some kind of madness

owen thatcher || witch || professor || alchemist || 39 "Don't let it in with with no intention to keep it, Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it, Honey don't feed it, it will come back." written by kt

[wiccapediaowen]

deaconfreeman‌:

Loathe as he to admit it, Deacon was always a little blindsided whenever he met another witch. As if he somehow wasn’t witchy enough to claim a shared species. Alchemy? He’d heard of it. One way trip to the one percent. He never had the knack for it. Not that he tried much. The only change of state he was interested in was making someone alive into someone who was dead, and the means to achieve such an outcome was always in flux. Kept things from getting boring. Sure, he could turn something into dust but that was just him being environmentally friendly. Doing his part for the planet and all that.

Somehow, he doubts talking about his brand of state fluctuations would go over well with present company. Given that he was enjoying himself more or less thus far, he holds his tongue. An impressive feat as he does so love the sound of his own voice. Even so, he can’t help but ask “Ya’ ever turn yer Midas touch on a livin’ soul?” he questions “Like a much more bling version of a gorgon, ya’ know?”

Who wouldn’t want to turn someone into a golden statue? 

Like fucking a hurricane? That was one way to put it. A delicious one. Bang on too. Poking fun was tempting, and oh so easy “Could have scared ya’ off?” he gives him a look of open interest “Yeah they ain’t really made fer relationships with folks outside o’ the furry persuasion which is a damn shame, ain’t ever met another species more predisposition towards loyalty.”

He could offer. Show him a good time. Wasn’t as though Deacon wasn’t interested. Or busy. He’d done more with someone he’d share less words with. Nevermind sharing a hit. Witches were a grab bag in the sex department, never know what you’re gonna get. “Ya’ thinkin’ bout gettin’ out there again?” he asks “Yer in yer prime, real somethin’ to look at I imagine ya’ could ‘ave yer pick o’ the lot anywhere ya’ go.” he tosses a wink in following these words for good measure.

Easier than answering his question. What flavour did that make him? A real head scratcher, he purses his lips as he withdraws the cigarette “Ya’ know when ya’ go to a fast food joint an’ ya mix all the sodas together?” he starts “Swampwater some folk call it, that’s me; bit o’ everythin’. Taste is different every time, ain’t know nothin’ bout remainin’ a classic. That’s all on you.”

Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Deacon hadn’t done a steady relationship since he’d gone by his proper name. Which felt like eons ago. When it had hardly even been a decade. Weren’t much in life that scared him but by god was there something fucking terrifying about spilling your guts to another party, something about ‘til death do us part. When all it was was death that happened to those he loved. Yeesh. 

And there was his answer. 

He grimaces for good measure and rubs at the back of his neck in a rare show of discomfort at his own choice of words “My bad hoss. Didn’t mean to bring up such an unpleasant topic,” he drops his hand and shakes his head “Naw not that I know of. Then again my magic ain’t somethin’ I rely on as much as some other witches. Sure it’s a part o’ me but it ain’t all I am ya’ know? Might be from good breedin’ or whatnot but it ain’t get out o’ my control none. You deal with more…intricate magics then I do…which I’m guessin’ deal with a mighty sum more focus–not enough practice in high emotion situations maybe.”

Owen. Owen Thatcher. He’d remember that. Not like he ran into many other strange folk willing to keep him company on a bench like this shooting the shit over anything that came to mind.  Even if it was more…solid than he was used to. Leaning a little closer to intimate in a way he weren’t entirely comfortable with. “Maybe ya’ need more practice, too pent up–what do ya’ do fer fun? Blow off steam. Release the beast,” not that he was any sort of professional on the topic, his life of typical hedonism was hardly a perfect frame of reference “Shit maybe ya’ just need practice.”

Shit there was a school here? Like…a real Hogwarts type school? His eyebrows climb higher as he listens wondering where the hell his invitation was. Probably lost it the moment his plane made an impromptu landing in the middle of the ocean. Shame. Or maybe it was an American only luxury. His magical curriculum was a little more home schooled. Cyanide was anything but boring. And he’d been to a lot of different cities all across the globe even so “Are ya’ still bored?” he asks as his hands slide back into the pockets of his jacket “Might mean yer’ spendin’ all yer time in the wrong sorts o’ circles, hoss.” 

Maybe his magic was bored too and desperately wanted to vibrate out of his skin. It was a nifty little puzzle to mull over and for a moment he just does that as Owen lapsed into silence. A rare sort of thing for him, for Deacon; didn’t know Owen well enough to take a stab at it. 

Long enough that he begins to feel some of the emotion from earlier begin to bleed out of him, allowing his large frame to start to relax against the bench “Hm?” a hum as he rolls his head to look at him “The cigarette or the blunt?” he asks even as he withdraws the slim metal case from within, four of the six slots were still neatly populated with one hand rolled joint and he can’t help but chuckle as he slips one free “Damn right ya’ can pay Mr.Alchemist since he was sixteen,” and he leans over to offer the item to him “If I were to charge ya’ an outrageous amount would ya’ still be willin’ to pay it?”

He lets it hover. His words. The joint. Himself as he still remains leaned a little to close past what was professional. Proper. Ain’t a proper bone in his body “They ain’t cheap fer the regular joe an’ bein’ honest with ya’ it’s not a blend I usually sell, but let’s see what kind o’ cash ya’ got on ya’,” and as his other hand slips the case away he leans in closer and slides the blunt between Owen’s lips with surprising care, fingers lingering before he pulls back a beat to snap a lick of flame on hand “The first hit is gonna be a strong one, I swallowed it the first round so bottoms up, hoss.”

With that he moves the light to the end, a spark in neon blue blooms “Feel free to curse me if it’s too strong fer ya’,” he grins as he falls back letting the flame die off and stretches his arms along the back of the bench “Name’s Deacon, try not to choke on it.”

He knew that not all witches came to magic the same way. Owen was classically trained and still in the world of academia, and that didn’t seem to be Deacon’s style at all. Was he self taught? Or maybe it was ancestral magic? The little bits of magic he had seen him perform were effortless, with a wild crackle to it that was very appealing. Perhaps even giving voice to the question would come off as rude, yet another sign of privilege, but he took the risk. “Do you have a speciality?”

Owen’s eyes widened a little at where the witch’s mind went first, so bold and curious. He could never remember asking someone he had just met if they had ever essentially murdered someone. “Never. It would be impressive, and certainly something a mad king would do to his enemies. But it’s a waste of energy, it would take up too much of my energy stores. As long as you keep the same mass, you can change anything, but it takes almost no energy if the change is small. Scrap metal to gold, tea to whiskey, one herb to another if I run out during brewing. If I wanted to kill someone, I could just change their blood type. Their own antibodies would turn on them.” If he wanted to leave as little evidence of the supernatural as possible, though an autopsy would prove very confusing.

Normally Owen avoided having to think about his failed marriage, just another reminder of what happened when he let emotion overtake logic. Everyone knew wolves mated with other wolves. How could he be mad about simple science? “Felt like we could beat the odds from the inside, at first. It makes it that much more cliche when it all breaks down.” But digging up his old skeletons was probably boring the other man. So when he was asked about getting out there again, he settled for a non committal noise. He wasn’t built for one night stands, hooking up without some emotional connection didn’t have any appeal for him. And the last time he had felt a spark and trusted that strange vampire with his number, the man had vanished into thin air. It felt like a bad omen.

Except then there was a wink and compliments, and he wasn’t used to that from someone he found objectively attractive. He stared open mouthed for a beat too long, then decided he had probably missed his chance to respond at all and promptly turned away blushing until they touched on another subject.

“Gross,” he couldn’t help but comment on the very idea of the flavor Deacon had chosen, wrinkling his nose. It sounded chaotic and confusing and altogether not a very pleasant experience, and had a name that didn’t suit what little he knew of the other witch at all. “Guess I’ll have to try it out before I can judge. Certainly sounds interesting.” The most interesting part of it wasn’t what it said about Deacon, but more that it revealed what Deacon thought of himself. Unorthodox, bit of a mixed bag, unpredictable.

Owen had brought it up, so he didn’t know why he was surprised that Deacon seemed to have so many ideas and solutions for his intimacy problem. It was all so simple in theory, but in practice it sounded exhausting. Maybe a little boring wasn’t bad - he could curl up with his books and tea and familiar and still be happy. The longing for more was still there, though, and it didn’t seem to be budging. Release the beast. He didn’t even know what that would look like.

And he mulled over Deacon’s question. Was he bored? Probably. Why else would he have just asked an interesting stranger for a drug with which he had little to no experience? If that was even what he had been asking for. He was near certain he had meant a cigarette, a bit of nostalgia for his early twenties, but his wording was vague. That and he wasn’t protesting much, too entranced by the sight of the joint between Deacon’s fingers, old practice motions for him to admire. “Outrageous? Depends on your definition and your accepted methods of payment.” The idea of Deacon walking home with a solid gold hubcap was amusing. “Probably yes, though. Name your price.”

Deacon was in his space, suddenly so close that he needed a gentle hitch of breath to feel centered again. “Will you have some too?” He asked softly, feeling a little foolish for it. Being the only altered person out in public when he wasn’t used to it felt like a very vulnerable position to willingly put himself in. Not that he doubted his own abilities. Temptation was so easy to give into when he didn’t have to think. The joint was placed between his lips, a light sparking to life in Deacon’s hand and held to the end. All he had to do was inhale. So he did.

One big inhale of blue smoke that burned and tickled all the way down his throat, and he tried to hold in the breath but only managed for a few seconds. Then he was coughing gracelessly, clearing out the smoke and gulping down fresh air. When he finally felt in control again, his limbs already felt heavy, magic crackling under his skin and begging to get out. “Deacon,” he repeated, trying the name out on his tongue. “Why don’t you usually sell this blend? Should I have asked more questions before it was too late?”

[wiccapediaowen]

sterlingsinclair‌:

It would be horribly unprofessional of him to press the issue, to behave like someone below his station. His station. Ha. Laughable notion. There were rules and regulations for a reason, and though he knew many an agent with an overinflated ego that would have handled this situation with a lot less care (but then again, that was what humans were remarkably good at) Sterling felt it prudent to simply wait for the…ordeal to be solved. 

Or at least, that was how he felt up until the stench of burnt flesh reached his nose. 

He takes a quick step forward with an aborted motion to reach out and grab the man’s wrist to get him to step away. His briefcase and assorted papers clatter to the tiled floor underfoot and he does a poor job of concealing his alarm, his concern but by now he’s standing almost too-close to the witch “Why don’t you let me hold the door closed while you attend to your injury,” he says where his hand hovers, half leaning around the other towards the door “I’m not so eager to obtain my answers that I’d place the entire academy under mortal peril assure you.” 

