#{ ngl though- the fear‚ sadness‚ and anger ones HURT for him- }

[moonsmultimusings]

MUSE AESTHETIC FEELINGS - HERO

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.     being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laughter lines. childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping.

𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.    furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. avoiding eye contact. sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice. going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑.     wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs. images of what-could-be flashing in mind. uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability. keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks. exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of colour. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering. flinching at noises. pleading.

𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.     constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes. mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness. denying they’re tired. slow blinking. trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “i’m awake, i’m fine.”. shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.

tagged by: @sleeplesswork

tagging: idk who hasn't done this yet since i've seen it going around, so feel free to steal! :)

[whiskeysmulti]

Haru, when she looks at Gokudera, she is often feeling a big mix of different emotions depending on the day, the situation, etc. The majority of the time, she feels happy. She adores him, and feels lucky to be with him. I do believe that as they continue to progress through their relationship, she learns to allow him to spoil her and so she will come to associate seeing him with feeling cherished. There is awe in the sense that he’s quite big within the Vongola, being a guardian and the right hand no less, and he’s a genius- so there’s also that to marvel over. One of those full-hearted feelings because she loves him so much. When they’re apart, she does miss him, but then when she glances upon him, it’s one of those moments where it’s like “I missed you way more than I thought I did, wow look at him. I can’t believe he’s mine? Don’t now how I survived being away from him until now” kinda dramatic thoughts.

Now, if she found out he had bullied Lambo or something, then obviously looking at him elicits irritation and annoyance as a feeling. That said, she still looks at him and feels love for him and all that. None of that changes, but anger and annoyance definitely pushes the other things aside for a bit and takes center stage. Will say that some of this is the same if she notices that he’s feeling down- possibly from insecurities whether it be about his illegitimacy or what. Though, her anger isn’t directed at him but at whoever made him feel this way. Still, it is a feeling that comes from her looking at him seeming hurt- so it counts for the meme. Tack on sadness from seeing him looking upset. It’s a heartaching thing to see the love of your life hurting.

If he’s physically hurt? Then obviously fear and concern are the biggest presence of the feelings she’ll feel when looking at him. She may be a smidge angry because who did it? Who hurt him? She wants to have a word. (not that anyone would let her… HUFF!) Ultimately, she’s relieved that he’s by her side again and still very much alive.

So then… for kicks- she doesn’t really like to see him fighting because she’d be concerned, BUT if he’s defending her? Like scaring off some creep? That’s hot. She likes that. Wearing his glasses? Also hot. When he’s being a bit assertive with her? Hot. I’ll throw it out there, if he comes at her from behind and she looks up at him, at just the right angle, she likes the view (lol). I’ll also admit that she likes it when he smirks, which isn’t to say she doesn’t like his smiles. She does, but i’m going with a certain topic here. Will also… casually admit, like I’ve mentioned before that Haru is an emotional bean, so if you appeal to her emotions, that’ll have an effect on her. Therefore, if he’s looking her over and looking like he’s in the mood to just throw her onto the bed, that will indeed prompt a reaction from her. All of the mentioned is a way to bring about a feeling that should be spoken about on Sundays lol. Do with that info as you will. ((OOC: for the describe how you muse feels when looking at mine meme))

Describe how your Muse feels when they look at my Muse.- no longer accepting!

.Whiskey. Yes. This guy sometimes istg intentionally gives her mixed emotions.

NGL, I honestly half expected to get a joke response with this at first akin to something like "She feels happy, until he opens his mouth."

But joking aside, this is very on point for how we've plotted their ship out and their general interactions too. We agreed at the start we liked their bickering couple vibe and went with that and the rest kind of filled itself in with chemistry as we went along. It's kind of funny to see how it progressed so quickly because the chemistry was there and everything else was plotted on discord. There's a lot that he feels when he looks at her too, which we've talked about there's those thoughts of her making a good wife one day, of how annoying it was when they were younger and he had to watch her fawn over Tsuna, the guilt he felt too knowing it wasn't gonna happen because Tsuna was his best friend so he probably already heard him talking about Kyoko, which we discussed is more evident in the manga than anime and some of those moments where he did get angry with her, usually she was going on about how she'd marry Tsuna and that can be taken as him either being sick of her talking about it, or jealous that she wants his best friend, not him. Lol, yes his bullying of Lambo is one of the fastest ways to ignite her fuse and he's thankful it doesn't change her opinion on him, because there are some girls like that. I headcanon he probably had some of his fan girls approach and then at the first sign of his temper they fled. But Haru has proven to him she can take it, she doesn't like it but she's not going to run off crying just because he's in a pissy mood that night. Agreed. She's the one who has seen him come back injured like that, she was the one who nursed him back to health in many cases. She's the one who knows just how bad his injuries are even when he's in his "tis but a scratch" denial phase. And it shows in the way she cares for him that there's something there. Because she's not obligated to stick by him while he recovers but she always has.

And I will keep that in mind lol that certain looks can get her in the mood, but as you said, that's better for a Sinday meme. Thanks for sending this one!

[bbelphie]

Any hcs about how the MC would comfort Belphie and Levi when they’re feeling down? 💕

don’t mind me i just got a tiny bit sad when doing this and also may have gone a tiiny bit overboard with belphie’s.

rly i got into some sensitive topics that may resemble symptoms of depression and anxiety/mild anxiety attacks. if you’re uncomfortable with it ((or maybe just hits home way too much)) please be careful while you’re reading!

— BELPHEGOR

naps naps NAPS nApS nnnnaps nanapsps nupsnA ps naps nanaps naps

and i’m not even kidding, belphegor just sleeps the sadness away. most of the time. i can relate to that ngl

however, there are times when feeling down that he can’t sleep. and sadly, they’re more common than you’d expect it. before the exchange student event, he would have beel to help him with that, and when he was locked up in the attic, he had his anger towards lucifer to take his mind out of the sorrow.

it often feels like a heavy weight that crumbles over him and stays. especially when he overthinks about his sister’s death.

now, most of these moments are spent alone, because he can’t bring people to worry over him after everything. his relationship with his brothers are still being mend back together. beel can’t always be there for him. even his wrath towards lucifer has dissipated.

belphegor had nothing to occupy his mind with. the thought was almost suffocating.

what else can he do besides finally succumb to the emptiness?

that when he remembers you. so bright and strong, the lovely memory clouds his mind in such a way and all he can think about it’s you, you, you.

that’s when he calls you on his d.d.d with such a desperate voice that belphegor himself was surprised hearing it. the powerful seventh prince of hell felt so vulnerable and open but wasn’t able to think about that with his longing increasing now at a severe rate. he wanted to see you. to hear you voice, to feel your warmth.

when belphegor finally spots you on his door, just a few meters away, he swears he could even feel your warmth radiating in waves. all he wanted to do was crash into you and let it all out.

and yet, he was so scared. he didn’t move a inch after you entered the bedroom. a mist of blue and pink irises stares at you expectantly but he was paralyzed. he did so much bad to you, why did you even...

spoken words aren’t needed to realize that belphegor needed you. you met the demon half way to his bed before his train of thought comes back and he hugs you tightly. and in a matter of seconds, the mighty demon belphegor was being saved by no one else but you. a human. a being he swore to hate until the end of the times. his human.

he felt so safe and welcomed inside your embrace. belphie didn’t need to say anything, neither be understood. you were there for him nevertheless, and it felt like home.

