afraid of her or thinking she was a freak she could handle. But she preferred that to them tiptoeing around it and pretending to be okay with her when they were secretly scared. 

Considering all of that, waking up safely in her nest with a bottle of elixir in her mouth was a new experience.

She wasn't that shocked once she'd gotten the whole story. She'd never explained what her elixir did to King, and Luz thinking it was some special magic boosting potion sounded just like her. But what really surprised her were their reactions. 

After making sure Hooty was put back up and okay, they'd come by to check on her. Luz, having worried she might not be feeling well, had brought her a bowl of some strange human concoction called "chicken soup" that she'd gotten from a can in her junk collection. ("It's no magic potion but my mom. always made me chicken soup when I wasn't feeling well.) She'd also gotten her a person sized pillow that had the image of some male human character with spiky hair on it and with a little work slid it beneath Eda in her nest. The thing may have looked weird but it was comfy as heck and felt great for her sore back. Meanwhile King, still looking regretful about snatching her elixir, had fixed her a mug of apple blood as a peace offering.

While the mixture of alcohol and salty human bird water helped soothe some of her pain, Eda couldn't help but notice her apprentice and her housemate still standing off to the side of her nest. Both of them simply stood and watched as she ate and drank, staying oddly silent and staring at her as if she might disappear mid slurp.

It was almost a little unnerving. She hadn't expected either of them to be this quiet after discovering her curse. She figured Luz would've had her usual million questions about anything magical while King would be demanding to know why she hadn't told him before now. 

Then again, it wouldn't surprise her if they were still too in shock. After all, while she had never been able to witness it herself, she knew her cursed form could be pretty terrifying to see. One person she'd lived with had been so freaked out by it, he hadn't been able to make any noise except terrified squeaks for 3 days.

Plus, the way they found out was pretty sudden. Sure, King shouldn't have stolen her elixir but it wasn't like he knew what it was for or why she took it. In fact, a part of her hoped he'd never find out.

But the cat was off the staff now. She knew that the two of them must still be curious, otherwise they wouldn't still be there. So it was time to witch up and deal with it.

Eda drank the last few dregs of soup from her bowl and drained the rest of her apple blood for a little courage before turning to King and Luz.

"Alright you two. I know you probably want to know more about all this. So, let's have it."

Luz and King took a moment to look at each other, almost seeming to have a full conversation in two seconds before turning back to her.

"No thanks." Luz said.

"Yeah, we're good." King agreed.

Eda blinked in confusion. "What? What do you mean?"

"We don't need to know anymore." Luz explained. "This whole curse thing seems kind of personal and besides you already told us all the important parts. So we don't need to know anything else."

Eda stared at her in stunned silence. She looked to King and was even more surprised to see him nod in agreement.

To say this was not what she'd been expecting would be an understatement.  Where was the yelling at her for putting them in danger? The demanding answers? The blaming her for not telling them about her curse before all this? Heck, the two of them didn't even look that upset. They just still had those weirdly concerned looks on their faces. Maybe they just worried she'd still be mad about them stealing her elixir and were too scared to bring it up.

But that brought another issue to mind. And while she might have become pretty fond of those two, she knew it would only be a matter of time until it came up.

Ignoring the tight feeling in her chest, Eda said slowly. "Listen…..if you guys want to find somewhere else to stay, I understand."

They both became bug eyed.

"What?!" Luz cried.

"What are you talking about?!" King asked.

Eda looked away from them, doing everything she could to keep the wetness in her eyes from turning into full blown tears.

Suck it up. She thought. It's not like you haven't done this before.

"Luz, you could probably see if one of those Hexside kids might be willing to let you stay with them, and King I-."

"You're kicking us out?!" Luz yelled.

"No!" King scrambled into the nest, got onto his knees  and clasped his paws together. "Please Eda, don't!  I'll never be able to find anyone else willing to  let me live with them without paying! If this is about stealing the elixir, I'm sorry! I swear I won't steal anything you don't tell me to!" 

Eda frowned in confusion and turned back to them. "What? No. I mean, yes King, if you steal from me again I'll turn you into a tiny fur rug, but I just meant….you guys really don't want to move out?"

They both looked shocked at her question. "No." "Why would we?"

"Why would- how about  because I could have killed you two last night?" She felt bile begin to build in her throat and not the magical kind. "I could have eaten one of you like I did the snaggleback!"

"Oh come on Eda, it wasn't that-."

"Luz." Eda said, her voice hard. She didn't have it in her right now to deal with Luz sunshine attitude.

Luz must have noticed because she sighed and said. "Okay, look Eda. I'm not going to lie and say that today wasn't terrifying or that I wasn't afraid but….Eda, once I realized that the monster that was chasing after us was you? All I could think about was how I could help or what I could do to get you back. I didn't want to lose you."

Eda stared at her apprentice in complete shock. In her past talks with her living mates after they discovered her curse, they always talked about them . Their safety, their terror at her transformation, their discomfort at having Eda stay around after what happened. But Luz was thinking about her and whether she was okay.

It felt….weird. But in a good way. Kind of like a lot of things Luz did come to think of it.

Eda looked down to where King was still sitting in her nest. "And what about you King? You aren't freaked out by my little secret?"

King shrugged. "Eh, at first it was horrifying but after thinking about, its actually pretty cool. You're a demon just like me! Which technically makes you one of my subjects!"

Eda rolled her eyes. Typical King.

"And, since you are one of my subjects…."

"King, I swear to Titan, if you-."

".....than, that also means you fall under my protection." King finished. He walked over to Eda, climbed into her lap where he curled up into a ball. "If anyone wants to hurt you, they'll first have to go through me!"

Eda couldn't hide the amazement on her face as she gazed down at King. Then she felt something softly touch her shoulder. She looked over and saw Luz had placed a hand on her and was giving her a loving look.

"We're not going anywhere Eda. Us weirdos have to stick together, remember?"

Eda couldn't believe what she was hearing. Even after they both spent the night being terrorized by her and knew about her curse, they still insisted on sticking around.

They weren't going to leave her.

Luz suddenly frowned and looked at her worriedly. "Hey, what's wrong?"

It took Eda a moment to realize that there was a tear streaming down her face. She quickly wiped it away.

"Uh, no Luz, I just, uh, really loved that soup you brought me. There any chance there's some more?"

"I'll go dig through trash for another can!" Luz excitedly sprinted out the door.

Eda looked down at King. "Would my so-called "King" be willing to fix his new subject another apple blood?"

King stood up from her lap and stretched. "I suppose its what any humble ruler would do for his wounded subject." King took her mug and scrambled out of her nest and out the door.

Eda sighed fondly and layed back on her spiky hair human pillow, taking in the sight of the many light orbs that now dotted her ceiling thanks to her apprentice.

We're not going anywhere Eda.

