“Sascha, please—it’s fine!” Shosh wailed through chattering teeth at the vampire who was knelt at her side, meticulously hand-stitching the hem of her extravagant costume. They were in an abandoned warehouse above the Den of Magic, getting ready to shoot the music video they’d all spent weeks preparing for, and it was absolutely frigid.
Which didn’t seem to bother Rhett and her eternally overheated werewolf blood in the slightest; the drummer looked comfortable and positively balmy as she banged out improvised riffs on her drum kit while Eric tested sound levels against the audio recording equipment they had setup in the space.
Cass didn’t look bothered, either—well, at least not by the cold. Though he did look surly seated in his director’s chair, sunglasses perched on his nose while a friend of Kelly’s that they’d hired to do hair-and-makeup fussed with his brownish locks.
Sascha gave Shosh a scolding tsk, not looking up from their stitching as they replied, “Wirklich? Because I was under the impression I was working with an artist who wanted perfection, not ‘fine’…”
Shosh groaned, but couldn’t argue that the stylist was right. Luckily, right at that moment, she saw Derek in her peripheral vision walk in carrying a full hot beverage caddy in each hand. “Oh thank fucking fuck, finally!” She scampered over to him, ignoring Sascha muttering expletives after her in German, and snatched up the cup that was labeled ‘SHOSH’ in big black-inked letters. She held it in between her hands for a moment, letting the hot liquid inside warm her frozen fingers, while she gushed excessively, “Derek—D-Man—you big beautiful go-go dancing gorilla man, you! I could kiss you right now, all over that perfectly chiseled jawline, thank you….”
Derek flushed and rebutted, “Ah c’mon, Shosh, it’s just tea the way you always take it…”
Shosh took a large gulp of said tea and hummed with contentment as it radiated warmth down her throat and into her belly, eyeing Cass and wondering if she ought to save him from Death By Hairspray by stealing him away for some vocal warmups.
Piper, who was somehow beaming like the fucking sun itself, interrupted this train of thought by clearing her throat and calling out, “Places in five, please, everyone! Erm—if you don’t mind!"
[ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ] ― Delilah asks Val for a dance upon hearing a song
(Inspired greatly by In the Heights here and here)
@squib-city
Blackouts were not uncommon in the Den of Magic.
Their civilization was situated underground, for one thing; magic was finicky, and magic-powered electricity even more so. The citizens of the Den had a power grid that was supposed to be maintained by the local administrative branches—but the Den of Magic residents and those who tried to govern them rarely saw eye-to-eye, and so the latter would regularly shut off said power grid when they wanted to make a statement. Assholes.
But the Den of Magic was bursting with artists and bohemian spirits, who weren’t likely to be silenced by a little bit of darkness, now and then.
In fact, when the blackouts hit, they reveled.
It was an unspoken sort of calling throughout the Den; when your power went out, you made your way out into the cavernous tunnels that housed their city streets, to drink and dance and be merry in spite of their would-be oppressors. Taverns and pubs set up makeshift bars outside and cooked skewered meats and vegetables on charcoal grills that filled the tunnels with fragrant, mouthwatering smoke. Those who could do magic levitated colorful lights and lanterns, while those who couldn’t set out candles and tea lights in glass jars, whose glow flickered along the saturated cavern walls, casting shadows that ebbed and bobbed. Musicians would bring out their acoustic instruments—guitars and fiddles, hand drums and flutes and standing bass and tambourines, and play folks songs and dirges and jigs in impromptu clusters.
And most of all, people would dance.
It was on one such night that Val found themself drinking ale at a small table with some of their neighbors—Axel, Delilah, and half-fae Dani. The dancing was in full swing all around them, and Delilah—who was known for twirling about the dance floor in a short skirt and kitten heels until dawn, on blackout nights—had already refused several offers from potential dance partners.
“I swear to god, if one more cojudo with a hard-on interrupts this story…” Val complained, rolling their eyes and swigging their beer.
Delilah tossed her hair, sweat glistening on her skin from the humid tunnel chamber’s lack of ventilation. “As if anyone is even listening to your god-awful story, Morales. It’s so fucking dull it’s putting us all to sleep…” Axel and Dani, knowing well better than to get in the middle of one of Delilah and Val’s frequent verbal spars, sipped their drinks and strategically kept their mouths shut. Delilah gave a taunting grin, her teeth wet and white as she added, “…maybe some dancing is just what we need to wake up?”