There were a great many things he could say about the conversation topics. But he was more concerned with the situation at hand. Plus, he wasn’t being paid to debate the nuances of the supernatural’s placement in the governing powers that be. Nor was he being ordered to give his opinion, or have one; sometimes chalking his indifference up to his sire felt cheap but it was an excuse he’d take. “I…vampires are unable to sire offspring,” he responds and pretends like he can’t feel the pain of such an answer “Nor have I turned anyone.”

As if his sire would ever let him have the luxury. 

His hand finally touches the other’s, the too-hot heat of his flesh was scalding not only in the simply factor of him being burned he could only hope the chill of his flesh offered some semblance of relief “Please.”

Like the moves of a practiced dance, some old forgotten waltz, Owen moved as soon as Sterling did. An innocent step forward from the vampire and the with took up a protective stance, one arm held palm up to keep him back. There was no anger in it; in fact, it was almost sweet to see that not every supernatural creature was as judgmental and untrusting as Owen. The pain was real and wanted to steal focus, but all of his training made it easy to ignore. “I’ve got it, thanks.” The need for anyone to hold the door at all, was almost gone, and even with something so small he preferred the vampire at arm’s length. His eyes dropped pointedly to the papers on the floor, his jaw clenched so hard at the sudden proximity that it ached.

“I see,” he nodded politely. He hadn’t expected an answer to the kids question, but Sterling had given one anyway. That in itself was an anomaly. The few vampires he had met had all turned others, not quite offspring but damn close. If he had eternity stretched out before him, the need to create something or someone new for company would be near overpowering. “Then I guess you don’t know. Kids get into all sorts of trouble. Especially young witches.” Before they learned the hard lessons of limits, that no bit of magic came without sacrifice of some kind.

A hand grazed his own, ice cold and smooth, and it was the first time he was tempted to let go of the doorknob, just so he could twist away. “Don’t touch me. Seriously. I could change the literal chemistry of your blood.” Either on purpose or by accident, though he was careful to leave that vague and not be too specific with his word choice. No need to actively reveal his discipline. Three sharp knocks echoed through the wood behind him, the signal for all clear. His hand dropped by his side, flexing minutely. A quick trip to the healers wouldn’t take up too much time.

“I wouldn’t go poking around, Agent Sinclair. The tracking mechanisms on these are pretty fine tuned,” he warned, gesturing to Sterling’s visitor’s badge. He doubted they had bothered with such precautions, but it was better to plant a seed of fear if he had nefarious intentions. The rudeness only went so far. Now that he had the use of two hands, he helped with the scattered papers at his feet, handing over a stack gingerly with a quick and tight smile, as close to an apology as he could manage.

[wiccapediaowen]

everettflint‌:

The larger part of him was expecting to be blown off, ignored; that was the usual response to any inquiries he had. Any time he spoke. Let alone when he asked for help. Being ignored then was somehow much more common. Depressing. Exchanging the broken phone for the packet of tissues was perhaps not the wisest of trades but even if the guy ran off with the device, it was broken. And the security he’d installed on it was top notch. If he managed to crack it even after repairing it, he deserved whatever it was he found on it. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have backups. It was 2019 after all. 

The tissues were a smaller kindness that felt massive, and he bit his lower lip harshly in a vain attempt to quell his rising emotions even as he slipped a couple free to clean his hands. Red staining the white tissues, spotting something so pure looking. Candy whines at his side and shifts closer to him, her weight pressing close as he manages to get the worst of the mess cleaned up. Some water would be helpful but the small bottle he had on his person was Candy’s and he wasn’t about to use it and leave her with nothing. Not when the nearest fountain was at the park and that might as well be the moon. 

Everett’s surprise shows when the kind stranger claims to have tech repair as a side hobby. What were the odds? Let alone the odds of letting a stranger wander off with– “Whoa,” he says holding his hands palms out in a warding off gesture when the very very expensive looking watch is presented forth by way of collateral “That’s…that’s uh, Sir, that’s very generous and that,” he points at the watch “Looks more expensive than anything I own which means that’s a lot of responsibility and I just dropped my phone. What if I drop your watch? What if it breaks? I can’t afford to…to be liable for that, Sir I just…if you run off with my phone that’s just my fault for trusting you and honestly not really something I’d be surprised about but you’re my only hope presently.” 

He presses himself back to the shop wall as though he was being presented with a venomous snake “Me and responsibility? We’re not on good terms, Sir. Still, food truck, one hour? Lunch? I can handle that, one hundred percent cross my heart,” he does just that with a quick x drawn in the air over his heart, the old wound burns at the motion; a grim reminder “I…please don’t steal my phone kind, wonderful stranger, Sir.” he mumbled as he stands to his feet slowly, Candy’s body pressing against his legs.

For half a beat, Owen was lost, wondering what exactly had inspired the human to try to ward him off with both palms. Then he turned his own watch over again in his palm, furrowing his brow at his own mental lapse. Right. It wasn’t like he could explain things to the human: that it had originally been some cheap knockoff, that changing it whenever he was nervous gave his hands something to do, a metal mood ring that he never paid attention to anymore. “How are you going to tell time?” He asked softly, slightly amused despite himself. Should he lie and say it was only painted gold? Such an indifferent reaction and one that came from privilege, but his only answer to the question of what he would do if the watch broke was a shrug. Surely the man wasn’t about to smash it on purpose. “I like fixing things. If it breaks, then....I fix it. Glass can be replaced. Gears can be repaired.”

Owen tried again, just once, offering it out with a reassuring nod. “If it’s more stress to take it, then don’t. I find time to be soothing, though. And if you have this, you’ll know exactly when I’ll show up. I’m very punctual.” He still had his own phone for time, and once he was done with the minor mending spells somewhere private, he could just walk in circles to throw off the trackers coming for him. Once he did all the castings to mend the glass and put back the internal hardware if anything had come loose, he would inevitably hit a wall. If the phone still didn’t turn on, at least he had saved the poor kid some money on screen repair. He could always recruit a witch with a flair for technology. “And, uh. Just ‘Owen’ is fine. I am not important enough for that many Sirs in less than five minutes.” With another happy glance down at his dog, Owen slipped the phone into his pocket, then hesitated, trying to grasp onto a few words of comfort. The man’s circumstances were unknown to him, but it was clear he could use them. All he could come up with was a vague, “It’ll be fine. Promise.” He took his headphones out again, walking backwards for a few steps before he disappeared into the crowd.

[wiccapediaowen]

deaconfreeman‌:

Were all witches this slippery? Must have something to do with access to that space beyond the mortal plain and all that. Said an awful lot about how much more uncomfortable he was round his own kind than say, a demon. Demons were good folk, predictable. They were only after one thing even if they went about chasing it a dozen different ways. Take nothing at face value, that was the morale of Cyanide City. Pessimistic? Maybe. Deacon didn’t intend to be here for a long time, just a good time. That was easier. 

He didn’t understand why knowing how to deal with an opposing species wasn’t more common. Maybe not every supernatural was ready to throw down at a moment’s notice but it was all about basic safety practices. Weren’t Americans hard for that kind of thing? He doubted present company was the right sort of individual to ask about this sort of thing. Maybe turning to the internet for answers would serve him well here. Shit, he didn’t even know this guy’s name. Was it a little too late to ask for it? Would he forever be known as ‘Fairly Straight Looking Bloke I Shared A Blunt With On A Bench At Night That One Time?’ talk about a mouthful. Not even the fun kind of a mouthful.

Snorting, Deacon isn’t sure what he finds more funny. The notion of getting attached or that he’s actually protecting anyone. What a toss up. “Ain’t gettin’ attached to no one hoss,” he replies “Hate to sound cliche but that’s a one way trip to Painsville when they up an’ betray ya’ or get killed on ya’.”

Maybe better folks had happier endings. The idea of a happily ever after, that aforementioned white picket fence, laughable. Even if a small part of him couldn’t help but want after it.  It was easier then to focus on the other’s words. Theoretical magic. That was one interesting branch. His eye for science was more on the chemistry end of things but he’d been around the odd egghead or three that barked about the theoretical physics spectrum, the magic end of it weren’t much different. He guessed. “Willingly?” he counters without heat “Shit hoss, doin’ stuff under the influence opens up a whole new lot o’ doors ya’ didn’t even know were closed.” 

Removed blinders. The layman’s limitations, gone was one’s hesitation and more acting on a whim. Maybe if he was a better witch, he’d be more inclined to prod. To explore such a field, the guy was smart; the scary kind of clever that was his polar opposite. All rough edges and flare for carnage, he didn’t have the headspace for such detailed work. For maybes and wonder. Not anymore. “I hope someone is payin’ ya’ a pretty penny fer yer work somewhere, hoss,” he says while waving off the apology “I ain’t keepin’ ya’ am I? What I heard, some familiars can be a right bitch.” 

Must be the reason he hadn’t gotten one yet. 

Probably. 

There were proper ceremonies for that kind of thing. Proper ceremonies that required a proper coven full of alive and thriving witches. He could look into doing the deed himself but that was a little too much responsibility for him. Hell, he couldn’t even get himself focused enough to care for a normal animal let alone one that could sling a fireball at him just the same. 

Deacon laughs. Can’t help it. Another loud bark of sound that sounds out of place in the too quiet park. The sound of city life is a distant one, he could almost pretend it wasn’t there. Almost. “Trust? Oh, oh that’s a good one,” he wipes at his eyes with one tattooed hand “Ain’t no trust in the act hoss, just lookin’ to scratch an’ itch and demons are real fuckin’ good at the deed, comes with bein’ older than dirt an’ all that.” 

Didn’t see what was fascinating about it. Unless… he fixes his attention back on him with glee “Ya’ ain’t ever fucked a demon have ya’?” or been fucked, either way was a wild ride “Ya’ really are rather vanilla, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that–it’s a good flavour, a classic.” there were dangers of course, demons tended to come into it with the intent to have a good time and if you happened to score a demon of lust then not only was it it the best sex of your life, it was also the most exhausting–small price to pay for the next level pleasure that often left him on a high powerful enough to rival his blend. 

What a slap to the face, the tone was shifting fast enough to give him whiplash. He puffs on his cigarette some more, savouring the burn before the glow of restoration magic wiped away the poison. Lung cancer wasn’t the way he intended to kick it. Neither was some copper hopped up on his own ego. Hence Cyanide. 

He wondered about the other’s story. Surely it wasn’t near as grim as his own. Dead family and all. Your coven had been your family, so really is he that far off the mark? A grimace that has nothing to do with the cigarette between his lips and he folds his arms over his chest sullenly. “Dark? More like right on the money, hittin’ it a bit closer to home an’ I don’t even know yer name,” he grouches “Never expected to stay ‘ere long. Not this bench. This city. But where else can ya’ go when ya’ lost everythin’?” 