If anyone wants to hurt you, they'll first have to go through me

Eda chuckled. "Thanks you two

#The Owl House #Owl House #ToH #the owl house eda #eda the owl lady #eda owl house #eda the owl witch #eda clawthorne #toh king #king of demons #king owl house #toh luz #luz owl house #luz noceda #Fanfiction #Owl House fanfic #fanfic #Ao3

[cinnella]

Name: Syro Beeks (chosen name); Nehal Desai (birth name)

Age: 24 years old

Sex: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Zodiac sign: Leo

Birthday: August 4th

Patron Arcana: Strength (Major); King of Wands (Minor)

Occupation: Combat specialist/magician

Height: 6'5" (1.95 m)

Weight: 227 lbs (102 kg)

Relatives:

Neith Desai - older sister

Aditi Desai - mother (deceased)

Dipankar Desai - father (deceased)

Banhi Desai - grandma (deceased)

Origin: Born on the biggest Pearl Isle of Prakra, grew up in Vesuvia

Race: Indian

Powers: Red (combat) magic and pyrokinesis

Intelligence Level: On a scale from 1 to 10, he's a solid 6.7

Backstory:

He'd been born on a very rainy day, his mother unexpectedly delivering him 1 month prematurely. His parents hadn't decided a name for him yet, so they let Neith do that instead. And looking outside the window at the pouring rain, she named him Nehal, which means exactly that.

About a year later, his parents who were mountain climbers, decided to go on a trip to the Clouded Mountains. They left their kids with their grandma, Banhi, as she wished them good luck in the mountains.

A week had passed when Banhi received news from someone who'd been on the ship with their parents. Unfortunately, while they were climbing the mountains, a storm came and threw them off balance together with a multitude of other people. Only a few of them survived.

With no one else to take care of them, Banhi made it her goal to raise her grandchildren as her own.

One day, while she went out to the market with them, to buy groceries, little Nehal was sleeping soundly in a basket, until Banhi put it down and woke him up. Both her and Neith had their attention on the vendor, so he crawled out of it and away. By the time they noticed, he was out of sight.

They searched and searched and called out to him, but to no avail. He was in someone else's arms, heading towards a new home.

Not much later, he was brought to an orphanage far away from home, in Vesuvia. There, he grew up alongside many other children and the caretakers, though he didn't really have friends. Most of the kids were mean and oftentimes bullied him for his shortness. But then a new kid came in, and stepped up to defend him from them. At first, he thought of it to be foolish.

She was even shorter than him. Small frail body, porcelain skin and black hair, and what stood out the most was her differently colored eyes. There must've been something scary about her, because the kids stopped their bullying.

That day, they became each other's first friend, and he learned that her name was Saiya, but warned him not to call her that. She hated her name. Soon, they advanced to best friends. Everything they did, they did together. Mostly mischief.

The caretakers soon realized that most of the kids had no names, and even when they named them, there was a lot of confusion and many unhappy children. So they decided to teach them to read and write when they were old enough, and on their 7th birthday, they'd let them choose a name themselves.

When he was only 5, a third kid entered their little circle. She'd declared that her name was Eris. She had sun-kissed skin, silver white hair and ice blue eyes, and as young as Nehal was, he couldn't help but get a little crush on her. The three of them became very close, almost inseparable.

Once Saiya's birthday rolled around, she changed her name to Morana, and soon enough, his own birthday came too.

And so, Nehal Desai became Syro Beeks.

Around that week, two new kids joined their troublemaking group. Both were a little under two years younger than him, one with ash blond hair and silver eyes, the other with dark skin and jade green eyes.

Syro couldn't have asked for a better family. Years and years passed by in a blur, every day a new day to do more mischief. And as he approached his teen years and 6'3 in height, heartbreaking news came with them.

The adults made it clear that when they'd turn 17, they'd need to search for a home of their own. Him and the others talked about it, each of them wanted to try and find their homeland, their relatives.

And Eris was the first to leave. They were all saddened to see her go, but they knew she had to find her family.

A year later, Morana was next, but he was not about to let her go on her own. They always did everything together, after all. As heartbreaking as it was to leave the other two, Calyx and Libelle, they had to leave.

Their first stop was the Southern Spines, but much to their disappointment, they discovered nothing of her family. Then, they traveled across the land once more and took a ship towards the biggest Pearl Isle of Prakra, where one of the adults had found him.

Although he didn't know the place in the slightest, it was like his heart was calling to him, leading him. A couple of hours later, Syro came face to face with a woman.

Pink hair, indigo eyes and the same skin complexion he had. The same strong nose, plump lips and powerful jaw. Undeniably, they must have been related. But what clicked to him was her height. It's not everyday you meet someone who is almost as tall as you are.

She burst into tears and whispered his name... Probably his birth name, as she hugged him. As awkward as it was for him, the hug felt right.

The woman asked for them to follow her to her home and explain everything. There, Syro found out her name was Neith and that she was his older sister. He didn't quite believe it, until she pulled out a painted picture Banhi had done of them so many years ago, a 9 years old Neith holding her baby brother, who had jet black hair and magenta eyes just like him.

Many more hours passed, and both Morana and Syro decided to spend a few days with Neith. When they left, he promised to visit her when he had the time.

Once again in Vesuvia, he focused on learning to fight. It was something he'd wanted to do ever since he was little, but never found the time for that. Later on, he learnt to incorporate magic into it, becoming a skilled fighter and magician all the same.

When the Red Plague washed over them, he fleed together with Morana, Calyx and Libelle, but the latter two took to their own path, splitting in pairs. Eris refused to leave, for whatever reason.

They were heartbroken to learn that she'd died, and until then, they hadn't realized she was their anchor, their bridge. He remained with Morana, and the other two stayed with each other.

3 years later, he came back to Vesuvia after Libelle contacted him about Eris possibly living. He of course, didn't believe it in the slightest until he saw her alive and well, walking the streets of Vesuvia. But she didn't recognize him.

He met Asra that day too, who explained to him what happened and warned him about the consequences of trying to bring back her memories.

When she was assigned on late Count Lucio's case to catch his murderer, he volunteered to help her with the on-ground investigation, as it could be very dangerous.

That's how he met Julian.

And soon fell in love with him.

Personality: stubborn, flirty, adventurous, reckless, respectful, polite, self-less, aggressive, competitive, destructive, playful, sarcastic, loyal, sincere, open-minded, pessimistic, a little childish and a tease

Interesting facts:

Although he's very fond of any sun-themed objects, he hates heat. He prefers cold weather.

The scars on his arm are from a bear attack that happened while in the Southern Spines, and he also has one in his left palm.

Unlike the others who are mainly right-handed, he's left-handed. It's why he crosses his arms that way.

Never flinches at bitter or sour tastes, nor at strong alcoholic beverages, he actually likes them.

In total, he has 15 piercings. 5 in each ear, 1 on the right side of his nose, 1 in his right eyebrow, 2 in his lower lip and one in his tongue.

His first kiss was Eris. (And vice versa)

He got the sun-moon tattoo on his cheekbone when he was 15.

He has a second tattoo on his chest, of two entwined snakes.

Loves jewelry with a passion, he cannot go a day without at least wearing a ring.

Appearance: Umber skin tone, shoulder-length wavy jet black-blue hair, magenta eyes, inverted triangle body shape with a strong build

Familiar: Cynthia, a kind and sweet rainbow boa

Voice claim: Chace Crawford

Full sprite:

HERE HE IS, EVERYONE'S FAVORITE BUFFY SWEETHEART!!!

