#Crafting Incantations (ic)
Text
Perform.
> Madison Rook paces on the beach, leaving parallel lines of bare footprints in the sand alongside the edges of the surf's reach, as their gathered audience comes down to the water from the beach house and settles in. They're not *nervous*, of course, just buzzing with anticipation, it's been, for them, after that simulation, a long time since they've shown off to friends, and a long time since they've had friends to show off to. Calling on the power of the endless body of water in front of them is a rush to the tiefling in the first place, but they always love an audience.
Adjusting their cloak, reaching back past their large, curving horns to fix their ponytail, Rook makes sure they look the part before a tattooed hand disappears under their cloak, drawing out their long, spiraling silver wand with a small blue sphere on the hilt. They fiddle with the beads tied to the silk strip wrapped around the handle while their finned tail swishes behind them the others finish chatting, taking a final moment to go over their plan in their head again; they have to do this perfectly, to get a good grade in impressing their friends, which is normal to want and possible to achieve.
After a dramatic pause once attention is on them, Madison Rook holds out their wand stiffly in front of them, and with only a thought it expands into a similarly designed staff, intricate silver and violet engravings in the grip and a spherical sea-blue crystal set at the top. This version of their casting focus intensifies their magic; they'll need the precision of its handheld form a little later.
Twisting the base of the staff in the sand, Rook mutters their first incantation, free hand performing a quick and highly practiced movement. A point in the waves several feet out from the group indents, rippling outward in rings and causing the waves in an area to slow and smooth down into a wide, tranquil circle interrupting the tides.
The end of the staff is swirled in the sand, a similar spiral growing in speed in the center of the space. They lift the sphere towards the space and raise it up, drawing with it the vortex, pulled up in its spiral from the water to form a thickening waterspout that rises over their collective heads, another muttered spell causing it to intensify, spread in odd directions and stretch in shape as the direction of its flow defies physics in favor of the caster's practiced command. When the water's violence reaches its peak, it slows for barely a moment, then bursts outward and down in a heavy fall of seawater. From where the water had been forcibly flowing, when released from its structural hold, it spreads into a set of spread wings, a towering horned head, and a spray of mist at the group from its stage out in the water.
Long before this visual is even completely formed Rook is casting another spell, moving their staff in a broad stroke up the deluge of a dragon, which stills before the droplets can fall. The staff shifts into a wand mid-motion and the tiefling's purple hands twitch in intricate and intentional manipulation of the energy here, the tip of their wand drawn through the air like a paintbrush in each direction that the water reaches to freeze the entire artistic shape on its sturdy stand of spiraled ice. They look to their audience with their hands on their hips, smirking proudly.
“But there's more, naturally.”
Their staff, once more, waves over the sculpture, which is suddenly smothered by the darkest black there could be. Wings of shadow still spread, the points of darkness where its eyes would be glow red for a few seconds, before the entire dragon disappears, base and all, leaving a smooth circle of water again.
”Now that's out of the way for now, I've got something else cool.“
Another cast, and a large white sphere of cold energy, shedding mist onto the water, appears in the air over the circle. Wand in their grip, one hand gestures patterns that are drawn through the water like their hand passed through it physically, while the wand points to the sphere and draws from it a beam of freezing cold to trace right behind the movement of the water, capturing lines and shapes that float still on the surface, almost like a laser printer of instantaneous ice. It's fascinating to watch, but when it seems finished, Rook still has more.
”This obviously isn't a great angle to see what I made, so-” The circle of water rises up from the back into a towering wave, the ice still positioned carefully along its face into a detailed recreation of the back of a Duel Monster's card, rendered in shapes of frozen seawater.
“I can make tons of beautiful stuff but you guys will really enjoy this next experience, it's 1 of my favorites.” The wave collapses, the ice floating adrift, and as Rook gestures everyone forward, the surf retreats in a path out into the sea, parting before them and their staff as the heavy-clad but barefoot tiefling leads the group out through the water without touching a drop. “You don't have to get wet yet, but you have to see this before people start doing other stuff and miss out.”
Soon they're fully under the water, a large dome above and around the group holding back the sea like a solid pane of glass over a ring of dry sand, though the unseen ocean is right there to reach into if so desired. It's a great view, and surprisingly comfortable, Rook seems to have no issue maintaining the dome until people want to head back to shore.
When they reach the shore, the frozen droplet dragon will be waiting for them on the shore, now proper black ice with glowing red eyes. They can never show off too much for Mokuba specifically. The sorcerer will gladly teleport him up onto its head, and make a fun little ice slide to help him get safely back down.
The statue will be either melted or shadowed back away, and once it's gone Rook will act for a moment like that's the last of it, before starting to step backwards into the water proper. They grow gills and webbed fingers, but before either properly take shape they're already a humanoid shape of darkened water melting into the sea. The still water starts to churn and arcs of liquid start to jump from the surface like living things, some sinking back in and rising in strangely shaped waves, some never splashing down, instead spiraling like threads through the air, around each other, woven through by more fast-moving water in some recognizable shapes and some abstract. It's an extremely precise display Rook can only pull off by being a large part of it, knowing exactly where every drop is at all time while they control the sea with both their magic and their body. It's also definitely overkill, but they have no reason to *not* to show it off.
When that show's over they rise back out of the water and take shape, makeup just as perfect as beforehand. With 1 last wave of their staff, a shining silver dragon, this version more real and properly moving, rises from the water behind them, looks over the group, and brings its tail around to slam down on the water in front of it. A massive splash threatens to soak the group but with a breath of frozen energy from the dragon and a flash of the crystal sphere it shimmers and disperses into softly drifting snow, powdering over them in the middle of August. The conjured dragon makes direct eye contact with Seto Kaiba and snorts cold steam glittering with magic, before bowing regally alongside Madison Rook, as they end their show of power and precision; for Kaiba's sake, instead of vanishing as a conjure would, the dismisses it. To retain the wonder. They're quite satisfied with the impression their magic must have made, and their pride spreads a broad grin on their face, and violet sparks around their finally still hands before the video ends. They're finally done showing off.
#Crafting Incantations (ic)#action#viewed ic#capucapo#blueeyesking#millenniumdueled#redeyesandchilifries
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Technically Untitled - Almost got burned at the stake for this one lads
Idk a very short written thing I made a while ago about Robotnik becoming a vampire
Or something like one anyway
Since everyone is posting about their monster AU's around here aidnakxnskxj
It was a dark and stormy night, perfect for dramatics, dark magic, and mad science... Even if the "storm" was actually heavy snowfall in the form of a blizzard. Ivo Robotnik delved deep into his own writings, his notes scattered across a table as he took his own advice from each paper. As delicate as this process was, he was frantically scrambling to get it right this time, as it would be his last chance. The power to unlimited life came with human sacrifice, he knew that early on in his work, so with his failed attempts so far? The nearby village had finally figured out what was going on despite how much of a recluse he was in the woods. He knew they would be here by morning, so this was his last chance to get this right before he was most certainly taken and executed.
His human sacrifice was currently tied up, wrapped round-and-round in rope to keep them as still as possible. Alive of course, but unconscious by virtue of getting hit really hard on the head.
From tales of magic to science he's tested to be rooted in fact; he finally found that he compiled the key to eternal life. At least, a form of it anyhow. There was no way of truly knowing if this method was the most effective, but he figured that if it worked, it didn't really matter as long as he wasn't making any demonic deals. As easy as making a deal with some otherworldly being might be, there was no way he'd let himself be overshadowed by or even as much as connected to someone more powerful than him, nor would he allow himself to be put in a debt so deep.
This reasoning of his meant that it required him to do a little extra work, crafting his own demonic sigils rather than using ancient ones, so that he could make his own life rather than summoning an existing demon. Not to mention his dabbling into the science of lightning and its electric properties was something that most people this day and age thought was just things to do with deities of sorts, but he knew better. Variations of demons and maybe even angels might exist - along with other "supernatural" entities such as spirits, fairies, or werewolves - but gods, at least of the "all-powerful" kind, were nonexistent. No, this electricity from the sky was the work of natural forces that could be tapped into by less natural means. It just took skill and know-how, both of which Robotnik had acquired.
He took his various items outside into the blizzard, setting up a large circle in the snow of a cleared out area from the forest, his sacrifice in the middle. It pained him inside a bit to be letting his notes get wet from melting ice, but if this worked, he'd have plenty of time to rewrite them anyway. He followed his own instructions, drawing his symbols in the snow, cutting deep enough down to trace them into the icy mud below. Lightning struck a tree not too far off in the forest as he was doing this, almost as if it was a warning, but he ignored it and kept his concentration, mumbling an incantation that was honestly just him repeating a general idea of what he wants to happen. A form of manifestation, if you will.
Once he's got his magic items carved and laid out, he brings his human sacrifice out and in the circle. Then, he looks up to the sky, and counts between lightning strikes. This is the part he's yet to ever get to… And may or may not be the end of him here. So, admittedly, even through his intelligence and certainty that this was going to work, he was still just a tad nervous.
1… 2… 3… 4…
1… 2… 3… 4…
1… 2… 3… 4…
1… 2… 3… 4…
With each set of numbers, he drank from a new vial, each tasting more bitter or rancid than the last. It was like a waltz, counting the time between crashes of thunder and flashes of light until the electrical storm was dancing around his very circle, making it impossible to hear his own chanting even as he raised his voice louder and louder for nature itself to shy away from. The air was full of static, hot like fire despite the torrents of frozen rain that continued to pound down harder on the two forces of life on the ground. Robotnik raised his dagger high as sweat poured from his brow, melting into the clean snow on his face and running down into the earth, and he soon plunged the blade down dramatically into the chest in front of him. The sacrifice's waking scream from the burst of pain wasn't heard by anyone, not even Robotnik himself as the desire for immortality burned in his eyes while he watched the life drain from the only other pair around.
He pulled the dagger back out, and before he could hesitate or second guess himself, ran the side of the blade along his tongue before the air could freeze the blood or make his mouth stick to the metal. Then he plunged the dagger into the ground and raised his arms to the sky, calling out one last incantation to the clouds above.
That's when the first lightning strike hit the inside of the circle, hitting him directly. The pain was indescribable, like he should have been ripped apart from the very impact, but entirely energizing at the same time. The burn was searing just afterward, as if he had been in a fire for hours in the span of a second.
A second strike, hotter than the last, and Robotnik felt his body convulse as he fell backwards into the snow. He couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't hear, could hardly feel.
A third strike, and he knew no longer. Nothing but electricity and heat as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Into death.
~~~
Everything was too much. Way too much.
Robotnik was already trying to pull himself off the ground, but the snow piled on top of him was oddly sticky. The wind was too loud. Smells too strong. Everything was heavy. He couldn't have possibly been out for long, it was still dark out. However, he may have woken up just in time: The torches and lanterns were already sputtering in the distance. He had to try his best to block out as much as possible. No matter how weak he felt, how overwhelming it all was. He had woken up from a short visit from Death themself, and he was already on the run. He could hardly lift them, but his pure determination got him to pick up what was left of his notes after being in the pounding blizzard so that he could stumble his way back to his house. He needed to hurry, but he needed to change, as he wasn't getting anywhere far like this.
He slammed and barred the door behind himself, and had to continue pushing forward to refrain from just sliding down the wall.
He didn't even realize he wasn't breathing. Wasn't blinking. Wasn't shivering despite the cold, but his hands trembled as he shoved as much of his life's work as he could into a bag. That's all he cared about. No other possessions mattered other than that of his notes. He could hear the mob approaching as he shed his outer layers of heavy clothing, only having enough time to throw on a dry coat before banging sounded at his front door.
A lantern crashed through his window as he lifted his bag over his shoulder, and when the oil spilled it didn't take long for the old, wooden floors to catch fire, along with all the other flammable objects that were nearby. He went to escape out the back door, but it was blocked. They had trapped him inside.
At least, they thought they did, but Robotnik wasn't about to let that stand. He sidestepped what he could around the fire to make sure it didn't catch onto him as he made his way to a ladder, climbing up it and to the roof above in order to escape. It was hard to open with all the snow, but he managed to climb out and look around. His little house here is mildly surrounded, in a sense that if he hits the right spot, he could probably book it. So, that's what he aims for - knowing they'll gather too close if he waits too long - and hopes the snow is deep enough to break his fall somewhat as he jumps from the quickly burning building.
He hits the ground harder than anticipated, pain shooting up his legs, and thus he collapses then and there with all the rest of the pain he has going on. He shakily tries to stand, but before he knows it he's being lifted off the ground and slammed into the wall, the heat from the fire inside burning at his back. He grits his teeth as the man who lifted him up shines a lantern near his face, illuminating both of their angry faces. Though the anger on the man's face changes swiftly to one of disbelief, even mild fear.
"Глаза демона!"
The eyes of a demon.
While the man was distracted, Robotnik took the opportunity to reel back and send a punch as hard as he could muster, which - surprising even himself, with how weak with pain he's been feeling - manages to knock him reeling, dropping Robotnik in the process.
That's when he could smell it.
Another look up from both parties, and that's all it took. The sight of fresh blood pouring from the man's nose, less than a meter away.
Everything else seemed to go hazy, time felt slower. All he could think about was the warm, red flow of life.
Something he no longer had for himself.
Everything went out of focus. Everything, including what was right in front of him.
When he came to, the mob was gone. The snow was red. He was covered in red.
Robotnik felt temporarily satisfied.
#jimbotnik#robotnik#dr. robotnik#this is so very out of place from like#the original source material#so I'm only gonna tag him specifically sjdnsjx#vampire au#vampire#death tw#it's very brief though#as much as I would love to tag this as Stob otnik I don't think it counts because S tone isn't even here lol#but they'll meet. eventually. like hundreds of years eventually.#i am putting way too many tags on this thing sjdnsjd#also forgive the formatting this was all typed on my phone
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My Horror List
-Here is a list of my finished horror movies. The first portion is in an unknown order, and the second portion is when I started documenting the order-
1408 (2007)
#Alive (2020)
•REC (2007)
13 Ghosts (2001)
28 Days Later… (2002)
30 Days of Night (2007)
A Classic Horror Story (2021)
A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)
A Quiet Place (2018)
Anaconda (1997)
Annabelle (2014)
Army of the Dead (2021)
As Above, So Below (2014)
Banana Splits Movie (2019)
Before I Awake (2016)
Bird Box (2018)
Black Sheep (2006)
Blood Red Sky (2021)
Brainscan (1994)
Butchers (2020)
Cadaver (2020)
Cargo (2017)
Carrie (1976)
Carrie (2013)
Child’s Play (1988)
Child’s Play (2019)
Children of the Corn (1984)
Christine (1983)
Color Out of Space (2019)
Cube (1997)
Dave Made a Maze (2017)
Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Dawn of the Dead (2004)
Day of the Dead (2008)
Death of Me (2020)
Devil (2010)
Doctor Sleep (2019)
Don’t Breathe (2016)
Eli (2019)
Escape Room (2019)
Escape Room: Tournament of Champions (2021)
Evil Ed (1995)
Fear Street: Part 1 - 1994 (2021)
Fear Street: Part 2 - 1978 (2021)
Fear Street: Part 3 - 1666 (2021)
Final Destination (2000)
Final Destination 2 (2003)
Final Destination 3 (2006)
The Final Destination (2009)
Final Destination 5 (2011)
Friday the 13th (2009)
From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)
Get Out (2017)
Grave Encounters (2011)
Grave Encounters 2 (2012)
Graveyard Shift (1990)
Gremlins (1984)
Halloween (1978)
Hellraiser (1987)
Hereditary (2018)
His House (2020)
Hostel (2005)
Housebound (2014)
Hush (2016)
Idle Hands (1999)
In the Tall Grass (2019)
Incantation (2022)
Insidious (2010)
Interview with the Vampire (1994)
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)
IT (2017)
IT: Chapter Two (2019)
Jaws (1975)
Jigsaw (2017)
Krampus (2015)
Lake Placid (1999)
Leatherface (2017)
Legion (2010)
Life (2017)
Lights Out (2016)
Little Evil (2017)
Ma (2019)
Mama (2013)
Maximum Overdrive (1986)
Midsommar (2019)
Monster House (2006)
My Bloody Valentine (1981)
No Escape Room (2018)
Nope (2022)
Oculus (2013)
Paranormal Activity (2007)
Peninsula (2020)
Pet Sematary (1989)
Pet Sematary (2019)
Poltergeist (1982)
Psycho (1960)
Purge (2013)
Purge II (2014)
Purge III (2016)
Purge IV (2018)
Purge V (2021)
Ready or Not (2019)
Saw (2004)
Saw II (2005)
Saw III (2006)
Saw IV (2007)
Saw V (2008)
Saw VI (2009)
Saw VII (2010)
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (2019)
Scream (1996)
Scream 2 (1997)
Shaun of the Dead (2004)
Silver Bullet (1985)
Sinister (2012)
Society (1989)
Spiral (2019)
Spiral: From the Book of Saw (2021)
Splice (2009)
Summer of Fear (1978)
Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989)
Texas Chainsaw (2013)
Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022)
The Babadook (2014)
The Blair Witch Project (1999)
The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
The Conjuring (2013)
The Craft (1996)
The Crazies (2010)
The Darkness (2016)
The Descent (2005)
The Empty Man (2020)
The Endless (2017)
The Escape Room (2018)
The Evil Dead (1981)
The Final Girls (2015)
The Forest (2016)
The Hills Have Eyes (1977)
The Ice Cream Truck (2017)
The Lazarus Effect (2015)
The Lost Boys (1987)
The Mist (2007)
The Nun (2018)
The Platform (2019)
The Possession (2012)
The Resort (2021)
The Ring (2002)
The Ritual (2018)
The Ruins (2008)
The Shining (1980)
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
The Sixth Sense (1999)
The Strangers (2008)
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)
The Thing (1982)
The Void (2016)
The Woman in Black (2012)
There’s Someone Inside Your House (2021)
Train to Busan (2016)
Tremors (1990)
Truth or Dare (2018)
Tucker & Dale vs. Evil (2010)
Tusk (2014)
Unfriended (2014)
Us (2019)
Uzumaki (2000)
Vivarium (2019)
Warm Bodies (2013)
What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Willy’s Wonderland (2021)
Winchester (2018)
Wish Upon (2017)
Would You Rather? (2012)
Zombieland (2009)
Zombieland: Double Tap (2019)
Dated Movies
-From this point on I have the date and order I watched these movies, everything above I watched before everything below-
Drag Me to Hell (2009) - October 4th 2022, #176
The Privilege (2022) - October 12th 2022, #177
Halloween Ends (2022) - October 15th 2022, #178
The Witches of Eastwick (1987) - October 24th 2022, #179
The Perfection (2019) - October 25th 2022, #180
Barbarian (2021) - October 25th 2022, #181
The Faculty (1998) - October 30th 2022, #182
The Exorcist (1973) - October 31th 2022, #183
Smile (2022) - November 27th 2022, #184
The Menu (2022) - January 8th 2023, #185
Ghostwatch (1992) - January 28th 2023, #186
Skinamarink (2023) - February 2nd 2023, #187
The Collection (2012) - February 4th 2023, #188
The Innocents (2021) - February 7th 2023, #189
Deadstream (2022) - February 7th 2023, #190
The Dark and the Wicked (2020) - February 7th 2023, #191
Kolobos (1999) - February 8th 2023, #192
Scare Package (2019) - February 9th 2023, #193
Re-Animator (1985) - February 10th 2023, #194
The Boy (2016) - February 15th 2023, #197
The Invitation (2022) - February 18th 2023, #198
Grizzly (1976) - February 18th 2023, #199
C.O.R.N.: Field of Screams (2021) - March 2nd 2023, #200
Slumber Party Masscare II (1987) - March 2nd 2023, #201
The Slumber Party Massacre (1982) - March 3rd 2023, #202
The Silence (2019) - March 5th 2023, #203
Once Upon a Time at Christmas (2017) - March 5th 2023, #204
Evil Toons (1991) - March 15th 2023, #205
Sleepaway Camp (1983) - March 15th 2023, #206
Prom Night (1980) - March 15th 2023, #207
Cooties (2014) - March 19th 2023, #208
House (1985) - March 20th 2023, #209
House of Wax (2005) - March 25th 2023, #210
Prom Night (2008) - March 25th 2023, #211
Werewolf in a Girl's Dormitory (1961) - March 31st 2023, #212
Wolf Creek (2005) - April 2nd 2023, #213
Body Melt (1993) - April 2nd 2023, #214
Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022) - April 5th 2023, #215
Death Becomes Her (1992) - April 18th 2023, #216
Stigmata (1999) - April 19th 2023, #217
Dead Silence (2007) - April 19th 2023, #218
Elevator (2012) - April 20th 2023, #219
Bad Hair (2020) - April 22nd 2023, #220
We Need to Do Something (2021) - 25th 2023, #221
Good Boy (2020) - April 25th 2023, #222
Pilgrim (2019) - April 27th 2023, #223
Piggy (2022) - April 28th 2023, #224
They Come Knocking (2019) - April 28th 2023, #225
Death Spa (1989) - April 30th 2023, #226
The Naked Witch (1961) - April 30th 2023, #227
I'm Just Fucking With You (2019) - May 2nd 2023, #228
Critters (1986) - May 3rd 2023, #229
Chopping Mall (1986) - May 5th 2023, #230
The Farm (2018) - May 12th 2023, #231
Motel Hell (1980) - May 12th 2023, #232
Jeepers Creepers (2001) - May 14th 2023, #233
Mother's Day (1980) - May 15th 2023, #234
Slaxx (2020) - May 15th 2023, #235
Slaughterhouse (1987) - May 16th 2023, #236
One Missed Call (2008) - May 19th 2023, #237
Mayhem (2017) - May 19th 2023, #238
Boar (2017) - May 19th 2023, #239
Pieces (1983) - May 22nd 2023, #240
Pandamonium (2020) - May 24th 2023, #241
All Cheerleaders Die (2014) - May 27th 2023, #242
Waxwork (1985) - May 28th 2023, #243
They Look Like People (2015) - May 28th 2023, #244
Class of Nuke'em High (1986) - May 28th 2023, #245
Fear PHarm (2020) - May 29th 2023, #246
The Stuff (1985) - June 1st 2023, #247
Planet Terror (2007) - June 2nd 2023, #248
Fear PHarm 2 (2021) - June 5th 2023, #249
Mom and Dad (2018) - June 8th 2023, #250
Renfield (2023) - June 11th 2023, #251
After Dark: The Task (2011) - June 12th 2023, #252
Terrifier (2016) - June 19th 2023, #253
It Follows (2015) - June 20th 2023, #254
Choose Or Die (2022) - June 20th 2023, #255
31 (2016) - June 21st 2023, #256
The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016) - June 22nd 2023, #257
Apollo 18 (2011) - June 22nd 2023, #258
Triangle (2009) - June 23rd 2023, #259
Sorority House Massacre (1986) - June 23rd 2023, #260
Braid (2018) - June 24th 2023, #261
Await Further Instructions (2018) - June 26th 2023, #262
Ghost Ship (2002) - July 9th 2023, #263
Annihilation (2018) - July 11th 2023, #264
Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made (2018) - July 13th 2023, #265
Scare BNB (2019) - July 19th 2023, #266
Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers (1988) - July 20th 2023, #267
Sleepaway Camp III: Teenage Wasteland (1989) - July 20th 2023, #268
The Bunnyman Massacre (2014) - July 26th 2023, #269
House (1977) - July 26th 2023, #270
Night of the Comet (1983) - August 3rd 2023, #271
Phantasm (1979) - August 8th 2023, #272
Evil Dead 2 (1987) - August 8th 2023, #273
Battle Royale (2000) - August 8th 2023, #274
Trucks (1998) - August 8th 2023, #275
247F (2011) - August 15th 2023, #276
2001 Maniacs (2005) - August 15th 2023, #277
The Video Dead (1987) - August 17th 2023, #278
Human Resources (2021) - August 17th 2023, #279
Parents (1989) - August 18th 2023, #280
Urban Legend (1998) - September 8th 2023, #281
You’re Next (2011) - November 21st 2023, #282
Frogs (1972) - November 21st 2023, #283
Jennifer’s Body (2009) - January 8th 2024, #284
The Hunt (2020) - January 8th 2024, #285
The Amusement Park (1975) - January 21st 202;, #286
Diary of the Dead (2007) - February 2nd 2024, #287
Corporate Animals (2019) - February 7th, 2024, #288
The Vampire Bat (1933) - February 7th 2024, #289
Blades (1989) - February 7th 2024, #290
Martyrs (2008) - February 7th 2024, #291
Game of Death (2017) - February 14th 2024, #292
Night Swim (2024) - February 16th 2024, #293
976-EVIL (1988) - February 18th 2024, #294
Microwave Massacre (1979) - February 18th 2024, #295
Street Trash (1987) - February 20th 2024, #296
Escape the Field (2022) - February 21st 2024, #297
Auntie Lee’s Meat Pies (1992) - March 3rd 2024, #298
Return to Horror High (1987) - March 23rd 2024, #299
The Beach House (2019) - April 14th 2024, #300
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Unalloyed Part 3
So this chapter is going to be a bit quieter. Still a few mentions of canon-typical violence.