He hates it. This. This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go. Suddenly the cigarette isn’t the only poisonous thing he tastes on his tongue and he spits it out to ground and grinds the heel of his boot on it with a little more oomph than what was warranted “That why ya’ came to Cyanide then, hoss?” he returns “Dead family? Dead marriage?  Dead end conversation topics?”

Owen had assumed security’s main job would be protecting the dancers. The one and only time he had been to something close for a friend’s birthday party, he had felt weirdly protective himself, a little confused by how comfortable crossing lines the patrons were even when given so few boundaries. Apparently he was more of general security, or perhaps a bouncer, just there to break up fights or kick out problem customers and not do any protecting. Even in the smallest of ways, he managed to look at things through the most romantic lens possible, entirely by accident. In that situation he would get attached, of course he would.

Speaking of. Owen was decidedly not flirting, didn’t know how to begin to, wasn’t looking for anything from the other man. In fact, he hadn’t even been the one to sit down on an already occupied bench. But for the first time, he started to notice just how attractive the other man was, conventionally speaking. With his face and his charm, he could do real damage if he set his mind to it.

He did enjoy theoretical magic, and he liked acquiring new knowledge and collecting new methods to cast the same spells. Yet as he strove for bigger and better magic, and met different witches through work to do collaborative magic with, it felt like the Academy would never really be satisfied. Witches would always be looking for new magic, and it never ended. Just once, he wanted to stumble upon a branch or a piece of magic and say this. This is enough.

Oh. Money. Owen shrugged sheepishly at the mention of getting paid, knowing it sounded like the most egotistical bullshit to say that he just donated his salary back to the school. Alchemy, for it’s tricky nature, was one of the more boring branches of magic to him. Sure was lucrative, though. “I’m an alchemist. I've had a weird relationship with money since around sixteen, when I started getting control over the precious metals. Feels just about as unfair as vampires getting handed immortality,” he shrugged, knowing how unevenly it stacked the deck for him to never know what financial struggle was. No more than any other trust fund kid, he guessed. 

“You’re not keeping me.” The time he stayed out late were few and far between, he was sure he could explain himself to his familiar when he got back. His curiosity burned even hotter when the other witch heavily implied that he didn’t have one. Had he pressed his luck with the prying questions? He’d already forced him to admit that he’d lost an entire coven, that seemed like enough for the next hour at least.

Careful. Your romantic heart is showing. Again. The laughter didn’t feel cruel, and Owen wrinkled his nose in amusement. “Sounds like trying to fuck a hurricane.” Under normal circumstances, he might have blushed. He felt oddly open under the effects of the hidden moon and the potent smoke he had breathed in. He just shook his head, almost somber. Mingling with other species had never really ended well for him. Recently, he had almost thrown in the towel on loneliness and fully trusted a vampire, but he never managed to find him again. “I don’t get out much. My ex was a wolf. That could have scared me off of adventure.” The domestic and legal commitment of a husband didn’t really hold up when biology struck and the urge for a mate set in. They were always doomed. “What flavor does that make you?”

And then, because all his impulse control seemed to be gone, he spoke again. Or at least, his filter seemed to have given up completely. Like clay, he had slowly warmed to the man’s touch over the course of the last hour and gotten entirely too comfortable. “I don’t sleep around at all, actually. I.....I’m worried I’ll kill someone. The last few years, if I lose control, or I’m not paying attention, there’s a lot of uh...accidental magic. Does that happen to you?” Perhaps it had something to do with his discipline. It wasn’t just knocking over bookshelves or the occasional burst lightbulb he had to worry about. If he let his mind wander and his control slipped, he could literally change the chemistry of someone’s blood by mistake. “If I were pretty enough to be traditional bait, I could be a very specific type of demon hunter, I suppose.” A black widow. He had heard rumors of a few creatures in the city who did just that.

He almost reached out, almost placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he never scraped up the courage. Whatever connection he felt was species driven and potentially one sided. He ended up nearly sitting on his hands instead, shifting his weight back and forth and trying to figure out if he had angered the large accented witch with no name or it was just the discomfort of the topic. He grumbled about not knowing Owen’s name but never actually asked for it, and despite the unfamiliar territory, he chuckled lightly. “Did you want to?” After a pause, he gave it to him anyway, just in case. “Owen. Thatcher. For the record, I hope you do end up sticking around. This city, this bench, whatever.”

The man had stomped out his cigarette with more force than strictly necessary, and Owen couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flattened butt. He hadn’t had to relate any of his own trauma out loud in a long time, since all of the people in his life already knew. Judging a book by its cover was usually warned against, but on appearance alone Owen assumed an outward display of emotion would freak this witch out in numerous ways. Aka, he was determined not to cry in front of him. “There was a job opening,” he said, dumbly. Then he thought maybe he should elaborate a little bit more. “At a prestigious school, in my discipline, in this city. And I had no strings holding me anywhere else.” Still didn’t feel like the whole truth, so he tried again, a third and final attempt. “And I was bored. All the time. I didn’t have any family living, my husband had just run off with an Omega from work, and I was devastated, but also just....bored, of all of it. Bored of hanging out with couple friends and making the same mistakes and getting looked at like I was going to start sacrificing kittens at any moment. At least it isn’t boring here.”

He felt lighter. Sliding down a little bit so he could rest his head on the back of the bench, he found a few stars, trying to piece together the constellation based on the few he could see through the light pollution of the city. “Got another one of those? I can pay.”

[wiccapediaowen]

sterlingsinclair‌:

With any species, there were troubles. Dangers. In some ways, witches were deadlier than any other. Their range of doing harm was unmatched by any other being. A vampire or werewolf were both deadly predators, but their carnage was flesh and bone; brutality. A witch’s violence left deeper wounds, spiritual, generational. He could see the need for proper education, absently however he wondered how far back such schooling did reach. From behind his wraparounds, he eyes the door and the man that does stand before it with weary regard as he returns his wallet and bills to their proper location within his pocket. 

“Because I never gave one,” he counters mechanically “Don’t worry, it’s a perfectly boring human reason.” 

Why else would he willingly visit such an institute? He refrains from voicing this thought and says “I’m here for one Melody Graham and the receptionist I spoke with directed me this way, I have several questions about a recent, tragically violent, death in her family,” and instead of tapping that ignored visitor’s badge at his breast, he returns his free hand to the confines of his coat once more to withdraw his badge which he finds much easier to flip open and offer to the other “Special Agent Sinclair with the FBI.”

No one had ever spoken the sentiment out loud to him, but the message was clear. When tensions finally reached a boiling point and an all out species war broke out, the witches intended to be the most prepared. They were the most socially oriented by nature except for perhaps wolves, and most at the Academy pushed their own personal limits daily. They’d be ready. They had never quite forgotten Salem, or forgiven the humans for it, and they all hated at least one supernatural species for one reason or another. Another scuffle behind the door, and then he felt the doorknob grow hot beneath his palm. He kept his face carefully blank, but that got harder and harder as the heat increased, like hellfire biting into his skin. He did a quick enchantment to protect and cool, but not before the smell of burnt flesh hit his nose.

When he finally did pay attention to the vampire again, he had lost some of his steel edge. Who cared why he was here? They would have properly vetted him at the entrance. It wasn’t like he was going to drain a student in the hallways, not unless he wanted to escape the building alive. “Ah. Good to see the justice system still functions. Hand in hand with our systems of governance, no?” His mind flashed to the mayor, yet another position of power. So much control, so precise. If vampires weren’t planning a takeover of the entire city, Owen would be shocked.

“I believe you,” he waved off the badge. As if he would know what markers to look for in a fake. The room behind his back was silent now, and the burnt sugar smell of a banishing suddenly hung thick in the air. “Just a few more minutes now. Kids, am I right. Do you have any?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, an utter mockery of the sort of small talk one would make in this situation if they were both human.

[wiccapediaowen]

everettflint‌:

For the love of God, Everett was trying his honest best here. Candy trots leisurely at his side, as the pair of them walked down the semi-crowded sidewalk. It was midday so shouldn’t that mean most the masses should be at their nine-to-five? Why was going to the local sandwich shop becoming a task more arduous than it was worth?

He studies the steadily dropping battery percentage on his phone with a frown. When had he last charged this? Maybe his idea of lunch time ran on the same internal clock as the many, which meant crowded sidewalks and an even greater paranoia of being watched. Followed. While Candy’s fluorescent vest garners her a wide berth, the human isn’t often afforded the same kindness. Maybe it was how he looked, he’d splashed some cold water on his face and donned a pair of aviators over his too-tired eyes but still someone hits his shoulder in passing and he fumbles with his phone where it slips right out of his fingers and lands with a painful crunch to shatter at his feet. 

He stares, hands frozen in mid grasp.

“I–what?” he quickly drops to his knees ignorant the flare of pain at such an action and gingerly picks up the device, glass pricks painfully at his fingers drawing blood but honestly that’s the least of his worries “Why has God forsaken me?” he groans aloud and Candy whines, the darling, and presses herself to his side. 

The perpetrator had continued on their merry way without so much as an apology for the hard knock, he’d never get used to city life especially as the crowd continued around him as if parted by an outside hand. Uncaring. What was new. He’s never had much pride to call his own and he sure as hell doesn’t have any now as he crawls over to the nearest shop wall and drops himself against it, broken phone in one hand and the other tangled up in his hair. He doesn’t even know where the nearest phone repair shop is. Or how much is currently in his bank account. 

Probably not a whole lot, not until he finished editing that article anyway. 

Tugging harshly at brunette locks he lets out a string of curses and looks up at the crowd, faces cut off by the sun’s glare despite his glasses “Hey, uh–excuse me?” he calls out to the first unfortunate soul who just so happened to look his way, probably at Candy she was much more lovelier than he to behold “Uh, yeah hi, hello–sorry to be a bother but uh,” he clears his throat from his seat on the ground, fingers still bloodied and knees of his jeans ripped where he picks at the worn strands of denim “You wouldn’t happen to know the nearest phone repair shop would you? Or uh…” he holds up his phone with a look of open defeat “Like…maybe know anyone looking to sell an old phone even?”

Eye contact. That was all it took for the young man to latch onto him. Like sound travelling down through so many feet of water, it took a second to register that the polite excuse me was directed his way. Owen paused in his tracks. He had totally zoned out, headphones in ears, trying his best to let the rhythm lull him into looking like just another bystander so he was that much harder to find. Normally, he would never be out and about at this time of day, but. He volunteered to be a guinea pig (doing a lot of that lately, growing restless, finding new ways to amuse himself) for another professor. A pen was nestled safely in his front shirt pocket, laced with all manner of tracking spells from a handful of advanced witches. The task he was given was simple. Walk around the city. Don’t stop walking until you’re found. Even so, his feet were tired, and he was considering food. If it was taking them this long to track him, would staying still for a few seconds hurt? It could be considered a kindness, a hint, making it easier.