I didn't realize just how much more complicated his design would be compared to Eris' until I got down to actually design it.

But boy am I proud!! (ಥ﹏ಥ)

SHOW MY BOY SOME LOVE, PLEASE!!

Edit: I forgot to add his scars.. T-T

#the arcana #the arcana mc #the arcana apprentice #syro beeks

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

6. The Wakandan Rainforest 

In the dark of night, the lonely and fearsome prince moved soundlessly through ancient and majestic trees, tall and dense. The song of insects was alive with the chirp of crickets. The starlit leaves of vines and bushes reflected the clear blue from the sky peaking through branches stretched like fingers. In a single leap, his heavy body rustled the leaves up high like wind. He was as a bird on the branch, the ghost floating above--haunting the land. His dark sated eyes gazed out at the glowing full moon, concise and set apart from the clouds--lonely and after all these years still beautiful. 

After beating the afterlife out of both Julip and Deanna for letting the girl go, he stood still as a statue on his perch until he spotted with his sharp eyes, Dawn tripping over a low branch as she was tiredly trekking through mud and dark soil, trying her hardest to avoid being bitten, stung, mauled, or worse--recaptured. Pissed at the siblings, he'd followed her from the time she first 'escaped' from the castle, running until her energy ran out. The light from outside of the canopy dropped fast making it nearly impossible for her to see which was too dangerous for her. She couldn't be in the woods alone, she'd get lost. She could be hurt. As a human she was fragile. Anything could kill her with a wrong step. He kept his eyes on her, trailing and guessing her path from above until she finally stopped too tired to continue, settling down on the ground with her back slowly against a tree to rest. There was something about her that made it impossible for him to leave her alone. It was as though he'd known her intimately since the day he was born but couldn't figure out how, like she was already a big part of him somehow. It was the same odd feeling that drove him to follow her through the woods right before her friends were murdered, even though he'd never before seen her. He'd then followed the vehicle of men and rescued her, taking her to his castle with no clear plan or motive other than keeping her near to himself to understand the feelings flowing through him, yet he'd been too shy to come close. He'd kept his distance. If anyone knew that, they'd laugh and think it nonsense--the fearsome and wicked Prince N'Jadaka--shy. It was laughable. As the oldest and strongest vampire in his kingdom, he was seen as unshakable. Alas, in all his power he still couldn't bring himself to be near a flimsy human, and now that she was running away trying to find safety he wasn't sure he was willing to stop her. 

His lime green parrots flew overhead, watching over her just as he was. It seemed they recognized her somehow as well. Night turned to day and without a need to sleep, he waited patiently for her to wake, only coming down to divert the venomous snakes and spiders that would slither her way. She woke with a start but he was already back in the trees above when she looked around in a panic. After another mile, he watched the joy in her face as she realized she'd finally reached the big tree, a marker for the pathway from the forest. She still had a long way to go on foot as slow as she was. It took her the day to get to the stream which she crossed so painstakingly, soaking the bottom of her dress and even taking a drink. He forgot she needed to eat and drink, she was probably famished. Still, she kept moving and by the time nightfall returned, she was at the meadow clearing. He was impressed. She nestled down in the open field to stay the night and he hung back in the trees, staying put to keep watch. 

The flowers claimed her in peace and the music of the night came from a chorus of crickets and frogs until a foreign noise caught his attention. He looked out from his position high in the trees to see a few men with guns walking through his forest about a mile out but the girl's direction. They did not know she was there but there was a high chance they'd find her and he could not bear the thought. Every now and then he'd find humans wandering. Some were threats and some were not, but regardless--they were all blood reserves that could not be wasted. These guys were definite threats that he needed to eradicate.

"Hold on," he pleaded silently hoping the girl would not wake and leave before he could return. He had to be quick. At top speed, he jumped from tree to tree and swooped down knocking the men unconscious and carrying them back to his castle in under 20 minutes. They'd be washed and bled for the banquet. He was back in no time at all having missed nothing. 

In the daylight when the girl woke again, she made her way a little more carefully toward the snake pit and he felt nervous watching her tiptoe across a dirt floor of rattlesnakes. He couldn't take it. When she screamed, he swooped down and pulled her out sitting her on safe ground. She seemed more terrified of him than the snakes, stumbling backward and falling in shock. She hadn't known he was following. He took a short walk away from her putting space between himself and her to put her at ease.

"You shouldn't be in these woods alone," he stated watching her step further away. "It's dangerous out here-- for someone like you. Defenseless." He could hear her heart and it was racing. He was still scaring her. He didn't know how not to. "You can't run from me," he told her hoping she would understand. It only seemed to add to her fear and then he noticed that as she backed up, she was walking into a giant web of a poisonous spider. 

"Wait! Stop moving!" He reached out but she went faster running into it and freaking out, screaming as she tried to pull off the sticky web. "Stop moving, let me help you," he said steadily with his hands up. He was able to get near and gently remove the large spindly arachnid from her hair, placing it on a nearby tree. He stayed at a distance from her while she calmed and when she caught her breath, she seemed to be a little more stable, staring at him. His nervousness returned and he stood still.

"Thanks," she muttered, her eye contact even. He straightened, not sure how to respond. He gave a stone-faced nod.

"So," she paused to look him over. "How long have you been here? You were gonna let me go," she accused. 

"No such thing, I'd have stopped you," he lied trying to be convincing. "I planned to kill you when you reached the border, you know the location of my castle." He regretted saying it when the fear resurfaced within her. What was wrong with him? Luckily her fear lasted only seconds. 

"You've had ample time," she combated watching him closely. "I think you're full of shit." 

"Oh? I'm KING in these woods, I can do what I want to who I want. You really dare to test me? Pet?" His approach was smooth as it had always been, her words lighting a fire within him. He walked right up to her until he stood inches away, but she didn't move nor did she flinch and he scoffed--shown up. "Don't test me," he smirked until she continued her path away from him. He knew it well and she was planning to walk directly into bear territory. 

"Wait," he called effectively halting her steps. She came back but only to pull him by the neck of his tunic to follow her. Of course, she wasn't strong enough to move him. It only worked because he chose it. If his subjects could see him now being led through his forest by the delicate fingers of a human woman, he'd be embarrassed but where no one could see--he didn't mind. She felt like home and being near her felt right. 

The walk was good. Peaceful. They didn't talk though he'd wanted to, he didn't know what to say. It took him twenty minutes to decide on the perfect question, ruling out three others. It was the question he wanted answered the most. He waited for what seemed like the perfect moment, she was getting a little tired and needed to stop walking for a bit.

"A week ago," he started watching her sit on the ground in her silk dress. He heard her stomach grumble aggressively and felt bad. "Hold on," he gestured pausing in his escape to look back at her. "Don't move." 

He knew of a fruit grove full of plums and he was there and back in mere minutes, offering her the fruits which she held like gold. He waited until she got one in her system to pose his question. 

"Why were you in the woods?"

The story of her travel from North America to Africa for the sake of dance intrigued him.