Thank you to everyone who's engaged with this, I can't tell you how happy I am that people are actually reading this! Part four incoming.
Unalloyed Gold Needle
An intricately crafted needle of unalloyed gold. Once snapped in half, it has been repaired by Sage Gowry.
A ritual implement crafted to ward away the meddling of outer gods, it is thought capable of forestalling the incurable rotting sickness.
Millicent staggered, kept moving, one foot, then the next. The horizon warped, curdling like her afflicted blood. Don’t stop, get to the church.
She’d almost killed someone.
She remembered bursting from the swamp, raining down blows upon the knight’s shield, then ice-cold pain. Her severed arm splashing into the fetid water. The sudden gasp of clarity as the worst of the rot was cut away in one clean blow.
It was trying to overtake her again, a sickening red haze drowning her consciousness. Get to the church. She wouldn’t hurt anyone there.
The kindred made no move to stop her. Clutching the side where her arm used to be, she collapsed in the corner. Her blood writhed in her veins, all-consuming agony. Soon the rot-madness would overtake her again, and she would stalk the swamp like a murderous beast.
Someone was standing over her. The knight from the swamp, greatsword propped on her shoulder.
Millicent forced her words out with a leaden tongue. “Please, leave. The Rot will take you too.”
Through a dark haze, she watched the knight take a cautious step closer. “You must be Millicent.” She sounded drily unamused, too calm for the danger she was in. “I was led to believe that you were on your deathbed.”
Millicent slumped, too exhausted to hold her head up. Steel boots shuffled closer.
“Still, I did take your arm. I suppose I can’t leave you like this.”
Gloved hands moved her cloak aside, held a wad of material to her ruined shoulder and tied it off. Something pressed against her lips -- the mouth of a canteen. The water was lukewarm, but clean, the best thing she could remember tasting. The canteen withdrew, replaced by something hard and chalky that tasted of blood.
“No, don’t spit it out. Chew. Trust me, it helps.”
She swallowed, forcing the pieces down her raw throat. “Medicine’s no good,” she rasped. “The Rot’s too deep.”
The knight placed three more of the boluses in her open palm. “They might at least ease the pain.” She stood, dusting her hands off. “Wait here. I’ll see about that needle.”
The medicine helped, if only a little. It numbed the pain just enough to let her slip towards unconsciousness.
“You might as well have this back.” A curved sword clattered to the ground at her side. Millicent looked up at the knight, uncomprehending. “Trust me, it’s yours. You left it halfway through my bloody shield.”
***
Miquella drew upon the last reserves of his strength and whispered a third healing incantation. The edges of the cut across the girl’s collarbone glowed gold, but refused to close.
Mohg still lay where he’d fallen, Millicent’s blade embedded between unseeing red eyes. Miquella wished he could cross the short distance to close the omen’s eyes, but he couldn’t even stand. Utterly spent, he resigned himself to endure Mohg’s accusing death stare.
When he emerged from the cocoon, he’d been weak from the ordeal of forced growth, shaken by near two hundred years of nightmares. Using his father’s holy incantation had sapped his meager reserves.
Millicent stirred, face contorting as she slept. Rot-induced nightmares or the pain of her wounds, he couldn’t tell. He’d managed two healing incantations before he gave out completely, just enough to heal the dozen or so small fractures in her ribs and spine. Bloodflame burns still wrapped her left arm from neck to fingertips.
Those weren’t fatal wounds. She ought to wake up. She should have awoken already.
He moved on to her prosthetic, less out of necessity and more out of a desperate need to find something he could fix. Carefully, he traced the dented shoulder-plate. Any suspicion of forgery evaporated -- the arm was of unalloyed gold.
That didn’t mean anything, of course. He’d crafted dozens of spares for his sister, and she’d long since outgrown this one. It was entirely plausible that one of Malenia’s prosthetics would be lost and eventually fall into the hands of a wandering swordswoman.
It was the resemblance that convinced him, more than the prosthetic, more than the Waterfowl Dance, more than her affliction or the red hair of Radagon’s lineage. She looked so much like a younger Malenia, leaner and sharper in a way that suggested a childhood cut short, but still undeniably the same face. Whether she was his niece, as Mohg had assumed, or some other relation, the girl was certainly family.
He might have laughed, had the pain not been so unbearable. After centuries of study and experimentation, his curse had been broken. The power to protect those dearest to him should have finally been within reach.
And yet the Haligtree had been left to wither and Malenia was surely dead. What sort of savior was he, when he could only watch as the mere child who had come to rescue him was burned and broken?
Millicent groaned, eyes darting under tightly shut lids. Malenia used to have horrible nightmares when the Rot flared. Instinctively, he rested his hand on her brow.
Her eyes flickered open, then widened in alarm. The metal arm brushed his hand aside. “Don’t!”
“Forgive me.” Miquella carefully lowered his hands to his sides, leaning back so as not to crowd her. “I know this new form is a bit unsettling, but I don’t mean you any harm.”
“No, that’s not...” Her face contorted again, a hand coming up to touch the scarring on her right cheek. “You might catch the Rot,” she whispered. “It’s quieted for now, but if it ever reawakens...”
Miquella smiled sadly, the ache of familiarity weighing on his heart. “I promise, I’m quite safe. You’re wearing unalloyed gold. And even if you weren’t, I know more than a few incantations for the purging of Rot.”
She remained as she was, both arms drawn in close.
“Thank you,” he ventured. “I believe that it was you who woke me.”
Even in the depths of his dream, he’d felt the familiar tug on his soul, a reminder of those that he would return to. Awakening to find Mohg waiting for him instead of Malenia had been the most bitter of disappointments.
“Are you really my sister’s child?” Something flickered across her countenance, an emotion he couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry, but the resemblance really is uncanny.”
“It’s alright. I don’t know myself.” Millicent hesitated, fidgeting with her shredded sleeve. “I’m part of Malenia, somehow. But I don’t know whether to call myself her daughter, a sister, or an offshoot.”
“Whatever the case, I would consider you family.” He stood and offered his niece -- he could not think of her as anything else -- a hand up. “Will you return to the Haligtree with me? Perhaps there is still hope, however slim.”
Gingerly, she offered her metal hand, accepting his aid. “I will come with you. If Malenia lives, I must find her.” Once more, her fingers brushed across her scarred cheek. “Since I first regained my sense of self, I’ve felt that there is something I must return to her.”
#elden ring#fanfic#unalloyed fic#miquella the unalloyed#elden ring millicent#angst#angst with a happy ending#hurt/comfort#mothman miquella
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OC post
Deirdre (Scottish-Irish)
Personification of Autumn
She/her
Pansexual
Pagan (can do magic and potions)
Birthday: 31th october
Can communicate with spirits
Absolutely loves learning about lores, legends, myths, creatures
Goth phase in her teenager years
Loves horror and vampires, thrillers
Religiously watches the Adams family
Favourite animals: crows and cats
Likes the number 3
Loves rain and thunderstorms
she accidentally summoned a demon that took possession of her. Her dad exorcised it out of her body but it made some damage to her. (the incantation is in old gaeilge language)
Likes to collect fallen leaves and rocks
Likes dressing up and putting full makeup. She has more goth, forest fairy vibes than western standard makeup.
Her natural ginger hair is wavy but she can't keep it under control
She is actually chubby / fat
she has a bunch of tattoos
Likes video games like the witcher, skyrim or dnd
Watches tv shows like unresolved Murders. She likes horror, fantasy and thrillers.
Pokemon: mismagius, gourgeist, umbreon, hydreigon, grimmsnarl, goodrat, dragapult
Nikolas / Kristelle / Kris (Russian-Canadian)
Personification of Winter
Best ice skater 🔥
He/they/ she (gender fluid)
Ace panromantic
birthday: 8th February
Feelings: loneliness, low self esteem
Autistic
Allergic to dust, pollen and cats
wears bracelet with their pronouns at the moment so people know what pronouns to use for them.
Was pressured by his dad to play hockey but truth to be told, he's not a good team player. He prefers solo sports like snowboarding.
Likes eating ice cream and drinking iced coffee no matter the season.
Pokemon team: glaceon, alolan ninetales, delibird, mamoswine, Aurorus,
Used to be obsessed with Santa as a kid
Finds chubby and fat bodies beautiful and aesthetically pleasing.
His favourite show as a teen was Yuri on Ice
Airi (Japanese-American)
Personification of Spring
Florist and gardener
She/her
Lesbian
Birthday: 15th April
Favourite animal: bunnies, bees and birds
Favourite colours: pink, green, violet
She's Peacatarian: doesn't eat animal meat except seafood and fish.
Environmentally friendly; collects rain water, uses solar panels, prefer to bike to go to places
Likes to dye her hair bright colours like green, purple or pink using plants and natural dye
She prefers making everything herself and does a lot of diy and crafting.
She's an excellent flirt and gets all the ladies she desires.
While she yet couldn't find a way to connect romantically with someone enough to date them longer than a month, she still believes she'll find someone for herself.
Pokemon: sunflora, cherrim, ribombee, florges, meganium, tsareena.
Océane (Australian-Seychelloise)
Personification of summer
Adventurous and nature lover
She/they
Birthday: 21st December (that's summer in the southern hemisphere)
Somewhere in the aro-ace spectrum. She doesn't know yet. Took her forever to find out. She first thought she was straight and then bi. Turns out she has squishes but doesn't fall in love.
Loves physical affection or any other kind of affection (gift giving, act of service, words of affirmation) Doesn't like kissing though.
masc.
Loves playing sports like soccer/football and volleyball.
Favourite animals: turtles, pet birds
She learnt Spanish and Portuguese through traveling and because some of her favourite songs are in Spanish and Portuguese.
She already knows French and English.
Can play guitar
Loves dancing and roller skating.
Pokemon: cinderace, blaziken, wartotle, oricorio, tropius,
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Things to do with a Clear Quartz/Clensing/ Charging Crystals/Programming Crystals
- Crystals are tools that always have a flow of energy through them. This also means that they can clog with built-up energy. They can also be contaminated by negative energy.
Cleaning and cleansing are different things in witchcraft, cleaning removes "dirt," while cleansing works with energies.
- For crystals, you should cleanse them right after you buy or receive them and cleanse them regularly to keep them effective. If you use them daily, do this every week. If you use them once in a while, do it after each use.
Be sure to choose a technique that doesn't damage your crystals. Water can affect the composition of some crystals.
- Crystals may also feel drained or dull after being used. When this happens, it is time to charge them. Usually, charging a crystal is the step thas follows cleansing it because it restores the energy of the crystal. Be sure to research your crystals before charging them. Some techniques, such a sunlight, may damage them.
- Crystals are believed to have a special capacity to retain energies. We work with crystals by programming them - we imbue them with ou intentions. It is not essential to program crystal. to use them, but it is useful when you want the to help you achieve a specific goal.
Some witches don't incorporate this practice in their craft. They believe that there is no need to program crystals, as they react to our needs.
Personally, I believe that programming crystals helps focus their energy and increases the chang of success, making them more effective.
- Charge it sunlight to absorb the sun energy
- Charge it in moonlight to absorb lunar energy
- Charge it in the wind to capture the wind/air
- Charge it in rain for extra cleansing and calming properties and to absorb the energy of the storm
- Charge it in the ocean or salt water for extra calming and energy properties and to capture sea energy
- Charge it in the ground to absorb earth energy and for grounding
- Charge it with flowers and leaves to attract fae
- Charge it in ice or snow for glamour and illusion
- Keep one near when you study to help you remember what you read
- Use it as a scrying mirror/crystal
- Add one to your bath to cleanse, heal, and amplify energy
- Keep one in a jar of salt (it will boost the cleansing properties)
- Add one to your spell jars to keep their energy flowing and enhance their magic
- Whisper incantation to them to charge them with your intent
- Sleep with one under your pillow to enhance dreams and keep away nightmares
(Since the clear quartz could be substituted for any other crystal, here is a few other things that could be substituted)
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Clarissa Parker
“That’s it?” Alfie commented.
Alina’s teeth grit as she blew out her flame. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?!”
“You walked in on your roommate rehearsing? What’s scary about that?”
“You don’t think it’d be scary to walk in on your roommate and best friend suddenly having a tail and acting weird?”
“Well if she’s just acting, then no.”
“Fufufu,” Lottie giggled. “He just doesn’t want to admit the truth.”
“There is no 'truth'.”
“You’re right. You’re openly pathetic,” Alina shot back.
“Excuse me?!”
Nalo sighed and held her head. “Good grief, you two…”
“Just like an old married couple, fufufu~”
“Huh?!” The two screamed in unison.
“Regardless, it is accepted,” Cedric mediated.
As the two fell into a pout, Kenny laughed. “Boy, the atmosphere sure has gotten goofy.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Nalo commented.
“Since they’ve calmed down,” Clarissa said, “how about I continue with my story?”
***
Puttering down the dim hall Clarissa went, attention completely absorbed by her phone. Her fingers danced—lightning taps upon the keys. Her recent ventures captured by Maggie’s blog and dispersed with the spectacled girl’s expertise happened to snag the attention of some small-ish company’s CEO, and she wasn’t about to lose the opportunity for an advertising deal to spread her name further.
What tore her attention was a distinct
Crunch
Dead halt. Pause. Lean slightly. Peer down.
She moved her shoe, revealing the shattered pieces of some hard and shiny thing.
A blink, then her green eyes trailed along the ground to more shiny things scattered in a row. The line led directly into the girl’s shower room.
Soft humming could be heard from inside, despite the mere minutes to curfew. Every few seconds, a fleshy ripping sound followed by light clinks upon the tile arose.
Curious, Clarissa followed it as she hit ‘send’ on her carefully crafted reply. Shiny thing, shiny thing, shiny thing…the closer the thing, the more translucent mounds of goop surrounding.
Against expectation, there was a student inside, adjusting to the soft cloth of her night clothes and running her hair through a towel. “Oh, Clarissa. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You know what time it is?”
“Yeah! Sorry, I was just about to head back.”
“Better hurry.” A glance to the ground, then back to the perpetrator. “...What’s with all the scales?”
“I collect them!” Thali smiled sweetly, her ice blue eyes with slit pupils lighting up. “But I…accidentally spilled them everywhere, sorry.”
“You klutz. Need help cleaning up?”
Her forked tongue flicked from her lips. “Sure!”
Scaretober 2023
Brisk Wind on a Dark Trail
Midnight Moon
Gargoyle's Watch
Cold Stones in the Fog
Spirits Rising
Haunted House
Witching Hour
Bubbling Cauldron
Candy
Eyes
Spider Silk
Feathers
Tail
Scales
Fangs or Talons
An Offering of Blood
Dark Ritual
Spook Scary Skeletons
Carnivàle Morte
Still-Beating Heart
Sharpened Blade
Mask
Looming Shadows
The Devil's Hand
Monster
Reflection in the Mirror
Rusted Chains
Stitches
Precious Jewels
Incantation
Halloween
Epilogue
#[ Familiar Faces through the Storm ]#word spores#Maggie's Misadventures#writeblr#writing prompts#scaretober#halloween prompts#Clarissa Parker#Thali Sarparaj#Alfie Appletree#Alina Kotova#Lottie Appletree#Nalo Mitchell#Cedric Blair#Kendrick Allen
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Bai’s Apprentice Part 10: Lessons Learned
((Author’s note: Yup, we be back again after a long hiatus (but also with a long chapter to make up for it). I’ve been inspired by the creativity of another friend, who is also writing a fic, to finally finish this piece. By my estimation, after this one, there should be maybe 2-3 more chapters left. We’re bringing it to an end, finally... a premature one, but an end nonetheless.))
((Strong CW warning about 2/3 of the way in for descriptions of su*cide))
Zully stared intently at his target, a boar grazing peacefully on the desert-toughened wisps of wheatgrass struggling to survive alongside the water-laden cacti. Little tendrils of flame danced along his fingertips as he whispered the training incantation under his breath, the words meant to help novice mages channel the fire energy before gaining full enough control to cast Fireball wordlessly. Bai watched patiently as he repeated the incantation several times, before a full orb of flame erupted in the palm of his hand. Smiling triumphantly, Zully took aim and flung the orb out toward the boar, thrusting both hands out in front of him to guide the twisting mass of flame energy toward its intended target. Together, the two mages watched as the Fireball hit true, startling the boar and singeing its short bristles. The boar squealed in pain and anger, then--
“Oh, Zully know! How ‘bout ‘Dalaran Crafts and Supplies’!”
“Zully, focus!” Bai shouted as the boar charged into her apprentice, knocking the startled troll off his feet. Out of pure instinct, she fired an Ice Lance at the boar, freezing it solid for a brief second before it shattered into thousands of tiny shards of ice.
Zully stared at the rapidly-melting ice that had formerly been the boar. “Ahhh... sorry mon.”
Bai took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding herself once more that patience was key in all things, but especially an overly-excitable -- and easily distractible -- young apprentice...
“Okay,” she finally said once she was sure she had her center of calm. “Let’s... review what went wrong here.”
“Zully not be hitting da boar wit enough fire.”
“Well... yes, you’ll need to hit it a few more times at your level. But that’s not--”
“Oh! Zully not be hitting da boar wit ice first, ya?”
“That’s... also technically true, yes.” Somehow, by the time they had gotten back to the Valley of Trials, the mage trainer there had recommended Bai teach him Frostbolt. Bai was a little surprised, but she supposed that their travels had been deemed enough real-world experience to let him try some new spells. “But that’s also not what I was going to--”
“Oh wait... you no like da name of his business, do ya?”
“I hadn’t even gotten to that part yet. I know you want to start your business too, but you’re supposed to be focusing on your studies right now.”