He tucked the headphones neatly away to catch the end of the request, but he could fill in the rest from context clues. Like blood in the water, who knew what an open cut could attract in public, so Owen addressed that first, finding a travel pack of tissues in his messenger bag and handing it over. “Yikes. Can I see?” Ditching someone so clearly in distress wasn’t in his nature, even if he had his own ticking clock to worry about. It presented a unique puzzle too, he thought as he surveyed the damage of the cracked screen, shattered nearly beyond repair. Minor mendings were easy for the witch, but how to get himself alone with a stranger’s phone and come back with it miraculously repaired without alerting his suspicions? “I can replace the screen, actually. Side hobby of mine. What are the chances you’ll trust a stranger to just walk away with your phone? I can meet you somewhere,” he offered, glancing around for something to latch onto now that this man had no way of being contacted and no way of telling time. 

He winced in sympathy at the sight of the man’s fingers again, eyes straying to the well behaved dog outfitted in a vest at the man’s side. Not trusting someone with a dog seemed counterintuitive, somehow. “Here,” he decided, taking a leap of faith. After all, this human (probably, educated guess) seemed like the definition of harmless. He slipped off his wristwatch, a heavy gold thing engraved in Latin, and offered it out to the boy. “Some collateral, for walking off with your phone. Meet you at that food truck,” he pointed to the bright red thing across the street proudly selling tacos. “In an hour? Buy me lunch and we’re even.”

[cchristina-hendricks]

[wiccapediaowen]

deaconfreeman‌:

Honestly, Deacon didn’t know how one made such a decision. There was just…so much more to the world than magic. Sure they had one hell of a unique boost over the regular joe but in the end it was just another breed of luxury. Of privilege. Would he be any different if he weren’t a witch? Who could say. “And ya’ ain’t ever wanted nothin’ different?” he asks with honesty curiosity–hate to lean on his old man’s words but Deacon felt an awful lot like he was just born rotten. 

Sure, you could call it that. Humans did just fine without magic, and they tended to make magic of their own. Why stick to boil toil and trouble when you could slam a round in the chamber and make a little trouble of your own? “Got nothin’ against people, meetin’ em or throwin’ em on their ass,” he returns “Bein’ alone is misery ain’t built for that, it’s borin’, I’d be climbin’ the fuckin’ walls a week in.” 

Maybe he should look into getting a proper familiar. 

Eyeing the other warily he wondered what he was after, why bother trying to read him? Was it not enough to share a smoke on a bench? Why did it have to be anything more than that? If he wanted to be analyzed he’d make an appointment. “Depends. What am I dealin’ with? I got silver in and on my person to get physical with a wolf. Demons? Holy water, crosses an’ the good ol’ curse slingin’ that makes our species fun. Vampires are trickier, I got fire in the bag but ya’ meet a son o’ a bitch hungry and mad enough ya’ might as well be pissin’ on the sucker. Couple high level witches can actually summon sunlight ya’ know?” he digs around in his jacket for a genuine box of cigarettes to knock one free “Not me. I just sling what I got at ‘em an’ hope fer the best. Ain’t dead yet, amiright?” 

No bother talking about witches or humans, they were mortal. Meatbags. A battle between witches could go either which way, what with the hundreds of different schools of study. Fighting other witches was a bonafide good time if he ever heard of one. Yet, he hadn’t met a witch yet that weren’t surprised when shot em in the gut, like he was cheating or something. 

He snaps his fingers to summon a flame and lights the cigarette with a sigh “What kind of creativity ya’ chasin’, hoss?” he questions “Some kind o’ artist?” he eyes him with a new interest, he still had some skin uncovered by tattoos and burns; maybe he’d hook himself up with some fresh ink to remember this touching moment “I mean if ya’ were lookin’ fer some inspiration…ya’ gotta give me a lil bit more warnin’ so I can wow ya’ nice and proper.”

Deacon’s a born liar, and it would be damn easy to spin a tale or two about his sexcapades in the magical department but for some reason…he opts for honesty. Must be the high still chugging through his bloodstream “Nah, don’t like to combine the two,” he blows out some smoke “Don’t mind the odd electrical thrill comin’ out but I don’t usually fuck other witches due to the whole magic thing,” he huffs a little “Don’t like the idea of my magic minglin’ with another poor sod’s–” his magic was wicked, corrupt stuff and he may be a bastard but he weren’t gonna taint no other witch with his energy “Sides…any witch I might wanna tango with is dead so I’ll stick to fuckin’ the other supernatural ghoulies, demons…wolves…don’t fuck with no vampire though, if I want a hole punched in me it’s gonna be filled with somethin’ expensive not a pair o’ teeth.” 

He liked that. The brave type. Not what he would normally say, it was easier to just not think. To just throw himself into a situation guns a blazing and see what happened.  “Hm. You on good terms with yer folks then?” he asks “Or ya’ got kids and a wife to smother with all of…” he makes a vague gesture at the other’s…everything “I mean ya’ seem like the good upstandin’ family man sort,” a snort “Real white picket fence material.” 

Puffing on his cigarette some, his hands slip into his pockets as he slouches on the bench and looks up at the sky “Nah my coven was killed,” he says simply “Never got the chance to smother me.” he chews on the end of his cigarette some “Don’t take supernatural blood to make someone a monster, hoss.”

Magic had always been his number one priority. Any time something else threatened to take center stage it eventually vanished. He had other interests, but nothing else was at the very core of his being, the thing his mind returned to at every waking second. Some days, it felt like magic was all he had left. Might as well build a career and a life around it. “Not at the current moment,” he kept it simply, sensing that this witch was looking for simple casual party talk. He didn’t always know how that went, but he was pretty sure one didn’t have an existential crisis about never having children or making anything that would survive after he had died. So very morbid.

Owen caught the sideways glance thrown his way, and he wondered which part of what he had said was suspicious. He didn’t blame him, didn’t take offense, just gave him a soft smile, the most natural and unassuming he could manage. Constantly questioning the motives of everyone in the city got exhausting. He listened as the other spoke, outlining how to properly take down someone of each species if they got out of hand while he was working, sounding highly effective at his job. It was important to get enjoyment out of one’s work, and Owen certainly saw the fun in sparring. His own school days were filled with good natured matches using magic, though the stakes weren’t very high and they were never aiming to seriously injure. “Sounds highly effective. Do you get attached to the people you’re protecting? Or do you not think about them at all?” Day in and day out with the same scantily clad people must be a weird dynamic. Or it could be so commonplace that they barely acknowledged each other.

“I’d hate to see what type of art I’d make if I attempted it. No, I dabble in theoretical magic in my spare time, along with a few others. Finding new ways to do things, or finding new things to do, essentially. It can get tricky, and dangerous. Takes creative thinking sometimes. Something I shouldn’t do at all impaired, but still might. You’ve heard the saying - something about curiosity and a feline.” At the mention of an animal, even an unrelated one, he glanced down to his watch. The moon was still covered and gave him no proper gauge of time. If he left Nyx alone for too long, she might riot. “Sorry,” he apologized, knowing that such an action could be construed as rude, like he was mentally checking out. “I have...the world’s biggest grudge holder for a familiar.”

Talking about sex so openly. It was sort of commonplace in the circles he ran in, but he still didn’t have a lot of practice. That one hit no longer felt like enough, but he didn’t know how to ask for more, or even what shape more would take. More detached? Was that what he wanted? Not necessarily. “Oh. And you find partners you trust enough for all of that? Demons, even? Fascinating.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking it over. Other witches must have better control of their magic, but there had always been a wildness to his. He was always scared of letting control slip, even for a second. An electrical wire had come down the night he had lost his virginity, nearly hitting the car he had been fumbling around in. Accidental magic was such an utterly ridiculous way to die.

Owen shook his head, brought to the surface from his thoughts too quickly to really police what he was saying. “No, they’re gone. Dark magic. They strayed from the path. Guess it’s in my blood, so I’ve always tried to watch out for it.” Two brothers, both parents, and both grandparents twisted up by greed and dark magic, all lost in different ways. It could sour so quickly. He chuckled at that, ducking his head. “Do I? No. I was married once, messed that up pretty nicely. Never tried again, no kids.” He shrugged. The next generation was still important to him, that caring just took a different form.

The information was absorbed, the weight of it, the gravity. An entire coven. Yet, it didn’t surprise him. It was so commonplace here, tales of total loss, of trying to start over. The smell of cigarette smoke was acrid, clinging to the inside of his nostrils, but he liked the sting of it. It reminded him of being young. “This city, it’s...I mean, the supernatural flock to it. But it seems to collect orphans too, doesn’t it? Collects them. Us, I suppose. The kind looking for a fresh start, the kind who have lost everything. Or simply the kind who need a new playground.” They weren’t exactly kindred spirits, but they were something close, at least it felt like it to Owen. Complimentary spirits, maybe. “That was very dark, I’m sorry. Don’t invite me to any parties. I don’t know how to do the casual banter thing, I’m rusty.”

[wiccapediaowen]

sterlingsinclair‌:

Sterling hadn’t anticipated being barred from entry so early into his visit, he already felt his skin crawling with the energy of this place in a way that was beyond uncomfortable. He had nothing ill to say about witches but he couldn’t claim to be comfortable with the situation he found himself in. Luckily, his gaze is hidden behind his dark wraparounds due to the time of day but he makes sure to raise his brows in an open show of surprise…right before he raises his free hand to tap against the visitor’s badge clipped neatly to his breast “Is this…a common occurrence here?” he questions politely even as he steps back a respectable distance.

With a grimace at the prospect of trying to find some kind of vending machine he considers the flask of imitation blood on his person, but strongly doubts that’s the kind of beverage the other sought after. 

He spends a moment patting down his coat for his wallet which is a little hard to draw out and rifle through with one hand, he spends an embarrassing moment shifting his briefcase around to better slip out a few crisp bills “If you direct me to the nearest vending machine I will obtain a beverage for you, Sir.” 

Owen hated people poking around, always a little territorial where young witches were involved. He tried to keep an open mind, but sunglasses, ring, pale skin...all painted a very obvious picture. This was why he wasn’t headmaster, but he did enjoy that this man was greatly outnumbered and in unfamiliar territory. The witch watched as he tapped the visitor’s badge like it was the secret passcode to opening the door, but Owen hardly moved, studying him cooly. From inside, a strangled inhuman sound rang out and was abruptly cut off. Always a good sign. “Not common at all. And yet, still, more common than I would like.” He would prefer the number of inexperienced casters that summoned an entity they couldn’t control stayed at zero per year, but that was never the case.