"Is that why your feet," he gestured with his eyes not wishing to insult her. She didn't seem to care.

"These are dancer feet, we suffer for beauty," she countered. Of course this came with a sadness stemming from her missing her performance, she was very upset and he understood why. He hadn't known about it until this moment. No one had said anything, too afraid he gathered. 

"I've never seen a ballet," he shared, curiosity bubbling. "I probably never will considering I'm contained to this forest."

"Why is that," she frowned. It was a tough question to answer, not because he didn't know but because of how it affected him. It was part of the blood curse passed from his parents to him, something his father brought on voluntarily without weighing the consequences. He was stuck with said consequences and left on his own, a baby forced to grow himself. The first wanderers he found in the forest, he turned by biting them. He didn't know then what would happen but once they turned they were bound to his side and he was no longer quite so alone though he was still lonely. That was the beginning of his kingdom and his motivation for turning straggling travelers.

"That's why you killed Deanna and Julip, you wanted friends." Her face was full of sympathy and he straightened, not liking the idea of being pathetic in her eyes.

"They're not my friends, they're my subjects. I have no friends."

"Eh, you could," she poked at his arm and he walked away, disappearing from her sight not wanting to appear weak. "Where are you going," she called dryly.

"Away."

"I was just saying if you dropped the holier than thou attitude, you might be a little less bitchy."

"Get your ass back here," she commanded and he turned on his heel incredulous. No one in his life had ever spoke to him an ounce of the way she had. If they had, he'd have tortured them to send a clear message.

"Careful," he warned, but she didn't seem fearful. Any fear she had melted the second she first challenged him. 

Bitchy? He scowled baring his teeth.

"I'll show you bitchy," he whispered lunging at her. She screamed tripping over herself to get away but he noticed that her heart was steady. As he chased her in slow motion compared to his possible speed, she wasn't afraid. She was having fun. She screamed again tossing a plum at him which he caught as she giggled running behind a tree. It was when he broke the branch she was hiding behind like a toothpick that she stopped giggling. 

Passing him she made her easy back to their spot and though he'd gotten a little bit carried away, he couldn't deny that it was the most fun he'd ever had.

"Uhh. Maybe we should just talk some more, yeah?"

He shrugged.

@goddessofthundathighs @thadelightfulone @mszrenee @woahitslucyylu @badgalbrix1 @supersizemeplz @idont-know-shit @ladymac82 @xsweetdellzx

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #black panther killmonger #erik x oc #sanctuary

[ridiculousravenclaw]

The Life of Elara Ware

This is a Harry Potter fanfic. Main character Elara is an original character by moi and is George Weasleys gf they started dating in 5th year. she's half blood hens the mention of muggle technology before anyone asks. And it's set during the GOF. I've never written anything like this before either so be nice.

Chapter 1

Elara couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. She read the note again, unable to hide her relief at the sight of the familiar untidy scrawl. 'Elara its okay we're good. please dont worry. oh and Mom says you can still come. You'll have to share with Ginny and Hermione though. sorry we're a busy house at the moment. but seriously don't worry. None of us got hurt. A bit shaken up but we're fine. Dads been thrown into it at work though sorting it all. I've never seen him look so tired. and mums been really nice to us since we got back. Gotta say I dont know what's more annoying. The way she keeps fussing like we're about to drop dead any minute. I think I preferred her nagging. it wont last long. All it'd take is one glimpse of a joke wand or ton tongue toffee and she'll be back to her normal screaming self. Speaking of which, you wait till I show you what we've done. Think instant. projectile. vomit! genius huh? Anyway I'll see you really soon. Love your favourite red headed knight in shining armour.'

She rolled her eyes. George was many things but a knight in shining armour was pushing it.

Collapsing back onto her bed Elara felt the tension seeping off her shoulders. Ever since the news had broken the previous day about the attack at the quidditch world cup she'd been going out of her mind with worry. No matter how many times she tried she hadn't heard a thing let alone any news on the Weasleys. Until now. She closed her eyes and pushed away the dreadful images that'd been swirling in her mind. Each scenario more terrible than the last. Its okay. They're okay. You'll see them really soon. With that final reassuring thought she sat up and made her way downstairs.

The house was silent, which was to be expected. Her parents were working so she was home alone again. She didn't mind. After all these years she was used to it. Used to the last minute I've got to gos and sorry I'm going to be home lates. They weren't to blame, such was the nature of their jobs. Elara looked around the spacious hallway. The mid afternoon sun shone through the glass door at the end of the hall and lit up the stairwell. Its beams reflecting off the crystals of the chandelier. Her parents had worked hard to pay for all this and they did it all for her. She knew better than to be ungrateful for a few lonely evenings here and there. She glanced across at the clock. 4:30. She was unsure when to expect her mother but Elara knew her dad wouldn't be home anytime soon. She looked at the letter again still clutched tightly in her hands. It was no surprise Mr Weasley had been called in. From what her father had told her the ministry was trying to get every available person in to figure out who was responsible for the disaster at the world cup. As an experienced member of the department of international magical cooperation; Hamlin Ware had been one of the first called on the scene and he hadn't been home since. This told Elara one thing. The ministry of magic didn't have a clue who was behind it or why they attacked.

4:40. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd been stood on the second to last step for 10 whole minutes lost in thought. "get a grip" she muttered to herself under her breathe as she walked towards the kitchen. She was staring at the cupboards trying to decide if she was hungry enough to start cooking dinner when the phone rang.

"Hey honey. how are you doing?" Her mother sounded exhausted on the end of the line.

"yeah I'm good. I've finally heard from George. He's okay. they're all okay."

"well thank heavens for that!" she said. Elara heard her mothers exhale of relief. "yeah I know. He said I'm still okay to stay there for the last few days of the holidays"

"see? we said he'd be alright didn't we? oh and I really don't want to impose on their family, especially after this, but... oh thank the lord for Molly Weasley. Yes. If shes truly okay with that then great. It'd be a massive help. Look I'm sorry my lovely but Adrian's sons not well again. poor lad. hes had to take extended leave to look after him. I mean, why the mother can't look after her own boy now and again is beyond me but, hey, that's none of my business i suppose. And Veronica's being her usual, I'm too important to do any work, self. Oh you should have seen her earlier. 'oh look at me in my brand new Porsche'. its orange! and not a nice orange like a sunset or something. no, like fake tan gone wrong, that's what it looks like. Uh. Anyway. Breathe Mary-Anne. The point is I'm the only other translator in the office that speaks fluent enough Polish for the conference next week. I'm sorry darling that's 2 weeks in London"

Elara could feel her mothers guilt almost radiating through the speaker.

"it's okay mum. really I understand. i dont mind. I'll go to the Weasleys and they can take me to kings cross itll be fine."

"oh my girl what did I do to deserve you?"

"hmm, not sure. but it must've been good. maybe you saved a village from plague in a past life"

Her mother chuckled. Then she grew silent. After a moment she said

"I'm probably going to be late tonight too"

there was no hiding the hint of sadness in her voice.

"I know" Elara said "it's okay. theres some leftovers hiding in this kitchen somewhere and they've got my name on them."

