(Shadows crook their fingers out to her, and she dances on the edge of existence.)
“They’re back again,” Reggie said, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out the window.
Concetta made a strangled noise of exasperation, stomping over to stand beside him. She put her hands on her hips, scowling fiercely. “Really? Don’t they have better things to be doing?”
“Guess not,” Reggie said with a bored voice, his expression blank in a way that she recognized from the ease of long practice— he had already lost interest. Reggie turned away and let the curtains fall back into place, dismissing the mob milling about outside. They had bright torches held in work-calloused hands, and they were using the light to peer through the clearing.
She imagined that they were staring right at her, and shivered. Concetta wished that she could have the same indifferent attitude as her housemate, but even now she could feel the fear creeping up on her.
Once, Jasmin had jokingly said that a person never forgot their first witch hunt. She didn’t know just how right she was. Or maybe she did. Jasmin was different, even among the settlers here.
Reggie’s hand settled lightly on her head, ruffling the short haircut. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
She stared up at him, expression deadpan. “That’s… actually not helpful. That’s almost the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear, congratulations.”
Reggie shrugged, unbothered by the criticism. “What does it even matter? Even if they do manage to get in here, nothing they do will stick. Jasmin made sure of that.”
“I know,” Concetta said, and her mind was flooded with images of flames licking her skirts and shadows peeling themselves off the ground. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”
(Death is an old family friend, and she laughs when they come for her. Death laughs too, and takes her hand when she offers it. It hurts.)
“I wonder if they really even know,” Concetta said one day, eyeing the angry villagers that had once again begun to circle the mansion. “Are they aware of what this place really is?”
“As aware as a bunch of half-blind mortals could be,” Jasmin answered, a bit distractedly. She was concentrating on the bright fabric in her hands, carefully cutting off each of the glittery buttons. “They know that there’s something here, something that raises goosebumps on their arms and blurs at the edge of their vision. But they can’t really see it. They’re only human, after all.”
Jasmin didn’t mean it maliciously, but when she said human like that, so full of pity and careless arrogance, Concetta couldn’t help but shy away.
Concetta wasn’t human, true, but she hadn’t known that for a long time. And though she may have hated many humans, she did not hate humanity. It was hard for many of her companions to say the same. She didn’t blame them, not really. Concetta knew just how hard it was to separate the vicious few from the indifferent majority.
Even she had difficulty with it, sometimes.
(Come to us, they whisper. Come to us, and never be lonely again.)
The morning was crisp and cool. Reggie had gone to bed a little under an hour ago, the door to his basement room shut tight in order to prevent any light from leaking in.
Concetta had no idea where Jasmin was. The older woman had likely wandered off into the forest somewhere. She might not return for several more hours— or weeks, depending on how long her good mood lasted.
Concetta was used to the silence, the distinct absence of any other living beings. Jasmin and Reggie were the only other permanent residents besides her, and they were both drifters, content to follow the wind and listen to the stories it had to give them.
She couldn’t speak with the wind. She had tried, once, but gave up almost immediately when the only answer she was given was the furious roaring of a hurricane in her ears.
Concetta wasn’t meant to speak with the wind. She wasn’t whimsical and blunt like Jasmine, or relentless and steady like Reggie. While the two of them weren’t exactly soft people, they carried a gentleness in their souls and hearts that broke themselves over and over again simply so that someone else could have a piece of it.
A witch-child is not soft or gentle; they are harsh and unforgiving and dance with fire nipping at their heels.
“I, uh, heard this place was safe,” the man said, an almost sheepish expression on his face. He avoided looking her in the eye, keeping his gaze fixed on somewhere over her right shoulder instead. “My name is William. Is it okay if I, uh, stay here?”
Concetta could do nothing but nod in agreement, pulling the door open fully to allow him inside. Just as Jasmin had done for her, that rainy night so many years ago.