— LEVIATHAN

levi is a mess. anyone would agree about that fact. always rambling and being the shut-in otaku that he is. he’s the dirty weirdo of the family and is not wanted by anyone. or that’s what he thinks.

but lately it’s been worse. everything is just going wrong for him and all he wants to do is curl up on a ball on his bed and cry. but as one of the demon brothers and the third powerful prince of hell, he has things to do. but that wouldn’t matter if at the end of the day he comes back to his precious 2d girls.

however, he wasn’t able to even do that. the week was full with stuff he had to do, and he needs to do it if he doesn’t want to hear another one of lucifer’s discurses about responsibility and respecting diavolo.

it was not, in any way, something he wanted. every meeting, every reunion, every ball full of people that leviathan attended drived him to the edge. the simple thought of being around so many demons and angels makes his skin crawl and send shivers running down his spine.

“ they hate me. why would they want someone like me here? ”

he can feel their eyes on him. judging, gossiping, laughing. they’re all making fun of me. his heart is palpitating so much it feels like it wants to get out of his body. maybe that’s why levi feels like his chest is gonna burst. maybe that’s why his vision is so blurry and he feels like being smothered. and maybe that’s why he can’t breathe.

in a moment of worry, your vision fell upon his form. it was really subtle and he was hiding so well in the ballroom but you could swear you’re seeing his body shaking. as soon you got closer, you realized your suspicions were right. but it wasn’t only that.

you noticed three things first: leviathan was staring at his feet with both of his hands gripping tight on his clothes. his breath was irregular and way too heavy. and if you looked closer, he was sweating.

you say his name once, twice and thrice again and he’s still in a strange daze. on last resort, you touch his trembling arm, softly. and yet, leviathan jumped in surprise with the contact. his eyes — always reminded you of the sunrise you missed seeing so much — finds yours in a worried state. the sight of you relieved him for a single second, only to make him remember the reality of his situation again.

there was fear in his eyes but, he managed to stutter a “what do you want?” though in a very slurring way, just enough to you understand. you take his hand in yours — they’re cold as ice and it makes you wonder if you’re really in hell — to take him somewhere without any people. you know lucifer will scold you, but you also needs to share some thoughts with him as well.

you arrive at the balcony and you can see his tense shoulders shake. all you could do at that moment was hold him tight and whisper encouraging words in his ear while levi cries with his head on your shoulder. surprisingly, he didn’t flinch from your touch. in fact, levi found himself craving it.

levi was so tired. he just wanted to take a breath. everything kept happening and happening and he didn’t had the time to react properly to them. it was like a snowball of bad events rolling down in his direction, about to crash into him.

and it did and it hurted. but he had someone with him to go through this time. he had you. and he couldn’t be more thankful. after some blushing and embarrassing realization that he just cried on you, he will totally thank you properly.

but for now, he only wishes to hear your calming voice and to be comforted by your presence more. to stay with you. just a little more.

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Guilty, Part 2

Title: Guilty, Part 2 of 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x Barnes-Rodgers!reader

Warnings: Bucky is a grumpy dad™️, Peter is an even sadder boy, and anxiety I guess??

Summary: Peter is worried the dangers of being Spiderman's girlfriend are too much for you.

Authors Note: Here's the second part to @lou-la-lou 's request. The italicized paragraphs are a flashbacks! If anyone has any other requests for me, feel free to send them in, and if you have them in my inbox already, know that I am working on them, I swear! 😂 I feel like its kinda rushed, ngl, but here we go! ENJOY!

--------------------

"Come on out Parker, I know you're up here," Bucky called out to the outwardly vacant rooftop. He swung his legs over the side of the Tower calmly and waited. 

"Uhm, I'm good. Thanks." he heard Peter squeak nervously from behind him. He chuckled a little at the evident panic in his voice, and patted the spot next to him. 

"It's okay kid, I'm not here to hurt you, I just wanna talk."

Moments passed, and Bucky could practically hear the gears of fear and curiosity winding inside the young spiderling's head as he contemplated things. Bucky sighed, his patience running thin. 

"Come on Peter, you know that if I wanted to harm you that I would've done it already." 

After a few more moments and a mutter of something that sounded a lot like 'that's comforting', Peter eventually sat on the ledge next to Bucky. 

Well, actually he was a good six feet away from being next to him, but Bucky would take what he could get. 

"So," he broke through the silence, eyes focused out towards the sky rather than the blue and red clad figure sitting beside him. "What are you doing here kid?"

"Oh I was just out on patrol and so ya know I was like in the-- in the neighborhood so I just thought I'd drop by," Peter cleared his throat, stuttering awkwardly through what was so clearly an excuse. Bucky chuckled. 

"Kind of a long way from Queens though," he drawled amusedly. "And I'm sure you 'stopping by' has nothing to do with the fact that you can very clearly see Y/N's bedroom window from here."

Peter's flush was instant. 

"Oh no-- that's not -- I wasn't--" he stuttered frantically, waving his hands wildly. Bucky let him go on for a while -- a sick sense of glee filling his chest as he watched his daughter's ex-boyfriend panic. Eventually he raised his hand, and Peter instantly fell silent. 

"C'mon kid, let's not start this out with a lie. Why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

"I just...wanted to check and see if she's okay," Peter murmured after another pregnant pause, voice so quiet he was barely audible. Bucky turned to face him more fully, and felt a little of his lingering anger dissolve at the look of utter sadness splayed across the young boy's features. 

"She's not." Bucky replied firmly. "But I think you would've already known that, seeing as you were the one to end things."

"Yeah I know," he muttered. Peter's hand flicked towards his face, gloved fingertips batting away a few of the tears he'd let escape. "But I didn't really have much of a choice."

"So I've heard," Bucky hummed. "I think I know why that is, but why don't you tell me why you think that is."

Peter paused, tear-filled eyes staring off into the distance as he contemplated his next words carefully. Bucky let him think, taking the time to study Peter's face more fully in the meantime. His eyes were puffy and red from his tears, but the dark purple circles under them made it clear that this wasn't the first time he'd cried recently. The skin of his face was paler than usual, and his cheeks looked a little gaunt. 