Val gave the girl a withering glare. “So are you asking me to dance, Duchess?”
Delilah made an affronted face, and opened her mouth to protest before reconsidering, for some reason. She took a dainty sip of her own drink and then asked, in a haughty tone that was edged with something else, something tentative and questioning, “…do you even dance?”
Val leaned back in their chair, the feline lines of their body stretching beneath their skin. Dismissively, they drawled, “I doubt you’d be interested in the sort of dancing I do. If you could even keep up.”
Delilah’s eyes flashed indignantly. Seething, she chugged the rest of her beer and slammed the empty mug on the table, just as another would-be suitor—one of the Hawkins werewolves, Val recognized—approached and began to ask her to dance.
Delilah didn’t even wait for him to finish; she stared right at Val as she said to the werewolf behind her back, “Yeah, let’s dance,” and she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him onto the teeming dance floor.
Val watched with displeasure as the girl preened and pranced to an upbeat salsa-style jam, spinning and dipping between the waiting arms of not just the Hawkins werewolf, but several dancers, never once leaving Val’s line of sight. The boxer could feel Axel staring at Val, debating whether or not to say the words that were on his tongue, and Val flickered dark eyes his way; even in human form, Val’s eyes seemed to give off a feral, nocturnal glow. It was enough to make Axel shrink back in his seat and keep his fucking opinions to himself.
Danika, however, brushed some wisps of hair from her pixie-like face and said casually, “It is kind of a good beat, mate…” Val raised a brow at her and she shrugged, before hopping up and disappearing into the dancing mob.
It was just then that Val spotted one of the dancers from Slick Wands, the adult entertainment club where Val worked as a bouncer. They spotted Val and gave them a friendly wave. Fine, what the hell.
It didn’t take much convincing; it seemed everyone was in the mood to move their feet and their bodies to the sultry tune, and in no time Val and Raquel were spinning into the throng, swaying together with no space in between them. Raquel hooked a leg around Val’s calf, arching her back as Val dipped her low enough that her long braid of thick, dark hair nearly brushed the wet stone floor.
Delilah glared at the sight of them, and retaliated by twirling into the center of a circle of about five dancing men, who propped her up on their shoulders in a flashy, spinning trick.
But Val was dancing with someone who spun around a pole every night for a living, and they easily lifted and spun Raquel into a complicated, around-the-back trick before landing her stylishly back on her feet.
A crowd had gathered to watch and cheer around the warring dancers now, and they threw tricks back and forth so readily that by the time the song was finished, it was anyone’s guess who the victor might be.
Val and Delilah glowered at each other in the center of it all, chests heaving, bodies glistening with sweat.
And it was Delilah who finally sniffed tempestuously, turned on her heel and stormed off.
The victory felt good…for a couple of seconds. And then, for some idiotic reason, Val took off after the girl.
They grabbed her arm just as she was rounding a corner, and they found themselves in a dingy crevice in a corner of the cave. Delilah yanked her arm furiously from Val’s grip and spat, “Fuck you, Morales! Why’d you have to go and show me up like that, huh? I’m just out here trying to have a good night and you have to ruin it, like you ruin everything. If you hate the things I like so much then why’d you even come out tonight—”
Val bristled with rage, barely managing not to snarl. “—oh spare me the victim act, Duchess—you’re the one who started this, you’re the one who’s out there every blackout with a dozen men, shaking your ass for like, half of the Den—”
“And for fuck’s sake, why do you think that is?”
The tight space they’d chosen to argue in made every word seem more charged, more intense. Val took one step closer to Delilah and when the girl retreated back a step, too, her back hit a wall.
But Val loomed closer still. “If I didn’t know better, little bird, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous,” they growled, low and predatory.
Delilah looked up at them, defiant. Each angry breath she panted made their chests nearly touch. “And what if I am?”
Something hot and unfamiliar blossomed within Val’s belly; not like the fire of rage that burned and scorched, but something sticky that dripped along the insides of Val’s ribcage like sun-warmed nectar.
Hands that were rough and calloused from fighting braced craggled wall on either side of Delilah’s shoulders as Val dipped their head toward Delilah. She didn't flinch. Into her ear, the jaguar purred, “Well then I’d say you didn’t need to try so hard.”