“Ohhh.” Something about that seemed to click with the young troll. “Zully get it now. Zully be gettin’ distracted, ya?”
“Yes... that is, in fact, the issue here. Zully, I cannot stress this enough: when you enter combat, you have to stay focused on what you’re doing until you’ve taken out your target. Even the most peaceful of beasts like these boars are going to enrage and fight back when you attack them. If you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing, you could get seriously hurt.”
Zully winced and rubbed his leg where the boar had headbutted him. “Ya mon, that kinda hurt...”
“It’ll hurt a lot more when you’re fighting more dangerous foes than just a boar, trust me. We’re not built to be walking around in heavy armor like a warrior or a paladin.” She almost stumbled over her own words as she said the last part, but managed to -- mostly -- stay composed. “Too restrictive of our magic. But that also makes us vulnerable to damage. So we have to hit them hard before they hurt us too badly.”
“Mages be able to make shields wit magic, ya? When you be teaching Zully how to do that?”
“Not until later. I already asked your mage trainer about that and he’s refusing to inscribe it in your spellbook. Says you need to master more active control over your magic before you try splitting your concentration into shields.” While Bai partially agreed with that assessment, part of her also wished that he could have bent the rules just a little bit, if just to help keep Zully a little safer since he seemed to be struggling to defend himself. Then again, maybe dividing his focus even further was setting him up for failure too.
Zully nodded sagely. “Ya, Zully be getting it. Zully don’t mind waitin’ a bit longer for dat.”
He turned to the next boar, whispering the incantation again. Bai noticed the fire seemed to be growing stronger faster this time around. Good, she thought to herself, that must mean he’s already getting the hang of it. The fire grew in intensity, and then--
“But what did ya think of da name?” he asked abruptly, letting the fire dissipate as he turned toward her again.
Bai suppressed a sigh; at least he asked before attacking. “Why Dalaran?”
“It be da city of da mages, and Zully be a mage. It make sense, ya?”
At this point in time, Bai recognized that there would be no progressing until she satisfied whatever he had his mind focused on instead of his studies. Taking out the guild charter they’d picked up on the way out of Orgrimmar -- which he’d promptly handed to her, as being the only one of the two of them able to write -- she mentally tallied the length of the proposed business name. “Too long,” she finally determined. “You’ll have to think of something else.”
“Okay, Zully can do that.” Turning back to the boar, he whispered the incantation; this time, only a single time had the full orb of fire leaping to life in his grasp. Faster progress than Bai had expected. Maybe that was a good sign.
He flung the Fireball at the new boar, and immediately spun toward Bai. “Oh, how about--”
“FOCUS!” Bai snapped -- a little harsher than she intended -- and Zully instantly whirled back around, another ball of fire bursting from his hands and hurling toward the oncoming boar out of pure instinct. This Fireball hit hard, causing the boar to erupt into flames and collapse. The fire died out quickly, leaving only the charred remains and a small plume of smoke behind.
Bai let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as Zully inspected the smoldering boar corpse. “Oh... that be a lot more fire den Zully expected.”
“You must have hit it right at a critically weak spot,” Bai commented. Truthfully, she’d been a little surprised too. Zully’s reflexes had been remarkably fast, and the fact that his aim had been so true when clearly startled was also unexpected for someone with relatively little experience. No wonder he’d caught the Kirin Tor’s attention.
“Zully be feeling a little bad about da boars. Dey make for good skinnin’ though.” Kneeling down, Zully took out the skinning knife and set to work trying to remove the hide from the fallen boar. Bai surreptitiously glanced away, not really sure she wanted to watch the process, although she kept stealing glances over just to make sure Zully didn’t accidentally cut himself with the knife. “Or... dey supposed to. Dis not lookin’ like much.” He straightened up, holding up the few tattered scraps of leather he’d managed to free from the body.
“Hit it a little too hard with the flames, I guess.” Seeing Zully’s disappointed face, she added, “I’m sure a leatherworker in town could stitch the pieces together and make something useable from it though.”
“Zully got a question for ya, mon.”
“Another business name suggestion?”
“Ahh! Dat too, what ya tink of ‘Darkspear Crafts and Supplies’?”
“It’s longer than the last suggestion, it won’t fit either.”
“Oh. Well, Zully be tinkin’ some more den. But Zully really wanna know somethin’ else.”
Sitting on the dusty ground next to Bai, he offered her a piece of boar rib he’d salvaged as well; she politely shook her head in refusal. “What’s on your mind?”
Zully studied the rib quietly, seeming a bit disappointed that she hadn’t taken it. Shrugged, he bit into it, teeth ripping the meat from the bone. "Zully notice ya not like to talk about da paladins. Dat be because of da paladin you be tellin’ Zully about, ya?
Bai shifted her eyes downward. So she hadn’t hidden her hesitation as well as she’d thought. Unfortunate.
“You be tellin’ Zully da rest of da story?”
“Ahh... right. The story.” Part of Bai wished he hadn’t remembered -- a lot had happened with their trip to and from Dalaran -- but clearly for his distractibility, Zully had a strong memory. “I left off with... leaving from the Undercity, right?”
Zully nodded wordlessly, his attention focused completely on her. Bai couldn’t help but note the irony on the fact that he could focus on some things but not his studies.
“We traveled together south, to Hillsbrad Foothills. It’s a dangerous area, belonging to neither the Horde nor the Alliance. We are constantly fighting to gain control over the region, much like throughout the rest of Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. I struggled with my studies there, constantly torn between helping the people of Tarren Mill with their requests and bounties, and trying to fight off Alliance attacks. I never was good at fighting other adventurers...”
“But your paladin friend? He be helping ya?”
“No.” Bai couldn’t quite stop the bitterness from seeping into her voice. “Sometimes he returned to help me, but never against the Alliance. And I rarely saw him anyway. He moved on to areas that he deemed too dangerous for me.”
“Dat place be soundin’ dangerous too.”
“Well, it was. But as I found out one day, there were far more dangerous places for a mage with little experience. I got angry one day and followed him into the Hinterlands, despite him telling me not to go. The griffins there descended on me before I could even see them coming. And he...”
Zully watched her quietly, waiting for her to continue.
“... he abandoned me there,” she finally said, voice cracking. “I watched his horse disappear into the distance before the griffins finally... tore my spirit from my body...”
Zully’s eyes widened. “Wait... dey killed you? You died?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“But how...?”
“Adventurers are blessed when they take up the call to defend Azeroth. Nobody knows quite why. Some claim it’s by the power of Elune, some by Alexstraza the Life-Binder, some by the will of the Light. Regardless of the reason or what you believe, depending on how you die, your spirit remains tethered to this world. If you can reunite yourself with your body, you can bring yourself back to life. But that can be difficult sometimes; the spirit world is pale and cold and directionless. Sometimes we need the help of someone with the power of nature or the Light to bring us back.”
“Is dat what happened?”
“Yes. I couldn’t find my way back. I thought I was lost forever. But--” She almost, almost spoke his name, but the word died in her lungs, its remains catching in her throat and choking her. “... he must have felt my spirit become untethered from my body. He came back to find me, and used the power of the Light to guide my spirit safely back.” She smiled, briefly, but then her mouth twisted into a bitter expression. “And afterward, he proceeded to yell at me for not listening to him, and forcibly sent me back to Silvermoon.”
“How rude.”
“Yes, I thought so too. Although looking back, I think maybe he was just terribly worried about me. He accused me of pushing myself too hard, to the point of destroying myself in the process. But I...” She sighed. “I once again refused to listen. I tried following him everywhere, tried to better myself faster against these horribly powerful monsters that I had no hope of defeating, just to try to keep up with him. It always failed. Time and again, I felt my spirit get ripped forcibly from my body, only to have him bring me back again. Each time, we would argue afterward; he would accuse me of having a death wish, of trying to join my family in the afterlife, of not caring about what happened to myself. And then he accused me of putting his own safety in danger, because every time I fell, he was the one who had to drop everything to rush back to make sure I could continue to live.”
“Dat sounds...” Zully shook his head, clearly at a loss for words. “Dat doesn’t sound like a fun way to be livin’.”
“It wasn’t. And it only got worse, because he only got stronger, and I only fell behind further. And the more I struggled to catch up to his strength, the more I fell and the weaker I became. But also the angrier he became at me for putting myself in harm’s way... and the more determined I was to catch up at any cost. You have to understand, Zully... I was so very tired of running away. I was so very tired of being weak. I let my drive nearly consume me.”
“What be changin’ den?”
Bai leaned back and closed her eyes. The sun was beginning to lower itself in the sky; the heat was still intense, but was starting to become noticeably cooler. She guessed that there was probably another two hours or so of daylight left.
Her mind drifted back to that awful day, back in the Ghostlands...
“It happened one last time, and we both just... had enough.” Snippets of memory flitted through her mind: accusations of being power-hungry, of descending towards becoming one of the Wretched, of cowardice and disloyalty, thrown equally between the two. She didn’t speak any of it aloud to Zully; she couldn’t, not without losing her already-faltering grip on her emotions. “We both said some truly awful things to each other. And then I finally said something that caused him to completely snap.” She searched her memory, but this one slipped away, the exact words burying themselves so deeply in her mind that she could no longer find their form. “His anger... changed him so completely... I watched his body begin to morph before my eyes, before he drew his sword and--”
The rest of her words died as the sobs she’d been trying to hold back broke free and clawed their way out of her body. She drew her knees in close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her body as the memories took over: the sight of her former beloved, his skin pale and waxy as a Wretched, dark blood spilling from his body around the sword planted firmly into his stomach...
She nearly jumped at the feel of a large hand on her shoulder, Zully awkwardly trying to pat her on her back in a comforting gesture. “Dose be some hard memories... Zully be sorry for bringin’ dem back...”
It took several more minutes before the tears abated to the point that Bai could bring herself to speak again. “I’m sorry...”
“Dis not your fault, mon, Zully be da one askin’...”
“It is my fault, though. I pushed him over the edge. And he fell into despair. Had he not changed before he...” She swallowed back the threatening tears again. “... it tore his spirit completely from this world. I felt it, but I couldn’t accept it. I ran back to Silvermoon, begged the Blood Knights. Even Lady Liadrin herself could do nothing. Once a sin’dorei falls to despair, once one of us becomes Wretched... there’s nothing of us left. There was nothing of him to bring back. He was just... gone. Forever.”
Zully didn’t respond, perhaps realizing that there was nothing he could say to quell the guilt.
“I couldn’t bring myself to resume my training anymore. How could I? I had driven the paladin I loved to madness with my recklessness ambition. And I had nothing left. The few friends we had made along the way abandoned us, too horrified at his fate to even look me in the eyes anymore.” She shook her head. “How I avoided the same fate, in my own despair, is beyond me.”
“But something be bringin’ ya back?”
“Yeah. I... something drove me to wander from Silvermoon. I think maybe I was too ashamed to look at my fellow sin’dorei any longer. Or maybe I was tired of seeing their pity. But I knew I couldn’t stay there, at least not in my current state. Maybe I just didn’t want them to watch me make my final descent into becoming a Wretched myself. So I began traveling. And by chance, I met a hunter -- a troll, just like you -- who asked me for help one day hunting a rare beast. We began talking and... I know this sounds crazy, but something about him reminded me of, well... him. I can’t explain it because they don’t even strike me as being remotely similar in personality or anything, but... it was something almost familiar. And it was comforting. And from that moment, it felt like maybe I could move forward again. And then in Thunder Bluff, I found my salvation: a pair of tauren, brother and sister -- a druid and a shaman. They asked me if I could help them, by signing a charter for their new guild. I asked him -- the druid, his name was Essethyr -- what the name of this guild was, and he replied 'The Council of Hope’.”
“Dat sound like such a good name.”
“It was. I don’t know, maybe some faint vestige of his spirit lead me there. Because that was exactly what I needed at the time -- hope. I offered to help in whatever way I could, and in return, they agreed to help me find my way back to Dalaran so I could petition to rejoin the Kirin Tor. They... weren’t exactly happy that I had abandoned them in the way I had... I still don’t much think they are, really, but... the fact that I had a guild vouching for me, even a newly-formed one that barely knew me... I think that was what made them give me a second chance. Maybe they deemed I had learned enough lessons from the experience to try again.”
“And now here you be.”
“Here I be, indeed. Still trying to maintain that hope. And still trying to prove myself. While plenty of people are quick to say that what happened wasn’t my fault, I know there are still those who agree I’m to blame. Or at the very least, they think I’m too emotional or too unreliable to take a full place within the ranks of the Kirin Tor.”
“And yet dey be askin’ ya to teach Zully. That be high praise, mon! You be a good teacher for Zully.”
Bai stole a look at Zully. She still had her doubts that the Kirin Tor particularly considered it “high praise” to pair her with him. Still though, if it was some path toward redemption in the eyes of all of the other mages, she would take it. And she would make damn well sure that Zully learned well enough from her own life lessons, and would never make the same mistakes she made.
“We should probably wrap up and consider going back to Orgrimmar,” Bai said, standing up; she winced slightly in pain, having not realized how long she’d been sitting on the ground until then. “It’s getting late. We can head to the inn, have a good dinner, and resume training in the morn--”
The remainder of her words were lost in the sudden blaring of horns, a wailing cry echoing loudly across the valley. Bai instinctively covered her ears with her hands, taken aback at the sudden cacophony.
Zully froze, his features growing pale. “Dat be raid horns!” he cried out over the blare. “We be under attack, mon!”
Bai lowered her hands as more blares sounded, this time that of war horns from the guards at the mouth of the Den and the entrance to the Valley of Trials. Shouts carried across the wind; Bai listened closely, trying to make out the words...
-- Village is under attack by the Alliance! Sen’jin Village is under attack by the Alliance! Sen’jin Village is--
Zully’s face grew even paler. “Bai, no!” he cried. “Sen’jin Village... dat be Zully’s home!”
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character emoji ask | Closed
@lunarbrambles asked:
🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?
Katarn bore a talisman gifted to him by his family.
Item Description: Moonlit Tear
An intricate talisman crafted by a long-lost noble family of Caria, said to have been inbued with blessings from the full moon. No replicate was ever discovered. Increases the effectiveness of all healing incantations and slightly boosts Arcane.
“Far may you travel, the moonlight still sooths you. Long you may drift, Caria is forever your home.”
☕️ HOT BEVERAGE - do they prefer hot or cold drinks? what is their favourite drink?
Cold drink. The chilliness cleans his mind whenever it becomes cloudy. A glass of icy wine from Liurnia would serve him well... but the fertile slope once produced this beverage had sunken into the lake.
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Their Worst Mistake.
It’s peaceful. They’ve been happy, lately, and with far fewer negative thoughts on their mind, Madison Rook feels very calm in their serene setting of choice. The few inches of water layering the ground of their floating island world (Laminar, Mads had called it? Sure, that works.) soak into their skirt as they sit crosslegged in the motionless sea, under the glittering night sky and drifting islands far above. The silence and stillness around them allows them to focus on the water, mirrorlike so long as they don’t move a muscle, cold against their skin. It’s 2 hours into this quiet, extended half-meditation when they close their eyes, sinking deeper into this peaceful trance..and feel a ripple. The water moves, somewhere distant but not too far, and as the displacement moves the water from there to here, Rook immediately pinpoints the direction it had come from, and stands up to move closer. The disturbed water disrupts their trail, and sort of gives them away, but in this wide, open space, it isn’t like the visitor can hide. Their first thought is Patches, bubbling rage rising in their throat at the thought of her uninvited presence before they swallow it down. No, she would know better by now. Their friends would have asked first, Jake can’t get down here..there’s only one other person who would wander this empty sea alone.
The ripples stop, for a moment they think the visitor might have left, but then Madison Rook sees a winged figure not far off in the distance..and they see a black, spreading stain, swirling in the water they shift with their movement. They recognize it instantly. Blood. Their blood. ..His blood. They sigh, and the concern lessens, he’s probably just here to do the awful thing they both do from time to time, and they don’t want to be near him like that..but then, they look up. The figure is gone. The ripples spread out from the edge of a deep body of water.
Madison Rook stands in the shallow water, watching the drifting, inky blood, and rolls their eyes, exasperated with the angel’s disappearance. He must’ve seen them, and left out of shame. That’s fine. It’s not like they could’ve helped, anyways; neither of them could really be helped, at times like that. It’s best to let Mads Altair work through it alone and move on. He’ll bleed, he’ll go down, he’ll wake up, head home, and hug Bo for a while, but in the end, in the morning, he’ll be mostly fine. As fine as he ever can be, when he does that to himself. Not that they can judge him, but even without judgment Rook can still feel bitterness toward their copy. Everyone knows he does it. It hurts their friends to know. Every time, every sinking blade, it hurts their friends who wish he didn’t, and although they still can’t help but do the same, Rook hates him, in the moment, for causing even more pain. Right. He can deal with his self-destructive actions on his own. Rook turns on their heel, unfolds their starry wings, and flies up and away, to continue their peaceful moment in cleaner waters.
**************
It’s only a day before someone asks where Mads is, but 2 before he’s actively sought out. Hinata teleports to find him..and arrives at the angel’s infinite pile of swords. Imbued with his power, regenerating and eternal as he was, they’re all that’s left. His friends struggle to confirm his death, abduction, or active isolation, but Rook watches the people they love search desperately for the *real* Mads in a haze. They think they know, but they don’t want to be sure. Recalling the moment, the when and how, the sorcerer can deduce exactly how Madison Altair would’ve done it. How long it would’ve taken. How far, far too late it already is. What they saw in the endless shallow sea isn’t something they can admit to their friends without being thoroughly confident in what it means. They try to convince themselves they’re wrong, maybe something had happened after that, maybe S had gotten him, they couldn’t have been the last person to ever see him above water, but no other direction bears fruit when explored, and eventually, Madison Rook breaks down, no options left but to admit what they’d witnessed and accept what it means.
Madison Altair had finally managed to disappear forever.
Everything shatters. Rook had seen their friends respond before to their own death, and they had been guaranteed to come back. The weight is so much more immense, this time. The tiefling doesn’t know what to say, what to do, how to help, they try to at least provide company but Madison Rook can tell that their friends, especially the ones who blame themselves for Madison Altair’s last resort, can see, in his duplicate, the same heavy heart and dark desires that dragged him down, and worse, the same face as someone beloved whom they will never meet again.
All the while, Rook is numbly in shock at the sudden hollowness in their life. They had accepted leaving themselves behind, when they changed, because Mads still held the role they wanted to play, Mads kept everything they threw away, they held relief that their changes wouldn’t erase who they were. But he’s gone, now. All the light and color they’d grown used to seeing in the corner of their vision while they sulked, cuddled, and did spellwork is gone, the castle left in greyscale. With his absence, Rook no longer feels welcome; they’re just a ghost. A reminder. They take their things to the other castle, the simulation they’d awoken within, empty, silent, and unreal. Just like them. That’s where they belong. There are so many silent days and nights spent huddled alone in their closet, weeping for the pain they couldn’t prevent, for the theoretically endless life they’d watched suddenly vanish, for their deep, endless loneliness.
There’s a horrible distance from themselves when watching their friends mourn Mads, everything he was, gone forever, no trace, nothing to regenerate or hold or bury, not even an entire other person who shares his heart and soul. They may as well be dead too, as much of who they are is grieved as fully lost. Mikael tries to reach out, he always does, but they can’t stand to try and take his brother’s place, when they’re just a poor copy, a faded shadow, a disappointment to the man they were long ago, who didn’t even try to save a very important life. They know everyone knows that they didn’t even try. It’s their fault, and even if no one says it, everyone knows, especially Rook. They may as well have killed him themselves. Their sin haunts them, and they can’t escape it, no matter how much ‘blood’, fake twice over, worthless and disgusting, is spilled. Alone, useless, and changed, reset and altered so many times over, with no one to know or care what parts of themselves are destroyed and remade by their violent desperation, Rook struggles to recognize themselves. Maybe that’s better. Maybe their friends will take them back now that they’re nothing like Mads, and their presence won’t cause everyone to hurt. It doesn’t matter if they would. Rook doesn’t remember being wanted anymore.
Interspersed through the 3 months leading up to this are strange moments. Out-of-place recognition, the strongest deja vu they’d ever felt, a sense of deep loss for something they’re mostly sure they never had, usually a piece of magic they feel should be there but isn’t. Worse than that, they relive scenes they don’t know, triggers of memories they can’t recognize but feel the pain of all the same. Their magic, in general, feels wrong, throughout, but they attribute that to a disconnect with its source, a punishment from the sea for letting their other self drown. If anyone could have saved him, it was them. Even the ocean knows that Rook failed everyone. They almost let it take them, they would deserve it, wouldn’t they? But it’s truly impossible. The water won’t fill their lungs; the ocean’s hatred is only in their mind. Or maybe it isn’t. Either way, It provides no escape. But Rook doesn’t try that too hard. A sense of doubt keeps them going. Through their spiraling descent, their isolation and pain, something feels deeply wrong. It feels as if their mind is being partially suppressed, their thoughts dulled, despite them being seemingly as messy and stumbling as they always were. At first that sense makes everything worse, but as they reset and change, it remains, and they start to grow suspicious. Something in them is smarter than this. Despite how foolishly lost and destroyed they feel, how broken they know they are, something just under the surface is analyzing this period past the filter of strong emotion, and what the strange moments mean.