Drinking on the job, and around young people, was so tempting in the moment. He still had a little self control, though. Or at the moment, he had a loose grasp on his self control that could last at least another hour. At least until the door no longer needed guarding. He should probably tell him that he no longer required a drink, that it was a momentary lapse in judgement, but the man was already struggling one handed, and it seemed less cruel to just....let him finish. Once the bills were held out as evidence, he ignored them entirely, piercing eyes trained on the unfamiliar man. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I caught the reason for your visit.”

[wiccapediaowen]

“Yeah so, see, the thing is.” Owen, so unused to being forceful, took a second to get warmed up. “You can’t go in there.” His back was pressed firmly against the door, hand snaked behind him with an iron grip on the doorknob to make sure no one went in or out. “A student of mine had a summoning go very wrong. We’re working on it. So you can try to make me move, which is not advisable. Or you can come back later.” It was just his luck of the draw that he was assigned to stand guard in case the enchantments didn’t hold instead of being one of the lucky few inside casting. He could feel a tension headache coming on already. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “Third option? You go get me any form of liquid that I can unprofessionally turn into alcohol and I owe you one huge giant favor.”

[wiccapediaowen]

deaconfreeman‌:

Deacon would have ended it at predictable. If he wanted predictable he would have stayed home. He would have followed in his old man’s footsteps like the good little tin soldier. He would have been inducted into the family coven and gotten married, popped out two point five kids to resent and pass on the craft to just the same. Yeesh. Talk about pulling teeth. “Where’s the fun in that?” he counters lazily “Sure good chance ya’ won’t lose a limb or take a bullet but ya’ think this,” he raises the blunt “Fills yer head with a haze? Try workin’ a nine to five, family life? Oof.” 

He shudders at the mere thought. 

Maybe he was more poisoned by this city than he thought. Nah, he’d been twisted up inside long before his boots landed on the ground here. 

At the question of his work, Deacon grins “Ya’ want the polite answer or the honest one?” he counters, but doesn’t bother waiting “I work security fer a strip joint, ya’ know the popular one in town run by the vampire?” what could he say, he liked to surround himself with interesting, preferably naked, people “‘Course I do this,” he gestures with the joint “On the side, potions usually–folks are more fond o’ drinkin’ their poison than smokin’ it, ya’ know the media an’ all that.” 

Nevermind that the smoke could hold its own kind of buzz. But more for him! “What about ya’ll? Ya’ seem rather straight laced, don’t get me wrong–ain’t nothin’ wrong with that an’ I mean, ya took a hit so ya’ can’t be all that square.”

Watching him react to his words brings a smaller smile to his lips, he swallows back the sorrow that threatened to taint it and directs his attention back out towards the park before them. Taking another drag. Ain’t no point spilling the beans to say his prior coven had been killed off, going into the details on what Deacon did in retaliation. Not every witch had an idyllic tale. “Only kind o’ cooperative magic I’m interested in, hoss; is the naked kind,” he says by way of reply with a smirk “The good ol’ sweaty tango between me an’ one to three others producin’ all kind o’ sparks o’ wonder.” 

He wondered what that was like. Being so surrounded by your own kind. Was it a choice? Or simple happenstance? Maybe it had something to do with his job. “Don’t ya ever get tired o’ it?” he asks “I mean all that…witchiness can be pretty smotherin’.”

Part of him agreed with the narrative the other witch was spinning, and a smaller unacknowledged part rejected it vehemently. Some witches managed a balance. They got the danger out of their systems, and still had a family to return to. But there a reason he had no one waiting for him at home. “You don’t have to convince me. I chose magic over everything else a long time ago. I still found a way to be predictable, though.” He still had the nine to five, just without the family. And now he played the role of safe and boring professor, convincing young witches not to try their hands out on dangerous magic when that was all he did at their age.

Owen had never been to the strip club, always fearing he would look out of place and easy to take advantage of. Constantly being on guard seemed like the opposite function of such a place - wasn’t it all about relaxing, indulging in a bit of hedonism? “So you like meeting strangers,” he guessed. New people must crop up constantly in both lines of work. “And you like making people feel good. You take pride in it,” he guessed again, remembering the hungry look he had gotten when he first raised the joint to his lips. “When a fight breaks out, do you break it up with brute force? Or do you use magic?”

“Straight-laced? I suppose that’s me. There were a few things I was stuck on, I thought a walk and the stars might bring up new ideas. And then I found you and, well, I hoped it might inspire some creativity. A big ask for one hit.”

Owen shook his head incredulously, amused despite himself. “I get what you’re implying, but have you ever done any actual sex magic? I have to have complete control during a casting, I couldn’t imagine it. But. You seem the brave type.” He had enough of a problem with accidental magic and sex. It was why he rarely indulged in the hookup culture of the city and supernatural beings in general. It felt too electric. Too risky.

“Sometimes. That’s family though, isn’t it? Pain in the ass. I think I smother more than I am smothered, that helps. Is that why you haven’t sought out other witches?” His mouth twisted, the ghost of a smile. “Someone smother you too much?”

[wiccapediaowen]

jonahlmd‌:

“Oh,” he breathed out when Owen said no to Jonah walking him even halfway home. He’d thought offering just the partial walk would earn him a yes, but maybe he’d just been misreading everything. Maybe Owen brought him to this place just to get him tipsy and happy enough that he wouldn’t push for more. Well, how that had backfired. He wanted to grasp onto the suggestion of a possible next time, but what were the chances Owen was saying that, just to keep Jonah from pushing? And then it was almost like Owen was offering some sort of lifeline and it took him a few long blinks to try to follow what he was saying. He’d heard about vampires who had found witches that gave them rings to walk in the sun with, but it had never been something he thought he’d have access to in his life. Was Owen really offering that? That seemed so much more intimate of a thing to offer than allowing Jonah to walk him a few blocks. It was enough to take his unneeded breath away and he had to tell himself that Owen didn’t realize the weight to what he was saying. Jonah missed the sun more than anything - being able to get that back? It was life changing. It took a while before he realized he was just staring, mouth slightly open while he tried to keep from latching on to the idea of Owen giving him back the sun. Say something, Idiot. “I can’t tell if you’re offering or just mentioning that it’s possible to be an ass,” he tried to tease, needing this moment to be lighter desperately so that he could breathe again. 

“Exactly,” he commented in response to Owen pointing out that what might kill Jonah wouldn’t necessarily overlap with what killed him. That was pretty much all that Jonah had really known about witches throughout his life - the multiple ways they could kill a vampire. One had done it to the guy who’d turned him, after all. Owen seemed like a lot of things, but a killer wasn’t one of them, though. Certainly not in a place as public as their current location - even if they were sort of tucked away in their own little cozy area. His breath caught when a warm hand was suddenly pressed against his skin and he looked down at where Owen’s hand was pressed to his wrist before moving his hand to link his fingers with Owen’s again. “It burns,” he confirmed gently. “But the way a hot shower burns after you’ve been out in the snow all day. You never want it to end.” Or at least Jonah never wanted it to end. He let out a soft laugh at the sudden barrage of questions that came his way. “I can feel your pulse. I can hear it too, but I like focusing in on your actual heart more. It’s soothing to listen to. It’s also really sexy. Being a vampire is weird,” he said with a laugh, saying the ‘vampire’ part just a little more quietly than the rest. 

“You know you could catch natural rain without having a leak in your place, right? Don’t you want to get that fixed?” he asked, worrying about Owen who was apparently just willingly exposed to the elements at all times. That aside, he liked the mental image that sprang to life of Owen when it rained. “I bet you’ve got a cute sweater you wear too, all cozy in front of your fire?” Surrounded by books, of course. It was a sweet and endearing thought - maybe there really was something to using that question to find out about people. “I have this nice balcony I go out on. Rain usually means enough cloud coverage that I can risk being outside, under the balcony above me. I like the sounds of the rain. And the smell is incredible. If it’s raining at night, though, I’m probably just at work.  People suck at driving in the rain.” And that made for a busy ER, unfortunately. 

Jonah grinned when Owen called him a smartass before bringing the mug back up to take another long sip. The drink was still warm and strong and just sweet enough and he wondered if he could get Owen to provide this to him in bulk. “Hey, this is very adventurous,” he replied when Owen looked around their cozy area like it wasn’t. Maybe it didn’t look that dangerous, but he was in a new place, in witch territory, surrounded by people who could kill him without much effort. “I’m more adventurous now in some ways and less in others. I guess us growing boring is just part of old age. Where’s your favorite place you’ve been exploring?” he asked curiously, trying to picture Owen in some sort of Indiana Jones type scenario. 

“I’ll have to eventually,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose at the thought of changing careers. Moving every few years was going to get exhausting - he wanted roots somewhere at some point. “No idea what, though. Did you always want to teach?” he asked, wondering if it had been some big calling or just a natural progression for someone who seemed passionate about knowledge. Jonah finished off his drink when Owen pointed out he’d been young when he’d been killed, like Jonah could ever forget it, but he kept the mug in his hand, not wanting Owen to know it was empty yet. He wasn’t ready to say goodnight. “Yes and no. I hated him. Still do. My life with him was a lot like being a prisoner. But we’re programmed to be attached to the person who turns us. And he was all I had. He was important, he was part of me, he ensured my survival. Looking back now, it looks a lot like Stockholm Syndrome.” He could talk about the hell he’d been through for hours, but nobody wanted to sit through that - it was bad enough that Jonah had had to live through it. “Do you get to pick what kind of magic you do? Or is everyone just biologically specialized?” he asked curiously, wondering how exactly witch genetics worked. 

He’d thought they’d taken another step back when Owen had turned down Jonah’s offer to walk him partway home, but then Owen was throwing another curveball as he got up and leaned across the table, a too warm hand moving to the back of his neck. He moved easily when he felt the slightest bit of pressure from Owen, pushing forward to meet Owen’s lips. It was too quick, too light, and every muscle in his body tensed with the effort to not pull Owen across the table an into his lap, desperate for more. But he managed to stay planted, focusing instead on the tingling warmth left on his lips. “It wasn’t. But now I just want to walk you more,” he admitted, sure his cheeks would be heating up if that was still physiologically possible. “At least let me walk you to the end of the block?” he practically begged. Hell, even to the door would be fine, he just wanted to get this table out from between them so that he could pull Owen into a proper kiss. He didn’t wait for answer before he was standing up and reaching his hand out for Owen’s to help him up from the seat. 