(The shadows dance, they rip and chew up the earth with their long claws, and she is running running running—)
“And here is your room,” Concetta gestured towards one of the empty guest rooms, hoping that the Dryad who had stayed in there last had remembered to clear away any plant growth before she left.
“Uh, thanks,” William said, still looking slightly to the right of where she was actually standing. “Is there anything I should know about this place before I get settled in?”
Concetta thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “Nothing that I can teach you.”
“U-uh, wait…” William stammered, clearly even more nervous than before. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said,” Concetta blinked, a bit unsure of what all the fuss was about. “There are a great many things in this place that even I cannot explain. It would be best for you to discover them yourself. That is why you’re here, right? Though I have to say, I’m a bit impressed. I’ve never seen a human manage to get this far before.”
“Oh, thank you—” William began, face flushing pleasantly at the praise, before he dramatically paled. “Wait, you know—”
“I know lots of things,” Concetta said amusedly, already turning to walk away. “Perhaps, at the end of this little venture, you will too. Have a wonderful stay, Mr. William.”
Behind her, she could hear him gulp. She felt a little bad for tormenting him, but not enough to actually stop. After all, she recognized this man.
The vicious few and the indifferent majority.
Weren’t both of them at fault, in the end?
(“Help me!” she cries, not to the shadows but to the people, the people who watch her with wide, pitying eyes. “Help me!”
The people don’t answer, but the shadows do.)
Second one of the night, woohoo! I’m so tired, what the hell. Anyways, this is a fun one too! I definitely enjoyed writing it, so I’m satisfied! Another Caffeine Challenge, and they seem to get better every time. Cheers!!
🐍Alex sometimes goes on “pottery project episodes” where she/he will focus on nothing else but finishing the project. Magnus and everyone else on Floor Nineteen occasionally slide her/him food in fear of being garroted
🐍Alex once trashed half of a Chinese restaurant while on a date with Magnus as a tiger (they had a stand off with a rude giant who took too much orange chicken from the buffet)
🐍Alex and Mallory go shopping when Alex feels more feminine and Alex and TJ go shopping when Alex feels masculine
🐍Alex is allergic to strawberries. Magnus once gave her/him jam from the strawberries he picked while on a camping trip with Hearth and Blitz. She/he broke out into hives and proceeded to pace while wheezing
🐍Alex is teaching Magnus Spanish and the two of them use it to judge Floor Nineteen and try out gender neutral pet names
🐍Alex has a rainbow switchblade (and fucking loves it)
🐍Alex got the switchblade from Mallory (Mallory is a good sister)
🐍Alex egged her/his father’s house after she/he died because what the hell
🐍Alex is genuinely offended when anyone watches ahead in Sherlock, Supernatural, or Doctor Who without her/him
🐍Alex has a pet corn snake named “Ophelia”
🐍Alex has a fluffy teddy bear from her/his childhood courtesy of Hotel Valhalla and they all call it Magnus because it’s “soft and squishy” (Magnus grumbles and awkwardly stumbles away at this)
🐍Alex goes on full out Spanish cursing rants whenever the toaster in Valhalla doesn’t work and it always ends with her/him throwing the toaster across the room
🐍Alex dresses up as Spider-Man for Halloween
🐍Alex gives out good quality candy during Halloween (the neighbourhood kids fUcKiNg LOVE Alex because of it)
🐍Whenever Alex wants to wander/explore Valhalla then she/he will turn into a cat
🐍The crows sometimes mistake Alex as one of Magnus’ many stray pets and pick her/him up only for her/him to turn human again and scream at the birds
🐍Alex misses all of her/his friends from when she/he was alive
🐍Alex organizes thrift shopping trips (because your boi knows how to get good clothes so cheap it was like you stole them)
🐍Alex and Hearth become good friends and they deSTROY EVERYONE DURING APRIL FOOLS DAY GOD HELP THEM
🐍Blitz makes Alex a lot of outfits that she/he can model or keep. Some of the outfits have pants that become skirts, flame retardant pink and green jackets, etc
Delphi lifted her skirt slowly above the waistband of her white panties. Reaching down to the side of her seat, she used the controls to ease herself back. I snapped the lighter and touched the whirled tip with a bright flame. Delphi pulled her skirt up and pushed her knickers aside, fumbled, said “fuck it,” and pushed down her drawers, pulled them over her feet, held them up by the elastic and flung them into my lap.