All in all, Peter looked miserable. 

If he were being honest with himself, Bucky would have to admit that the sight of his pain was a little satisfying -- after all, he was the reason Y/N had been so heartbroken lately. But it was the look in the young boy's eyes that kept him from feeling too smug. It was the same dull, lifeless look that he'd seen in his daughter's eyes for weeks. Bucky couldn't help but feel his heart reach out for the kid as he noted his evident suffering. 

"I thought she'd just be better off without me," Peter's soft reply broke him out of his thoughts abruptly. "I mean, you saw what happened with those girls. All because of me, because of Spiderman, and I just thought if I cut things off now then hopefully she could just...I dunno, move on? Find somebody new, someone normal, that way she'd always be…"

"Safe?" Bucky supplied quietly. Peter's eyes snapped to the older man's face, expression one of complete surprise. He nodded slowly before casting his eyes away once more. 

"Yeah," he managed to reply, voice cracking as his tears began flowing once more. Bucky sighed, scooting closer to him and placing a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter jumped a little at the contact, but he didn't move away like Bucky expected. They sat that way for a few minutes -- Peter sobbing quietly and Bucky sitting stoically next to him. 

"Did I ever tell you about the first time I held Y/N?" Bucky asked plainly. Peter sniffled, head turning upwards to face the older man in surprise. 

"N-no sir. I don't think we've ever actually talked before today," Peter replied slowly. 

"Yeah, that's probably true," Bucky chuckled. "But it's worth telling now." 

Peter nodded, eyes still trained on Bucky, a look of confusion overtaking his features. 

"Well obviously Steve was the first one to hold her -- he barely waited until they hosed her off before he snatched her up," he recalled fondly, chuckling a little at the memory. Peter too cracked a smile at the mental image, and Bucky scored himself an imaginary point for managing to keep the kid from crying for a minute. 

"But when I finally managed to pry her away from him long enough for me to hold her, the very first thing I felt was this overwhelming sense of love. But almost immediately that love led to this feeling of terror," he continued, the smile sliding from his face. "I mean, there she was -- just the tiniest little thing you'd ever seen, her entire body fit practically in my hand she was so small. I was overcome with complete panic when I realized just how fragile she was. I just stood there for a minute, picturing all of the terrible things that could happen to her, that sweet little alien-looking thing. How on earth was I supposed to keep her safe, when so much of mine and Steve's lives were filled with constant danger?"

Peter didn't move an inch, his entire being enthralled by Bucky's story. 

"I struggled with that a lot when Y/N was younger. Hell, I'd be lying if I said I didn't still struggle with it -- I think that's a big part of why I'm so protective of her now, as I'm sure you've noticed," Bucky smiled wryly. To his credit, even though Bucky could tell Peter was fighting the urge to scoff he merely nodded dumbly in response. “Yeah sorry about that I guess? I mean I’m not, but I feel like I should say that.”

Peter chuckled a little at the brutal honesty, the slightest hint of an amused smile quirking at the edges of his lips. Bucky gleefully scored himself another mental point before he continued. 

“I spent every second I could with her after we brought her home, just watching her sleep and making sure she was safe. They say parents don’t get any sleep with a newborn, but I legitimately didn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time for almost a month. Unless I knew Steve was awake, I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off her. Eventually I got so burnt out that I had a full blown panic attack and Steve finally forced me to take a break. He all but locked me in our room, and wouldn’t let me come out until I’d finally gotten some decent rest. It was hard, but I knew in my mind that he was right -- while I was stuck in there I wound up doing a lot of thinking. And do you know what I realized?”

Peter shook his head, brown eyes wide and locked onto Bucky’s face as he breathlessly waited for the answer. Bucky looked him directly in the eyes, pausing for a moment. He wanted to ensure that Peter heard and understood everything that he was about to say.  

“Even though bad things might happen to Y/N because of our lifestyles, she was better off with us than without,” Bucky stated firmly. Peter’s face scrunched in confusion for the briefest of moments but Bucky saw a flash of understanding pass through his eyes. The young boy glanced away, spurring Bucky to continue. “True, I couldn’t and can’t protect her from everything, but she was gonna grow up with the biggest, strangest, and most loving family a kid could hope for. Not to mention the fact that she was born into a family full of extremely capable superhumans and assassins that would literally kill for her. Sure she was going to inevitably run into problems from time to time, but as long as she had us to teach her and protect her then I truly felt she would be alright.”

Peter swallowed thickly and the two sat silently for a few minutes as they let the gravity of Bucky’s words sink in. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget just how young Peter really was, but he'd never looked more his age than in this moment. His eyes were cast downward and his tear soaked lashes were so long that they rested across his pink-splotched cheeks as he cried. Bucky patted his back comfortingly as he waited. After a few moments, Bucky internally wondered if he should continue, but Peter spoke up before he had a chance. 

“But don’t you ever-- I dunno, feel like guilty?”, Peter blurted out curiously. “I mean even just that little fight was enough to freak me out completely. I can’t...I don’t ever want her to get hurt because of me.”

“I get it kid, I used to feel the same way,” Bucky exhaled through his nose, a soft chuckle unintentionally bubbling out of his throat at the insinuation. “But believe me, I learned very early on that if Y/N wants to get into a fight, then she will. I think she takes too much after Steve, the two of them are so damned stubborn that they almost make me seem like the level-headed one.”

Peter laughed out loud for the first time all night, and Bucky would be willing to bet it was the first time in much longer than that. He chuckled along with him, slightly proud of the look of fondness that took over his boyish features. 

"Yeah. Yeah that's probably true." Peter chuckled. 

"Mmmmhm. So, you feeling any better kid?"

Peter nodded earnestly, fingers brushing away the last of his tears. 

"Good," Bucky hummed. "Now, I'm going to need you to fix things with my daughter, otherwise you and I are going to have a very different kind of conversation. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes sir," Peter replied meekly, an audible gulp escaping the poor boy. Bucky grinned widely, clapping his hand on his back once more. 

"Knew I could count on you."

--------------------

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. 

Sitting on the couch, you were wrapped so tightly around him that he couldn't hardly tell where his limbs ended and yours began. You were curled up in his lap, his arms cadging your back firmly against his front as his face rested into the crook of your neck. There was some movie playing on the giant tv in front of the two of you, but Peter wasn't paying attention to it at all; he was too awestruck by his sheer luck, eternally grateful to be with you again after so long.

Even though he couldn't see your face from his position, he could tell that you were on the verge of falling asleep. Every few minutes your fingers would pause on their trek up and down his forearm and your head would roll even further backwards as you drifted asleep before snapping back upwards once more. He chuckled fondly at you, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek as a feeling of warmth spread throughout his entire body. 