Owen was used to a lot of academic and theoretical magic, testing the limits of what it was and using it to strengthen young witches. Magic during his daily life always had a purpose. It was good to be reminded that sometimes magic could just be….nice. It could be hedonistic and warm and fun. Obviously a daylight ring would be practical and serve the very real purpose of protection, but the end goal was to feel the sun and something about that was so pure and simple that it stole the air out of his lungs. There was so much humanity left to protect in Jonah. Many witches were happy to destroy other species and build defenses against them, and Owen had done plenty of the latter. But why had he never focused more on this part? Protecting the goodness before immortality burned it away for good. He sensed that it would take more work than getting the vampire tipsy and letting himself be kissed under streetlights in a dangerous city. You should have let me leave when you had the chance. I’ll keep tabs on you until the end of time now. “I’m offering. But it will take time. Be patient with me.” Because he had changed his mind already - there was no way he was outsourcing this job. He’d just have to do the research and do the magic himself. It was a skill he should already have mastered, he just didn’t interact with enough vampires to ever practice, and he didn’t need to worry about selling the expensive items for money when he could make literal gold out of most of the base metals. This wasn’t a task he could trust anyone else with anymore. “I want to be there, the first time you use it. In case the enchantment goes wrong. Amongst other reasons.”

Jonah turned his palm to link their fingers and Owen was entranced by the sight. Such a simple and intimate romantic thing, yet something he never indulged in. And nothing he would have expected from someone he assumed was looking for a hookup in a bar. Who went from seeking a nameless fuck to looking for excuses to hold hands? He had severely misjudged Jonah. That or Owen was just an easy mark. He wanted to rip the doubts out of his head and full on commit to trusting him, but he didn’t really know how. The witch had told him too much about magic, promised him something worth a small fortune, and almost let him come close to the Academy. “Stop,” he groaned, half teasing and half serious as his looked up at the ceiling to get himself under control. What was he supposed to do? Jonah had just told him he could hear his heartbeat, the very thing that kept him alive, and it was so shockingly personal that his heart stuttered in its rhythm. Not to mention he kept dropping the word sexy around like it applied, like it wasn’t out of place.

“It’s complicated,” he shrugged off the question about why he left the leak where it was. Unless Jonah wanted a lecture on the properties of rain water versus naturally occurring groundwater versus water in constant motion through metal man made pipes. There was no middle ground for him, it was all or nothing. It wasn’t like he just had a metal bucket shoved under there either - now it had turned more into a small pond in the floor he had to figure out magical drainage for. He blinked blankly at Jonah when he painted a pretty accurate picture of Owen in wool in front of a fire when it rained, curled up with a book. ““Forget vampire kinks, I think you might have a librarian kink. That initial drink makes so much more sense now. What would have happened if I had worn a sweater with elbow pads?” Now it was his turn to study, to judge Jonah based on what he did when it rained. He loved the smell too, all versions of it. “Petrichor. It’s one of my favorite words. The smell of the earth when it rains after a long time of warm dry weather.” The thought of Jonah at work was equally endearing, helping those that lost control of their cars in the rain. A dark thought crossed him, and he asked the question as casually as possible in the hopes of getting the real answer. If Jonah was attacking patients, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. “Does your control ever slip around patients? Being around all that blood must be hard.”

“There was this underwater Mayan city, once. I barely got to go in, I was there more for historical references and emergency backup in case anything was booby trapped with protection spells. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Most beautiful place he’d ever seen, he mentally corrected as he watched Jonah talk about his sire. Fuck, he was pretty. It must be a vampire thing, something about the transformation that made people more attractive so hunting was easier. “So it’s a chemical thing? That bond. I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t realize how strong it was. To block out hate like that.” Owen shrugged. He was revealing too much about magic. He was putting other witches at risk because he missed being looked at the way Jonah was looking at him. Owen tried to keep it as brief as possible. “You choose what you want to study, but every witch has a primary strength and a secondary. Some have a third or a fourth natural talent. You can improve in any area of magic with time and practice, though.”

His hands flew to his lips when he was back in his seat, the same feeling tingly feeling there that he got in his fingertips when he did any sort of casting. Owen shook his head, endlessly amused by how eager Jonah was to walk him in the direction of the Academy. He was ready to turn him down - and then a hand was being offered up, the perfect mirror image to what he had done earlier. Do you trust him? It was such a small moment, thoroughly unimportant to an outsider, but he knew he had come to an internal breaking point. All in or all out. “Okay.” His hand slipped in Jonah’s, using the leverage to get up from the small table. The night air felt good on his flushed skin when they made it outside. He linked arms, steering them both in the right direction. His whole body was tense with anticipation by the time they made it to the end of the block, turning to face Jonah with his heart beating out of his chest. “I have to go. For real this time. Be safe, okay? Don’t hang around witch territory too long.”

[wiccapediaowen]

jonahlmd‌:

Jonah didn’t miss the silence that followed his comment about the feel of the sun and he mentally chastised himself. Things were finally going well between them, why did he need to be a downer right then by talking about things he loved that he’d lost? Get it together, idiot. He’d just have to make sure not to talk about it again. Nobody wanted to be put in the awkward situation of having to figure out what to say to somebody talking about something they’d lost.  It was good, maybe, that Owen decided not to comment on it at all - made it easier to focus in on the next part of the conversation, the parts about Owen, the parts that Jonah couldn’t mess up because all he had to do was listen and absorb. He laughed softly when Owen said it was frustrating to have miniature versions of himself questioning him, despite his years of research and expertise. “I love that,” he said when Owen spoke about how pretentious a clever witch was. “A bit like getting a taste of your own medicine, I imagine,” he couldn’t help but tease. 

It was nice when people were passionate about what they did and it was clear that Owen, despite his frustrations, was passionate about his position. Otherwise, why would he put up with it? And it spoke highly of him that he was in such an important position. It had taken Jonah a long time to see it, but people who devoted their lives to teaching future generations were some of the most special and selfless people on the planet. Which was precisely why he never would have lasted if he’d had to teach anyone. He was glad he looked so young for that reason - they never stuck the new residents with him. 

“If you’re sure,” he replied, trying not to frown at the thought of Owen getting a drink on the way out, tried not to frown at the thought of him being responsible and leaving soon because of an early morning. “I’d like to walk you, if that’s okay? Not the whole way, you don’t have any reason to trust me that much yet, but part way, at least,” he said, hoping Owen would take him up on it, feeling suddenly excited at the prospect of maybe getting to touch the other again as they walked in the moonlight together. He smiled warmly when Owen said he’d like to see him again if he allowed it. What stupid romance novel had this guy suddenly walked out from? Because Jonah wanted to buy every copy of it so that he could have it all to himself. “I think I can allow it,” he said with an amused smile that quickly turned into a laugh. 

He took one more long sip from the glass, though more slowly now that he knew the night ended after this, but he set it down as he watched Owen’s smile. “You know, a grin like that while watching someone drink something alone is a sure way to make them think you’re trying to poison them,” he teased playfully, hoping that there wasn’t any reason to actually think that was happening. Then again, if he was about to die, going out while looking at Owen’s smile sounded like pretty much the best way possible. 

Jonah wanted to ask about the brother being spoken about in past tense, but it didn’t seem to align with his ‘no more sad or potentially depressing’ things. Those were questions once he was a little more sure he wasn’t going to make Owen run off. “So what do you do when it rains?” he asked curiously, unsure what that allowed you to learn about someone, but he still wondered anyway. Was Owen more adventurous? Did he like the rain? Or did he immediately run for shelter? His brow furrowed just slightly when Owen talked about taking risks, being adventurous. “I kind of pegged you for more of the ‘play it safe’ type of person,” he admitted. He gave a quiet laugh before taking another sip of his drink at the part about cutting other witch’s research in half. “So that whole ‘enjoy the journey’ orange bit was complete shit, huh?” he said, not resisting being able to give Owen shit about it one more time. For someone who preached about a journey, he seemed awfully worried about end results. 

“Yeah? It’s why I came here, honestly. You don’t last very long in a job when you always look like a teen. I was hoping my shelf life here might be a little longer with so many others like me around,” he said. Not that he’d met too many other vampires, but he was finally starting to branch out. “Can you actually feel all that energy?” he asked, wondering if the saturation of supernatural in the town actually felt a certain way or if it was something more imagined by Owen. His nose wrinkled a little at the question about his turning, glad he was blissfully feeling buzzed to help dull the sharp edges of the related thoughts. “It was a decision made for me, not by me,” he answered simply, not wanting to expand on it if Owen only wanted surface level answers. “How long have you known you’re a witch? You guys are pretty much born that way, right? Does it take a while to develop or is it more like Harry Potter with babies doing random magic?” 

Owen rolled his eyes. “That’s one way to put it.” A taste of his own medicine indeed. Being around like minded people was nice, but it made him feel like an alien out in public with people he couldn’t always predict. And it got exhausting, sometimes. Owen was one of the few professors that had living quarters in the old gothic building. It was nice to not have to deal with a commute, or worry about traveling at night when he had gotten carried away or caught up in a project. Yet he was starting to feel like another fixture of the building, someone in danger of turning to stone and being used as a statue within the walls of the Academy.

He hesitated. He couldn’t help himself, even if he had already learned the lesson to trust Jonah a bit more than the average bar creature he stumbled into. It wasn’t just him he was putting at risk, but an entire school of people. “No. Perhaps next time.” As though one more meeting really made all that much difference in the grand scheme of things. He was so tempted it made his teeth ache, but leading the vampire even halfway to the Academy still felt sacrilegious. Jonah was sweet and earnest though, and he sensed that answer wouldn’t go over without a few hurt feelings. After a long beat of silence and mental calculations, Owen offered up his plans, vocalized them and made them real. “It’s not part of my discipline, and it’s nuanced magic so I’d most likely convince a more experience professor to do it, in case something went wrong, but - don’t give up on the sun just yet. There are enchantments you might have heard of. Blessed metal can protect you. There still might be an element of pain, though, I’m not sure. Every vampire I’ve ever seen has gone straight to where they needed to in the daylight. Not much sunbathing going on.”

The cider still sat between them, hot despite the passage of time thanks to yet another spell. “I tested it first, you might have noticed. Although come to think of it, there might not be that much overlap between what would poison me and what would poison you.” Mentioning how easy it would be to kill him seemed unnecessary. With enough concentration, he could change the very chemistry of Jonah’s blood until he keeled over. No decapitation or fire required. Even if he wasn’t so goddamn smitten, he still would have had trouble with it. The three instances in his twenties that he’d had to rely on sacrifices to make a casting work still haunted him, and those had just been small animals. Without warning, his fingertips fell to Jonah’s exposed wrist, seeing if his heartbeat was as sluggish as the textbooks said. The contrast in temperature struck him again. “How does it feel?” His palm flattened, covering as much cold skin as possible. “Does it feel like burning? Can you feel my pulse? Can you hear my pulse?” He hadn’t meant to ask so many questions in a row, they had just stacked up as they occurred to him.