"Larie"

"Mum. stop. it's fine. look I'm going to have some food. have a shower. then have an early night. honestly you're not missing out on much. I'll see you tomorrow. okay?"

"okay. oh Larie I love you. more than anything in this world.

"love you too mum"

"oh and remember to check the doors locked properly and..."

"and check the security systems running. I know mum I've got it"

"you checked your trunk? you're starting your newts this year. Can't be leaving anything important behind."

"yes I've checked it. I've got everything packed dont worry."

Her mother sighed. "okay. see you later."

"bye"

Elara couldn't help but roll her eyes everytime. but still she compulsively checked the front and back door locks and the flashing screen of the home security system. Online. She knew it would be. But from a young age her mum instilled this pattern. "you must be safe Elara." she'd said. "always be safe" The overprotective persistence of her mother used to annoy her as a child. But now Elara found comfort in the metaphorical safety net her mother cast for her. It let her know that she was loved.

Making her way back to the kitchen she pushed the days worries from her mind. It looked like another evening of peaceful me time she thought. and she was going to see George soon. She smiled to herself. She had missed that cheeky grin.

#harry potter #hogwarts #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley #georgeweasleysgf #gryffindor #slytherin #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #goblet of fire #quidditch #quidditch world cup #death eaters #the weasleys

[fanwarriorfictions]

One-

A Stranger Things 2 Fanfic

Chapter Four- Part Three

   When Phina had gotten home from Steve's house, it was 10 o'clock. And her mother had been waiting for her.

   As soon as the door to the garage had closed behind her, Karen's voice rang out, "where have you been?"

   On the way home, Phina had thought of the perfect lie, and she didn't even look at her mother to deliver it, "Lisle's. We have a chemistry project due tomorrow and we lost track of time."

   "No you weren't," Karen snapped, "I called Lisle, she doesn't even have chemistry this semester. How many times have you used that lie, ten, fifteen? Well I'm done letting it slide, where we're you?"

   "Nowhere important," she replied.

   "Look at me Seraphina," Karen snapped again, "do I look like I'm in the mood for this?"

   Phina's head snapped towards her mothers, "and do I look to be in the mood for this!"

   Karen instantly saw the redness to her daughters eyes, the puffiness. Her daughter had been crying, a lot. Karen was in shock, Phina hardly ever cried, ever. The last time she did, was when they thought Will Byers had died.

   "Phina? What happened, are you hurt?" Karen's anger had dissipated as she hurried over to check her daughter for injuries. "Did you crash your bike? What.."

   "I'm fine mom!" Phina pushes her mothers hands off her. "I just want to go to bed."

   The tone of her voice told Karen that she wouldn't get any answers from Phina tonight, but she knew her daughter well, when she was ready, she would.

   "Ok sweety," Karen sighed, "please come get me as soon as you're ready to talk."

   Phina gave her mom a halfhearted smile as she made her way to the stairs. The weight of the day pressed down on her, so heavy that she almost crumbled beneath the pressure. She almost didn't make it to her door.

   Phina pushed open the door and stopped. Like her mother had been waiting for her down stairs, Mike was waiting for her on her bed.

   "Where have you been," he asks, sounding exactly like their mother.

   "What are you doing up? You should be in bed, you have school tomorrow," she says.

   "So do you," he fires back, "you ran away earlier."

   "Yes."

   He gives her a look, "why? Where did you go?"

   Phina sighs, this is a conversation she wanted to avoid more than the one with her mother. She takes off her shoes and her jacket, taking her sweet time before she has to answer. Mike moves over so she can sit down next to him, turning her body to face him. They watch each other in silence, both of them waiting for the other to speak.

   "I was scared," she finally whispers.

   The look Mike gives her is one of confusion, "why?"

   And the one she gives him is sad, "because I saw the way you all looked at me. Because I looked in each one of your eyes and saw fear, of me. Because I saw what I did. I could have hurt you Mike, I could have hurt all of you. I don't know if I could live with myself if I had."

   Mike's shook his head, "you would never hurt me."

   "Not on purpose," Phina argues, "never on purpose. I lost control Mike. Everyday I find my powers becoming more and more unchecked, and I'm terrified."

   "Stop it," Mike chides her, "if you're scared of yourself, how are you supposed to learn to control it. You can't push it away, that'll just make it worse."

   Phina let her head fall, "what if I can't control it?"

   "You will," Mike argues, "because you are my sister and you never give up, ever. You are the most strong willed person I have ever met and you'll find a way, I know it."

   Phina smiles, "glad to know someone believes in me."

   He smiles back, "of course I do. You're my superhero."

   "And you're mine."

-

   "Phina? Have you seen your brother..."

   Karen opened the door to find her two kids fast asleep. Mike was cuddled into Phina's side, her arms wrapped around him. They had fallen asleep last night before either could think of getting Mike to his own room.

   Karen smiled at the two, who looked peaceful in sleep. She walked over to the bed and gently started to shake Phina awake.

   "Time to get up hun," she said warmly.

   Phina's eyes slowly blinked open, taking in the blurry image of her mother, "hmmm."

   "Good morning," Karen chuckled.

   "Mornin'," Phina mumbled, poking her brother's side.

   He grumbled something inaudibly and turned over to the other side of the bed, out of Phina's arms.

   "If I have to wake up, so do you," Phina chuckles.

   "Not necessarily," Mike mumbled.

   Karen smiled at the two of them, "well breakfast is almost ready."

   Mike turned his head slightly, "breakfast?"

-

   "Do you like those grapes Holly," Mike asks.

   Phina and Mike had both gotten ready quickly after their mom had mentioned breakfast. Phina hadn't eaten since yesterday at lunch, so she was starving, and toast with strawberry jam never sounded better.

   Phina was making her toast now, probably a bit more than necessary but, whatever.

   "Hey mom," Nancy said as she stood up, "I was thinking about staying the night at Stacy's tonight? We were gonna have a girls night."

   Nancy came up behind Phina and stole a piece of toast from her.

   "Hey!"

   "Romantic comedies, do our nails, gossip," Nancy carried on with a little smirk at Phina.

   "Make your own Nance," Phina grumbled halfheartedly.

   "Sure! That sounds fun," Karen said, ignoring Phina.

   Nancy sat down in her spot next to Holly, "toast?"

   Phina whirled around, she was giving Holly the toast she stole from Phina, "really?"

   "You made four pieces of toast," Nancy laughs, "you'll live."

   "You don't know that," Phina jokes, "I could die."

   "Sure."

-

   To say Steve Harrington wasn't focused today was an understatement. He'd been known to the school as King Steve, star basketball player, a womanizer. Well, things changed. And the jean everything wearing, mullet having Billy Hargrove was here to ruin his reputation.

   Steve could vaguely hear the coach yelling but, he wasn't focused on that. He was focused on Hargrove, who had been making a fool out of Steve's team.

   Billy laughs as he gets the ball, again, "all right! All right, all right! King Steve! King Steve everyone, I like it, playing tough today."

   Steve was getting annoyed very quickly, "Jesus! Do you ever stop talking man? Come on!"