One day, everything clicks. Madison Rook doesn’t call themselves that anymore, Madison is dead, they have no right to the name– and they barely resemble him now, anyways. They stare in the mirror, using their magic to change, recreating forms they barely recall through their resets in a vain and listless attempt to reignite their sense of self. Running out of ideas, on an instinct, they grow their hair long, change the shape of their body and face, just so, a far different change than those they’d been through in this version of their lifetime..and recognize themselves instantly. This unfamiliar familiar face, the realest version of them they’d never seen before. They don’t understand how they know it, until they do. The scattered, half-ignored pieces come together, flashes of pain they shouldn’t know, their strange, missing magic, the behavior of their friends..so dim in their mind now, but it was strange, wasn’t it? Would their friends and partners really abandon them like that? It doesn’t seem right, now. None of this seems right, except for the face in the mirror. The longer they stare, the closer they lean, the harder the tiefling thinks, the more the cracks show, literally, until the locks around their mind, enhanced through magic and hours more of study than they should have at this moment, fall free, and they realize. There is no world where any of this should happen. They know a better life than this, they know themselves too well for this hollow, shapeless feeling to exist. It shouldn’t. Nothing should be this way. How is it supposed to be?
They remember.
Madison Rook is supposed to be saving someone, right now. Someone deeply important to them, abducted and afraid, and they’ve spent- months? Moments? Too much time suffering alone, pain they’ll never be able to unlive, but maybe it’s not too late. There must be a way out. They can see the flaws in this reality, now, the cracks spread across the mirror, and, dropping this form, leaning back to get momentum, Rook slams their horns into the glass; everything shatters, the simulation-within-a-simulation bathroom falling to pieces around them, leaving them in a void, until it fades into another, less personal setting. Now in their more human-passing form, Rook stands with their eyes closed, processing the information that’s come rushing back to them, and pushing out of the empty place they’d just been in, suppressing that void, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t true, Madison Ruarc is fine and so are they, or at least they will be, for now, until their important task is done. It’s suppressed, they’re present, and they take a deep breath, straighten up, and dramatically billow their cloak just to feel a little more like their badass self.
Now to go find their friends.
#((this is part of millenniumdueled's noas arc!#((the first part is the og action post for this past event. and then it Twists#((pretty dark but none of it's real dw#suicide ment#self harm ment#action#viewed ooc#Crafting Incantations (ic)
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HINGAN ONMYOJUTSU
A brief concept for Hingan onmyojutsu that I’ve come up with. Some notes taken from FFXIV canon, others taken from real life traditions such as onmyodo, Shinto, and Daoism.
Onmyojutsu emerged in the land of Hingashi in ancient times. Birthed from a marriage of Doman philosophies and Hingan religion, the systems of onmyojutsu evolved over time into a form unique to its Hingan homeland. At its core, onmyojutsu believes in the concept of “onmyo” which refers to “on” shadow and “yo” light. All things in nature are aligned in some way to these two forces, and the movement or balance between the two is the foundation of onmyo magic. As diviners, onmyoji also observe the stars, the land, and the passage of time in order to predict good and bad fortunes.
Much like western thaumaturgy, onmyojutsu manipulates two polarities in the form of elemental magic. Light is represented by raging fire, an active and volatile force. Shadow is represented by ice, which is water in its most passive or static form. The shifting of energy itself between extremes is embodied by lightning, a pure energy that leaps from heaven to earth. By manipulating these elements, an onmyoji may wield potent destructive power.
Further empowering the onmyoji is the art of “shikigami” conjuration, a form of summoning in which spirits called “kami” are bound to objects or creatures to give them form as servant familiars.
Below are described some common tools and techniques of Hingan onmyojutsu.
TOOLS OF THE TRADE:
Ofuda-sho – True onmyoji are master calligraphers, conveying their intent through the use of black and crimson inks. Words of power bonded to paper talismans called “ofuda” convey the incantations and arcane geometries that are needed to call forth the power of the elements and exert their will upon a target. In the past, these slips of paper were affixed to the targets of spells, however the innovation of the ofuda-sho has allowed onmyoji to compile their talismans into books for faster and more efficient spellcasting.
Shikigami – A spirit bound by the onmyoji in physical form, the most basic shape of a shikigami is often a paper manikin. However, more complex interactions with the physical world require more complex forms. To that end, onmyoji are known to craft golem-like bodies from wood and clay for their summoned creations. Other methods and materials exist, such as the possession of living bodies or the creation of precious amulets that house these spirits and may give them form upon command.
Armillary Sphere – A sphere designed to model the heavens, this device floats before the user by means of a small wind crystal. Onmyoji may use it to verify the positions of celestial bodies as well as mark the passage of time. Observations from the sphere inform the predictions of their divination rituals.
MASTERS OF LIGHT AND SHADOW:
Onmyo Balance – The onmyoji focuses their mind and spirit towards light or shadow.
Divine Warmth: Destructive magic calls upon the light of the heavens, bringing forth great power at greater cost to the onmyoji’s spirit.
Mortal Chill: Destructive magic calls upon the shadows of the mortal realm, soothing the onmyoji’s spirit in exchange for reduced destructiveness.
Duality – Bringing light and shadow into perfect alignment, the onmyoji momentarily harmonizes with the rhythm of the universe to smite their enemies with greater power.
Summoned Spirit – The onmyoji calls forth the power of a summoned kami, granting it form as shikigami.
Spirit of Heavenly Fire: A kami aligned with fire appears, smiting its master’s enemies.
Spirit of Abyssal Ice: A kami aligned with ice appears, bringing quiescence to enemies.
Spirit of Lightning: A kami aligned with lightning appears, disrupting the spiritual energy of enemies.
Ama-no-Iwato – The onmyoji shrouds the mind of the enemy in darkness, crippling their strength.
Ryusei – A comet signals imbalance between “on” and “yo,” portending great disaster. The onmyoji activates a warding defense against their enemies.
Jumon – The onmyoji activates a curse from their arsenal of spells, tormenting the enemy with persistent pain.
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Basics #1 - Moon Water
My First Encounter:
I had just start practicing in 2013 and I came out of the broom closet to a friend. Much to my delight, they also practiced witchcraft, in the form of an eclectic mix of Santeria, Catholicism, and Indigenous traditions. We mixed the moon water they had brought in a spray bottle with an herbal and oil based elixir called “The Piss of 7 Goats” (Yes, really). We smoke cleansed each other with white sage and dragon’s blood, then sprayed the potion in all four corners of every room to protect our home from a nasty spirit that was following a roommate.
How-To / FAQ’s
🌙 Moon water is typically made by adding any type of water to a sealable, translucent container -- such as a bottle or jar -- setting your intentions, and putting it out in the light of a full moon. Last time I made moon water, I put tap water in a mason jar, told it to “Keep the moon”, and set it outside on my patio. You can make your ritual as simple or lavish as you like. Some write goals down and put them under the jar. Some say an incantation that they’ve written or found in a book / online. It’s YOUR craft, do what works best for you, even though it may take a while to figure out what that is.
🌙 Containers and Storage: Glass jars / bottles are generally the go-to, but it doesn’t HAVE to be. I’ve heard of people using a silver bowl or even just whatever’s handy. However, most witches cover it in some way to keep bugs out. Plastic is okay as long as it is the right kind: The wrong plastic can leak chemicals. Most witches agree that for the most powerful results, glass is best, with the direct light argument in mind. I would mostly agree, but as long as your intention is to absorb the moon, it will still receive that energy no matter what. If you are uncertain, enchant your container specifically to absorb the moon prior to use. Some will also argue that you cannot store it anywhere in open light once it is charged with the specific moon phase because to you will contaminate it with sunlight. I’ve never done this and none of my spellwork has been less powerful in spite of “exposing” the water. If you’re worried, keep it in a cupboard or use amber glass. Always remember that the magic comes from your thoughts and your intentions. If you think it’s contaminated / not right, it won’t be.
🌙 What if it’s cloudy? What if you can’t see the moon? What if the light doesn’t hit were I need to set my stuff out? Breathe, the moon is still there. Just like how you can get a sunburn in cloudy weather, the moon is still shining onto earth. The energy still exists even if the light isn’t direct.
🌙 It also doesn’t have to be the full moon, or even the moon! You can make moon water for any phase that works better for your intentions, use the sun, or both (Celestial Water).
🌙 Types of water: Any. Different waters have different magical connotations.
💦 Rain / Thunderstorm / Morning Dew
💦 Snow / Ice
💦 Pond / Swamp
💦 River / Lake
💦 Tap / Filtered / Distilled
🌙 Uses: I personally use the magical connotation to cement my intent during spells. For example, I will collect spring rain water and charge it with new moon energy for a new goal or beginning. My spells used to be mostly candle and elemental magic. I would drip some on the candle, put it in a seashell for the elemental representation of water on my altar, and as I mentioned before, spray in in the corners of my home as a smoke-less form of protection and cleansing. You can add it to spell bottles, tonics, potions, drink it (see next bullet for a huge disclaimer about ingesting spell water <3) ... it goes on. Check out this blog for more uses.
🌙 Now, drinking celestial water is not something I do, but charging drinking water is a super trendy thing these days, whether you buy the cool crystal-in-a-tube water bottle, charge a case of single-use plastic water bottles from Costco, or set your glass of water in the sun. It is a great way to ingest intentions to be absorbed by your physical being, which is one of the main components behind Kitchen Witchcraft. However, not all water is drinkable. Rainwater is contaminated by pollution and most natural water is NOT SAFE TO DRINK. If you do use any natural water and have the intention of drinking it, YOU HAVE TO PURIFY IT. Notice that the link for how to purify is from an outdoor survival website. This is not a drill. People all over the world, especially in poor countries, die from drinking bad water in the thousands. This also goes for anything you would absorb through your skin or put close to an orifice, such as bathwater or skin toners like rose water. (Note: adding a bit of non-purified water to your bath is not going to kill you or probably remotely harm you. However, I wouldn’t if it’s from a mosquito larvae haven of standing rain water or something that could carry parasites like pond water). On another safety note: even clean drinking water can go bad, so be cautious when storing for a long period of time.
🌙 How does it work? I'm a very science-minded witch, so I love it when science has come through to back us up. In the case of charged water, we’re looking at The Law of Conservation of Energy. Yay, physics! In my head, this is how it applies: Sun light energy ➤ moon light energy ➤ water energy ➤ intentions ➤ manifestation ... and so on and so forth. Energy never dies. ♾
History / Origins
My friend’s knowledge of moon water was passed down to them by the Santerians that helped raise them. As you know, that information was passed to me and from what I remember, the first Wiccan books I bought didn’t cover moon water either. These days, it’s all over the internet.
Looking up the history proved to be pretty hard. The concept is used across so many different forms of witchcraft, with no one seeming to claim it. The oldest print reference I could find is from a book called Fontaine’s Golden Wheel Dream-Book And Fortune-Teller, in reference to a love spell. I found a copies on Amazon and have added it to my reading list. Once I read that or find more information, I will update.
Blessed be,
AWTW
#witchling#baby witch#baby witches#witchcraft for beginners#roots#moon water#lunar energy#witches of tumblr
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HINGAN ONMYOJUTSU
A brief concept for Hingan onmyojutsu that I’ve come up with. Some notes taken from FFXIV canon, others taken from real life traditions such as onmyodo, Shinto, and Daoism.
Onmyojutsu emerged in the land of Hingashi in ancient times. Birthed from a marriage of Doman philosophies and Hingan religion, the systems of onmyojutsu evolved over time into a form unique to its Hingan homeland. At its core, onmyojutsu believes in the concept of “onmyo” which refers to “on” shadow and “yo” light. All things in nature are aligned in some way to these two forces, and the movement or balance between the two is the foundation of onmyo magic. As diviners, onmyoji also observe the stars, the land, and the passage of time in order to predict good and bad fortunes.
Much like western thaumaturgy, onmyojutsu manipulates two polarities in the form of elemental magic. Light is represented by raging fire, an active and volatile force. Shadow is represented by ice, which is water in its most passive or static form. The shifting of energy itself between extremes is embodied by lightning, a pure energy that leaps from heaven to earth. By manipulating these elements, an onmyoji may wield potent destructive power.
Further empowering the onmyoji is the art of “shikigami” conjuration, a form of summoning in which spirits called “kami” are bound to objects or creatures to give them form as servant familiars.
Below are described some common tools and techniques of Hingan onmyojutsu.
TOOLS OF THE TRADE:
Ofuda-sho – True onmyoji are master calligraphers, conveying their intent through the use of black and crimson inks. Words of power bonded to paper talismans called “ofuda” convey the incantations and arcane geometries that are needed to call forth the power of the elements and exert their will upon a target. In the past, these slips of paper were affixed to the targets of spells, however the innovation of the ofuda-sho has allowed onmyoji to compile their talismans into books for faster and more efficient spellcasting.
Shikigami – A spirit bound by the onmyoji in physical form, the most basic shape of a shikigami is often a paper manikin. However, more complex interactions with the physical world require more complex forms. To that end, onmyoji are known to craft golem-like bodies from wood and clay for their summoned creations. Other methods and materials exist, such as the possession of living bodies or the creation of precious amulets that house these spirits and may give them form upon command.
Armillary Sphere – A sphere designed to model the heavens, this device floats before the user by means of a small wind crystal. Onmyoji may use it to verify the positions of celestial bodies as well as mark the passage of time. Observations from the sphere inform the predictions of their divination rituals.
MASTERS OF LIGHT AND SHADOW:
Onmyo Balance – The onmyoji focuses their mind and spirit towards light or shadow.
Divine Warmth: Destructive magic calls upon the light of the heavens, bringing forth great power at greater cost to the onmyoji’s spirit.
Mortal Chill: Destructive magic calls upon the shadows of the mortal realm, soothing the onmyoji’s spirit in exchange for reduced destructiveness.
Duality – Bringing light and shadow into perfect alignment, the onmyoji momentarily harmonizes with the rhythm of the universe to smite their enemies with greater power.
Summoned Spirit – The onmyoji calls forth the power of a summoned kami, granting it form as shikigami.
Spirit of Heavenly Fire: A kami aligned with fire appears, smiting its master’s enemies.
Spirit of Abyssal Ice: A kami aligned with ice appears, bringing quiescence to enemies.
Spirit of Lightning: A kami aligned with lightning appears, disrupting the spiritual energy of enemies.
Ama-no-Iwato – The onmyoji shrouds the mind of the enemy in darkness, crippling their strength.
Ryusei – A comet signals imbalance between “on” and “yo,” portending great disaster. The onmyoji activates a warding defense against their enemies.
Jumon – The onmyoji activates a curse from their arsenal of spells, tormenting the enemy with persistent pain.
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Every story has an end. After months of Wanda Maximoff controlling the town of Westview via her reality rewriting Hex, the WandaVision broadcast was dropped along with the barrier. As the barriers were set free and the Avengers rushed in, two confrontations occurred. Witches, corrupt government agents and the inescapable finality of loss all collided in one explosive finale that showed nothing would ever be the same.
THIS IS THE OFFICIAL CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC
AGATHA: She’d heard enough, seen enough — no more theories, Agatha had all the answers she needed. And that could really only end in one way in her eyes. Wanda had no idea what she was or what she was really even capable of for that matter. Whether or not that made her dangerous was irrelevant — because more importantly : it made her powerful. And if there was anything Agatha had been drawn to after all these years like a moth to a flame, it was power. Power to get out from beneath her coven — her mother — Oh the things one could do with the ability to shape reality. She’d be much more finely crafted with it too, this little world Wanda had created was impressive, but it wasn’t finely tuned. It had it’s kinks and tears — starting with her star contenders falling apart the second it caved. As the witch appeared in the center of the town square, Agatha clawed the air and curled a strike of purple magic at her back. Fitting. the beloved best friend striking her where she least expected it. “Did you know there’s an entire chapter devoted to you in the Darkhold?.” She asked, revealing the grimoire of dark arts before her. Its ember glowing pages flipped to a page for a creature of myth. “—It’s the book of the damned.” A sneer. “The Scarlet Witch is not born, she is forged — no need for incantation, or coven. Your power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. Your destiny... is to destroy the world. —Don’t believe me?—Here.” Agatha contorted her wrist and like snatching scarlet spiderwebs from her mind, she plucked David free from the crimson witches spell. “James Buchanan Barnes.” Agatha grinned. “Welcome back.”
WANDA: Every game had an end. Maybe Wanda was the queen of denying the inevitable. The part in her brain that was unable to heal was backed by an excess of power she had never understood. It all made more sense now even though Wanda was fairly certain that she knew nothing at all. Darkhold, runes, spells. The Scarlet Witch. How fitting it was to have that as her true identity. Years of hurt and pain had left her feeling powerless but that was never the case. There had always something inside of Wanda that stopped her from falling back into the abyss. It was power, and she had never known how good it could feel. Her body was sore after being thrown around by Agatha. Everyone seemed to have found their way to the town square, every narrative now connecting into the big picture. These people were captives and the woman holding the key was in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She had been forced down memory lane and had her children almost hurt. Vision and the boys remained in her peripheral as Wanda spun to face the Winter Soldier that Agatha had freed. Her chest was heaving from an earlier display of power, her now shriveled hand extended towards the crowd. “--You were happy. You were fine. I’m sorry.”
BUCKY: Mind control was supposed to be easy - a simple switch flipped and lights out to the occupant. Whatever narrative, whatever brainwashing, whatever storyline created would supplant and override, signaling movements and forcing conversations that were unoriginal and baseless. That was the idea behind it, but for someone who had been submerged and pulled from the depths for decades of his life, James could feel the pull against his mind as he emerged and took a breath. It was alarming and painful, as much as it had been the first time he'd look through his own eyes and saw Sam clearly -- saw Yelena stare at him blankly before slipping into a mindless smile --- the thoughts came back to him in waves as he started dumbly before him, settling back into his skin. Going under was supposed to be easy, coming to was supposed to be easy, but it felt more like he was being dismantled and put back together again. James sucked in a breath and felt his body move forward - his first autonomous movement in only Wanda knew how long. "Happy?" His voice cracked from the rush of frustration and anger - the swell of panic from years of torture much in the way of Wanda's methods. "You think I haven't heard that before?"
WANDA: They would never understand. They would never understand and Wanda couldn’t blame them. Her actions had been wrong. They had been selfish and self satisfying. Her grief had become an excuse but no one would accept it anymore. She swallowed thickly, automatically taking a step back away from Barnes. It didn’t matter that she could easily take him down. Wanda was done hurting innocent people. “I just -- I didn’t mean,” Her words were caught up when Dottie approached, now free as well. Sarah Proctor. Eight year old daughter -- please let her out of her room so I can hold her. Dottie then Herb. Phil. Dennis. The citizens were all there with her accusatory stares and Wanda was unable to ward them off. She tucked her hand against her side, the spot where the magic had been extracted shriveled and brown. “Agatha!” That was a shot towards the sky where the witch hovered. “Stop. Please. Just -- stop.”
BILLY: His ties to reality ebbed and flowed, drawing images of a world he didn't recognize, of feelings and emotions that he wasn't connected to - and Billy had always dismissed them. He'd complained to Tommy a few times, even his mom, but they were always dismissed. Dreams, Billy, they're just dreams. But as he stared at Agnes, he was slowly starting to process the mix of memories. He had them both and could reconcile neither and even as the sky cleared, Billy almost wished he could go back under. Stepping back, he searched for Tommy, that instinct to find a brother he had now grown up with and not tugging at him. He didn't know if he wanted to be here, seeing faces he recognized - Captain America, the Winter Soldier, Magneto -- his eyes traced over heroes and mutants that weren't here to help, but they were all awake, and they'd all been dragged into this hell by his alternate reality mother.
YELENA: A glitch in the code. Wanda said they were happy. That meant they were happy, right? Her face twitched as some of the townsfolk cornered Wanda. She wanted to join in even if she couldn’t quite remember why. None of it made sense but there was one thing that Yelena and the the other unconscious residents knew: Wanda needed to stay happy. People were offering her things but she just took a step up towards the man who was supposed to be her husband ( that felt wrong, for some reason ). She didn’t care where the kids were. They didn’t feel like hers anyway at that moment. “I think you should drop it.”
PETER: Peter had been one of the lucky few in Westview that were granted awareness prior to today, and while he couldn’t say he understood just exactly what people like James had been through, the ordeal they had now shared was certainly something he wasn’t eager to get back to. He however, was probably one of the few that harbored more sympathy for Wanda than anger, and the urge to speak up had never been stronger. But Peter knew he’d be outnumbered in his beliefs and doing so would get him nowhere, despite how much his spidey sense was leaving his stomach in utter knots. So he kept quiet, watching from the sidelines as the woman he’d come to know as Agnes hovered above their heads, ready to strike at a moment’s notice should any harm come to Wanda or any of her family.
SAM: Talk about an escalation. One second he was back on his fuckboy shit and the next he was blinking away a massive magic headache again as Wanda’s spell wore off. It wasn’t just him though. Barnes had already engaged in direct contact with her along with a few residents. There were some still asleep judging by the vacant looks on their faces but the whole shebang was rapidly coming to an end. He joined Bucky and Yelena a step closer to Wanda than he preferred, attempting to give her a tight smile. She looked like she was falling apart. A little satisfying, but they had years of light friendship between them. “No one wants any trouble, Wanda. These people just want to go home. Wouldn’t mind it myself, either.”