"You're exhausted sweet girl," he murmured into your neck softly. "Go ahead and sleep, I can tell you're fighting it."

You shook your head stubbornly, adorably clinging to his arms even tighter at the insinuation. 

"M'not," you protested through a yawn. Little butterflies swirled in Peter's tummy at the sound of the pout evident in your voice. He placed another kiss to your cheek, unable to contain the feeling of joy that'd been coursing though him since he'd first gotten you back in his arms. 

"You are though," he chuckled. 

"I don't wanna sleep," you argued. "Too afraid this was all just a really good dream."

Peter's chest immediately felt heavy, arms winding around you more securely at your whispered confession. He understood exactly what you meant. To be perfectly honest, he was having a hard time believing this was real too. 

He knew it was probably just teenage dramatics, but the two weeks that he’d spent without you felt like the longest weeks of his life -- weeks spent in absolute misery. It’d seemed like the only solution at the time, but he’d had an increasingly difficult time justifying that choice when not being with you had been so difficult. He was honestly reaching his breaking point long before your dad had sat him down to talk about things, so it didn’t take much convincing on Bucky’s part to get him to change his mind. 

But now, as he found himself perched outside your bedroom window he couldn't help but worry that he might've done permanent damage to your relationship. He felt his heart shrivel and harden at the prospect that you may not forgive him, but he couldn't possibly blame you for it. Hell, he'd hated himself since the moment he ended things. 

He was only outside your window in the first place because as soon as you'd realized it was him, you'd swiftly slammed the door in his face. He'd tried pleading with you through the wood, but he couldn't tell if any of it was getting through because (outside of some choice swears) you hadn't said a word in response. So, desperate and on his last chance, he'd crawled outside your bedroom window, hoping that even if you didn't speak to him that at least he'd be able to see your face again. Ignoring the weight that settled in his stomach as he took note of your reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks through the glass, he'd focused on saying what he came there to say. You simply stood in the middle of your room stoically with your arms crossed as he rambled on through the pre-planned speech he’d come up with as he tossed and turned all night. 

Eventually he reached the end of his hastily prepared monologue, and he fell silent, waiting anxiously for you to respond. The seconds that passed felt like hours as you contemplated things, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he cautiously appraised your every move. A stab of fear and defeat ripped through his chest the moment he realized that you weren’t going to budge. Fresh tears welling in his eyes, he turned to leave, the feeling of defeat and sorrow weighing heavily on his limbs until he felt an actual weight on his arm.

You grabbed his wrist before he’d even moved an inch. 

Glaring at him as your own tears slipped silently down your cheeks, you dropped his arm before opening the window wide enough for him to fit through. He sniffled and shot you a desperate look, to which you responded only by rolling your eyes and motioning for him to come inside. Once he'd scrambled through, he could only muster up enough courage to stand wordlessly in the once familiar room as he waited for you to make the next move. 

"You're an idiot."

Though your words were biting, Peter couldn't help but think to himself that, after not hearing your voice for weeks, they were the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. 

"I know," he swallowed thickly. You scoffed, fingers swiping your cheeks angrily to remove the lingering traces of your tears as you stared him down. 

"What you did really sucked," you continued crossing your arms protectively in front of your chest. "And just because I get why you did it now doesn't change that." 

"I know," he agreed, tears silently beginning to fall from his eyes. You sucked in a shuddering breath. "You're absolutely right, I'm an idiot." 

You chuckled a little bit at his admission, your arms dropping by your sides. 

"I wish you would've just talked to me. Told me what you were feeling, you know?" you replied in a near-whisper. "Cause just getting cut-off from you all at once...it really sucked."

Your bottom lip began to tremble and fresh tears began to run down your face uncontrollably. Peter swore he could actually hear a crack echo in the small room as his heart broke at the sight of you. Unable to physically handle the distance between the two of you for a moment longer, he wasted little time in crossing the short space and pulling you into his arms. 

To his immense relief, you allowed him to pull you into his chest easily, your arms wrapping around his body just as tightly. He thrust his face into your messy hair, and your face buried itself into his chest instantly. It wasn't long before he felt your hot tears seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, but he really couldn't care less at the moment. Especially given the fact that he was sure you could feel his own tears soaking through your hair. 

"I-I'm so sorry Y/N," he sobbed, his voice muffled from the way he pressed his face to your head. "I'm s-so sorry angel, I'm such an idiot. I hated every single second I wasn't with y-you, and I swear I'll never do anything like that ever again." 

Your only response was to pull him impossibly closer to you, your arms practically clawing at his back in the process. 

The two of you had stood like that for an immeasurable amount of time, sobbing into each other in that dramatic way only teenagers really could, until eventually both your eyes had run dry. Then you just talked. First about the whole situation and then about everything the two of you had missed about the other in the time you weren't speaking. Peter had come to see you early in the morning, but by the time all was said and done it was already the early evening. Despite the fact that the two of you were exhausted, neither one of you were willing to part just yet and thus you'd wound up where you were now, cuddling in one of the Tower's many common rooms. 

Peter exhaled tensely, your quiet admission sending a stab of guilt deep into his chest. He kissed the top of your head apologetically. 

"I'm so sorry y/n," he murmured against your hair. "I can't explain how sorry I am that I've made you feel like you can't count on me anymore."

You were so silent that, for a moment, Peter thought you might've finally succumbed to your evident exhaustion. It wasn't until a few moments later that he felt you snuggle deeper into his hold and place a delicate kiss to his cheek that he realized you hadn't. He couldn't hold back the large grin that overtook his face nor the raging blush that began creeping up his cheeks at your sweet gesture. 

"S'okay Petey," you mumbled, clearly on the verge of dozing. "I mean, it's not, but you can just give me constant cuddles from now on and then we'll be good."

Peter let out a breathy giggle, feelings of amusement and affection surging through his chest at the determined, and yet sleepy tone of your voice. He felt your breaths even out, and he placed a light kiss to your hair as he listened to the slow, comforting thumping of your heartbeat. 

"Don't worry angel, already planning on it."

--------------------

"Buck, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Steve whispered, stopping dead in his tracks and pulling his husband to a stop through their interconnected hands. Bucky frowned a bit as his eyes scanned the room, wondering what could've possibly been behind the pure shock lacing Steve's tone. They were on their way out, intent on spending some time alone together for the first time in a long while, and Bucky knew something big must've caught his husband's attention if he was making the time to stop. 

"What?" he questioned confusedly after finding seemingly nothing amiss in the common room. Steve nudged him gently, wide eyes darting towards one of Stark's insanely expensive leather couches as if to say 'there, look over there dummy!'. Bucky felt his brows furrow deeper as he struggled to process what could possibly have his husband so worked up. It was just Y/N and Peter, the two of them sitting disgustingly close to one another as they idly watched some movie on the Tower's practically movie-theater sized tel--

Oh. 