   Billy lazily dribbles with one hand, laughing again, "what? You afraid the coach is gonna bench ya now that I'm here? Huh?"

   He suddenly moves forward quickly, not giving Steve any time to prepare. Billy shoulder checks Steve as he runs past him to score. Steve grunts and falls backwards, definitely not the first time he'd been knocked down today.

   A hand reached down in front of him, Billy's. Steve warily grabs it, bad idea. Billy pulls Steve halfway up to him.

   "You were moving your feet," he says, "plant them next time, draw a charge."

   Billy pushes Steve back down roughly, walking over him to get back into the game. Steve couldn't tell if the advice was somewhat friendly, or threatening.

-

   Steve let the lukewarm water run over his face, trying to somewhat come off the adrenaline from the game.

   "Don't sweat it Harrington," Billy said from his right.

   Steve's annoyance shot through the roof just at his voice. The prick had been showing him up in every way since he got here.

   "Today's just not your day man," he continued.

    "Yeah. Not your week," Tommy butts in, "you and the princess break up for one day, she's already running off with the freaks brother."

Steve gave Tommy an annoyed look.

"Oh shit, you don't know," Tommy chuckles, "Jonathan and the princess skipped yesterday. Still haven't shown. But that must just be a coincidence, right?"

Tommy smirks, "I'm mean, you don't seem to be to beaten up about it, considering Carol saw the Freak of Hawkins leaving your house last night. Switching Wheelers, huh? Classy."

Tommy laughs loudly, annoyingly, as he leaves the showers. Steve glares at him as he goes, starting to shampoo his hair

"Don't take it to hard man," Billy interjects, "a pretty boy like you gots nothing to worry about. Plenty of bitches in the sea."

Billy slowly turns off Steve's shower, "am I right?"

He claps Steve on the shoulder, turning to leave the showers as well, "that Phina chick? That's a real nice catch right there, sad I didn't make it first."

Steve's anger flares at the comment. He harshly turns the water back on, his hand stingy when it makes contact with the metal nob.

-

Phina walked briskly to her bike after school, wanting to escape the place as quickly as she possibly could. All day she had been hearing little comments about her. She was used to this type of stuff, and had dealt with no shortage of rumors in the past, but this, this was different. People had been making comments about her, and Steve. Someone must have seen her at his house last night, and assumed the worst.

She had also heard little comments about Jon and Nancy, who had not been at school at all today and has apparently skipped yesterday as well. Again, the worst had been assumed. This is why Phina hated this place, because everything you said or did was turned against you.

Phina got to her bike and was out of there in less than five seconds. She flew past people who stared and whispered to each other. The lies that spread between them like wildfire gripped at her, trying to bring her down. She drove to the only place that didn't have the pressure of judgement, where she was happy, the forests.

She went out far, parking her bike behind a few trees so any cars that passed wouldn't see it. Then, she went farther. Walking at least a mile into the trees. With her connection to the forest, she would never get lost, for the trees whispered directions to her.

The stress that plagued her lifted with each step farther.

That is, until she felt it. The sickness that infected the earth around her. It was like she had entered a quarantine zone, the sickness abruptly starting.

Phina turned her confused gaze to the trees, which were turning a strange gray color, some sort of weird liquid seeping from them. She took a step towards the nearest tree, her hand reached out to touch it. It was a gooy substance that made her face scrunch in disgust.

The color, the goo, it was all to familiar. All to like the upside down. It was happening again.

"Shit."

-

   The sun had faded awhile ago, leaving Phina in the dark. She had followed the path of the disease, which lead back towards town, but not quite. She had left the forest and was now in the farm areas outside of Hawkins. An entire patch of pumpkins had been destroyed by this disease.

   She carefully placed her steps as she walked through the field. The rotten pumpkins were full of that goo and she did not want to get that all over her.

   The sound of an engine in the distance simultaneously drew her in and made her aware that she was trespassing. She drew closer to the noise and a sigh of relief shot through her, it was Hopper.

   In front of the car, was a very large hole, which had dirt flying out of it in small increments of time.

   "Hopper," she asks as she gets closer to the hole, seeing him digging.

   He whirls around, "Phina? What the hell are you doing here?"

   "I could ask you the same thing," she pointed out, "what are you doing?"

   He sighs, "investigating."

   "Does it have something to do with why all my trees are dying," she asks, gesturing around.

   "Possibly," he answers, throwing another shovelful of dirt out of the hole.

   "Why are you digging a hole Hop," she asks.

   He sighs, she wasn't gonna leave without the answers she wanted, "because of Will."

   Phina's heart stops, "is he ok?"

   "He's fine, for the most part," Hopper sighs again, this time, more defeated, "whatever happened to you two yesterday has caused him to, act different. He's been drawing non-stop. I've got a theory, and unless you're gonna pick up a shovel and help you can go on home and wait for me to prove it or not."

   Hopper goes to dig again when he sees it, the goo. He shovels out a little bit of it, looking at it with strange curiosity.

   "What the hell?"

   Phina slowly climbs into the hole, to get a closer look. It seemed like there was a thick layer of this stuff, almost like how a portal to the upside down looked like before it opened. Hopper digs at it again, yelling a little bit as if it'd make him stronger. The small hole opens, some dirt falling through it which meant that there was an opening below it.

   Hopper hits it again and again to make the hole bigger. He looks up at Phina who has curiosity written all over her face.

   "Stay here," he says.

   "No chance in hell," she snaps.

   He'd fought her on a subject like this before, he knew he'd lose, "fine. Wait for me to yell before following."

   He sat down on the ground and slowly went through the hole. Phina looked on worriedly, what was down there. Hopper fell all the way through, giving Phina a heart attack before he yelled for her to go down. Phina lowers into the hole, Hopper helping her down. When she hits the ground, he takes out his flash light and they look all around them.

   "Holy shit," Phina whispers.

-2328 words-

Did y'all like that little Steve pov, good way to introduce the rumors about Steve and Phina, which will have a roll later on.

-Morgan

#steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #strangerthingsfanfic #strangerthings #slow burn #one #romance

[alchemisland]

Moors Mutt - Chapter I part II

The tavern's proprietor Lar was a man out of time. With mauling arms folded across a simian chest, those big lugs like trophy handles either side of his substantial forehead, he could have easily passed for a saxon reaver. He stood against a backdrop of coloured glasses, bottles and casks in strange order and shape as decor an alchemist's laboratory. He stirred to life with a scowl, seemingly perturbed by my proposed custom, and when his grim eyes flitted toward the doorframe where I stood they never left me, tracing my gait, measuring my intent by my caution. Unlike the merry keep of fireside tales, he offered no warmth in greeting. That you were found fit to sit his barstool was kindness enough.

Inebriates remained nursing drams, glowering at their respective lecterns. I sat pacified. A loud mind had been quieted briefly. I contended only with the surprising potency of his ale. Lar, though tireless, worked without grace or speed. Machinelike, he filled the chalices of his regulars to the brim, every interaction wordless but for a grunt.

In a rare idle moment I signalled to him. 'This is probably going to sound strange, possibly it is, but hear me out first. Have you ever heard or seen anything strange around here? On the moor perhaps?'