BUCKY: Sam's voice had felt a lot like Steve's when he'd first heard it in Romania - a tether to the reality he'd been pulled away from. His gaze didn't waver from Wanda's, even if he wanted to turn and confirm that Sam was a real live person next to him, and not more manipulation by Wanda, but the look on her face, the awareness in the people surrounding her was enough confirmation to keep his eyes trained. "Speak for yourself, Wilson." it was clipped, angry. His fingers twitched as the panic continued to rise in his chest, almost overriding his sensibilities. James knew they just needed to get people out, but he couldn't get past how tired he was of people meddling with his brain.
SAM: Shifting from one foot to the other, Sam shook his head. “Nuh uh, nope. I’m not letting either of us getting erased from reality right now.” They had lost Wanda’s attention but she looked like a deer in the headlights. Only issue was that when she panicked she was liable to take everyone with her. “Parker,” Sam turned to Spider-man. “Good to see you’re with us. You ready for ugly?” Not that he was trying to will it into existence. “I’m hoping we got back-up waiting out there.” Knowing Carol, he was surprised she hadn’t smashed through the barrier like it was a spaceship yet.
PETER: Peter was mildly startled when Sam addressed him directly, his head snapping in the direction of the man in question. “—huh- oh yeah. Of course. I mean, not really. But I don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter.” Offering up a smile that slowly began to morph into a grimace, Peter gave Sam a halfhearted salute followed by a not so convincing “Ready when you are, Captain.”
WANDA: They were loud. Their thoughts, their desires. Now, more pressingly: their fear and anger. Norm -- no, Albliash Tandon was talking. When they dreamed - when they were allowed to sleep - they were subjected to her nightmares. This was all a twisted perversion of a fantasy. The people in Westview wanted to die rather than live under Wanda’s thumb any longer and she couldn’t blame them. This was hell on Earth presenting as heaven. Each voice chipped away at her and Wanda crumbled inside. “No, you’re fine.” She reassured them. “You’re fine. I kept you safe in here. You -- You feel... at peace.” A lie. They felt her pain. Wanda was crying and pleading with them like a madman. Her grief was poisoning them. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop Stop. She kept repeating it but they would’t listen. A scream exploded from her chest, hands clutching her face as scarlet tendrils wrapped around their thoughts and everyone in the square dropped. Her children remained off to the side, Agatha in the sky. Wanda didn’t notice any of them as she doubled over. As they writhed and choked, realization set in. “No, stop. Stop.” It took two shakes of her hand before the magic faded. She stared down at them, one whole and one ruined. How had she turned into this? If you won’t let us go, just kill us. No -- no, Wanda would let them go. She’d fix this. And then there was Agatha, goading her. Heroes don’t torture people, The voice of the Witch voice rang out somewhere in her mind above the din. A hero. Wanda was one, past actions excluded. She cared about people. She wanted to change a world that had hurt her. Heroes didn’t hurt people. Wanda was done. Sneakers planted on the ground, Wanda’s spine curved as the force of her magic began to bend her backwards. The column of red energy hit the roof of the Hex and exposed its edges and corners. It felt like ripping a part of herself apart but she still managed a pained, “Get out! Go.”
YELENA: It was incredible to go from being mind controlled into a zombie to being choked out on the street. Her first conscious thoughts were trying to make sure she could breath and then flipping onto her back to blink against the red glow of the Hex. Hex. Barrier. Wanda. With a grunt, Yelena climbed first to her knees and then her feet. Maximoff was there but divided. She was in pain ( not as much as she’d inflected on them though ) and vulnerable. Killing her was tempting, but her belt held no knives or guns. Even though whatever outfit Wanda had forced Yelena into was gone the clothes she had been wearing that night were weaponless. “Блядь,” she spat. “This is where we kill her, isn’t it?”
CAROL: Carol had parked it just a few yards away from the glowing red wall, the force of the magic hot enough to feel like she was standing in front of the sun, but still, she didn't move. She sat with her knees pulled up, forearms resting atop, and she contemplated her options. Behind her, commotion was ongoing as they watched Westview dissolve and they were losing signal because Wanda was losing it and Westview was quickly going dark. It was only a matter of time, and if necessary, Carol would find a way through, even if it pissed Wanda off. She was ready for a head to head. Itching for one. But just as her eyes made the rounds again as she scanned the corners she could make out, the ground beneath her began to shake, responding to a sudden rush of energy. Carol jumped to her feet, the hex splitting open and spilling out light from the other side. She didn't look back, she didn't wait for confirmation. Sending a rush of energy to her feet, Carol shot forward as soon as she saw the trees on the other side, emerging and landing heavily in grass. She didn't even give a glance back - by the accounts she tracked during the observations, she had a pretty good idea where Wanda was -- even if there wasn't a beam of red energy erupting from ground zero.
BUCKY: "Yes." James shoved himself to his feet, the shifting of metal a suddenly phantom feeling as his shoulder accustomed to supporting the weight of his arm again. He didn't even want to think about what else Wanda had changed - what narrative she had forced down their throats. "It sure fucking is."
SAM: Well, shit. The town was glitching. It was rapidly beginning to cycle through the different decades that Wanda had subjected it to. Already in go mode, Sam began waving civilians towards the widening gap. He wasn’t sure how long Wanda could sustain it, but it didn’t look like very long. “No, we’re not going to do that.” He shook his head at Yelena. If she and Bucky wanted to duke it out over who got to deal the final blow, that was awesome for the assassins. Not for Sam though, and he planned on keeping everyone alive. Belova wasn’t pregnant anymore and Barnes had his arm back. His metal arm back, that was. “She hurt more than just us. Right now, our job is making sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else. We get them out of here with her alive. I’m not willing to risk what happens if this barrier comes down on us.”
PIETRO: He’d been standing outside the barrier for what felt like centuries. Each second ticked by like agony as he stared at the sea of red encasing everything he’d ever loved within its clutches. The spread of it was slow at first, crimson stretching apart until it tore — his eyes dropped to the narrow opening just as it shuddered open and he was gone. A deafening boom of sound obliterating the air around him as debris dusted in a wake of blue and silver streaks. He tore through the opening, moving with so much momentum that gravity barely had the chance to acknowledge his presence before he was gone again, across the side of a building in a wide take on the ninety degree angle turn, nothing but a gush of air as he raced down the street. Luna. Crys. Wanda. —Wanda.—Crys. — Luna. wandalunacryslunawandacrys. His mind was racing and then all at once it didn’t matter. She was standing there with their baby in his arms and he slid to a pavement shattering halt with a thunderous snap just thirty feet from them. “Crystalia—“ he appeared in front of her, searching her face—searching Luna’s. “Are you okay??”
HAYWARD: The crack was enough. They were already ready, beyond ready now, as their technology flew out ahead of them, disappearing through the separated barrier to complete its given commands. Hayward packed himself into an armored vehicle and lead the pack of vehicles and tanks as they climbed over the terrain to finally enter Westview. Their concern had little to do with the citizens and more to do with handling the mutant that had created this alternate reality mess. When the truck hit asphalt and entered the town square, he was finally facing down Wanda, depowered and looking exhausted. The town must be empty, he concluded, the citizens fleeing from the twisted story she'd subjected them all to. All that was left was just a minor handful of people, those Wanda seemed closest too considering all the video feeds he'd watched.
AGATHA: Agatha watched the scene before her, floating above the chaos she’d snipped the stitchings to with all the amusement of someone detached and cold. It didn’t really matter to her how Wanda felt. That wasn’t what she was after. “Careful Wanda, your precious babies are tied to this messy little world you’ve created.” Agatha sighed. “Collapse it all now and ..” she tsked “well, look at them. they’re writhing.”
BUCKY: He was seething, struggling to see beyond the slew of memories he had that weren't his -- how happy he had felt, and how that was being soured by betrayal. All he wanted to do was rush forward, even if Wanda snapped him out of existence before he got the chance. But he forced his feet back, forced himself to grab onto Yelena's arm --- something he wouldn't have done under normal circumstances but nothing about this screamed normal -- and started moving away. "This conversation isn't over, Sam." James said with a finality as he turned to usher out the crowd towards the nearest fault in Wanda's wall.
PETER: Peter was suitless, now clad in the same oversized hoodie and baseball cap he’d been wearing the night he was sucked into the hex. Thankfully, however, past Peter had been smart enough to not come unprepared, and present Peter thanked his lucky stars as the familiar feeling of his web shooters materialized around his wrists. Watching James and Yelena nervously, he opted instead to assist Sam in evacuating civilians, using his webbing to pull collapsing debris and obstacles out of the way of the crack in the hex.
DAISY: Daisy had been waiting for the order like everyone else to go into the hex, and as she watched the walls began to collapse she didn’t hesitate to aim her gauntlet covered hands to the ground and sent a shockwave large enough to propel her into the air. It got her far enough to where she was just trailing behind Carol, and she used her powers again to break her fall before breaking off into a sprint towards the town center. As civilians ran past her, she did her best to give them some encouraging words. “You’re all going to be safe soon! Just run towards the edge of the wall as fast as you can!” She didn’t have time to usher people out, though. She needed to find Hayward and stop him from making a strike on Wanda, and everyone else that was still in the surrounding area.
WANDA: It hurt. That was what her mind was focused on. It hurt with every fiber of her being to exert that much energy at once. As the town began to revert and glitch Wanda felt silent tears streak down her face. She deserved this on some level. Her creation and ruination combined. Wanda channeled everything she had into the rectification of her mistake until she felt it. An untethering. There was screaming but then there was the sound of her husband, her sons. They were dying -- again, in Visions case -- and Wanda wasn’t ready to let them go. There was a scream that left her throat and then the barrier was closing once more. They were tethered, tied. That was mostly true. There was no Vision outside of Westview. The world had saw to that when they took him away from her. But her boys, they persisted. The dissolving aura that surrounded Vision faded away while remaining on the twins. Just like it had happened before they were conceived, a division occurred. Two boys were left coughing on the pavement while their original selves - the older ones - were once again separate. The red faded away and Wanda was left breathless and weak. Even though she felt like she was going to fall over if she took a step she somehow managed to drag herself to her younger boys and her husband. “Are you okay? Look at me -- are you okay?” She grabbed the twin’s by the face, her attention on them and not Hayward’s militia.
SAM: At least everyone was working together. His head tipped in Bucky’s direction as he grabbed the Widow by the arm. Better to let them work it out among themselves. “Didn’t think it was, Bucky.” He turned his attention then towards the current effort. “Hey, spiderthing, you got any reservations about throwing old people?”
TOMMY: He couldn’t quite separate it any more — the younger version of him he’d been combined with and the person he was before, so much so that it was hard to tell which one was falling apart anymore until he finally thought it was just him. All of him being stretched and pulled and ripped away until finally it was like a rubber band snapping and he gasped, staring at a version of himself that didn’t even look like him when he was a kid. “What the fuck?” Tommy said, sitting flat on his ass in the middle of the street. His hands flapped around his torso, checking for—for holes or janky missing parts— maybe parts that weren’t his but nothing, none of that just...him. all him. “...Billy....???” He called out warily.
MONICA: Monica didn’t want to talk about where she had been or her unfortunate experience with Ralph Bohner. That was for another day. Ultimately, she had wasted time getting to the town square. The barrier was closing again but the space had been inundated with familiar faces. “Hey, S.H.I.E.L.D.” She tilted her head towards Daisy as their paths intersected. “Wanda -- is she alive still?”
YELENA: To say she was angry was an extreme understatement. Yelena had been indoctrinated for as long as she could remember. Her entire being had been reduced into being a replacement for a woman who had decided to move on. Yelena was not Natalia. She had learned that over time, even though they had denied her own name. She was her own, and yet, Wanda had erased that. An American. One who made pies and gave a shit about what people thought about her. Yelena was not the pretty one. She never had been. That was Natalia, lithe and delicate. Yelena hid in curved edges. She wasn’t a beauty queen and suburbia was never in her cards. Having someone who loved her was almost as ridiculous. Two assassins as parents? No. She refused to let her hand touch her stomach like it had when she was pregnant. Yelena knew what was there: a scar. no signs of life. She made it approximately five steps before pulling her arm from James’ grasp. “Ты не мой муж, James ( you’re not my husband).
Отпустить (let go). I’m not leaving.”
PETER: Peter continued in his efforts of getting civilians to safety as quickly as possibly, but Sam’s voice once again snapped him out of it, “—do I what? You can’t be serious, dude!” Yelena was clearly growing angry pretty quickly and Peter was growing overwhelmed. The sounds of Wanda’s distress mixed with that of utter chaos were almost becoming too much to handle, but Peter stuck to it, launching himself toward the Captain with his webbing and landing beside the man with a soft thud. “You want me to — “ he held up a web shooter and vaguely gestured in Yelena and James’ direction with a shrug.
SAM: “Desperate times, desperate measures, man.” The octogenarians weren’t really moving fast enough and Wanda had finally lost steam. They were going to be trapped but the heroes could at least take care of themselves. As Peter moved to stand by his side, Sam’s shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t speak Russian and I know she can kill me. He could too, but we’re friends. Mostly. Think we let them work it out?”
VISION: It wasn’t the first time he’d felt himself being torn apart at the seams—at the barrier, he’d felt it then. The popping of parts as they flew loose, chunks of reality melting away into stardust and matter. He strained to reach them—his wife, his children. “Wanda!—Boys!” he gritted through his teeth, pushing through an invisible force that allowed no headway. Then all at once, he collapsed, all his pieces flew back into place and he caught his breath. His sons had once again separated into their older and younger selves. “I’m alright.” he assured her, looking to his children for any missing chunks.
WANDA: They were okay. They were fine. Maybe they wouldn’t be in the long haul, but in that moment her family was whole once more. No missing pieces, no slipping away and dissolving into the air. Wanda exhaled a sigh of relief, kissing the top of Billy and Tommy’s heads. The barrier was back in place and they had once again stolen a few extra minutes. “Go home, boys.” Wanda released them. “Get to safety.” Not that anywhere was safe. Their house had been a haven. At the very least it put a few walls between themselves and Hayward’s agents. Wanda had warned them off. She had told S.H.I.E.L.D. to leave her alone but they clearly no longer feared her. No fear, no respect. Wanda was just another obstacle. She squeezed Vision’s hand, relief bubbling in her chest. Wanda had barely made it to her feet when something slammed into her and a vice grip was around her neck. White hands led up white arms and a ivory form. It was the Vision but it was not. There was something cold and calculating about his blue eyes. Even though she had just seen her husband, there was something unsettling about his quiet form. He was achingly familiar. “Vision?” She rasped. He just stared at her before his grip tightened. “And here I thought you were supposed to be powerful.”
PETER: Peter spoke to Sam in a manner akin to a student whispering to his friend in the back of class, careful to not let the teacher catch them, “— yeah, but if we leave them be - won’t they go after Wanda? I don’t know if I can take them both — “
TOMMY: Grabbing his correct twin, Tommy took a fistful of the back of his shirt and raced them both out of Westview before the barrier could close back up.
CRYSTALIA: There was a chance that Crystal was the only one who had willingly entered Westview. She hadn’t really know what she was signing up for but knew she had no choice. The second that Luna had vanished there hadn’t been a single thing in the world that mattered more to her than setting things right. There was a crippling fear that it was Crystal’s fault it had happened in the first place. Realistically she knew Wanda’s powers, but as a young first time mother it all seemed so pivotal on her inability to hold on when it mattered. And so, she entered hell. Crystalia wasn’t a Princess anymore. She had a ridiculous backstory and always felt exhausted even when she smiled. And she was always smiling. Her child screamed and she was helpless to do anything until Wanda fixed it. It felt impossible to say how long it had been, but the second the red cloud began to leave her mind Crystal began to panic. Luna was awake but wasn’t crying. The infant almost seemed solemn. Had Wanda hurt her? Crystal would kill her if so, but the baby betrayed nothing. Everyone in the town square was loud. They were panicking but Crystalia was trying to center herself. She was naturally attuned to the world -- being in elemental meant being grounded. She could feel the vibrations of the earth and the moisture in the air and that was reassuring. That being said, it’s hard to be grounded when your not sister in law decides to choke an entire town out. Crystal had pressed Luna against her, resting the unaffected baby on her chest as she hit her knees. Pietro loved Wanda. Crystal had spent her abbreviated pregnancy watching him all apart. He loved her, but Crystalia hated her. She hated what she had done to her and her daughter. At the thundering sound, the Princess instinctively tucked Luna against herself. Head spinning, she took a step towards her baby daddy Pietro. “It’s you.” As in, not the fake version she had been forced to marry.
SAM: There was a noncommittal grunt. “Bucky, no. He wants to but he knows what we’re focusing on. Yelena, I’m not sure. It would be easier if Nat was here.” Not that the sisters relationship was outwardly anything other than contentious. “I’d say lovers quarrel but that wasn’t real.” Technically their sleeping together was but Sam wasn’t sure if that was public knowledge. “Speaking of lovers, you see a Carol shaped comet yet?”
PIETRO: When they’d vanished he felt the last parts of himself that he’d been clinging to, crumble. Wanda had been rejecting him in more ways than one and ripping his new born and Crys from him just days after Luna had been born had broken something for him that just hadn’t operated right since. His mind loosely drifted to his twin but he was more focused on this—Wanda could handle herself. Right now he needed to hold his daughter and her mother. Pietro pulled both of them against him, tucking Luna between their bodies as he wrapped them in his arms. He felt a breath fully expand his lungs for the first time in weeks. “It’s you.” he said. “Both of you.” He kissed the top of her bright red hair. “Please tell me you’re okay.”
DAISY: Daisy smiled a bit when she saw Monica, glad to see the familiar face. “S.W.O.R.D.” She breathed out in a sigh of relief before she stopped in her tracks and nodded as she pointed over towards the big red beam in the sky, but then it faded again and her head tilted to the side. The borders were closing, but thankfully she seemed to still be in her right of mind. For now, at least. “Where the hell is Hayward?”
CRYSTALIA: Folding into him, Crystal allowed herself to take a shaky breath. She wasn’t sad, only angry. Her child had been endangered for no reason at all. “It’s me. As of a few minutes ago, at least.” There was the sharp curl of humiliation in her stomach at the thought of who Wanda had forced her to be. Her family had to be worried. She was an adult but she’d always be the baby of the family -- forever the princess, never the queen. It was a miracle that the Inhumans hadn’t taken any kind of action against Wanda. Or, she assumed they hadn’t. Although it was nearly physically painful, Crystalia angled her body to offer Pietro his daughter. “She hurt us.” It was hard to explain the feeling. “Every second. Just grief. But you, you were there.” Wanda mourned her brother. Maybe she knew Crystal’s connection to him and let her share in that sorrow. Falling silent as her processing spun slowly, the Inhumans brows furled. “She had me get married to some knock off version of you who smelled. I had to live with him.” Not that he cared or was attentive. It was just part of the game.
BUCKY: James stopped, giving the collapsing Hex a glance before he shifted his gaze to her. "И что вы будете делать, Yelena." and what will you do? He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to deal with it. With regret already settling into his skin, James bent and scooped Yelena up by her hips, hinging her over his shoulder, his metal arm tight around her waist. He knew he was taking her choice from her just minutes after she'd gotten it back, but she could take that out on him outside of Wanda's hell fantasy. He followed Sam and the rest.
PETER: Peter was shocked to notice James scoop Yelena off her feet and carry the assassin to the break in the Hex, but he didn’t question it, gaze instead flicking to the sky to check for any sign of the Carol shaped comet. “I don’t know? Thought I saw her earlier, Quake was nearby too — she shouldn’t be too hard to spot!” he spoke a bit louder, almost a yell, over the rumbling chaos.
YELENA: Body thrashing slightly, Yelena knew five ways to break his hold that would also bring him to his knees. She knew how to fight back but she was exhausted. Her body didn’t know how to handle going from being pregnant to remembering that it was impossible to exist in that state. “я собираюсь убить тебя ( i’m going to kill you ),” she hissed, knowing that his ear was right by her mouth. Going slack then, the spy allowed him to carry her away from the place she wanted to be and the person she wanted to kill.
VISION: He was flying over Westview, scanning for his wife among the scattered bodies running around below. When he finally passed over their home, he found a startling view: a being, stark white in nature — and worse, he seemed to have Wanda by the head. A visual that sent his vital organs or lack thereof plummeting to the earth below. Vision rocketed forward, slamming into the other synthezoid with a force that sent them tumbling into the ground like an asteroid. They left a crater in their wake as he carried him far away from his family. Vision threw the synthezoid up, chasing him higher into the sky—farther away from Wanda.
MONICA: “Hayward’s where Wanda is.” Monica replied, knowing it to be true. “He wants Vision and she’d do anything to protect him. That’s where I’m going.” Without waiting, Monica turned to move towards the glowing epicenter with the notion Daisy would follow. As the red column began to die down she hurried her pace into a run until she skidded to a stop. Hayward was looking smug and his shoulders were at the ready. It was then that they fired at the retreating forms of Wanda’s twins and without any hesitation Monica threw herself in front of them. She had been the one to help deliver them. Even if it was all fake, she had handed the newborns to Wanda and watched that love grow. One bullet entered and then the other. There was no pain or skin breaking. For a moment it was just light. It was like breaking through the barrier. Monica felt them enter and exit in a surge of energy. She blinked through a new golden glow, mind trying to comprehend the sight of Vision wrestling what looked like a ghostly version of himself away from Wanda. “It’s over, Hayward.” It was easy to say when you had just tapped into the light spectrum. “It’s done.”