Steve grinned at the sight of the two of them, squeezing Bucky's hand excitedly as he watched them. 

"That's great, I didn't know they were back together, did you?"

Bucky merely grunted in response, rolling his eyes and feigning nonchalance whilst internally feeling exceedingly relieved that things would hopefully go back to normal now. He felt so light, in fact, that a deep chuckle burst through his chest before he could stop it-- although he quickly covered it with a cough. 

The sound of him clearing his throat did not go unnoticed, Peter lifted his cheek slightly from the top of your head to look at the two super soldiers. His face immediately broke out into a furious blush, and though he would normally scramble away from you at the sight of your dads, he didn't move a muscle. Instead, he simply smiled nervously in their direction. 

Steve's face broke out into an even bigger grin, and he nodded curtly at the young boy before looking at Bucky with a very smug 'I told you so' face. 

Bucky rolled his eyes in fake annoyance, but shot Peter a knowing wink once Steve turned away. He scored himself a final mental point for sorting things out with Parker as he allowed his husband to pull him towards the door. The teen smiled and returned his attention to your sleeping form, feeling much happier than he had in weeks. 

Taglist: @beth-winchester21 , @peters-legos, @lou-la-lou

[willowistic22]

also 76 with belmerttons? (theres no pressure tho 💖💖)

I did this right after i finished school lol. Took me two days but i got it done at the end yey!! A little long than the other drabble requests i think but das ok bcs i’m kinda proud ngl. Also be warned mentions of blood and stitches (bcs the prompt said ‘i think you need stitches’ but it’s not too serious dw) but that should be it. Anyways, maybe this is to make up for wrenching your heart out with that angsty belmerttons cardigan songfic i wrote awhile ago hehe :D

Closing requests for now bcs i got a few i need to focus first before i’m good to reblog a different prompt list

“Elmer, I really don’t think this is such a good idea” Buttons called out from the bottom of the ladder.

“Don’t worry, I got this!” Elmer called out, not bothering to look away from his task. 

It was time for them to change their living room light bulb. Neither of them has experiences in it but Elmer stepped up. Buttons didn’t want him to, in fear of him falling over. But they were about to have a date night later in the evening since they’ve been really busy with their jobs. And it wouldn’t be perfect without a functional lighting system. 

Elmer utilizes the natural light source entering their windows to replace the light bulb. Despite it all, Buttons is still worried for Elmer’s well being. He doesn’t have the best balance in the world. 

“Elmer, honey, please, just come down we’ll call a professional electrician to get it done-” 

“Buttons, we don’t need to waste a couple of useless bucks just to have someone change our light bulb!” Elmer protested, not letting Buttons to finish what he wanted to say earlier. 

With that answer, Buttons removes himself from the living room with an eye roll and a sigh. To which, Elmer just sighs quietly seeing his negative attitude like that. But Elmer’s still persistent in doing this on his own. Besides, the box has given him enough instructions to change it on his own. 

But that’s not what Buttons is worried about. The fact that Elmer can slip and fall at any moment scares him. And he has always been slipping and falling for the longest time Buttons knows that man. 

Okay, maybe I’m being too mean to him. Buttons thought to himself, getting a hold of his breath as he leans his weight on the kitchen counter. The porcelain counter top is cool against his skin, giving him a sense of calmness he needs. Buttons picks himself up and gets himself busy in the kitchen. 

“I got it!” Elmer shouted from the living room, “See Buttons? We could do this on our-” 

Elmer’s voice started to get shaky, followed by a loud crash to the floor. Buttons drops everything and runs to the living room. He sees the ladder Elmer previously used on the floor. But his main focus is Elmer, lying on the hardwood floor whilst groaning in pain. 

Buttons rushes to the scene, crouching next to Elmer to make sure he’s okay. For the most part, he is. Maybe a little disoriented from the fall. No surprise there. But that doesn’t stop Buttons from being extra sure of it. 

“Elmer, are you okay? Does anything hurts?” Buttons asked quickly. He scans up and down his body to find nothing out of the ordinary. Well, maybe there’s one thing. 

“Oh, God your hand!” Buttons pointed out. His right hand was torn, blood almost covered the whole thing. The tear was probably because he fell in a weird position and the skin got caught with the rickety ladder. It may not be bleeding out quick, but he’s still losing quite a lot of blood. Buttons runs back to the kitchen to get a towel to try stop the bleeding. 

He wraps the towel around the nasty cut. Elmer grunts out in pain as Buttons tightens the towel. A painful thing to be ringing in Buttons ears, knowing that it’s coming from Elmer. But Elmer’s still fine. Buttons help him slowly sit up to get Elmer’s concentration back. 

“Nothing else seems injured” Buttons exclaimed after doing a quick examination, “Let me see your hand again” 

It was painful to move it, just as he suspected. But Elmer pushed through the pain to let Buttons take another look at it. Buttons tries his best to lift the towel just enough for a quick peak but not too much it causes too much pain. Though his gentleness, Elmer still groans through gritted teeth. 

Buttons can see the cut in all its horrifying glory, the blood seeping out the towel since the bleeding has’t stopped. Buttons places the towel back and looks at Elmer, giving him a look that tells him just how bad it is, “I think you need stitches” 

“‘You think’. Meaning you’re judging through a medically-untrained eye” Elmer twisted the reality. And yes, Buttons is no doctor. But any dumbass can tell you Elmer desperately needs stitches. 

Buttons scoffs and rolled his eyes before emphasizing, “You need stitches” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Yes, you do” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Yes, you do” 

“No. I don’t!” 

“Yes. You do!” 

“Buttons!” 

“Elmer!” 

Elmer, indeed, needed stitches. 

He sits quietly on the hospital bed after the nurse attended to him. Feeling the tension between the couple, she exited the scene as soon as possible. But the doctor had stayed, seeing that these two are his friends. 

Buttons has his arms crossed on top of his chest, one foot tapping furiously as he gives Elmer the stink eye. Elmer tries his best to ignore it. He had learnt his lesson but Buttons can’t help but stay angry at him. 

“So... you’re going to have to make it to your appointments...” Davey tried to ease out the tension between the two. His voice is the only thing Elmer tries to focus on, rather than the furious feet tapping made by a certain brunet. 

“Davey, is there anything you can do to make my husband stop looking at me like that?” Elmer asked, slightly looking at Buttons direction. But the stink eye was still very much present. 