It’s done! I’ve been working on this one for a long time and I finally got it figured out. I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it. Also, kind of thinking of writing a second part for this one. Any thoughts? Anyway, enjoy munchkins!!!
Summary: You had always loathed T’Challa, but when it looks like one of you won’t make it, all you can do is admit the truth–you couldn’t hate the man if you tried.
Warnings: Swearing? Mention of death (kinda, sorta). (Let me know if there is anything you need to be tagged. I want you to feel comfortable reading my work.)
Good to see you back <3 How about some Fenris and Hawke dancing? ;D
& co. would have made a great addition to the Inquisition’s shenanigans at
“I know you’re
going for that whole ‘endlessly broody and unapproachable’ look, but I feel I should
tell you that downturned mouth is all but begging for a marriage proposal. Or at the very least an indecent proposition.”
A glass of
sparkling wine is pushed into his hand, and Isabela bumps her hip against
his, lifting the rim of her own glass to her lips in a smooth arc that betrays
nothing of how many she’s tossed back already.
His fingers curl around
the crystalline stem, longing for the rough pommel of his sword, although the
glass rests in his hand with equal weight. He doesn’t drink. This isn’t the
Hanged Man with its easy atmosphere and where he knows the layout with his eyes
closed. This is a battlefield clad in silk and gold, and with the sheer amount of frilly garters
hiding hidden daggers in the room, Fenris prefers to keep his wits about him.
familiar brand of humour loosens some of the tension sitting in his shoulders,
and so, “There have been none of either sort,” he remarks, sliding her a dry look. “A rather sorry
turnout, as it were.”
Isabela snorts. A copper-and-gold
mask hides the upper half of her face, beneath which a knowing grin sits with
an ease the years have yet to shake from her skin. “Don’t count your losses just yet, pet. The night is still young.” Her smile widens, a gleaming dagger of mirth.
Godric Gryffindor is the second son of an old Pureblood family. He’s raised
a warrior, trained with both sword and wand. He grows up in a hidden magical
village as safe as is possible for his time period.
He knows little of the outside world, and thinks that Muggles are, well…
interesting. He thinks they’re simple, and slow, and so yes there’s the Witch Burning’s,
but the poor things are frightened and don’t know any better. If they could
stop being afraid, he thinks they’d get along swimmingly.
In all honesty, Godric is rather much like Arthur Weasley, which makes
sense, if one was aware that Godric’s third daughter married well and has a
son. That son marries and has a son of his own before dying, and when his widow
remarries, both she and the boy take the surname of her new husband, which just
so happens to be Weasley.
But that is not the point. The point is that for all his bravery and
chivalry, Godric is a little too trusting. A little too friendly and kind…
2. Rowena Ravenclaw
Rowena Ravenclaw is also a Pureblood.
She’s the firstborn daughter of a magical house that has a peerage in the Muggle
She’s a noble. She’s also very, very clever. A little too clever. For what
comes with Pride and Intelligence is Hubris, and in her case it is dangerous. Rowena
Ravenclaw is curious. She wants toknow
She knows her potions, and she’s gifted with what will later be called
transfiguration and charms, only known as ‘casting’ in this time period. She
loves numbers and runes the best though, finds them fascinating.
She’s not the best with magical creatures, but that’s more to do with the
practical aspect. She doesn’t like to get her skirts muddy, or dirt under her
But that’s okay. That’s normal for a noble.
Until one day she forgets to make sure nobody is following her, her thoughts
caught up in a new rune array she’s been wanting to try out.
She doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her, doesn’t know she’s in danger
until blinding pain explodes through her head as a heavy tree branch collides
with her skull.
She wakes up, half-dazed and nauseous, tied to a stake, her wand in pieces…
And her heart sinks. She’s in no state to do magic right now.
And that’s where Salazar comes in…
3. Salazar Slytherin
Salazar Slytherin is, ironically considering what his house becomes, a Muggleborn. The only one of the lot.
He lives a rather normal life in a rather normal village, and if he can
speak to the grass snakes out in the field, well, he keeps that his own little
secret. And for good reason.
But one day, he’s caught off guard, his father finds him holding a conversation
with an adder. The adder is dispatched ruthlessly with a swing of the farmer’s
scythe, and poor Salazar is dragged kicking and screaming by his father to the
His father apologizes, crosses himself, and prays to God for his son’s soul,
before trying to drown him in the river. Salazar’s magic kicks in, saving his
life by spiriting him away to a random space in the woods.
But he’s a child, and he’s frightened, and he doesn’t understand. So he goes
home to his mother.
Or rather, he tries to.
When he reaches the outskirts of the village, the air is heavy with smoke
and the dying screams of a woman. His mother burns at the stake for consorting
with the devil and birthing what can only be called devilspawn.
He turns his back on the village, and closes his heart to Muggles.
He will never trust blindly again.
So years later, when Salazar later finds Rowena tied to the stake, her wand broken into
pieces and flames licking up her skirts, he snaps.
Not a single Muggle from the village survives, he spirits her away from
there and spends three days nursing her back to health.
It’s not long after, when they run headfirst (no, literally) into Godric.
So that’s Godric and Rowena, and that’s Salazar. But what about Helga?
Helga Hufflepuff is the most normal of the lot. If one can call her normal.
She’s a Half-blood, born to a Pureblood wizard and a rather pretty young Muggle woman. Her father’s name is George and her mother is Mary, and their
story is a little outlandish.
Once upon a time, Mary had almost been eaten by a dragon. And then George
had come along, wand in his left hand, and sword in his right. The legend says
that George slew the dragon, but what they forget is that yes, he killed the
dragon, but in the process he dropped his wand twice, was thrown into a tree
once and almost fell on his sword three times.
In the end, Mary had been so amused and charmed by his demeanor that she married him. Nobody so clumsy
could possibly be sent by the devil, of course, nobody who would slay a fire
worm could have been a servant of the devil either.
So Helga grew up with a foot firmly in both worlds, and a loving family who
impressed upon her the importance of familial loyalty and determination, a
family who insisted there was more to a person than meets the eye.
And that suited her just fine. She’s the last to join the gang, but she’s
the first to suggest what will later become the foundation for Hogwarts.
She didn’t choose the name though. That’s Rowena, drunk on mead for you.
5. Hogwarts is…
Hogwarts is meant to be home. Hogwarts is
meant to be a safe haven.
And it is, for a while.
But Salazar is wary of the Muggleborn like
himself, more afraid of their families than the children themselves. And Godric wants
everybody to love magic like he does.
The two friends can never see eye-to-eye on
They argue for years, while Rowena watches
stonily, her own experience with fire and death still haunting her dreams on
stormy nights. Helga, who has never known that fear, smiles and tries to keep
But fear is powerful, is dangerous, is a
magic all on its own.
And it tears them apart.
Finally, Salazar cannot take it anymore, so
he leaves. But he does not leave his own students without a final defense. He
leaves the hatchling basilisk in his chamber: little Belinda, who so bravely
promises to guard the children from the muggles, and even from Godric himself
if it comes down to it.
He parts with Godric on bad terms, and the
centuries twist their words, twist their stories as people remember Godric’s
cheer and humor and blinding grins… Well, it makes sense, does it not, for a
man who speaks serpent tongue and opposes such a kindly wizard to be evil.