SAM: Holding both hands up, Sam shook his head. They were going to sort it out. The Winter Soldier and White Widow were well equipped for one another. Maybe Belova would try to kill Barnes. He couldn’t see it going the other way. Not that Sam was actively betting on Barnes’ love life. “If you want to go, kid, I don’t blame you. I’m going to stay here though. See if anyone needs help.” Leave no man behind. Sam was trying to be the best Captain he could.
PIETRO: An actual twinge of pain ebbed through him at her words. She hurt us. They echoed through his skull like gun shots. He felt his tongue go dry and his legs go numb as he pulled her to him a little tighter. They weren’t words he’d wanted to hear, but he needed to. The part of him that twitched to run to Wanda in any capacity was subdued by a haunting feeling of guilt. He had missed her but the joy of seeing her again was squandered by pain she’d caused. To his daughter. Crystalia. Him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—I should have protected you.” You never should have been there. I should have stopped her. She should have never done this. The words died on his tongue before they had a chance to form. It didn’t matter. The damage was done. And no amount of words would remedy the scars that had been left. “What can I do?” He asked into her hair, smoothing a hand down her back. At her comment about the awful imposter that had been branded with his name, a subdued scoff of a laugh left his throat. “He smelled, huh? Well at least you don’t like him better.” He mused, an ill attempt at a joke. Of course she wouldn’t have. He’d been awful.
DAISY: Daisy quickly followed suit behind Monica, with absolutely no hesitation. They needed to make their way over there, and fast. There was no telling what Hayward had planned. And sure enough, Daisy ran up just in time to see an ivory tinted version of Vision and the real- er, hex vision flying up into the sky with him. “Shit..” She muttered under her breath as she sped up her pace. And when she ran up to Hayward and saw him opening fire on a couple of kids, her heart sank as she realized that she was too late. She quickly held her hand up and tried to pinpoint vibrations on all of the guns to shake them apart, but the bullets had already exited the chamber. In fact, he fired several rounds before she was able to destroy the guns. But then Monica was throwing herself in front of the kids and Daisy’s eyes widened as she watched the bullets go straight through the other agent. That must have been a new development. And she very quickly quaked most of the bullets in a different direction before they could actually hit Billy and Tommy. And then, she turned to Hayward and narrowed her eyes before tilting her finger and using her powers to snap all of the bones in his hand and his wrist. “Stand down, now. Or I’ll break a lot more than just that.”
PETER: Peter debated his next move for a few seconds, and while Sam was partly right - he did want to leave, to go home, to call MJ and Ned, and make sure everyone was okay - he also knew what he had to do. He was Spider-Man. Maybe he didn’t quite look like it at the moment, sans suit, but there was no denying it - and there was no walking away from that. “No — I’ll stay, I’ll stay. Just - tell me what you need me to do.”
CAROL: She felt sheer force slam into her shoulder as Carol full bodied the nearest armored truck, smashing it into the nearest one and then cascading that energy through the tank nearest to the rest. It was a calculated move -- they were aiming guns at children and the tank was setting up to fire. Now, she had put enough force and energy through the vehicles that they were little more than metal boxes now as she peeled herself out of the metal and took a moment to crack her back. "You really underestimate us, Hayward." She said casually just before she registered Monica. She didn't have nearly enough time to address that situation before she spotted Sam. She didn't say anything to him, she didn't know what she'd say, so she looked to Monica and Daisy. "Nice teamwork guys. Now. Where's our mutant?"
SAM: Peter was a good kid. They had a strange introduction but Sam could say that about everyone he knew at this point. He was offering his mouth to respond when the Carol comet he had inquired about smashed into Hayward. Coughing from the dust that rose from the rubble, Sam jutted his chin towards where Wanda was sucking in breath. “Looks like we have a Vision problem.”
LORNA: As it stood, Lorna was positive she was going to go back towards being an only child. Erik didn’t even like Pietro and they had basically just met him. The mutant had come to alongside her father. Her green hair was a dull brown that was only just returning to its normal hue. It felt ridiculous to be standing in a full cape and headpiece in the middle of the town square, but Lorna had other things to focus on. Carol Danvers ( ugh ) was smashing into Hayward and someone Lorna didn’t recognize was apparently casually breaking his bones. Striding up, green flared around the guns of the soldiers before they snapped in half. The bullets unloaded to clatter pointlessly to the ground. “God, I love guns. More than I love this family at least.”
MONICA: Teamwork made the dream work. Monica had been trained as an agent to learn how to balance working with a group. It made life easier. She became a human target, Carol was Carol and the new Agent was inflicting pain on Hayward that Monica would personally have loved to be responsible for. “She willingly took the barrier down.” Monica said as she strode in Carol’s direction. “But it was killing her family. That was before another Vision showed up. And, also, there’s a witch.”
PETER: Peter watched on in a slight crazed panic, at the scene Sam alerted him to, and a broken smile forced its way onto his face, “Hey then we better get some glasses — you know..? Because - vision problem,” he quipped, regretting even opening his mouth before shaking his head and launching a web toward the wrestling duo, the tendril managing to cling to the bottom of one of the ghostly vision’s feet. Peter gave a sharp tug, but it didn’t appear to do much besides briefly interrupt the fight, “Uhh - what do I do??”
CAROL: "Another Vision?" Carol shot a look at Hayward, but he was too preoccupied dealing with his bones and the loss of his firepower to pay Carol any mind. "Witch?" That also caught her attention. "Another mutant then or?" she didn't know why the questions mattered. They didn't. They'd just been so out of the loop for so long she was itching for answers. "So let's go get her then."
VISION: The sky lit up in an array of blue and gold as the two synthezoid’s went at one another, each determined to destroy the next. In all the thrashing, he kept them steered clear from anyone below. “What are you?”
CRYSTALIA: It was over. Or, at the very least, it almost was. Wanda was out of her mind and the absence of the spell left the clarity of uninterrupted thought. Pietro pulled her even closer and there was a comfort to be found in a firm embrace. He was strong -- maybe not strong enough to stop his sister -- but solid nonetheless. All Crystalia wanted to do was rest. If she broke down it would not be there. Her pride was too persistent. “It’s not your fault,” Crystal shook her head, one hand briefly resting above his heart. “Any anger I have is towards Wanda. There was nothing you could have done.” Once Wanda wanted something no one had been able to stand in her way. There was a hurricane of emotion that could be sorted through later. Right the she just wanted to make sure her daughter was safe. “You can take us home.” Wherever that was. New Attilan or the Avengers Compound. Home was anywhere but Westview. Even then she doubted that she’d sleep well but at least it would be on her own terms. At the mention of “Pietro”, Crystal shook her head. Her hair was down and loose in strawberry curls, fly aways blowing into her face. “He didn’t come around much and he didn’t care about Luna. I can’t even remember marrying him.”
THE VISION: What was he? A good question. He was functional, capable. He was built with a purpose to last. He was, most importantly, real. That was more than the synthezoid he grappled with could say. Their twin bodies phased through one another, mental beams hitting empty air. “I am the Vision.” The reply was simple, syllables plain and straightforward. This was not something he struggled to understand. His being was laid out in code and his object is clear. Body twisting in the air to get a grasp, the synthezoid managed to get hit a hit in that sent his counterpart hurtling through the air and crashing into what appeared to be a library. His descent was slower, cape gently fluttering around his legs as he hovered above the wooden floor. “And I am here to neutralize the Vision.”
DAISY: Once Hayward seemed to have given up, Daisy stomped towards him and grabbed him by the arm, glaring down at him. As she glanced behind her and spotted a couple other S.W.O.R.D. agents who made it through the barrier with them, she practically shoved him towards them and shook her head. "Take Director Dick here back towards the base once the barrier opens back up. We'll deal with the paperwork there." She insisted, and the other two didn't even question it as they got him in handcuffs and loaded him into one of the nearby vehicles. She approached Monica and Carol at the tail end of the conversation. "I'm sorry did you say another witch?" As she glanced up towards the sky, she finally saw the woman who was surrounded by a purple aura and her eyes widened. "Oh, yeah. That's another witch. Let's find Wanda."
VISION: Vision rose to his feet, facing his ghostly counter part once again, head on. He charged at him, tangling them in a web of vibranium limbs, he twisted White Vision into a headlock, stilling them for a breath of a moment. then it occurred to him: “But I’m not the true Vision. Only a conditional one.”
WANDA: It was time for it all to finally end. Wanda had kept up the ruse for as long as possible but the walls had done more than cave in. There were Avengers - friends - and there had been innocents. Wanda had walked through her reasoning and watched it go down in her minds eye. She had been many things, but fear was the root cause of everything. It all traced back to her fear -- and she was terrified no more. There was just calm resolve as she left Carol and the others with Hayward. Rising into the air so that Westview became a map below her, Wanda gave it her all. She tried to enter Agatha’s mind as the Witch had once done to her. It was a failure of an idea, the coven of witches that Agatha had drained instead turning on Wanda. In some ways she was out of her element, but there was also a part of her that had been waiting for this moment. Agatha wanted to know how she did it? Fine. She wanted her power? She’d let her try to take it. Wanda couldn’t escape her fate. She threw blast after blast and felt her body start to shrivel up. If Agatha wanted it all, she could have it. Red poured from Wanda into Agatha, purple and red mingling. She gave her everything she had until she was left floating with red eyes and withered skin.
AGATHA: Agatha had asked for it — but the funny thing about wishes — you had to be careful with them. After all the universe did like to screw you. Honestly she was a little surprised to see the red witch cave so easily — not that it stopped her from draining her of everything she could. Her magic tasted hellish on her tongue and it filled her with a sense of power she’d only ever sensed in beings of the cosmic scale. Her arms stretched wide as the tendrils of chaos flowed through her—and then...suddenly...it stopped. No. No—that wasn’t right, they weren’t done. Agatha tried to draw more, only nothing happened, not even a sputter of sparks from her finger tips. “What?”
MONICA: “Y’know, I really wanted to be the one who did that.” Monica shook her head. Hayward had taken something her mother had created as a labour of love and exploited it for power. There was a sharp sting of disappointment that she couldn’t be the one who finally got to haul him away in sweet retribution. But this was reality. You didn’t always get to be the hero you wanted to. Hayward had been taken care of and Monica had to be happy with that victory. “Agatha Harkness. Turns out Agnes wasn’t just a nosy neighbor.” They had only interacted marginally. Geraldine had no reason to pay her much attention. “I know where Wanda is.” A finger pointed upwards. “And I’m not getting involved.”
PETER: Peter jogged up to Monica and the others, having just witnessed the immense transfer of power between the two witches, “Does anyone have any idea what’s happening?? I don’t think my web shooters will do any good against that,” he pointed to the sky, worriedly.
REMY: Plenty of them had stood at the border, waiting for something more than silence and occasional updates on the happenings of inside. But then the Hex had fractured and teams had been ordered in for extraction - save the people, evacuate the town - and Remy had done his best to follow that order, but he didn't know how to be a hero. Not really. Not in the selfless capacity. He slipped down back alleyways to avoid the crowds of people and just followed where they were fleeing from until he emerged in the center of the town. There were trucks, SWORD had made it in, and a few stray heroes were incapacitating them. But his attention was drawn elsewhere, because goddamit he was tired of the loss and gain of their relationship. "You gonna keep making me chase you down?" he said, just loud enough to grab Lorna's attention. "I'm starting to wonder if it's on purpose" there was no immediate threat, nothing he could attack, even if they, and he, were still on high alert. And this was the only way he could manage because presently, he wasn't managing well at all.
CAROL: Carol followed Monica's gaze and she almost shot a load of energy into her boots but forced herself to stay planted. As much as she wanted to engage, it would be out of her own selfishness, not because she was needed. "Fine." she looked straight at Monica. "You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on with you then?"
DAISY: "He's all yours once we get back to the base." Daisy insisted, knowing that Monica would love to be the one who did his official intake. She may have let her anger get the best of her back there once she saw him firing at those kids, but then she was reminded of those bullets floating straight through Monica like she wasn't even solid matter. And then Carol mentioned it and Daisy couldn't help herself from commenting too. "That was really brave of you back there. Stupid, but brave. Did you even know you would be able to do that? That's new, right?" She didn't remember powers being mentioned at all when it came to Monica.
PIETRO: It didn’t matter whether or not it was his fault, he didn’t do his job. Against the one person he should have been best at it. Her words stung, but he understood where they were coming from. She had a right to be angry — he was still angry. Loving Wanda more than he could handle didn’t exclude him from holding her accountable. You can take us home. He nodded, relief flooding him to know they’d be sleeping under the same roof tonight. They were alive and well and his. He smoothed the stray pieces of her red hair from her face and kissed her. “Then don’t. Marry me instead.” He proposed. It seemed to come from no where, but he’d been thinking about it before. He’d only stopped himself because he hadn’t wanted it to happen just because of Luna. Now though — he just didn’t care what it looked like. He was tired of tripping up on calling her his girlfriend because it was so much more than that between them. “Yeah.” he said, tilting his head and tucking her hair behind he ear. “Marry me.”
WANDA: Surprise. It turned out that Wanda was an incredibly quick study. She was barely able to stay afloat and it felt like Agatha had taken everything from her, but Wanda persevered. That was what she did. Time and time again she found a way to survive. As Agatha’s realization began to dawn Wanda found herself revitalized. Runes. They began to glow as the giant shapes lit up the sky. “In a given space, only the witch who cast them can use her magic. Thanks for the lesson, but I don’t need you to tell me who I am.” It was like the floodgates were opening. This was chaos unleashed. Agatha was pleading but the world was a red blur. It encased Wanda in its blinding light. She felt it solidifying around her temple, infusing her with pure potential. Destiny, fate, burdens. All words that had been thrown at her. At that moment, Wanda didn’t care. She was everything and she was nothing. She was, without a doubt, the Scarlet Witch and as a nexus of powers potential personified. Maybe Agatha was right. She didn’t fully know what she had done. Encased in magic, the new scarlet of Wanda’s outfit reflected the failing borders of the world she had built. For so long she had lacked a name, and in some ways, a higher purpose. That was no more. Red swirled around her palm as Wanda lowered herself and the defeated Agatha back towards the ground. She dropped the Witch unceremoniously before gently drifting down herself. Something was different. Everything was different. Red died from green eyes as Wanda turned towards the small crowd of people she knew, silent as her power threaded itself through her veins.
CAROL: Carol shifted her attention abruptly, calculating the woman who stood before her. She always knew Wanda was powerful - she'd dealt with enough powerful mutants to build a roster and by now, her instinct was to defend. "Wanda-" she started, but she made no move to approach. "You've got a lot of things to own up to." If Wanda attacked, Carol would defend -- but the last thing Carol would do was retreat, no matter if Wanda got a fancy new outfit in the last ten minutes up in the sky.
PETER: Peter couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. Sure he’d fought in battles by Wanda’s side before, and even fought - well tried to fight - Wanda herself. But this was different. This was a whole other level — and Peter felt almost frozen in place as he watched everything commence, only broken from his trance-like state at the sound of Carol’s voice addressing the now grounded Wanda.
THE VISION: The two fought. They were beings forged with great power but remained intellects at heart. He required further elaboration. The two talked then, quick debate spurred on by processing cores and a desire to learn. This was the Ship of Theseus, the dilemma of a conundrum. They were both Vision and they were not. One was memory and heart and the other the tangible devoid of that which had once made him. He could not destroy the Vision because he was the Vision. Alternatively, neither of them were the Vision. They had been twisted by greed -- both that of Wanda’s love and Hayward’s thirst for power. Together, perhaps, they could be one but that was not to be. Life had made them diametrically opposed through intentions he did not understand. It was with a quiet hesitation that the Vision let Vision touch the processing chip that had once housed the Mind Stone. And then -- clarity. Wanda. Sokovia. Wanda. Ultron. An accident that rendered a man paralyzed. This was the Vision as he once was. He was machine made more. Recoiling backwards, the blue of his eyes began to clear. “I am Vision.” Where that left the other he knew not, but the revitalized Vision shot out o the building without another word and escaped the barrier to find a place to enter deep contemplation.
VISION: Vision watched him go, left to float by himself among the now quiet air of the library. After but a moment or two, he soared out of the hole in the roof of the building to find Wanda and the boys. He didn’t know where any of it left the other synthezoid in his programming to destroy himself, but he was hoping it would override it. Upon landing, Vision phased through Carol to get to Wanda. “Captain Danvers.” he said on the pass through. “With all due respect, while I understand your qualms with my wife, they can wait another ten minutes — we’ve our children to get to.”
DAISY: Daisy watched in awe as Wanda fought it out with Agatha, still kind of in shock that this was the level of threats she was dealing with nowadays. That really was an Avenger up there, and she was standing next to freaking Captain Marvel. She was practically in the same amount of shock as Peter was as she stared dumbfounded with him, only to snap out of it at the sound of Wanda’s feet hitting the grass. She glanced down at Peter and raised her eyebrows at him in an attempt at a silent conversation, knowing he’d probably get her amazement.
MONICA: For what felt like the hundredth time in her life, Monica stood with her head tilted up towards the sky. This time there was no stars or Aunt who had turned to legend. It was a broken woman and a force set out against her. “I think what’s happening with me can wait.” Monica’s voice was quiet. She understood aliens but magic was new to her. She wanted to hate Wanda -- and a part of her did. Didn’t change how beautiful she looked dripping in scarlet and power. Turning towards Daisy, Monica nodded a few times before she remembered to speak. “Westview side effect. Looks like a lot is changing now.”
SAM: Carol was right. Wanda did have a lot to own up to, but they also had a lot to process and a lot of people to deal with. There was an arm extended in front of Carol. It wouldn’t stop her. It was purely a gesture. “It’s time for goodbye.” He said quietly, knowing what Vision meant. Besides, he was tired. They all were.
DAISY: Daisy blinked when she realized she was being spoken to. She turned her head to Monica and nodded. “Oh yeah, you went in before..” She could only imagine how having your entire reality rewritten and unwritten like that twice could effect your molecular anatomy. Daisy just knew that FitzSimmons would have a field day with trying to figure that out. “Still, that was super cool you know.”
TEDDY: Teddy Altman had been through a lot in the last couple of months, let alone the year. He’d lost his boyfriend twice—once to death, a second time to his scary mom. He’d been crowned the emperor of two empires that hated each other and was somehow expected to hold them together. His time on earth was limited most days, and while it made the frustration of not being able to get his boyfriend out of the hex — he was pretty floored to find out it was not only open, but the woman he’d been told about was involved. “Monica Rambeau?” Teddy said, approaching her. “My name’s Teddy. Can we talk?”
CAROL: Carol's eyes snapped to Sam, an incredulous furrow in her brow. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." she said on a breath but ultimately, she took a step back, actually turning around fully and away from Sam. "Good to know. I'll keep this in mind for the next villain we face."
CRYSTAL: Marry me instead. Crystalia’s mind was torn between the subtle swaying of rocking the baby and the processing of what had happened. Wanda would always be in her life, even if she wasn’t with Pietro. They were bound forever by blood and bone now. She was lost in touch - actual touch not being controlled by another - and the feeling of his lips against her own. “Marry you?” Of course she had thought about it. They had a child together and it was all but expected by an aristocratic family that worked on tradition. Crystalia had a child out of wedlock. Not only that but it was with a mutant who had a terrorist sister nonetheless. “Marry you.” The word was a sigh. She loved Pietro. She loved the family they had made. He wasn’t on one knee and they stood in the middle of a possessed town, but there was an odd romance to it. “Of course I’ll marry you.” Crystalia leaned up to kiss him. It was nice to have a choice this time. “I love you. All this craziness aside. I do.”
PIETRO: He wanted Crystalia and the baby out before he could think much of anything else. They had to be safe before he could get to Wanda and once he knew that Crys had Luna cradled to her chest, he’d picked her up and ran both of them back to Attilan in the Hudson. The entire ordeal had really only taken just minutes — mostly because he’d had to separate himself from them once again and convince his now fiancée to let him go speak to the same woman that had caused all of their pain. Even if that person was his sister—his twin, the same flesh and blood of his own—it still left its scars.
WANDA: They stared. Wanda sensed their indecision and, in some cases, their anger. Let them. It didn’t matter anymore. She knew what she had and what she had to lose. “A villain.” She repeated softly. There had been times in the past Carol had defended her. She hadn’t wanted Wanda left at the mercy of the mutants. But that was a different time before unforgivable transgressions. “Maybe, but it’s not that simple.” She had been villainous but that was over. This was the after. Taking Visions hand, Wanda nodded at Carol. “My husband is right. We have to focus on the boys. I’ll come back. I promise.” The last word was spoken quietly. She’d come back. Not Vision, not the boys. Just her. The twins had returned to town square, two children with expectant faces. Wanda would not let her last moments with her children be defending herself against Carol Danvers. Without waiting for permission, Wanda turned towards her home. “The barrier is falling. Westview is returning,” she called over her shoulder. “It will be right once more.”
MONICA: “Went in and got thrown out.” Monica confirmed. Carol was getting upset and she instantly tensed up to see if there would be conflict. When Sam intervened Monica exhaled. She was turning to respond to Daisy when she was approached from the other side. “Emperor Dorreck?” Of course she knew the Skrull leader. Space had always been a part of the Rambeau’s life. She excused herself to the side. “Yeah, of course. I’ll meet you as soon as we’re out of here.”