Davey takes one good look at Buttons, still unmoved from his anger. As a doctor, he can do many things that have saved other people’s lives. But saving his friend from this mess is unfortunately not one of them. He looks back at Elmer and quickly replies, “No” 

“What did I told you about changing the light bulb on your own?” Buttons asked, tone laced with nothing but rage. 

Elmer slumps his back, looking down sadly to the stitches he just got, “Not to...” 

Buttons furiously nods at the response, smiling with a hint of anger behind it. He twirls around and walks towards the waiting room. From the way he walks, Elmer can tell he’s going to hear it from Buttons once they get back home. 

Davey sits on the bed next to a sad looking Elmer, patting his back lightly to cheer him up, “Speaking from experience of giving Jack the same look...” 

Elmer looks at his friend, a glint of hope flashing over his honey eyes. 

“...best to stay on his good side for at least six weeks” 

[normal-thoughts-official]

Words that you bury

A retelling of the most meaningful moments between Raphael and Magnus, when Raphael was staying at Magnus' home.

Or: 6 times Raphael and Magnus said "te quiero" to each other, and one time they said something else

Relationships: Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago

Rating: M

Category: gen

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Past Abuse, Found Family, magnus is raphael's dad fight me on this, blink and you'll miss it Trans Magnus Bane, camille belcourt is an abuser, lots of crying ngl

Read it on Ao3

“I’m sorry,” Raphael says. Again and again and again, “Dios, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Magnus says. His hand hovers over Raphael’s shoulder, debating whether or not to touch it with the air. Every time it moves, Raphael lets out another sob, and Magnus recoils like an animal being attacked. Which is absurd. If anything, Raphael should be the scared animal in this situation. But there Magnus is, scared of a little touch, unable to help him.

“It’s so disgusting,” Raphael continues, and Magnus takes it for the yes, there is that he knows it is. His chest feels like it’s closing in on itself. Magnus tries not to fold in half under the force of it. “Why can’t I stop?”

“You’ve gone over a month without eating,” he tries to reason. “You can’t help being hungry, my boy.”

“This is not- it’s not hunger. Look around you! Look what I did!”

“It’s just a kitchen.”

“It’s- it’s all red.”

“From donated blood,” Magnus repeats. “I told you that, dear, no one was hurt for these. It’s okay.”

He had arrived home to find the kitchen essentially covered in his blood stock, which he had been keeping for Raphael ever since he first rescued him, over a month ago. It was the first time Raphael had used it.

The fact that it was splattered everywhere, and that Raphael had been at the middle, sobbing and bloody, told him that he might not have made that choice, though.

“I lost control,” Raphael continued, like Magnus hadn’t said anything. “I lost control, I just launched at it, now it’s everywhere, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Magnus says, “you were hungry. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not hungry. When I’m hungry I eat frijoles, I eat arroz de choclo, tortillas, enfrijoladas, un chicharrón que sea. This is blood."

"Donated blood. From mundanes with the Sight who want to help people like you. You didn't hurt anyone, Raphael."

"It doesn't matter! I don't want this. I want to be normal. I want to see Rosita. She was having such a hard time adapting here, she needs me-"

It pains Magnus to have to hold Raphael down, but he has no idea what Raphael might do in this state, with his super speed and strength. There's still sunlight outside and he could burn himself. And he worries Raphael would also hurt himself in… non-accidental ways.

"You need to be well first, dear. You're still weak. And still hungry," he says, trying to make his voice as comforting as he can. Raphael still recoils like he's been punched, though.

"No, I'm not gonna- I'm not. She's my sister! I wouldn't- no!"

"I know you wouldn’t. But seeing her like this will make you feel worse. You can barely stand up, dear." He doesn’t say that he’s seen it happen. Way too many times. Desperate vampires, wanting so bad to be normal, thinking if only they can stay away from eating long enough, everything you go back to normal. Then they see mundanes, and they snap, and it makes them feel worse. Magnus doesn’t want that to happen to Raphael. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to take it.

And Magnus doesn’t want to see any more suffering in this world.

“I-” Raphael says. Then he drops down back on the ground, cross legged, hugging his knees. “I know.” He looks at Magnus with his big, brown eyes, and they’re so full of pain it makes Magnus feel like his guts are bursting, ugly and everywhere. It reminds him too much of himself. “I can never see them again, can I?”

It’s a question, but doesn’t sound like one.

Magnus still hesitates to answer it.

“Maybe you can still say goodbye,” he says, because he knows the silence will just hurt Raphael more. “I know some people who did. You just need to be- well, first.”

“How can I,” Raphael says, his eyes puffy and red and angry, “ever be well?”

Magnus stops.

He could be cheery. He could be bubbly. He could tell Raphael that everything’s gonna be okay, that he’s okay, that he’s gonna be rich and happy and find a family. He could keep up with the detached, perfect persona he’s been playing since way before Raphael arrived, but particularly after that.

Instead, he says, “my mom killed herself.”

Raphael’s whole face transforms, from anger to a mix of confusion, understanding, sympathy, and something else Magnus can’t quite put his finger on. Something that looks that an older brother taking his sister to school. Something like- caring.

Magnus looks away.

“She- my eyes,” he continues. “She was so scared. My stepfather kept telling her about the devil, and then- then she saw it in me.”

A beat.

“My stepfather tried to kill me. I- I killed him first. It made me feel like the devil my mom feared I’d become.”

He turns to Raphael again, and that- undecipherable look is stronger than before. It takes up his whole features.

“It’s not- well. These kinds of things don’t- go away. I didn’t just lose my family then, I lost my city, my culture, my people. Myself.

“It’s not okay,” he continues, “but I am. Or- as much as I can. You find out that life goes on. That there’s more to it than the pain, even if it’s still there. I have more people now. I have another family. And you,” he gives him a sad smile, “you have me, at the very least.”

Raphael’s lip starts trembling, so he adds, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Raphael breaks down.

It’s ugly, loud tears, sobs that rip him in half, burning all the way up. It’s hands gripping onto nothing so hard that his nails are about the break the skin. He shakes in a silent yell, already hoarse without a single word; raw and trapped in his pain.

And Magnus holds him. He slowly takes Raphael’s hands and put them around him, so he can grip Magnus’ shirt instead. He doesn’t want Raphael to hurt himself.

“It’s okay,” he says when Raphael visibly strains not to grip him, “it won’t hurt me, I’m a warlock. Let it out.”

It’s a lie, because Raphael has super strength and the way he grips Magnus digs his fingers into his skin and burns him in pain. But he doesn’t let a single sound out, knowing that soon the grip will make the skin numb. Raphael needs it, and he doesn’t mind.

“Mi hermanita,” Raphael cries, “está tan sola, tan…” he sobs, “me muero.”

Magnus struggles to remember the little spanish he had learnt when he went to Peru. He knows it’s something about his little sister, and- dying?