Delilah grinned wide enough to show her canines, and it was her turn to look like a predator as she baited, “Prove it.”
And that was a challenge Val had much less issue with rising to than dancing.
They snaked an arm around Delilah’s back and hoisted her up against the dank wall, ruining the girl’s fine tailored clothes and holding her in place with Val’s own body.
And when their mouths met it was with hunger and animosity—tongues and teeth and swallowed-up sounds, a tussle for dominance just as it had been on the dance floor.
And once again, it was anyone’s guess who would win.
Maeko pulled two beers out of the icebox that lived in the untidy office space of Station Sunbeam’s two-room recording studio in the Wet Tunnel, holding the bottles by their necks between the fingers of one hand while she gave Penny—who was in the broadcasting room, doing her segment sign-off—a cheeky thumbs-up through the window. She shoved aside a pile of papers to make room to set the beers on the desk, and then Maeko yawned; she and Penny had been working around the clock recently, while Oz was taking some time off to recover his well-loved vocal chords. He was currently at the Puppy Shack—where him and Maeko had both been crashing indefinitely for about a week now—being doted on by Iris Hawkins. Which of course, he just loved.
And that left Maeko working another graveyard shift with Penny Hawkins. And Maeko had to admit that she had little to complain about that, either.
She grabbed a Pepper-Up Potion from the desk drawer and uncorked it with her teeth, shutting the drawer with her hip as she tossed back half of it. The light from the moon shining down through the skylight caught on Penny’s blonde locks as the halfbreed entered the room. Maeko gave her a smirk, and held out the rest of the potion and one of the beers in offering. “Good show tonight…” she commended, before perching herself on the desk and taking a swig from her own bottle. They had about an hour to kill, while their curated playlist of the night ran its course. “…dunno how you do it, but I’d swear sometimes you’re nocturnal. Like you come alive at night."
The moving, airborne vehicle that was carrying Oz’s unconscious body hit a bump in the air current, and he was jostled rudely across the plush woven surface on which he’d been laid.
“Watch it! We’ve got a patient on here…” scolded a man’s voice.
Oz groaned into consciousness, and opened his eyes to find himself peering up into a very pretty, dark gaze that was full of light; a night sky twinkling with stars. Black brows were furrowed with concern over smooth caramely skin, the faded line of a scar bisecting the one on Oz’s left. Oz had a thought that these were probably the most beautiful eyes he’d ever woken up to, and at roughly the same moment, he became aware that he was laying down on an actual fuckin’ flying carpet that was moving through the air, wearing literal strips of clothing that left very little to imagination.
“M’I in gay heaven?” Oz tried to say, but found that his throat throbbed horribly and seized up when he tried to push sound through it. So what actually ended up coming out sounded more like the croak of a frog, and was roughly equivalent to, “Mmmahggvnnnn??”
Admittedly, not among Oz’s smoother entrance lines. Yet even so, the stranger hovered over him lit up like Oz had just delivered the King’s Speech and said, “Brilliant, you’re awake—my name is Oliver Bandaru and I’m an Emergency Healing Technician…” Oz made yet another ghastly sound and tried to shift to sit up, but the EHT eased him back down with a firm, gentle hand. “…please, don’t try to talk—you’ve been the victim of an attack and have sustained injuries that require immediate medical attention. You are currently being transported to the Walks of Life Clinic in the Den of Magic in Liverpool…”
Oz blinked at the beautiful angel of a man in a way that he hoped conveyed his intended message of, I’ll gladly play your Princess Jasmine for as long as ya like…
Tragically, ‘as long as you like’ turned out not to be very long at all; the carpet took a sharp dive into the mouth of a cave (Aladdin references abound), and after a number of vertigo-inducing dips and turns, they landed.
And honestly, much of the next bit was a blur, as Oz was maneuvered into some kind of makeshift hospital (certainly not the swanky wizard’s one where he’d met Piper and Loxley after the latter had collapsed in Chelsea) where he was subsequently poked, prodded, examined, probed (and not in the way Oz would have liked), and made to write down answers to a series of questions on a little dry-erase board about who he was, how he’d come to be in this state, what blood- or Being-status he most identified with, what he remembered about the past few hours, and who—if anyone—needed to be contacted as to his whereabouts.