Even after all this time, the question stung to hear out loud. It was a cresting wave of pure melancholy, streaked with the gold of happy memories, the pure definition of bittersweet. “I sit inside, mostly. Catch up on reading, listen to the sound, find a fire. Occasionally do some light enchantments - there’s a leak in my roof I haven’t told anyone about. I just put a bucket under it, since it’s technically a naturally occuring water source.” Certain brewing didn’t work as well with tap water, or a manmade water source. Rain water left to sit was better, more attuned to nature. “What do you do when it rains, Jonah?”

“Such a smartass,” he quipped when Jonah brought up the orange again. “I’m trying to be more mindful. And I’m not nearly as exciting as I was in my twenties, sorry about it. Adventure back then was just exploring ruins anyway. Hunting down old tomes, or sometimes trying to find things that never existed in the first place. Are you telling me you were the exact same way now as twenty years ago? Always this adventurous.” Irony spun around the word adventurous as Owen pointedly glanced around the cozy space he had lured the vampire into with almost no effort.

All careers for immortals came with an expiration date, or at least a forced name change or change of practice. He hadn’t thought about how much smaller that window must be for Jonah, stuck at such a young age. That face could never pass for forty eight. “Think you’ll ever try on another career? After a few lifetimes of saving people, obviously. And no, I can’t feel the energy. More of a metaphor. Each witch’s magic is different though - someone must be able to.” Owen paid more attention to the essences of things, not always the energy that flowed between them.

“Oh.” Owen didn’t have words readily available. Even if Jonah had a second life, turning him against his will was still murder. “You were so young. Life’s unfair, isn’t it? Someone should write a book or a song about that,” he teased gently, wondering if the vampire would resent his empathy. Tough shit. He had it. “Did you care for him? Even after what he did?” It was hard to imagine otherwise by the brief description he had been given. His sire was all he had in the world until his untimely death. What must it feel like, to be devoted to your murderer? “Magic hits around puberty. My ancestors were nearly all witches, so I didn’t have the same doubts some who know about magic from birth do.”

Another beat of silence, this time a natural lull in the conversation and it felt so unexpectedly comfortable. He let the feeling turn to kinetic motion yet again, a warmth he felt to his toes. Owen leaned over the tiny wooden table between them, steadying the steaming mug them with a hand so it didn’t spill. His other hand slid to the back of Jonah’s neck, using the grip to draw him forward. The first press of lips was fleeting and electric, cold somehow melting him against Jonah’s mouth with a pleasant hum. He drew back, eyes bright with the happiness of a thirst slaked. “Just, um. In case that was why you were so concerned with walking me home.”

[wiccapediaowen]

jonahlmd‌:

Jonah hated when he got stuck in thoughts about being alive. It had been so long ago, longer than he’d been dead, and sometimes he wondered if his brain just made shit up about how it had been, making it better than reality, just to torture him a little more than he’d already suffered. It’s why he always moved forward, always moved quickly, so that he didn’t get caught in the constant traps that his mind made for him. 

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. His nights were filled with working or trying to survive - hiking wasn’t really on his radar anymore. And while maybe Owen was right, that the colors were were richer under the moonlight, but that wasn’t why he’d liked the day. “The night doesn’t offer the same sort of warmth that the sun did. Does, for most people..” And that had been what he’d liked - always being warm, feeling for of life, feeling like the future had nothing but unlimited and vibrant opportunities. He never felt like that anymore and he ran his free hand through his hair, trying to reset his thoughts so that he didn’t turn into the pathetic vampire that he knew he could easily be. 

He was still here, still alive, and having a great and surprising night with a witch who was stunningly attractive, insanely smart, but somehow still dumb enough to actually be giving him some of his limited time. “That’s a shame. I’m sure they all think it, though,” he commented, surprised to hear that more people weren’t forward with Owen. And even if this Academy was filled with overachieving rich kids, Jonah knew they still had hormones. And a teacher like Owen? People had to talk. Even if it wasn’t out loud. “And all these rich, tasteless, brats, are they all like you?” he asked. He fully believed that the text Owen had been translating wasn’t just Egyptian History now that he knew who and what the other was. And teaching at an Academy? Jonah wondered what sort of magic the other taught and he decided to make it a game of trying to figure it out without actually asking by the end of the night. 

 He smiled warmly when Owen said a hot chocolate sounded nice - such an innocent and cozy drink. “I could go get it for you?” he offered. Even if he was an outsider, he was pretty sure he could handle ordering a hot chocolate of all things. He smirked softly when Owen did something to his hands before getting a drop of the drink for himself. He could have been magic for all he knew, but he liked to think that it was Owen showing it wasn’t anything other than what it was supposed to be, that it was safe. It was questionable, how Owen’s whole attitude towards him had seemed to shift so severely, but Jonah didn’t want to question. He just wanted to enjoy it, bask in the way it made him feel, even fleetingly, like someone actually cared. Fuck, how pathetic had he gotten in his afterlife? 

Jonah finally brought the mug up to his lips, taking a long sip as he savored the burn along his throat, the temporary warmth the spread from the inside out. It was almost as good as the feeling he’d gotten from Owen’s hand. “This is the strongest drink I’ve had in 25 years,” he said with a happy laugh, surprised he was actually feeling lighter.  “I promise, I won’t kill any spiders. They scare the crap out of me anyway. Don’t tell anyone,” he laughed. “Do you like living here?” he wondered out loud. It was still new to Jonah, he was still finding his footing, but Owen had obviously been there for much longer. He seemed too grumpy to truly enjoy it, but then why stay at all? Especially with how distrusting he seemed to be with a fifth or so of the population. 

Owen didn’t want to overcommit, especially not after trying to ditch him earlier. But it was hard to watch him vocalize missing the sun without telling him that it was within his power, that it was easy even. Having powers of transmutation made working with metals easy, but it also made money seem like even more of an abstract concept. If he wanted anything bad enough, his discipline let him make gold, a currency at an all time high. It had made him the target of some high level extortion from the power players in the city, but it always turned out okay. Daylight rings were inaccessible to many people of the high cost or the skill required but....not for Owen. Only crazy people offered something so giant to a stranger. He didn’t mind being classified as a crazy person, but he was ready to see where the night ended up before offering up a day excursion in his limited free time. Besides, surfing? He had never seen he point.

“Yes,” he decided, once he had mulled over the question. “They’re exactly like me. A little bit of natural talent, some luck of the draw, rigorous work ethic, and suddenly they’re the cockiest little shits. I’ve been studying theoretical magic for years, and without fail there are students who treat me like I have to prove myself every class. It’s the most frustrating. Nothing more pretentious than a clever witch. Except maybe an ancient vampire.” And he fucking loved it, devoured every second of helping the next generation polish their magic. It made him feel like it was all worth it, al the pain and sacrifices that the craft had taken gladly.

He shook his head when Jonah offered to get him a drink, wanting him planted firmly where he was. For the sake of observation, of course. “I’ll grab one on the way out. I do have to go, after this drink. By dog I meant familiar, and I need her to not be grumpy with me tomorrow.” Having such a tempestuous creature that could give and withhold parts of his own power was a wild ride, aggravating and reminiscent of all the avenging goddesses he had studied in history during his own time at the Academy. “Trust me, you aren’t ready for that introduction. But I’d like to see you again. If you’ll allow it.” Jonah was a bright spot of light in a crime hotspot, and Owen was suddenly way too invested in that light not getting snuffed out right away. He watched him lift the cup to his lips, an infectious grin on his face even after the dark past he had shared earlier. Please be real. The thought was so fervently spoken in his own mind that it took him a bit by surprise. All of this could be lies. He didn’t want it to be.

“I’ve never trusted people who killed spiders,” he admitted. “What a strange moral litmus test. My brother used to insist that you had to ask new people what they did when it rained when you first met them, to decide if you can trust them. I never understood that one.” Maybe if he had a stronger link to elemental or weather magic, he’d find a stronger pull towards that method. But he never understood the need to kill a creature that did no harm because you didn’t like the way it moved. Such human selfishness. His thoughts turned to the city in general when Jonah brought it up, pondering for a second. “Yes. I have a .... a rare discipline. I’ve put myself in dangerous places to find new knowledge. I like being able to give that to young witches, to cut their research and learning time in half. It’s like it was worth something. All that pain and foolish risk served a purpose.”

“There’s something to be said for living among so many other supernaturals, too. Even the vicious ones I’d be happy to never meet. It’s like it’s a nexus of power. All of this potential energy in one place, building to something. At least you’ll be entertained? If you stick around.” Sitting across from Jonah and getting to study him properly was nice, but he missed the side by side style of bar seating. This was what happened to people who lived a reclusive life. Years of not actively seeking feelings, and then when they cropped up, they were impossible to ignore. Now that Jonah had seemed to relax into the unfamiliar setting, he didn’t look out of place at all: fresh faced and eager, the pale disposition of someone who spent too much time inside brewing. “Did you get a say? When you were turned. Did he offer, or was the choice taken away?”

[namtan]

This is “as above, so below.” That phrase is believed to be the key to all magic. It means that what is within me is outside of me. As it is on Earth, so it is in heaven. As I am, so are my cells, so are my atoms, so is God. Basically, as I believe the world to be, so it is.

As Above, So Below (2014), dir. John Erick Dowdle

[wiccapediaowen]

jonahlmd‌:

“The library might be a little lost on me, but I love trees,” he said, knowing it probably sounded like he was just kidding around, but Jonah meant it. He loved the outdoors. When he’d been human, he’d spent as much time outside during the day as possible. Nature wasn’t quite the same when covered by the constant shroud of darkness, but if Owen had a Willow that he liked, then Jonah was excited to see it. He followed as Owen lead them out of the bar, surprised by how easy it was to let this complete stranger lead him. It was almost nice to not be the one in charge, even if it was for something as simple as navigating through some tables and out into the street. 

He hadn’t had any intention of letting Owen’s hand go once outside, soaking up as much of the warmth  as possible. Owen’s hand was soft, though it wasn’t overly surprising - he didn’t seem much like the manual labor type. And the contrast of living skin against his was almost dizzying, especially when he focused in on the constant motion of fresh blood that was suddenly pressed so closely to his own skin. When was the last time someone had held his hand? It had never been something he’d sought out before with someone, with the exception of some lazy post-sex touches, but it suddenly seemed like one of the most important things in the world. Was he really this starved for attention or was there just something inexplicable about Owen that pulled him in? His gaze moved to their hands when Owen lifted them and his own nose wrinkled as well, though it was in displeasure at the sight of how pale he was, how translucent his skin seemed under the light of the moon, his useless veins just a little bit too obvious. “I used to love the sun, you know. Hiking, surfing, biking, you name it. I practically lived outside,” he said, frowning slightly at the thought. “I looked way better with a tan,” he added on with a soft laugh, trying to keep things light instead of falling into the very obvious hole that was waiting for him with thoughts of the sun. 