So history paints Salazar as a villain, and
puts Godric on a pedestal. It ignores the love Helga has for all children, even
those who are not hers; and it forgets the haunted look in Rowena’s eyes and
her ever-so-slightly broken soul, forgets that she’d loose herself for days
locked up in a tower trying to discover the secrets of the universe.
The little every day things (or not so little) are ignored, and set aside.
History forgets that the Hufflepuff line descends from Helga’s brother, the woman herself unable to have children, which is why she loves them all. It forgets that Rowena’s disassociation with people leaves her daughter with an absent mother. It forgets that Godric had blood on his hands, his smile a little bit more forced after Salazar leaves… History forgets that Salazar was kind, that his strongest spell was the flame-freezer, a spell that he himself created…
History becomes legend and legend becomes
A madman rises from that myth, and that is
where a new legend begins…
Calum’s family had practiced witchcraft since the early days. His family fled from Salem to Australia in hopes of safety for the years to come. Calum had watched his grandmother be burned at the stake. He remembers the day like it was yesterday:
The knock came to his door in a harsh rap.
“Old Lady Hood! Old Lady Hood?”
“Calum, please hide in the corner with Mali and don’t come out.” Calum’s grandmother warned.
“Old Lady Hood, we know you’re in there! We’re coming in!” Calum ran into the small space and Mali-Koa held him in an embrace. They heard the door slam on the ground and looked to see a bulky man grab his grandmother harshly. They tugged her out the door and that was when Calum shouted:
“No! Grandmama!” The men’s heads immediately turned to the noise, spotting Calum and Mali. One of them, Gasteaux, marched up to the children and picked up the small boy by his arm. He leaned in close to Calum’s face.
“And are you a witch too, petite garçon?” he spat the question, ending it in his native language.
“W-what’s a w-witch?” his baby voice whispered. Calum had no idea what Gasteaux was talking about. He was only seven.
“Leave him alone! He doesn’t know anything! He’s not like me…” His grandmother begged.
“Et la jeune fille?” he asked, curious about Mali-Koa.
“Both of them are human,” she lied
“Bring the children,” Two other men came and picked up the siblings. They brought them to the town square where they watched the men tie up their grandmother.
“Today we witness one of our best nurses be known as a witch. Today, she will be burned at the stake for her evil practices and die for her sins.” Gasteaux shouted to the people.
“Grandmama!” Calum cried and cuddled closer to Mali, who had tears rolling our of her eyes like an active volcano spewing lava.
“I love you…” their grandmother mouthed before the flames licked at her skirt, climbing its way upwards, spreading until her body was engulfed. The flames rawed and distorted her wrinkly skin. Her screams pierced the people ears, bursting their eardrums, but giving peace to her grandchildren. At the shriek, the flames burst green and blue from a deep red and orange.
Calum woke up sobbing. He reached for his phone, calling his sister. When she answered the phone, he could hear the blaring music. Calum rolled his eyes know his sister was probably at a club somewhere in Europe.
“Wassup, Cally?” Mali slurred.
“For heaven’s sake, Mali, be sober for once!” Calum groaned, annoyed with his sister’s constant state.
“Relax, Cal-Pal, I’m– I’s is– you’s are– I am drinking resmonsinbly…”
Calum sighed, rubbing the place between his eyebrows, “Do you mean ‘responsibly?’”
“Yes! How’s d’you know?”
“Mali-Koa, are you coming back to see the new sachem mage?”
“Yeah, yeshh, I’m is gons-ing to be there.”
“Be safe Mali,”
“I love you, Calum.”
“Mm– Love you too,”
“Hello, and welcome witches to the party for the new sachem mage!” Coraline, the necromancer emissary spoke. The huge crowd cheered and screamed waiting for this girl, the first girl sachem mage, to come out. “Please welcome, Y/N Y/L/N!”