And finally he was smeared with various pungent salves, swathed in a hospital gown (to Oz’s chagrin), and offered a rainbow assortment of delightful pharmaceutical potions—which Oz gulped down eagerly, despite still feeling like his throat had been sat on by an elephant.
And then, he had to wait.
It was very difficult to tell how much time was passing when you were in hospital; Oz may have dozed off more than once before a familiar face, at last, entered the room (more like stall, really—with flimsy bed-curtains and everything).
He’d been advised to limit talking, for now, so in lieu of a greeting, Oz just raised up a hand to flash the visitor one palm reading ‘HELLO.’
Wizarding Liverpool: The Magical Underground of England
☽ The Den of Magic ☾
Wizarding Liverpool has always been a hotbed of artists, the working class and a reputation for being rough-and-tumble. The wizarding hotbed used to be simple, hidden shops in alleys, centered around the docks and downtown of Liverpool. The magical community in Liverpool is strong, in lockstep with each other. One of the few places in the UK and Ireland where the wizarding community works hand-in-hand with the Being community that has become the heart of magical Liverpool.
It wasn’t always this way; there is a long and bloody history between the wizards and magical Beings of Liverpool. In response to the terror that wizards brought, the werewolves, mermaids, and goblins formed a pact in the 1500’s to protect themselves from increasing hunting from both Being Hunters and from Muggles. This held for 200 years until, in the early 1700’s, there was a large-scale hunt of the mermaid clan that led to a small war between the Beings and Wizards, which forced Ministry intervention.
It was only a negotiation table between the werewolf pack leader Raina Greyback and a pureblooded wizard Collin Pyrite that finally created an alliance between the warring factions. The pact stipulated a marital union between a Greyback and a Pyrite, as well as the removal of wizarding Being hunters within a 50 miles radius of Liverpool and the formation of a true Wizarding Liverpool, to bring the community together.
The location changed hands several times in the first 100 years, from underground buildings to half constructed alleyways. None of them seemed right, none were kept around longer than a decade or two. Until the Old Dock closed in 1826 and was filled in—well, attempted to be filled in. Bonnie Edevane of the werewolf Edevane Clan and Joshua Lennon, a wizard, proposed that Wizarding Liverpool take the Old Dock; it had been filled in and built over with streets but remained largely intact. The magical community voted yes, so while the Muggles built aboveground, burying their roots, the Magical community dug their heels in.
Nicknamed the Den of Magic, it is a series of tunnels and cavernous rooms that have been expanded magically alongside above-air Liverpool. Wizards have created miniature magical suns and rebuilt the brick-lined walls and dug deeper into the bedrock, so it's transformed into a series of caves and tunnels. Built into the rock are bars, restaurants, shops, and offices. It is accessible through shafts built into the city of Liverpool, in what could only be described as manholes—but when a wix stands on them, they will drop into the underground matrix. There is also an old warehouse that sits above the largest room, cloaked in with Muggle repellent charms, which is where wix are most likely to enter into the Den of Magic, following a set of stairs to the underground (also located here is the local Auror Office).
In recent years, the Den of Magic has become a hub of artists and Being folk. The tunnels and cellars are a maze wherein no single person truly knows the Den of Magic, as magic has seeped into the very stone, and it has a mind of its own. Tunnels are often discovered to be cut off or moved entirely, sometimes caverns will jump 10 feet to the right, and while the Muggles work above ground digging and excavating, it’s not unlikely for a shopkeeper to find their shop on the opposite end of the matrix. There is no map of the Den of Magic, and it has become a hotbed for criminals to hide, for Beings to disappear, for people to be smuggled out of or into the country; if you don’t want to be found, disappear into the Den of Magic.
The Den of Magic, though unmapped, has general directions. There are three main tunnels: the Wet Tunnel, the Sandstone Street, and Creek Follows.
The Creek Follows is the home of the shops of the Den of Magic. It is a long tunnel with shops cut into the brick and bedstone, illuminated by magic and the ground is covered in brick. Plants are scarce, but moss and ivy grow along the walls by magic, as well as flower beds of mushrooms.