Widened like an owl, Lar's right eye scanned me once, twice, three times before he stirred. 'I have, in fact. Not now. Too crowded. Later.' His lips barely moved, his eyes fixed on a distant point, a picture of practiced subterfuge.

I tipped my nose. 'Mum.' Tantalised and impatient, I was nonetheless pleased as my integration thus far. Lar hadn't time of day to speak of books or art, he was a philistine it seemed, but the mere mention of high strangeness set his eyes burning, every inch of his forearm torqued and tight to the bone.

Nearer closing, he poured a cup and sat, remaining on the business side opposite, across the lay of defaced oak. Wide-shouldered and stacked in flabby layers like a wedding cake, he had the look of an old warrior too worn to die in battle, ballooned and sore, fierce still. He seemed to strain at the weight of his own bulk. How the desires of youth, to be fierce and feared and pleasant to observe, we wear like shackles at the winter wilting.

When at last Lar mounted his stool, a difficult task as he was forced each time to rediscover the centre point of his vast behind to avoid tumbling backward, he leaned in close. 'The beast, you say?' One eyebrow he raised, its shape the arching rod of a hooked line. 'I could tell you more than a tale about the beast.'

'Prithee speak, my curiosity burns. I won't rest until it's satiated. Tourist talk begone, do you believe, as men do God, a beast prowls these lands?' I inched forward, that as if by closer proximity the truths would be made truer.

'Regular Theseus, is that it? Of monster hunters we know much. Lovers of dark arts also. All are served here. Kings and paupers. Did you come all this way to hear me say that?' Lar spoke with great confidence. The particular manner of his prattling compounded my sense that the tales he told were perhaps practiced.

'No.' I replied 'I have business in the cottage. Let me state directly; I am neither quack nor séance holder. I am not of low learning, a prover of falsehoods; rather I am a lover of stories. Pray, continue your captivating narrative.'

Lar continued. 'Let it be said I was coaxed. You asked.'

In this ominous portent he let slip a mask of deft craft. There was artifice in his smile, a cheshire grin that touched either cheekbone. A whispered suggestion of hidden intent.

'Enough pussyfooting. Spill it. I'll need all the advice I can get.' Like a drill tip, I pressed my index finger into the bar.

'No matter what image I conjure in your mind's eye, the beast is yet more ferocious and terrible in the flesh. It's the great unreality of it.' He tapped his forehead. 'Your mind doubts what it's seeing, unable to comprehend its stimulus. Brave men are made mice in its gaze.'

'What evidence have you of such a creature?' I asked, draining my tankard. He looked me over once, as if to ask who I was to question. I returned a withering gaze, maneuvering my features to convey a similar message. For a moment the air felt charged with kinetic possibility. As when two pugilists circle to begin a contest, lead hands pawing.

Lar broke the armistice. 'Evidence? If you didn't think it weren't here, you wouldn't have come. If you believed in your heart you'd be contending with a monster this week, you'd have stayed at home in your jams.'

'Nonsense, man! You forget I am not here of my own volition. Business has portended our introduction. What we speak of is.. Extracurricular.'

'We, each of us, tell ourselves sweet little lies to justify how our limited time is spent. I have a right mind to think if the lady yet lived up in the big house, you and I might still have met. On a yawning stretch such as this, arriving as you have: alone and curious. If there's one thing I can't respect, it's a self-hating believer. Swanning around with all the cynicism of a non-believer, clad in the robes of an adherent, so that when the hobby is proved spurious you can point to your skepticism. You'd be first to the papers tomorrow if scientists verified the beast's existence, how you had journeyed and studied on your own dime to further the science.' Lar pursed his lips, knowing he'd cut me to the quick, vanished was his earlier reticence.

I hated how right he was. I was exactly this sort. Insulting people who believed the same things as me. First to refuse to enter a haunted house for fear a demon might take my soul.

I'd never concede his point though. I riposted, 'Few are more loathed than the opinionated barman. You speak much too readily. Do so again, I'll see your manners are checked for the next weary traveler willing to pay good coin.'

Lar's eyes lit, bulging with imagined riches. 'Let me fill your drink, sir. I meant no offence. We speak freely here. Manners soften. Soon one finds truths cannot be digested unperfumed. Here in the wilds, it's a duty to voice quarrel. Far from crown and court, unaired anger festers.' Lar, as soon I would learn, dispensed his pearls of rural wisdom free of charge.

'Really, man. Every idea can be made ridiculous if extrapolated to that degree. Manners take the edge off. I'm not offended by your candor. I intend to find the creature, if such exists. Have you no doubt about that.' I watched him pull another drink.

The returned tankard was too full to raise without spilling. I bent to the lip and like a pulled plug, drained half in a gulp.

'What evidence is sufficient? Look around you.' Lar held aloft his hands, urging me toward his empty business, still cast in a sickly light from the last flickering sentinels. He pointed toward the empty seats. A single patron remained hidden in the shadows. A local by his boots.

'We did a roaring trade before that bloody woman inherited the place. Once she came, the trade died. When I was a lad, that land was free to roam. No walls. She had them built to spite us. Worse rumours too I have heard, that those walls were built to contain it.'

'It?' I asked

'It.' His voice lowered to a whisper. 'A cage for a pet beyond control. That's your sort all over.'

'Her sort.' I corrected, 'I'm not aristocratic. You're a presumptuous sort, you know.'

'Believe you're not the first to say. Her sort, whatever pleases. I don't subscribe to this particular theory. Me personally, I think it's from hell. One thing's for certain, it got worse when they shifted the stone.'

'You say you have seen it?' Part of me thought I was stringing him along, but another more gullible me firmly believed he had seen something. 'With your own eyes if you saw it, you must swear it. Did you see it as I see you now, or as one sees distant stars and erroneously assumes knowledge.'

'As I stand.' Lar gestured to his stained apron, which he promptly removed and slung on a hook overhead. He nodded to the sole barfly, who stumbled from his seat and shot the bolt across the lock, an angry black mechanism like a bas-relief. 'That's Fergus.'

Fergus lurched over. One leg trailed behind him. I couldn't help imagining him a gothic manservant, dragging corpses to the laboratory in pursuit of higher knowledge. He came to stand beside me. There were giants on the earth in those days. Though our eyes observed the same setpiece, his countenance betrayed little comprehension. With the chiseled jaw of a bust in profile, head-on his mouth, ringed by ever moist lips, was pursed like a fish. He placed one enormous hand at my shoulder. Such space was permitted between his fingers splayed that ten legions abreast might find passage unmolested. His knuckles protruded unnaturally, evidence of labour or something harder than masonry. Mayhaps soldiering.

He never looked at my face. I coughed, first mannerly, then more harshly, thinking to approach cautiously lest my assumption prove provident, that he had lost his sound during foreign campaigns, of whose spoils we all were beneficiaries.

'Don't mind him.' Lar said. He spoke softly in the presence of his friend, observing his movements closely, ready to interject with a steadying hand or a warning to the cruelly curious. I wondered were they brothers. They bore little resemblance, though stranger things I had heard. Lar took Fergus' wrist and pressed gently, disturbing the folds of his motheaten jacket. They shared a moment I could but observe, radiating warmth and glad tidings in a wordless wave.