WANDA: It was the beginning of the end. No, not the beginning. The end had come five years before even though it felt like yesterday to a woman who hadn’t been around to live through it. The end had come the moment the Vision had died in Wakanda. His empty shell hitting the dirt heralded a new phase in her life and Wanda had tried her best to live in it. She socialized and tried to smile. Her tears were regulated to moments of privacy. Wanda had tried - she really had - but she couldn’t do it. She rewrote the story, added a chapter. There was no end then, only beginnings. Westview was real. Westview was hers. Westview had crumbled. People were flickering back to consciousness and red still sparked in the sky. It was her home that had never really been. A promise that had never been lived out. When the Vision had signed the deed and secured the land had he ever fathomed just how much Wanda would pervert it to keep it? The white android with his hands on her throat hadn’t remembered but Wanda always would. After months of games and manipulation she was quiet as she rested a hand on the twin’s backs. The elder version of the boys had long since departed. Not that she could blame them. They were all people for her to answer to but they had all the time in the world. The three souls who walked beside Wanda were pinned now into a finite box. She was going to lose them. They were never hers to lose. As Tommy and Billy obediently moved towards their house their mother took the hand of their father. It was silent except for their boots on the now cracked pavement and the quiet slapping of their capes. One day, there would be too much to unpack. Wanda felt a new thrumming in her chest and magic in her veins. The Scarlet Witch was more than just a name now, it was a point of being. She wore the mantle and the crown with a heavy head. The second their feet hit the threshold of the door the new costume faded away to more mundane clothing. A soft sweater, jeans. Some sneakers. Wanda felt stripped bare and the hardest part had yet to come. “Go get ready for bed, boys.” Her voice was hoarse as she tipped her head towards the stairs. When she looked back at Vision there was a plea in her eyes. The barrier was a soft static hush in the background as it inched closer. She couldn't do this. Not again.
VISION: They’d been moving at an immeasurable pace toward an end that he wasn’t entirely sure sealed much of anything at all. Time seemed slow and fast all at once, which led him to consider that it was merely a construct after all. A simple tool for humans to capture moments of life in numbered little bottles. Not that any of it mattered now — it did — but it could wait. If not for just for the moment: their moment. After all, that’s all life was, wasn’t it? A series of moments that molded bodies and souls all the same. Certainly Wanda and Vision had shared theirs. And while he spent most of their short time in Westview without the memories of their life prior to the Hex, he’d witnessed them within the precious past of a body that was never his to inhabit. And he felt that perhaps now, he understood her more than ever. He understood what they shared, but not what he was. He had all of this history that he couldn’t claim, children, a wife—love, yet once this world closed, this form of his being would cease along with it. What did that mean? What did it matter? Vision took her hand in his red palm and gently intertwined their fingers. They weren’t gone quite yet — he didn’t want her to mourn them before she’d truly lost them. He was determined to outshine the bitterness of what inched closer with the sweetness of what was still left. “Let’s say goodnight.” he said, and though his feet stayed on the ground, he felt himself floating up the stairs into their children’s room. For once he went to Tommy’s bed first, and sat at his feet. He watched Wanda with all the tenderness and normalcy that he could, hoping to leave her with something fond to remember them by. An ounce of reality in all the fiction.
WANDA: Goodnight and goodbye. It was with a bowed head and her heart in her throat that Wanda followed behind her husband up the familiar stairs to the boy’s room. The house hadn’t looked like that at first. It had expanded with her narrative to fit their new and extended family. Two boys at the top of the stairs, the heavy pounding of their footsteps heralding every new day. Her natural instinct would have been to move towards Tommy, but she settled instead by Billy. William, Vision had said. Billy, like Shakespeare. Wanda couldn’t say if she always planned to have twins. She knew Tommy the second he had started to grow in her stomach, but the joy in her husband's face had brought a new life to light inside of her. Smoothing back Billy’s hair, Wanda fumbled with unscripted words. “Snug as a bug. Big day today,” she patted the sheets around him. They were a family. This was the kind of evening that could have happened on any night but Wanda didn’t want to betray what she knew. They were kids. How could she tell them this was the story’s end? Looking to Vision, Wanda took a breath. “It was a big day. Your father and I are… very proud.” She exhaled. “But family is forever. We could never leave each other, even if we tried.” Had she not carried a part of Pietro around in her heart for years? He had always stayed near to her even as his bones turned to ash. “You know that, right?” As Tommy nodded and smiled across the room something inside Wanda fractured. She kissed Billy on the head before rising, trying to mentally document every scent and curl. They were hers even if they were never meant to be. Wanda would always be theirs. She and Vision met in the middle of the room, hands squeezing before she was kissing Tommy’s head. For all the messy parts of Wanda that there were, she had somehow managed to compile only the best of her and Vision into their children. This was her duty as a mother. Her tears were kept so far back she didn’t even have to blink them away as she playfully shook Tommy. Giving Vision his space to say goodbye, Wanda eventually drifted with lead coated feet towards the door. As she looked back the glow of the Hex began to coat the room. “--Boys?” Wanda tore her eyes away from their undoing and back to the boys in their bed. “Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.” Billy smiled, but Wanda knew he had some semblance of an idea even if he couldn’t read her mind specifically. The light flicked off and for a second it was so tempted to stop the Hex’s progression and create the blanket of the barrier again. The red haze was now tinting everything with its light and Wanda took one last look before closing the door on that chapter of her life.
VISION: He hated the idea of missing this, — the mundane nights spent in, tucking the boys to bed and retiring to themselves in front of the TV. He ached of not knowing what would come next for her and not being alongside her to share it. But most of all, he hated the idea of ceasing to be — even if he had no real claim to feel such a way. To have had so much, only to be greeted with a nothingness at the end of it...no promise of paradise, or rebirth. He supposed it was the most human thing he’d ever experienced. Vision let Wanda do most of the talking, trying his best to exist in the precious seconds that ticked by. He forced his gaze on his son rather than the claustrophobic barrier that rapidly closed in from the window. He ruffled Tommy’s hair and stood, forcing one food in front of the other. “Goodnight, Chaps.” prompted a resounding “Goodnight, Dad!” from the both of them and he held onto the warmth it blossomed in his artificial chest. They lingered in the doorway for as long as time would allow until eventually Vision found himself descending back downstairs, after his wife. He turned on a different lamp as she turned hers out, eager to see her face in the light rather than night vision. “Sorry. I read somewhere it’s bad luck to say goodbye in the dark.” He offered a soft smile at that.
WANDA: Over time, Wanda had forgotten how to process. She lost the ability to move through the stages of grief and had nestled into denial as easily as if it were her second skin. Wanda lost and she lost and she lost. She ached, and for what? A moment of reprieve? She had those before the waves crashed back in and she was lost once again in the surf. It was wrong what she had done. After being coaxed through her memories by Agatha she knew that. It was wrong, but it was also the only time she had felt any semblance of right in years. The barrier was cutting its way through the town. She could feel it even if it was out of sight. Grass would grow yellow and wood would grow soft from moisture and lack of upkeep. Westview would return to its bitter self that she had first stumbled upon. Her dream had been their nightmares. The shiny veneer of Westview Wanda had painted wasn’t real. Her hand hovered over a family portrait. No one would remember it being taken. It was just filler anyway, an object in a house to keep up the illusion. No, not a house. Their house, even if it wasn’t this Vision who had so lovingly procured it for her so they could have a home. He would have done the same, Wanda liked to think, as the Vision had. He didn’t know the scope of her tragedy but he loved her. He looked for ways to brighten her life. No sooner than her lamp had clicked off did the one she had already turned off bloom back into light. Wanda couldn't help but start before she turned to see Vision standing by the lamp. “No,” a smile somehow found its way to her lips despite the situation. “You didn’t.”
VISION: He mirrored the soft sadness in her smile with his own. “No…no” he trailed, having grown comfortable in their shared silences...or maybe he just wanted time to stretch longer. “Perhaps not...perhaps I just wanted to see you..clearly.” He gazed at her softly. “And there you are.” He murmured more to himself than anything. She’d always been so beautiful — in more ways than just the high slopes of her cheek bones and the delicate look in her eyes when she allowed herself to be vulnerable. It was difficult to imagine he’d never see that face again...never do anything again.
WANDA: No one had seen her clearly in years. Pietro always had a sharp gaze that could cut through her vague indecision, but without him he had been adrift. The Vision had seen her, too. She felt the Stone that powered him and he looked at her with clear eyes. Dumnezeu, she had loved him. Past, present, future. Wanda knew now that he’d always exist in her breastbone, right alongside the after effects of the Mind Stone. Two ghosts, both shadows of their former selves but spurring her further nonetheless. There you are. It was heartbreak and love all wrapped up as one and reflected in Wanda’s smile. But the Hex was collapsing. She wasn’t the only one who could tell and she gripped his hand by the window. It was too soon. It was five years overdue, and yet, it was too soon. When he turned to her she found a way to tear her gaze from the sight of Westview shifting and locked her eyes on the flickering face of her husband in the red light.
VISION: “Wanda…” Vision started, suddenly feeling their world grow so much smaller as it crashed around them. Hungry scarlet swirls of the red barrier ebbed slowly around them in wait, allowing him to finish. He cast it only the briefest of glances before his gaze returned to his wife. “Before I go,” He begun softly “— I feel I must know… I want to know.....what am I?” Even as he felt himself ask, he wondered maybe it wasn’t his place to — or that it was even a question she could answer, but still he had to at least try. Closure was, in his opinion, often rather loaded. People wanted it, but weren’t prepared for whatever shape it came in. They had expectations, hopes for the way things would end...and often the reality of it was painful. And while he struggled to know if he was ready for closure now, he supposed it didn’t matter. It was never really his story. So maybe what he was really asking now, was for his writer to fit him with an honorable ending — whatever shape it took. He trusted her with that, even if the rest of westview and the world didn’t.
WANDA: This was her fault. All her fault, like so many other things. To her, it had never mattered what he was. He was hers and she was his. It was that simple. Couldn’t two people just be in love? Maybe, but not them. It wasn’t simple and in their case it wasn’t pure with Wanda’s interference. She had made him as she remembered him, but Vision was more than a memory. The Vision had many intricacies and complexities that could never be replicated. She had done the best she could but still had left hollow holes in her husband. It wasn’t fair to the Vision or Vision. “You, Vision,” her hand moved to caress his cheek. People heard synthezoid and assumed his flesh would be cold like metal but it was warm and real under her palm. “Are the piece of the Mind Stone that lives in me. You are a body of wires and blood and bone that I created. You are my sadness and my hope. But mostly, you’re my love.” His hand had fallen over her own at some point and Wanda finally lost the battle with her tears. She loved, she loved and she lost. This time had to be different because she had to accept it. She had look at him in the near darkness and remember just how all encompassing it felt to love and be loved by him in the days that would stretch out when he was gone.
VISION: He grounded himself in the warmth of her palm against his cheek, comforted by the melody of her voice — even with a vastness awaiting him the moment her lips stopped moving. It didn’t matter, he took those precious seconds to kiss her with all the tenderness he found even the complexities of 6,500 human language could not express. “I’ve been a voice with no body...a body but not human...and now…” he met her sad eyes “A memory. Made real.” He wanted so badly to leave her with hope, desperate not to let her drown in her own grief. “Who knows what I might be next.” What we might be. The barrier was closing in now and with it he found himself suddenly feeling the loss of time as if it were a loss of breath — he gently pulled her to him, placing his hand on her cheek in a delicate cradle. “We’ve said goodbye before...so it stands to reason…”
WANDA: Their kiss was bittersweet. It was the first hello of two beings who finally saw each other as they were and the last goodbye between tragic lovers. As a tear tracked down his cheek, Wanda caught it with her thumb. The moisture on her finger pad was real. Androids could cry. Perhaps not all, but hers was special. Vision had always been special and that would never change. To her it would be impossible for him to be reduced to just a memory. She would see him out of the corner of her eyes in the hall or hear a rustling and expect to see him phase through the wall. Scents would escape the kitchen and she would wonder for a second if it was him attempting a dish just because it would make her smile. Wanda had seen sides of the Vision no one else had. She had seen goofy and soft. He was the full spectrum of being, and his quiet steady nature even in the face of oblivion made her cry. She had never deserved him. Not really, at least. He was worthy to hold the hammer of Thor and Wanda -- she broke things, she threw fits and hurt people. From the moment she had sensed him in dreaming under Ultron’s watchful eye in the Cradle she had been doomed. Wanda felt love in her life but she never managed to hold onto it. It was a stream and the water always flowed right past her before her thirst was quenched. Vision was a memory made real, sure. But in Wanda’s mind he would always be real. We’ve said goodbye before, so it stands to reason... Wanda clutched either side of his head as her eyes frantically traced the lines of his face so she could memorize every one. “...That we’ll say hello again.” She was nodding quickly as the red raced through the town and finally made contact. The house began to fluctuate through all the variations that Wanda had forced upon it. The reality began to unwrite herself right in front of her eyes, but she was going to hold onto her husband until she couldn’t anymore.
VISION: The barrier came for them rapidly, then, and all he felt was her. Her hands on his face, her being somehow tethered to his as his body began to come apart much more gently than before. It wasn’t a ceasing to exist, merely a return home — a return to where he’d existed from the beginning: within her. It wasn’t painful, and it wasn’t something to fear anymore. So many more things he wished to say to her, seconds he’d ask for if they could. But they were out of time. “So long, my darling.” Until, hello.
WANDA: It didn’t end with a bang. It ended with a soft smile and the echo of a voice before its owner ceased to be. She felt him slowly fade out of her grasp until she was left clutching nothing but the air. The house -- their house -- had reverted back to a foundation that would never be built upon. Wanda wouldn’t sell but she could never live there either. Her happiness had lived and died within those fallen walls. Her heart was splintering in her chest. Clothed once more in the outfit she had worn when she arrived in Westview, Wanda slipped her hood up over her hair and ignored her car as she began her funeral procession of one back to town square. A promise was a promise, but Agatha’s words were heavy in her heart. There would always be pitchforks or women like them. Stepping into view, Wanda kept her head held high. “It’s over.”
SAM: His lips flattened into a tight line. “Jesus, Carol.” So much for a happy reunion. “Wanda fucked up -- bad. But she’s going to say goodbye to kids. Her kids. Give her ten.” He believed she’d come back, and she did. Defeated but present.
LORNA: Her sister had just turned and left with the family she had made. Lorna had a sinking feeling that Wanda would be the only one she saw again. “What can I say?” the words felt flat in her mouth. “I like to feel desired.” She turned to look at Remy then. He looked the same, if not ragged. It was hard to tell. Lorna felt like someone else all together -- which was fair, situation depending. “They let you in here?”
CAROL: Carol shot Sam a look, one that was one part confused and one part angry. She knew she struggled with the grey area, but rarely did her and Sam grate so blatantly. "That in comparison to torturing people for months. Sure." She was tired of the passes, but she'd relented and thrown her hands up. Once Wanda came back in to view, Carol didn't even make a move to approach her. Like Sam, Carol was tired too, but for an entirely different reason. "You did the right thing." She said, though there was no sense of sympathy in her tone. "The people of Westview are being extensively checked for neurological damage or magical after effects. They'll be lucky if they don't suffer from PTSD after this." she knew she wasn't making any friends here. Carol didn't care. But still, she shifted slightly so her body was turned towards Monica. "This is your case, Rambeau. By all means,"
REMY: "You know I have a habit of getting in even when I don't belong." He said passively. He was looking at her, but not really. He was exhausted, the feeling dragging him down over the past few weeks Lorna had been in here. He truly was spending most of their relationship losing her and it stung a little more every time. Still, "Are you okay?" it was a question said off to the side, because there was no way that conversation could happen now. He just had to ask.
WANDA: Two women forged by Infinity Stones. Carol and Wanda were powerful but in different ways. “They suffered.” She replied simply. “Extensively. And I’m sorry. I never meant to make my pain theirs as well.” That, at least, was true. It had not been her original intention but she had perpetuated willingly later on. “You’re not arresting me. But I’ll go with you willingly, Captain Rambeau. I owe you that much.”
MONICA: “Me?” Monica arched a brow. “Yeah, I’d say that’s fair.” Wanda had thrown her from town and caused Monica’s cells to metastasize. She had also used her powers to throw her around another time. Monica had felt Wanda’s pain first hand and was left with a detached pity. “Wanda Maximoff,” she began the formalities. “I’m Captain Monica Rambeau. I am officially bringing you into holding under the authority of S.W.O.R.D. I am not required to read you your rights as you register as a threat to the Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division and will be treated as such. Do you understand?”
LORNA: Normally she’d launch flirtatious barbs back with him, but Lorna just gestured around slowly. “Not really a desirable place to be. At his question her brow furrowed. “No. Not really, but I will be.” Insanity did run in the family. “I need to find my Father. We need to go to Krakoa.”
REMY: "Why do you think we're here?" he asked, though there wasn't much room for answering. "There's no reason we should stay now. There's a gate close by." it was a suggestion for them to leave now, to turn away from Lorna's sister being taken in by SWORD.
LORNA: “Maybe you’re a fan of the show,” her tone was sardonic at best. No reason to stay. No reason to watch Wanda hauled off. The two sisters had ever been closed but it rattled Lorna more than she wanted to admit. Her family didn’t handle grief. No member of the Monarchy of M seemed to be sane. They threw tantrums and raged. Would she have done the same as Wanda? Maybe, if Lorna loved anyone that much. Far more agreeable than usual, Lorna turned away from Wanda in the square.
WANDA: “I understand.” Wanda nodded. She could never give the citizen of Westview the last two months back but she could at least own up to her own shortcomings -- of which there were a multitude. As Wanda took a step towards Monica her clothing rippled. Magic was always present. If she was going to leave Westview it was with a shrivel of her dignity intact. The hood of her jacket had redesigned itself into a cloak, red fabric falling over bare shoulders. There would be time later to address Agatha and wrap up that plot line. “And I’m ready.”
PIETRO: Pietro arrived in time to see S.W.O.R.D. and F.B.I. swarming the area like bees in a frenzy. A boom snapped through the air as he slammed to a halt, feet ripping up chunks of pavement — Christ, he had to get better at that. Fixing his sleeve, Pietro stood up straight and rolled his shoulders some, shoving his snowy hair out of his face. “I’m gone five minutes and you already want to get yourself arrested.” he said, walking around from behind her. He cast a glance to the others — Monica, Carol, Sam — scattered agents all braced for anything. “Just like old times, ah?” They had a lot to talk about — but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see her. She had to have known it was coming even though he didn’t ask, he just lifted her off the ground and shot off with a sonic boom, leaving nothing but a breeze and a standstill in their wake as he put over a hundred miles between them and Westview in two seconds flat.
DAISY: Daisy was waiting patiently in the back for the potential of Wanda running off, although she wasn’t quite sure any of them besides Carol were prepared to be able to stop that sort of escape. Even if she did feel for Wanda’s situation, there were rules they had to follow. And rules she swore to uphold when she became an agent. She blinked in surprise when she saw Pietro run up, surprised at how fast he was. She knew he was a speedster from the files she’d read, but it was an entirely different thing to see it in person. And then before anyone could even say anything, there was a loud boom and just wind blowing by them and both Wanda and Pietro vanished into thin air. After a few beats of stunned silence, Daisy let out a sigh and shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Now S.W.O.R.D was going to have to look for both of the Maximoff twins after this whole mess. It was definitely a frustrating ending after being so close to getting Wanda to willingly come talk with them, and Daisy could feel a nagging irritation prickling under her skin as she shook her head. “I’m going to go help with those extractions.” She stated to Carol and Monica before turning and walking off back towards the direction of the base.
WANDA: This was the last thing she needed. Denial, anger, bargaining and now, after a painful breakthrough: acceptance. Wanda wasn’t resigned but renewed. They were mad and could have their moment. The energy from Darkhold whispered in her ear even though it was out of sight. Wanda was ready to face the stake they would inevitably try to force her to burn on, but then someone was making quips. The reverent air of a battleground that hadn’t completely found an ending was charged with a boom that rattled her teeth. Five minutes? It was five years and then some. Her eyes drifted closed. Wanda’s Westview was gone and her constructs with it. Everything left was real, but was he? This was a question she had turned over in her mind again and again. Acceptance. He was hers. He always had been. Agatha had laughed that he couldn’t be returned because his body had been left broken and isolated on foreign soil. Wrong and wrong. Vision and the boys had been tied to the town. It anchored their reality. Pietro was the exception. His accidental resurrection was tied to the one who had been half of his being. Pietro existed as Wanda did, their connection once again rekindled even though it was tainted red. There had been no reunion yet. Their interactions were tense and filled with a one sided disgust. Wanda had clung to an illusion because she was terrified of the fact that there was one thing she couldn’t replicate. This was real but Wanda did not deserve it. Not after what she had done. As her eyes fluttered open, Wanda’s lips parted. She was going to tell Carol it changed nothing, even though everything was different. She was culpable still. Instead her feet were pulled out from underneath her in the same disorienting blur that had once been familiar. Hair whipping around her face, Wanda’s hood had fallen off by the time he skidded to a stop. Blue and silver streaked the air behind him. The only thing new was the scarlet that threaded through the afterimage, the trail of magic that was still fresh on its mistress. The ground crunched underneath the wedged heels of her boots once contact was made. There was a cold wind but the heat of her magic still flushed her cheeks. “Pietro?” The word fell from her lips and hung in the air between them. Where did she start? You’re back? I’m sorry? I need to go face my fate? Wanda just stood there and stood for a long moment. It didn’t matter that she was the Scarlet Witch, chaos bound in flesh. It didn’t matter how powerful she was. Right then she was ten years old and flat on her stomach as the Stark missile ticked away. She hadn’t known then it was her power stopping it from going off as probability twisted. Pietro was the one keeping them safe as he held her close. She had always assumed it would be him who filled that role but now she had years of experience and tragedy that had affixed itself to her being and turned her into the woman she had become. But that was for later. She could be strong and suffer in a silent dignity later. Right then she was closing the space between them until her arms were wrapped tightly around his chest and her head pressed over the spot where his heart beat a little too quickly. “Îmi pare rău, frate. Îmi pare așa, atât de rău. ( I'm sorry, brother. I'm so, so sorry. ) If Wanda kept her head down she wouldn’t have to look at his eyes and see if disdain still lived there. “I lost you.”