You had your Y/H/C curled to perfection and your face was as flawless as you could make it. You wore a black lace dress, which kind of reminded Calum of American Horror Story: Coven, to be honest. Not that he watched it or anything. Calum thought that you would be some old, crinkly lady, but you ended up being the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
You walked around, people coming up to you and congratulating you.
“Y/N?” you heard someone ask. You turned around, and your eyes widened.
“Mali-Koa Hood?” you asked surprised. You met Mali during your training time in Cologne, Italy. We got pissed-drunk and partied all night.
“So how was Copenhagen?” you winked, trying to get your point across.
“You bitch! It was great though; great beer, great food, great men…” You laughed as she signaled her weird innuendo. She suddenly squealed and turned you around to a boy around nineteen years old. His chocolate brown eyes swallowed you whole and his dark hair made you want to run your fingers through what seemed to be a silky texture. His tattoos made him seem even more attractive against his naturally tan skin.
“Y/N, this is my brother, Calum.” Mali-Koa smirked and gave them both a knowing look.
“Mali, it’s nice to not hear the slur in your voice.” Calum sassed, “But Y/N, congrats on sachem mage, you look gorgeous today.” You blushed hard at his words.
“Thank you, Calum.” That’s when you finally looked into his eyes, and you immediately knew that you fell for him. You fell for his big eyes that reminded you of a puppy dog, his lips that made you want to kiss him to no end. But the one thing that stood out to you was the way his breath stopped short when he saw you.
“Y/N, he’s going to pass; let him go…” his mother whispered, rubbing up and down your arm.
You sniffled and shook your head, “No, no… he’s not dying… he can’t be…” you placed your hand on his and squeezed. He opened his eyes which you gasped in surprise at the yellow-ness of them.
“It hu-urts…” he groaned in a whisper.
“It will be over soon, I promise.” His father said.
“You are horrible parents.” you whispered to yourself more than them.
“Excuse me?” they both asked because they couldn’t hear you.
“You just stand there and accept that Theo, your only son, is going to leave you forever. Don’t you love him? Because I do,”
“Y/N,” you heard a frail, weak voice come from beside you. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No it’s not, you’re going to be gone. You’re the love of my life, Theo; I can’t live without you…” you started crying.
“I love you more than anything in the world.” he said as loud as he could. You leaned in and placed your forehead on his. He pushed his chin, signifying that he wanted a kiss, you complied. The last thing he did before he closed his eyes one last time was give you a beautiful gaze with his yellow eyes and let out a short gasp of breath saying:
“You are always able to take my breath away.”
You stared at him.
“I am so sorry, but I have to go and– and speak to other guests. If you excuse me.” you lowered your gaze and head, walking away.
When you walked away, Calum felt like a part of him left too.
i miss just daydreaming. finding myself in the lost. cocooning in a cotton nest on a sunlit afternoon. make believing eternities.
close my eyes and see a thousand lives i could have lived.
see a strawberry blonde ponytail sticking out from a freezer door. she’s picking out frozen dinners for little sister, little brother. mother isn’t home yet. she hasn’t been home in a while.
see a child of dusty corners trembling for the sun. moonlit serving girl, holding stardust in her violet palms, singing her skirts in flame. kissing princes in the pantry. too lovely in the lantern light. too easy to betray
see a golden rabbit tucked away in the midnight folds of a magician’s sleeve. she dreams of nights spent drinking honeycomb in the servant’s kitchen, tasting flowers on his lips. she dreams of strawberry strands strayed across a pink pillowcase like sun rays across a blushing sky. she dreams of a girl wrapped up in moth wing blankets, make believing eternities
The way it flickers, the way it dances. He disliked the way
it acted like it was so contained but then the next moment, it was out of
control. He disliked the color of the flames and he disliked the way that he
couldn’t touch it. He hated how he could feel the heat but if he laid a finger
on it he would get hurt. He didn’t like that fire was the source of his
problems yet it was also a source of comfort. He disliked the fact that he
liked seeing the flames dance and flicker and he hated the fact that fire was
the thing that killed his parents.