'I mean not to speak boldly, and lash me with spite if I transgress overmuch, but I must know or I should forever wonder, are you kin?' I asked.

Fergus shared Lar's laugh with a similar look of bemused ignorance.

'Hear that? Fancy man reckons we're brothers. Probly thinks we're all related down this end. Not in a godly way either.' Lar let a viking bellow.

Lar released his grip and the folds of Fergus' sleeve righted. He spoke an octave lower, miming offence at my observance. I poised to explain I had intended no hidden subtext, which Lar waved to indicate all had been taken as delivered.

'We are not brothers. Close friends. Known Fergus here forever.' He gently tapped the giant's hand, slapped on the bar like an enormous muddy bird print. 'Used to be a keen cookie once upon a forever ago. Loved languages, Welsh mostly. Pugilism he loved more. One passion consumed the other. Anything burning intensely inevitably cannibalises itself. Took one knock too many, stole his wits in an instant. A left hook across the bar sent him erstwhile. Twenty five minutes he was on the shores of night, learning the landscape of the dreamworlds, while we fanned his rigid form, wet his brow and whispered familiar names in his ear. When at last he woke a part of him was left forever in that place. I like to think, boyishly perhaps, it awaits him upon leaving this plain of lousy strife, like the belongings awaiting a homeward jailbird. The cloak of a lost lifetime. Not for him. He'll slide right into it, fit like a tailored piece, and all of eternity to speak. Not here though.'

Tears welled in his eyes. I took the reins, 'Think nothing of your emotions, man. We each have them. Doubtless I will shed a tear up in the old witch's place. Another life awaits, that much is sure. Grander than this. I'm sure he makes a fine man. Built like a gladiator. I am sorry to have dredged unpleasantness. I meant only to satisfy a selfish curiosity. Forgive me. Please continue.'

'I will at that.' He cleared his throat.

'It were one cold night three years ago. Fergus was there. We'd been called out on account of strange noises near the workers' cottages. They wouldn't work until the supposed evil was driven away. We came down from the high road proper and there it stood bold in the copse. Like a horse it stood, with clumsy stilts supporting an ursine bulk that swayed as it shambled. It drank shadows to conceal its dread presence. Blackness it took for robes. In walking its front paws propelled its cumbersome form, while the rear set, less lengthy, dredged channels in the dirt. In motion it arched to reveal a belly spun of lighter felt, ashen in the scant moonlight. Bundled it became an orb of shadow, nothingness. Unbeknownst we watched it watching, green eyes like blazing protostars probing for movement. Well it knew to choose this place, with one of only two wells located nearby. In a flash it was gone, satin-shoed away into the night.'

The tale Lar knew was a scorcher paused. He beamed, an actor awaiting applause. I gathered my jaw from the floor, brushed and set it properly.

Each word drew me closer, which Fergus mirrored, until we three sat as witches about the bubbling lip of a cauldron, a coven of pallid specters.

Lar sipped and nodded we join.

I wondered had my hobby in a blink become too dangerous to justify. It was well telling my employers of ghost hunts, but a wild beast - my insurance wouldn't have it! If it turned out some menagerie escapee, what then was it? Quest for wonder or recklesss folly? Weiss, Wellie and Wardun insurance, even in their most obscure policies, don't pay out for fools. That's why I chose them!

As Lar went on, a fresh cigarette painted the air blue in his articulation, 'Each shifting moon we came to that spot. We had taken it upon ourselves to rid the land of danger. Fergus knows a bit about a bit, that's what's left to him, God bless. What he knows is knots. Army training dictates every officer have at least passing knowledge of ten or more useful fastenings. Me? I know about animals.'

'A fierce duo, I'm sure.' I beamed, ensorcelled.

'We inquired about a reward, to which the estate responded agreeably, so we set off with rope overshoulder and the angriest traps the furmen could spare, determined to snare it. We planted snares all about its presumed domain. Nothing came. Not a rat. Not a wisp. Not never again. It's the mystery disturbs me most. I'd die happy knowing.'

In his voice a single note of longing rang and dispelled the subterfuge of his intentions, and twas far from the sinister goldlust I had silently attributed him.

I observed Lar, now powerful and straight. I asked 'Do I sense an unfinished quest?'

'Aye. Not too subtle, mind.' Lar flashed a toothy smile, the sort a condemned man spits at his executioner. 'You seem a serious man. I didn't know when you first came in parading your manners like fancy knickers. You can't be too sure about a man who gives too many pleases. You're not that sort and have proved such twice over.' Lar imagined that was a compliment from the look he gave. Expectant almost, between child submitting scribbles for display and cat batting dead mouse onto pillow.

Well, of course I had something to say. Cats were hissing. A donnybrook of claws and torn fur not even a hearty stock of iodine could salve. 'And I might say also that I too had cast aspersions on your character, maintaining you were of sinister country stock. As you claim to have been rapturously convinced otherwise, as have I.'

'Once the lady's estate is divided and bequeathed I'll receive my own. I mean to inherit a substantial bursar. I will pay to you a fair sum. In exchange, you will guide me to the hotpots. When we find it, you're in charge until it's bound.' If he came, it would be on my terms.

'Find it? Slow down. We've seen it once in a hundred times. I'll take you gladly all the same.' Lar agreed, quite fairly.

Wordless, we shook and drained our horns.

'Tomorrow?' Lar asked. He drew my gaze to an unopened bottle of whiskey, which I declined.

'Not so, good man. Tomorrow I will tend my affairs. In the evening, if all is ordered, I will return to discuss further a plan of action. Have you a room I might rent?' I yawned, suddenly quite exhausted.

'Not for everyone so don't go saying. There's one in the back. I'll light the fire.' Lar's manners had briefly returned at the notion of payment.

'Please do.'

I left a generous tip. A productive evening assuredly. Before following the publican to his warm hollow, I shook Fergus' hand, assuming he too would be part of our fortean friendship.

While I slumbered the nightmare broke free her paddock and thundered across the veil of my somnambulant phantasmagoria, its clanging hooves rang shrill terror.

I saw spined creatures oozing pus, many-eyed. Edgeless orbs hissing like flying snakes from one black abyss to another.

Cats with human faces screamed. A hairless man with a tail curled upwards like a scorpions pike disemboweled himself with a broken mirror.

Last came the bestial form, not unlike that which Lar had described, striding evilly. Two venom coated fangs, uncontained by its snarling mouth, curved inward toward its breast. Catlike claws glinted menacingly. Turning my third eye downwards as if to look upon my feet, I found myself formless, yet the beast circled knowingly around the space my corporeal form should occupy.

I knew instinctively this reverie was more tangible than the other eerie visitations, and that if the beast should strike I would die or wake screaming with a crimson pool spreading below. It sniffed the air, pawing closer.

I woke to my beastless chamber. Sodden, I sought a candle and in its gloam chronicled my nightmare. That night sleep ne'er returned, making groggy my morning plod toward Cairn Cottage.

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