PIETRO: He’d thought about what he might say to her if she ever did finally speak to him again — without all the facade of Westview to deafen her ears from everything he said. He wondered if he’d hold on to his anger—but it had morphed. Mutating into a hurt he didn’t know how to place. That he could. He knew it wasn’t intentional, but that was the sad part...it...it didn’t matter. Crystalia didn’t want Wanda anywhere near their daughter and while he understood her reasons, that didn’t make the cut any shallower. He shared everything with her, as a being he very much considered an extension of hims own, it was difficult not to bring her into the life of his child. And so he was crossed between the boy that would sever his own limbs just to quell the quiver of Wanda’s lip, and the man that wanted to stand by his soon to be wife. Maybe he fueled that into the mad dash he did away from Westview, because he didn’t even realize how far he’d gone until he started to smell salt. It was different to run so long with her, but she’d always been a light load. Pietro finally stopped when he hit the west coastline—kicking up an array of sand as he slid with her. It was one of his more graceful stops, but that wasn’t saying much. He set her on her feet and for once kept his mouth shut, waiting for her to say—literally anything. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but as she fell into him he felt his world tip a little, back into place. His hands gently smoothed the curls of her unnaturally strawberry red hair and he wrapped both arms around her. “nN pentru totdeauna” not forever, he said. In the most predictable way, his anger melted away, but it did leave welts in the wake of its fire. Dor the first time in their lives he didn’t know where her head was at—and he’d never needed telepathy to do that. And though he could never hate her, and he could never want her out of his life, he didn’t know where that left them. And he silently dreaded the problems having wanda in their lives would inevitably cause with the mother of his child.
WANDA: She lost him, but she had found him. Wanda couldn’t put into words how much that meant. “And now I have so much to tell you but it’s not the time. I have to go back, Pietro. I need to face what I’ve done.” It was the right thing to do, after all. Wanda owed the people she hurt and had given Monica her word. Flicking her hood back on so it cast a shadow over his face, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Goodbye, frate. We’ll be together again soon.”
MONICA: There was no reason for handcuffs when the woman they would shackle was a literal witch who could apparently teleport when she was in the mood to. Monica was immensely grateful for Wanda’s cooperation and had her own opinions on the matter. Wanda had been wrong. Her actions were more than just hurtful, they were dangerous. Monica knew that just as well as she knew that if she had been in Wanda’s shoes with her powers she would have done the same. It didn’t make her actions excusable or meant that Monica forgave her. She just had a throbbing sense of balanced justice instilled in her by her mother. Wanda would face the jury and it consistent of more than just Monica. But then, Pietro. Shit. He had been a little bit of a wild card ever since Wanda yeeted his kid and girlfriend (?) into the Hex. Now he was in a place to potentially cause an escalation with Wanda -- who had just returned and was compliant. “Maximoff,” Monica took a step forward and found herself blinking away grit that Quicksilver’s feet had kicked up. He was gone and Wanda had vanished with him. “Jesus.” Monica resisted the urge to turn and smack the solid army truck behind her. She could survive being shot but something told her that all she’d accomplish was becoming the owner of a broken hand. Nodding at Daisy, Monica made no move to follow her. Instead she turned to Carol, who had proven herself to be a powder keg consistently in danger of exploding. Had she always been like that? Monica couldn’t remember but childhood memories were faulty. They were blurred fact with fiction. Sam, at least, looked more stoic with his arms crossed over his chest. “--she’s coming back.” Monica pursed her lips. “Wanda was ready to go in, she was listening.”
REMY: "Haven't bothered to watch." His tone remained level as they started for the break in the wall. He had come prepared for a fight, but he was leaving with none, and he could feel the dissatisfaction even if he'd ultimately won in the end. It had been a tough few weeks and all his sitting had caught him in a loop with no outlet. "Your sister will be fine." He offered as the neared the edge. "We know people who have done far worse and are sitting on our country's council."
CAROL: Carol stared at the spot where Wanda had disappeared for too long, her eyes boring into the gravel of a city that had returned to its poorly maintained state. Though her features remained neutral, the tension in her shoulders was immense and all she wanted to do was strangle not one, but two Maximoff’s now. Forcing out a breath, Carol completely missed Daisy's comment and instead turned towards Monica. "I know." she acquiesced. "And yet here we are." Standing in the center of a town that had been pulled through the decades by magic, its citizens mind controlled and tortured, and the only person to blame was gone. "Maybe we should coordinate with Krakoa." she looked towards Sam, but it was nothing more than a passing glance. There was a lot to unpack there, but their personal lives could never cross into their professional. "As much as I'd love to argue with Frost that, although Wanda is a citizen a Krakoa and therefore untouchable, her mass mind manipulation of US citizens stands to reason she needs to face a trial. It's not a witch hunt," she said pointedly. "But Pietro did just implicate himself in this mess."
SAM: Maybe. Sam shifted before straightening up. “Last I heard, Wanda was pretty estranged. If we talk to anyone, it’s Magneto.” It was unlikely that the Master of Magnetism was going to be biased because it was his daughter. “But outside of Krakoa, Wanda isn’t a U.S. citizen either. There’s not a home country we can send her to for trial anymore.” That made her their problem. It was a little less messy internationally. “The guy was dead up until two months ago and hasn’t gotten to actually talk to her since. Guess we should have seen that coming.”
LORNA: What, could he not be bothered to tune into the home torture network to at least see that she was alive? Lorna just snorted, Westview now fading into the background. “Good for you. Hope Wanda gave me a new liver when she rewrote reality because all I’ve done recently is get wasted and make out with would be frat guys.” Which had never been her type. “Wanda is Wanda. She makes big messes and everyone finds a way to forgive her. She lays low and then the cycle repeats.” Not that Lorna could take another Decimation. The glow of the emergency gate that the mutants had situated by the barrier emitted a soft glow. “Like my father.”
REMY: Remy had avoided the broadcast because he hadn't been privy to watch, even if he knew he wouldn't have bothered given the chance. It was...a complicated mess of feeling, and he was still sorting through it. Lorna's words didn't help, but he didn't comment on them. He wanted out of Westview, he wanted to be back on Krakoa. They emerged together through the breach and he led her to where the mutants emerged originally - the closest gate back to Krakoa. "We can talk more once we're back." He wanted out of here. Away from the mess Wanda had formed. If he could, he would've rather pretend it never happened.
CAROL: "Guess we should've." Carol muttered, eyes flitting up to the sky and then back down again. "We can send a team in to do a clean sweep, gather up any evidence we may need. Otherwise, I think we need to get started on the citizens. Make sure everyone is okay." It wasn't necessarily their job to aid at this point, but Carol felt separated from victory, and she needed to do something. "Monica can make a call, I'm sure."
MONICA: She was not about to be in the middle of a lovers quarrel. It felt like she had been in her S.W.O.R.D. sweater and training pants for days. Her skin was sticky with sweat and the adrenaline had begun to wear off. Carol, Sam and Monica were some of the last remaining, three Captains who covered the spectrum in how angry they were. “Sam,” she turned towards Wilson. “We need a trauma evaluation. They’re not letting us do anything until after that.” It was just standard protocol. They’d need to find Wanda and the White Vision who had smashed through the town before vanishing. Agatha Harkness was still weak on the ground, stuck in stasis. They couldn’t restrain her. They needed Wanda and her fancy magic shapes for that. And, S.W.O.R.D. needed a director. It wouldn’t be Monica. She didn’t want it. That had been Maria’s job and her daughter didn’t want to squeeze into her shoes. She had always preferred walking beside her too much. It would be Abigail she talked to after Brand finished her counseling as well. S.W.O.R.D. would heal. Maria would never be back but her legacy would persevere. “We’re going to find Maximoff.” Monica sent a look to Carol as she began to take a few steps back. “She promised, and I’m big on holding people to their word.” She’d make her call. She’d do what she needed to, and at some point Monica would sleep. Westview was free. They were free. Why didn’t it feel like it?
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(how is a pigeon like the tower?)
on AO3 here
The former Speaker’s reception room became an activity room for the Vanguard after his death. Guardians would meet with Ikora Rey or Commander Zavala there, or use it for the unofficial but Vanguard-sponsored (i.e. Ikora had nodded in agreement to the idea once) book club. Wicker chairs and a long table provided convenience, while skylights let in natural sun and warmth.
Eris Morn hesitated in the doorway. The Titans sat with their backs to her: Zavala folded over the clacking of knitting needles, Lord Saladin drinking something hot next to him, Lord Shaxx scooping cookies onto a plate on the other side of the room. Saint-14, ambling across the room with his own plate, was the first one to see her.
“Eris Morn!” He boomed her name and rushed toward her, one arm flung wide. His silver armor made him look even larger than his wide Exo frame already was. He had declined to wear his famous helmet, revealing silvery plating and ice-blue eyes. “Our favorite Guardian tells me you do not want hugs. I will honor this, but …” A graceful wave of his giant arm turned into a graceful return to the plate of cookies. “Let me know if you ever need.”
“My skin crawls,” Eris said. She watched for Saint to react with disgust to her tone, but he did not. Such a relief. Her truths were hard, these days, and she did not expect the Titans to stomach them. The invitation itself had been a surprise. She also found it courteous to let people know what to expect from the person she had become. “Touch reminds me too much of the creatures that crawl as well.”
“We will try to think of things other than that.” Saint’s thunderous voice held notes of scorn toward the Hive, which Eris respected. He did not belittle her pain. “I have a project for you, if you want it!” He moved around to one of the several empty chairs and scooped up a roll of blue yarn.
Zavala turned around, his hands still occupied with the quick-clacking needles. “Eris.”
“Are you certain you welcome me? Again the Guardians whisper that I touch evil I should leave alone. I will not endure such whispers easily.” She hated to antagonize the Vanguard, but there was no way around it. And …
The Titan Vanguard replied in just the way she had hoped he would. “You show us all an example of standing as a shield in front of others. Without you, the moon would be a more dangerous place. I hope you find that here, you do not have to shield your own heart.”
The words sounded like a speech he had rehearsed ahead of time. Eris respected the thought if he had. This was also, she knew, how the commander typically addressed people.
“Commander. Thank you for the invitation. While I have declined several times in the past, I found this timing … auspicious.” She glanced at the others. Saladin she knew the least, while she had spent the most time with Saint and Zavala. The days with Saint had been … centuries ago?
“Because Saint is here?” Shaxx sat down, facing her over Zavala’s shoulder, with his plate of cookies. The chair creaked under his muscled and armored frame. “He and I were just talking about you. About how we haven’t fought together since the Great Hunt, and how perhaps that should change.”
The Great Hunt. Eris remembered Ahamkara the size of buildings crashing down on fireteams … and the satisfaction of evading their meter-long claws, ignoring their tempting whispers, and piercing their violent hearts. She smiled. “It has been a long time since I faced a wish-dragon. Memories from … before … are fuzzy … but welcome all the same.” Try. Try, Eris, to let them know you appreciate them.
Saint was waiting for her response, holding the yarn up in enthusiastic little swoops. “Eh…?” Saladin and Zavala both kept level gazes on her. Shaxx stared down at his cookies, reluctant to remove his helmet.
“I brought something for you too.” Eris held out the satchel at her side. She plucked the Hive-leather roll from inside and partially unrolled it. The black beads inside glittered in the sunlight. It was strange to see them in bright Earth light instead of the gray-green murk of the moon. Eris had spent so much time working with stones like these, along with iron plates and incantations. Seeing them in the Tower for a moment seemed wrong, like bringing a painful shard of her new life into the wispy memories of her old. But with the sounds of the room—Saladin and Shaxx beginning a conversation, Saint creaking as his weight shifted—she was pulled into the present. These Titans—these old warriors—had wanted her to come here.
“Marvelous!” Saint said. He took the roll from her gently, his hands dwarfing hers. “Perhaps I will string them on the edges of my scarf!”
They traded the beads for the yarn. Eris took a seat and was immediately surrounded by the conversation of Titans: Shaxx’s laughter, Saladin’s measured and wise words, Zavala quiet, concentrating on the gradually growing knitting in his lap. Words and warmth mingled. She watched the steam rise from cups. Saint talked about Osiris’ work on the Sundial. Zavala stooped under a heavy silence, once raising his head as if he was as heavy as a boulder to add his voice to the chorus of praise for the Guardians’ latest exploits. When conversation turned to the moon some eyes glanced at her, but none of them wanted to talk about the thing in the canyon.
“It was the Ahamkara hunts, when we truly spoke last,” she muttered into the silence.
“It was.” She could hear the smile in Shaxx’s voice.
““Even before my ill-fated fire team began our task. The dragons were not as cruel as the Hive, but there is no purpose in measuring one suffering against another.” The words were laborious: she forced them out.
“We’re old, Eris.” Saladin intoned the words, but then smiled to show he meant them to be soft. The “we” struck her: no one had counted her part of a group for a long, long time. “We could measure one era of life against another all day. Or, we can fight to live another day.”
“Titans.” Saint pressed his fist against his own chest. “Good at many things. Defending the City. Giving advice.”
Eris picked up the yarn. “After such a long time, I have forgotten…”
“We were all beginners once,” Zavala said, and began to teach her the stitches.
*
Eris left with a thin string of knitting in her satchel. Saint looked to Shaxx after she left. Most of the cookies and tea were gone. The tone in the room had changed, from an informal meeting of the crocheters to a more somber Vanguard gathering. This was not the public club, where Guardians mingled. This had been a meeting of specially chosen old warriors. “Splendid. She learns quickly.”
“I have to ask,” Saladin said. “How much of that was about getting her to return to the Tower, and how much was about you?”
“Both! Of course it is both. I am new to the Tower. She is new to the Tower. I was stranded in time. Dead, perhaps? I cannot remember. Strange not to remember thousands of years gone by in one death.” Saint shook his head. “Hah. Then I come back, discover she was stranded on the Moon. We are similar in this, I think.” He turned the black beads over and over.
“I know Ikora invited her before,” the Vanguard Commander said from his chair. “She never took up that offer.”
“Ah! Then this is victory indeed.” Saint crowed. He remembered when Eris had leaned over to him, a few stitches loosely completed in her lap.
Zavala and Shaxx had been tensely asking one another if they could get the other anything, the old pain of their rivalry comfortably buried under enforced politeness that might one day mellow it into fondness. Saladin watched over them like a father. The signs that he still remembered them as Guardian recruits at Twilight Gap were clear. Both had been hard-living immortals even before the Gap, but Saladin’s conviction and skill at organizing troops had made him the foremost of Titans, and a template for what the nature of a Titan should be.
“So, you have also returned from the dead," Eris had said, with humor. “Did you feel like you walked in the Tower as a ghost?”
Saint could be quiet when he wanted to be, especially under the voices of his compatriots. “After the Guardian brought me back, I, well … I had birds to take care of. They needed me to be alive. A ghost cannot hold seeds.”
Eris narrowed her eyes, scrunched her lips. Even with the top half of her face mostly obscured, it was easy to read her dissatisfied expression.
Saint leaned closer. “Just like you take care of Guardians. Even when they make a mess.”
Eris smiled.
How was the moon like the snow of the gap? What did it matter to an immortal to lose the centuries he had lost, the years Eris had lost? Saint did not dwell. He watched the Titans begin their back-slapping, wall-rattling farewells, and looked down again at the minuscule beads in his palm, crafted by Eris’ clever hands.
Victory indeed.
#destiny#writings#eris morn#saint-14#commander zavala#lord shaxx#lord saladin#inspired and beta’d by jen!
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D&D Spell Scrolls
image credit: Tira-Owl
Random Scroll Appearance
Roll on the following tables for unique scrolls!
Scroll Shape (d12)
Rectangular
Triangular
Star-Shaped
Square
Circular
Spiral
Ribbon
Small Card
Zig-zag
Impossibly Long (when unrolled)
Irregular Shape
Folded Dimensional Shape
Scroll Material (d20)
Paper
Parchment
Papyrus
Bamboo Slats
Stone Tablet or Slats
Iron Tablet or Slats
Copper Tablet or Slats
Gold Tablet or Slats
Silver Tablet or Slats
Bone Slats
Ice Sheet
Monster Skin
Cloth/Canvas
Leather
Magically Suspended Cloud
Large Plant Leaf
Woven Grass or Palms
Magically Suspended Water
Eternally Burning Paper
Translucent Arcane Sheet
Ink Material (d12)
Creature’s Blood
Kraken Ink
Powdered Gemstone
Powdered Dragon Scales
Ash or Charcoal
Pigments of Rare Plants
Glowing Arcane Lines
Magical Fire
Magical Lightning
Etched with Acid
Invisible Ink
Frozen Water (case keeps it magically frozen)
Scroll Case (d20)
Hollowed Bone
Hard or Soft Leather
Metal Container
Magical Fire or Water
Rolled in Leaves
Wire Spiral
Bamboo Rod
Ceramic Cylinder
Permanently Frozen Ice
Magically Invisible Material
Stone Cylinder
Glowing Arcane Material
Strips of Tree Bark
Jeweled Gold or Silver
Dried Humanoid Skin
Wrapped in Colored Ribbon
Animal Fur
Chainmail
Encased in Candle Wax
Hollowed Weapon Hilt/Haft
Scroll Contents (d20)
Complex geometric patterns
Concentric geometry with arcane symbols between
Incantation written in an obscure language. It must be translated to be used
Instructions detailing the spell’s formula
Incantation written in code that requires a cipher key. It must be decoded with an Intelligence check to be used
Animated imagery of the spellcasting process
Symbols that gain meaning only when certain conditions are met
Calligraphic manuscript with illuminated margins
Animated geometry, symbols, and patterns
Lines detailing the specifics of the weave of magic used in its creation
Animated advertisement for the scroll’s scribe and print shop
Repeating pattern whose shapes change colors seemingly at random
Incantation written in Common for the lay man to understand. Anyone can use this scroll if they can read it
Words that only appear under running water
The scroll is incomplete and requires an Intelligence (Arcana) check to finish it
A musical composition with lyrics that comprise the incantation
Floating text that hovers an inch above the page
Text that flies out to spiral around your head at eye level to read it
Text that tries to fly away if the scroll is opened for too long. Lost text must be recaptured with successful Dexterity checks.
Text that can only be read when the reader is blinded or has their eyes closed
How to Use the Scroll (d12)
Read the incantation detailed in the scroll
Trace the text or patterns with your finger
Charge magical energy into the scroll
Simply laying eyes on the scroll for a few seconds causes it to go off
Follow the scroll’s complex instructions for incantations and body movements.
Trace the text or patterns in arcane energy suspended in the air before you
Use magic to create music detailed by the scroll
Invoke deities that were involved in the scroll’s creation
Expose the scroll to a certain element (fire, water, air, earth) to release its power
Present the scroll to the spell’s target and speak the spell’s name with confidence
You use a material component required by the scroll’s text
Throw the scroll at the spell’s target
Alternative Scrolls
Scrolls can take many forms other than a simple slip of parchment. All a scroll really needs to do to work is be a one-time-use consumable spell. Try making your scrolls unique, so they might not even look like a scroll. Perhaps your character could create scrolls as these sorts of items.
Art. Carefully crafted artwork, whether a painting, sculpture, sketch, or piece of jewelry, that serves as the scroll. The materials are made from arcane reagents and the scroll can be read using the art’s depiction or perhaps patterns hidden within.
Cloth. The scroll is a woven textile that can be worn, with precious metal threads and rhinestones serving as the costly arcane components. The patterns in the cloth help you read the scroll.
Fetish. A scroll made with various natural and manufactured spell components and artistic reagents all carefully pulled into a totem or fetish. For instance, a staff’s crown, a dreamcatcher, a headdress, a decorated skull, or other such assemblage could serve as the scroll. Interpreting the meaning of the items’ arrangement and choice reads the scroll.
Gemstones. I once had a city of dwarves that didn’t use scrolls but instead stored spells in crystals and gemstones. The gem can be read by observing the arcane energy refracting within. They shine brightly in a flare of radiant light when they cast their spell before disappearing.
Plants. Tended plants that have been grown and infused with the scroll’s magic. It can be read by the patterns in the leaves or petals.
Tattoo/Henna. The scroll is tattooed or drawn onto the body of the user. It could either be the literal scroll or artistic interpretation using arcane geometric patterns.
#D&D#DnD#5e#Scrolls#Dungeons and Dragons#Spells#Spell Scrolls#Magic Items#Generator#Randomizer#Tables
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