Sandstone Street is the bustling center of offices and small apartments due to the fact that it is a taller tunnel. The doors face the streets, usually surrounded by a 4 by 4 foot front ‘garden’ complete with a gate, and the offices are similar. These apartments are incredibly cheap, and enjoy having ‘skylights’ through use of See Through charms in the ceilings of these buildings, where sunlight can come through, as well as being able to see the weather and rain.
The Wet Tunnel is exactly as it sounds. It’s always partially flooded, with gutters cut into the side of the streets; it’s the home of the bars and the tiny back rooms. Small tunnels reach deadends or go into half-circles, and remain barely uncovered. If you want to disappear from the Aurors (or from the world), you go to the Wet Tunnel. But this is also the artists’ hub of Liverpool; there are the indoor galleries, as well as the music venues of fame such as the Stalagmite and the Brick Break, where bands like the Screaming Hollies and the Weird Sisters began their first tours. Wizarding officials have attempted to figure out why the Wet Tunnel is always flooded, but not even magic it seems can prevent the constant 2-4 inches of water on the ground. There are a number of young witches and wizards who specialize in water repellant and cleaning charms, especially for people who come to see artist shows. There are a number of random skylights in the Wet Tunnel, leading to the widening of these areas to become little circular meeting hubs with benches and foot carts. Some of the ‘buildings’ also have skylights, and it has been proven that despite being underground, Muggle electricity and radio waves work. During the First and Second Wizarding Wars, the Wet Tunnel especially was used to smuggle Voldemort dissenters and the center of rebellion from Being folk. The Wet Tunnel is a place local Aurors are anxious to enter without allies on the inside.
The Den of Magic remains a mystery to even its own community, and for Liverpudlins it is the highlight of the wizarding world.
Some places of note:
Greyback Tavern, a bar frequented by werewolves home to a boxing ring in the Wet Tunnel. Originally owned by the Greyback Pack it is now under Edevane jurisdiction, though still usually only frequented by Beings.
Court of Magic Daily, the local Liverpool newspaper located on Sandstone Street.
Shrooms & More, the herbology shop, the front is covered in moss and mushrooms and is an underground greenhouse, located on Creek Follows.
Mersey Grille, a popular restaurant serving both magical and muggle faire, a rare two story with a skylight, located on Creek Follows. Very popular for dates and has a rule about tracking in water or blood.
Centre of Magic, where the three tunnels spoke off of, this is where the Floo Wall is as well as the Map Wall, charmed to attempt to change with the movements of the Den of Magic. It’s around 60% accurate. Occasionally Lib-Con’s architect will try to fix their maps, but the Den refuses to be tracked.
Liverpool Warehouse, a three story brick building, the top floor belongs to the local magical government, the second floor to the local Auror office, and the base floor is where the stairs to the underground go, and is also home to the tourism office as well as a Broom & Rug parking.
Walks of Life Clinic, a free community run clinic equipped with Healers that specialize in Being healthcare. They do free therapy appointments every third Sunday of the month, and every second Friday have a Pay-What-You-Can concert to raise funds. There is a rotating staff of Healers, but there are two that are permanent residents, one of whom is Jay Hawkins a werewolf Healer.
Stalagmite, a popular punk venue in the Wet Tunnel, they have shows at all hours, a very dangerous place to have a mosh pit as both the ceiling and the ground protrude with dangerously sharp rock formations. It’s covered in graffiti and stickers, but the bathrooms are always clean.
Brick Break, is both a boxing ring and a music venue, they host fight nights, battle of the band and larger scale shows than Stalagmite. They have their own Healer on hand as well as a betting booth. It’s alway moving since the Aurors have been trying to track it forever. No one has any idea who runs or owns it, just that the bar is stocked, the music is good and the water is free.
Icarus Bookshop & Cafe, is located on Sandstone Street this is a popular cafe and bookshop for locals, they have their own small publishing house in the back. Run by a goblin and her lovely werewolf wife they sell a modest fair, good coffee and half-price books. They are also known for giving out free food and letting people use their storeroom shower and bathroom.
Station Sunbeam Alternative Radio, the former “sole patch of sunlight in Knockturn Alley,” has recently relocated to the Wet Tunnel to accommodate new management and avoid detection by the heightened presence of magical law enforcement in the London area. Occupying a space with a skylight, the pirate radio station features the latest in underground music, as well as regularly scheduled talk radio and news regarding issues facing Being folk and other oppressed groups in the magical community.