“Lo siento,” he says, because that’s something he remembers. I’m sorry.

“Me muero,” Raphael repeats.

“You’re not dying,” Magnus shakes his head. “You’re alive, okay? You’re a person. You’re a human. Estás vivo.”

Raphael keeps crying, albeit more silently. Magnus tries his hardest to think of something comforting to say to him, with his limited vocabulary. He knows that sometimes hearing Malay is all he needs to feel grounded, comforted, home. Aku cinta kamu, his mother would say to him before he went to bed. Her native tongue was Javanese, but since his stepfather didn’t speak it and she mostly had to speak Malay in the docks, that’s the language he was raised in. He never learnt Javanese, which makes him feel like a piece of him is missing sometimes.

“Te quiero,” Magnus says, suddenly inspired. It’s all right to say te quiero, right? Raphael has been living with him for a month after all. “Te quiero bién,” he adds on second thought. I want you well. Or at least he hopes that’s what he’s saying.

Raphael nods, still a little lost in his tragedy stupor. Magnus lets him, and keeps stroking his hair and repeating softly, te quiero, te quiero, estarás bién. Until Raphael finally stills, head still hiding in Magnus’ shoulder, but no longer shaking with sobs. Magnus idly realizes that his legs hurt from kneeling besides Raphael for so long, but he doesn’t care.

They stay like this, lost in stillness, until he feels Raphael’s hands letting go of his back. The blood flow returns to the abused areas, and Magnus has to hold back a hiss at the sudden mix of pain and relief. Then Raphael looks up at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I made a mess.”

Magnus looks around, at the bloody state of his kitchen. “Oh, this?” he asks, deliberately light, and then flicks his wrist in an also deliberate flourish. Suddenly the kitchen is sparkling clean. “Pay it no mind, dear.” The wet stains in both his and Raphael’s clothes have disappeared, and he also took away the pain in Raphael’s eyes for crying so much.

It takes Raphael a second to recoil. “Warlocks got all the fun parts out of this whole ‘devil blood’ thing, huh,” he says. It borders on bitter, but there’s some humor in it, too.

“Demon blood,” Magnus corrects, because he knows the weight the word devil carries. “And I think we could do with super strength or speed, but that’s my personal opinion.”

Raphael barks out a laugh, which clearly surprises him more than anyone.

Magnus smiles at him. “Come on, there’s more where those came from. Are you still hungry?”

Raphael’s wide-eyed nod tugs at Magnus’ heartstrings, but at least he’s not disgusted by it anymore. Magnus’ smile widens in encouragement. “Okay. Sit down, let’s give you a more proper meal.”

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t say anything. Magnus knows that, if mexicans are anything like javanese people, the concept of a meal probably involves several dishes, a lot of people, and at least two hours.

The look in Raphael’s face indicates that mexicans are exactly like the javanese. With a flourish of his hands - more ostentatious than necessary, so Raphael isn’t surprised by the sudden apparition - he conjures up a new bag of blood, except the bag is a dark blue instead of transparent, with a few jasmines along with the plate.

“Flowers?” Raphael says, amused, “What is this?”

“Well, you were clearly disdainful of my meal offer, so I thought I’d step up my game. Can’t have a warlock leaving people unimpressed, my dear.”

Raphael lets out a full, smooth laugh this time, one that doesn’t feel punched out of him. “Thank you,” he says, then looks between him and the plate, hesitating.

Magnus takes that as his cue. “Right,” he says swiftly, “I should probably go check the inventory of my apothecary. If you’ll excuse me.” and turns around to leave in long, fast strides.

“Magnus,” Raphael calls for him right as he’s about to reach the door.

He turns back to him almost sharply. “Yes?” he asks, with a small tilt of his head and raise of his eyebrows.

“Te quiero también” Raphael says.

I love you too.

“Oh.”

Raphael gives him a small smile, and when Magnus turns to leave again, his steps are a little less elegant, but a lot lighter.

*

“Magnus, what the fuck?” Raphael asks.

Magnus pauses, stick still halfway on hitting the dummy. He turns to Raphael quickly, but in a small movement; stopping with legs close together, feet touching, arms down, head slightly tilted to the right. He makes sure his shoulders are relaxed so his stance doesn’t seem guarded, but holds still so it doesn’t seem threatening, either. Glamor up, stick gone, breathing silent. He widens his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

The vampire is suddenly behind him, and Magnus resists the urge to jump. He knows the boy would not attack him, particularly not in this weakened state. He doesn’t want to act frightened and make him feel worse. He takes a deep breath and does not move.

The boy’s hands touch his back where it’s exposed under his tank top. His touch is so gentle it’s barely there, and Magnus thinks his hand might be only hovering close. He remains still and tries not to invade Raphael’s space.

Raphael takes in a sharp breath. “You’re bruised up.”

Magnus frowns. “I was only practicing. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“No,” Raphael says, almost angry. “This is not- This is-”

Magnus turns again. Slowly, small movements, hands raised but close to his torso, feet touching again by the time he’s done. Raphael is pursing his lips repeatedly, head shaking slightly like its thoughts are scrambling up its balance. Magnus stays still.

Finally, Raphael speaks, tone so icy it burns. “I did this.”

“My bo-,” Magnus shakes his head. Condescendance won’t help. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even know it was-”

“Perfect shape of my fist. It was- You fucker, you said it wouldn’t hurt you.”

Ah. “It didn’t.”

“It’s purple, Magnus.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. Come on, sit,” he says, pointing at Magnus’ own couch. Magnus drags it towards himself, silently showing Raphael that he’s fine. Raphael snorts, but there’s no humor in it.

Magnus sits down.

“Dónde está….. Que coño,” Raphael mutters to himself. “Don’t you have some sort of balm to treat these wounds?” he speaks up. He’s pacing around Magnus’ apothecary so fast Magnus feels dizzy. Fledgelings are like kittens, way too energetic and way too unaware of that. “An apothecary as big as this, and you only-”

Magnus doesn’t keep a lot of balms. He doesn’t need them himself, and when he needs one for someone else, he simply brews it. He thinks over a way to help Raphael calm down.

“I can magick it away,” he offers.

“No,” Raphael answers, turning his head towards Magnus sharply. “I did this, I have to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Magnus protests.

“I gripped you so tight it bruised, Magnus.”

“I told you, it doesn’t hurt. It’s, uh, a warlock thing.”

“Then why does it bruise?,” Raphael hisses. Then he takes a quick step back, like he’s been spooked. “Please don’t lie to me,” he says, voice small, head down.

Magnus’ heart aches. “It really didn’t hurt,” he tries.

“I know warlocks feel pain. I’ve seen Ragnor stub his toe, remember?”

Despite himself, Magnus snorts. “The old man is just dramatic.”