“I havent,” he commented, not really sure he’d had a reason to enter witch territory before this. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning in amusement when Owen told him to do as he said. “You’re sexy when you get bossy, anyone ever tell you that?” he asked. “Bet all your students are in love with your nerdy ass,” he said playfully, knowing that other people might find the judgement and the bossing around as negatives, but Jonah found it all oddly charming coming from Owen. 

He looked around the bar as they stepped inside, a little disappointing that it felt more like a place for tea than a fun and exciting bar, but he was always up for an adventure - even if it felt like this adventure probably wore tweed. They found a table and Jonah tried not to mourn the loss of Owen’s hand too much. He wrapped his overly large hands around the mug placed in front of him, attempting to replace Owen’s warmth with the heat coming from the porcelain, but it wasn’t quite the same. “Thank you. It smells amazing….ly strong,” he said as the notes of apple and cinnamon and strong alcohol paired with what he could only assume was magic drifted through his senses. 

Witches were the most likely to kill vampires, from what he’d heard and from what he’d experienced, and it would be easy for Owen to have slipped him something that would do just that. Maybe Owen had a hatred for vampires and Jonah just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He found that he cared less about that possibility than he probably should have - everyone had an end eventually, right? “If you can’t have this one, did you at least get something for yourself?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t going to be drinking alone. Then again, at least Owen was there, right? “I’d try to order you something but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t take much for them to know I’m an outsider.”

In the bright moonlight, Jonah’s pale skin almost seemed to glow. Looking at the bright eager life he carried around inside of him, it was hard to remember that he was technically dead. He saw Jonah’s face fall a little bit at the sight of his own skin, at the way Owen scrutinized too closely. The words died in his throat before they came out properly: that Jonah in that moment seemed like the prettiest thing he had ever seen, a statue come to life basking under the light of the moon. How could he distrust something the moon saw fit to cling to so well? Especially a waxing gibbous moon, nearly on its way to being full. Those were always tricky. “I believe you,” he chuckled, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding at the thought of that pale skin turned golden in the sunlight. For how bookish he came off, Owen spent a far bit of time outside. Being close to nature was so grounding, and he loved the day and the night nearly equally for their different textures and currents. “I suppose the night isn’t so appealing with no day to counter it. Trust me, though. The colors are richer at night.” He gave his hand a gentle squeeze, already making plans for further research. Working with metals was second nature to an alchemist, but it had been years since he had bothered with daylight charms. “Do you still do things out in nature? Hiking must be odd at night.”

You’re sexy when you get bossy, anyone ever tell you that? “Not even once,” he replied honestly. There was lots of hidden kinky potential in that statement, and he was suddenly hot around the ears again. Being bossy wasn’t really an attractive trait on him, at least not in the way he went about it. “Goodness, no. At least, I hope I don’t have any lovesick student. I teach at an academy, so it’s full of rich overachievers. The admissions process is so rigorous, I really do only get annoyingly bright students that are just there to learn.” If he did have admirers, he was blissfully unaware and wanted to keep it that way. Jonah wasn’t a student of his and was in fact older than him, but looking at his young and pure face still made something hot stir inside his stomach followed by an immediate dose of guilt. He wouldn’t know what to do if an actual student expressed interest.

Owen watched steam rise up from the glass, flexing his fingers in preparation for more magic if he needed it. Nothing like a trial and error project, though he hated to turn Jonah into a guinea pig. “No. I was too focused on this. A hot chocolate sounds nice though. In a few minutes.” He didn’t feel like moving, not when it was cozy and warm and they were currently unobserved. Feeling brave, he did a minor cleaning spell on his hand and then prodded the surface of the drink with his pinky, getting a single drop to raise to his mouth. “The most festive lighter fluid I’ve ever tasted,” he laughed, surprised he could pick out notes that weren’t the physical burn of alcohol. A little bit of his joy leaked away at the reminder that they were different species in a place where war between the species seemed ready to break out at any second. “You’re safe here, you know. Outsider, or not. As long as you don’t.....y’know, kill a bunch of small children or animals. Not even insects, I’ve seen at least four spider familiars in my life. You’re with me, they’ll leave you alone.”

[wiccapediaowen]

jonahlmd‌:

Owen had offered him a second chance at a shot - Jonah had assumed that trying to up it to an actual drink would be pushing it. But then Owen, the same guy who had been about to duck out so that he could water plants, was asking him to go somewhere else entirely which seemed to be skipping a few steps. He wanted to ask Owen how much he’d hate him in the morning when he apparently had an early class, but that seemed like a problem for the following day, not the current moment. He grinned at the thought of Owen actually wanting to keep spending time with him, and somewhere that apparently was relevant to both of their interests. “And you said you didn’t think you’d be the right guide for me,” he couldn’t help but tease with a happy grin.  “I’d love to go,” he said honestly. And maybe Owen had nefarious intentions - maybe he had friends who hated vampires and he was walking right into some sort of cobbled together trap. But it was worth the risk. Things would either go well or they wouldn’t, but Jonah was along for the ride either way.  What was the worst that could happen? Death? Torture? He’d already been through all of that. He supposed that was a perk to being what he was - the fearlessness that came along with it. Jonah’s hand still felt warm after he took it away from Owen’s, not wanting to push the other too much. But the warmth seemed to be traveling through him, just slightly, just enough for him to crave so much more. He couldn’t help but wonder how good it would feel to have Owen’s body completely against his - soft, fragile, almost hot to the touch but perfect in the way that too hot showers hit just right when it was cold outside. His mind was getting away from him and he had to try to force himself to focus back in on the conversation. “I’m glad you’re not perfect,” he couldn’t help but comment. If Owen had been as perfect as he seemed to expect other people to be, Jonah might have never seen him and none of this would have happened. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, but he liked this version of his timeline, the one with the flawed witch that he was getting to know, little by little. “Twenty, technically. But you’re right on the tall front - I like to think it helps offset the face,” he commented. He hated that he hadn’t been able to mature just a few years more before becoming frozen in time. It meant people constantly talking down to him, questioning the validity of his words and education. It meant people like Owen trying to brush him off because of quick judgements. “I still don’t think you look old enough to be my father,” he said again. Even though apparently, he could have been. At least if Jonah was still 20. “You don’t look a day over 21,” he said with an overly flirty wink and a cocky, amused, smile. “I guess,” he said with a small shrug as talk about the years people got continued. It still didn’t seem fair that some people, like Owen, were robbed from an already short amount of years while people like Jonah had an unlimited amount. Then again, Jonah could get decapitated tomorrow and Owen could still live to be 100 if he played his cards right. Even with immortality, there were no guarantees. He let out a soft laugh at the question about being on debate team - like Jonah could have stayed focus on something like that when he’d been younger. “I’m just trying to keep up with you,” he admitted. The other seemed like the type who appreciated being challenged - or at least, it would keep him around longer while he tried to prove that he was correct. And keeping Owen just a little longer had been the end goal since this whole interaction had started. 

Jonah braced himself for more judgement from Owen. He was starting to be predictable, that way. And even telling just the cliff notes version of who he was left Jonah open to so much more judgement. But shockingly, the other didn’t have much to say in the way of negativity or trying against to shrug Jonah off so he could continue his night on his own. His eyes widened in genuine surprise when Owen admitted to not hating any of the words he’d put together for the other, reveling in the small but somehow important victory. But he felt like he got whiplash when Owen was suddenly moving, standing up, getting things ready like he was bolting. Had he said something wrong? “Of course it’s a thing,” he said when Owen asked about the vampire kink, wondering if that had been the thing to finally scare Owen off. He hadn’t even had a chance to remind Owen that he’d been the first to offer to pay for drinks before a hand was being held out for his. Jonah looked down at it for a long few moments like it was some sort of trick before moving almost inhumanly quick to get up from his chair, hand sliding into Owen’s. “Ready,” he said with a grin, excited to see what came next.

The thought that Jonah was just a vampire looking for someone he could overpower easily had struck him already. Rumors of vampires feeding on witches because magic somehow affected the blood had reached his ears before. But he took a risk anyway, and he imagined Jonah was doing the same. In a world of chaos, finding someone with the power to kill you happened every day, but the witch didn’t often walk out into the night with them. “I’ll still be an awful guide. Get ready for a lot of library tours and a visit to my favorite tea shop. Plus there’s a willow you’ve gotta see,” he insisted, only half joking. There was a loaded pause as Jonah seemed to scrutinize his outstretched hand, then cold skin was pressed against his faster than his mind could process. Looks like he wasn’t the only one not trying very hard to hide what he was. Fingers laced together, he used the grip to navigate through the web of tables and chairs until they both safely spilled out onto the street.

He didn’t give him his hand back right away. He was too intrigued by it, the undeniable texture of skin at such a temperature, the softness no lotion could achieve. When he brought their interlocked hands up for inspection, he could see light veins through the back of Jonah’s almost translucent hand, his thumb gliding over it like water. “So weird,” he commented, nose wrinkling happily. Or wyrd, the old word for fate. Owen hadn’t figured out which one yet. What weird flicker of magic had made this entire ridiculous interaction possible in the first place?

“This place is in witch territory. I don’t know if you’ve made it over there yet,” he warned him lightly. He wasn’t going to give this poor kid another lecture, but he wouldn’t tolerate any lack of control when his fellow witches were involved. One wrong move and he’d have to start looking doing research on uninviting vampire castings. “Do exactly what I say if anything out of the ordinary happens, and you’ll be fine.” At first glance, Jonah looked totally unassuming. As long as no one touched him, they wouldn’t have to deal with any interspecies hatred. He suddenly felt a little bit like he was leading an innocent into the lion’s den, but he pushed the feeling aside. It was just uncharted territory for him. Everything would be fine. Walking any street in the city was a bit of a risk, but they were both capable of defending themselves.

The way he had described the place probably made it seem like a mixologist’s dream, all multi colored smoke and beakers and a witch nestled among them. The reality was closer to a tea shop, just a place to stock up on herbs and ingredients for brewing, hiding in plain sight. “It’s apple cider, I think,” Owen guessed as he set down a steaming mug of a fragrant brown liquid. It was too strong for him to dare to taste, spiked with some 90 percent proof rum and enchanted apples, and then doubly touched by magic when Owen subtly covered the entire rim of the cup on his way over to the table they’d found. “Best of luck?”