“I’m not about to dispute that,” Raphael mutters, “but I know that you don’t have a higher pain tolerance. And if you had, it would make no sense for the body to bruise. That’s a reaction to hurt.”

“Fine, it didn’t hurt a lot, then. I knew I could take it. I’m used to it.”

Raphael’s face turns even sadder, and Magnus scrambles his brain to find what he did wrong.

“I shouldn’t hurt you at all, Magnus.”

“Nonsense, it’s fine-”

“No mames, cabrón” Raphael mutters to himself. Magnus doesn’t know what that means, but with the way it stings with barely concealed anger, he doesn’t have to. “Just tell me where the balm is. Or whatever you use to treat this kind of wound.”

Magnus sighs, deciding not to argue over this anymore. Raphael is having a hard time, after all. “Third drawer to your left,” he says, silently magicking a little pot there. It’s not as good as his hand brewn one, of course, but it’s a little thing that will certainly lessen the purpleing. Raphael is by his side within a second, balm in hand. Magnus does jump this time, then curses himself for losing control like that.

“Sorry,” Raphael says.

“It’s alright,” Magnus says, “superspeed does that.”

“No,” Raphael clarifies, “well, yes, but I also meant- I’m just sorry.”

Magnus softens like a balloon deflates; so quick it’s scary. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says, turning to Raphael on instinct.

“I hurt you. You are already letting me stay here-”

“Don’t.”

Raphael scoffs. “It’s true.”

“No. I brought you here. I invited you to stay. I told you it was okay-”

“Right, and now I can’t believe you, can I, because clearly you would tell me that it was alright, and let me take and take, and get hurt!”

Magnus’ vision feels foggy. For a second, he doesn’t know why. “I-” he begins, but finds himself with no sentence to form.

Raphael’s tone is a lot quieter now. It still rings on Magnus ears, clear as water over the deafening silence that Raphael’s scream left behind. It’s like his shout itself created stillness.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, biting his lip, “I don’t want to, I- I’m scared of hurting anyone.”

Magnus’ tear falls, but his vision only clears for a second before the fogginess returns. “I’m sorry,” he says, feeling like a kid who just got scolded.

Raphael shakes his head, but there are no tears for him to wipe. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” he says, and it would sound like a laugh if it wasn’t so bitter. Magnus shrinks into himself again. “But don’t do that again. Don’t hurt to make me feel better. Te quiero, ¿sí? Y te quiero bién,” he says, so smoothly even Magnus feels calmed by the words, despite them being nowhere as familiar to him as they are to Raphael. “So your hurt won’t do me any good.”

“Okay,” Magnus says simply. He vaguely has the presence of spirit to admire Raphael for using Magnus’ own words against him like that. This boy is way smarter than he gives himself credit for. “Okay.”

Raphael’s lips quirk up, pursed and sad. “All right then. Let’s treat these bruises. Can you take off your shirt so I can see them better?”

Magnus nods. “Of course, my boy.”

*

Raphael crashes home like lightning on a sunny day; so sudden and loud you’re not even sure it happened.

He slumps against the door, shaking slightly, eyes shut like he’s trying to lock them away.

Magnus’ magic reaches out to him before he even thinks about it. “Raphael,” he says, getting up. There’s no sign of injuries. But he can barely stand straight.

Magnus doesn’t have the time to ask. He draws in a sharp breath, shaky and pained like a dying animal’s. “I went to see my sister.”

“Oh,” is all Magnus can say. Did he try to tell her? He knows Raphael’s family is very religious; maybe she didn’t want to accept him. His heart aches, filled with worst-case scenarios: did she try to kill him? Was he hurt? Did she cry? Did she scream at him to leave, terrified-

“I said goodbye,” Raphael finishes, words leaving his throat like a final breath. He shuts his eyes again, fists tightly against the door like they’re supporting him more than his legs are.

“Okay,” Magnus says, “okay.” He takes a deep breath so his voice sounds smooth and quiet, “let’s take you to the couch, yeah? Let’s rest a little.”

Raphael nods, slowly like he needs to think hard to remember how to do it. Magnus doesn’t let it deter him. “I’m going to put your arm over my shoulders, is that alright?” Raphael nods again. It’s a short walk to the couch, and he doesn’t need to support the entirety of Raphael’s weight, Raphael being more shaky than weak. But it feels like a run on the desert, feverishly painful.

He makes no move to go away once Raphael is settled (maybe he should have, he doesn’t know if he wants company, doesn’t know if he’s intruding, this is about his family, after all, what does Magnus understand-), but Raphael still grabs his arm once he lets him go. “It’s alright,” Magnus says, squeezing his knee slightly. “I’m here.”

Raphael nods again.

They stay in silence.

Magnus doesn’t know how long. Feels like years, his heart beating anxiously in his chest as Raphael cries, terrifyingly still. He shakes is an almost defiant way, his body held tight and tense, the few tears that manage to break free quickly wiped away. Magnus doesn’t know what to make of it, so he settles for caressing Raphael’s hair and repeating estarás bien every once in a while.

You’ll be alright. He’s not sure how effective it is, but every time he says it, Raphael nods, so he thinks that at the very least, it’s helping ground him a little.

Eventually, Raphael opens his eyes.

It’s only then that Magnus realizes he had been holding his breath, too.

His body is still tense, but he doesn’t relax, not yet.

His heart beats anxiously, and Raphael stays still.

“I said goodbye. It’s done,” is the first thing he says, tone boiling with finality. “I told her I couldn’t see her again.”

“Did you say why?” Magnus asks.

Raphael shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t.” He finally turns to look at Magnus, searching him like he expects to see judgement there. Magnus can’t judge him. Not one bit. Raphael turns away again, “It was dangerous enough to go see her, but- I knew how to not hurt her, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t not-”

He stops abruptly, taking another deep breath.

“She started crying as soon as she saw me. Hugged me so tight- if I was still a person she’d have broken my bones.”

“A mundane,” Magnus corrects; heart clenching and unable to let it go unchallenged.

“That’s what I meant.”

They look at each other.

Magnus caves. “So what did you tell her?”

“I told her that I’m okay. That she doesn’t need to worry. But that she won’t see me again. I used- that encanto thing, so she would think I told her before disappearing. I didn’t want her thinking I disappeared for almost four months only to-”

He puts his hand over Raphael’s. He’s gripping his own arm so tight Magnus is almost scared he’ll tear it off.

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he says, “she begged me to stay.”

Magnus’ heart goes out for the boy, and a part of him tangs with ugly, bitter jealousy. Rosa didn’t care what Raphael was. Didn’t care what happened. She still wanted to be with him.

He bites the inside of his mouth, trying to get rid of these thoughts. Raphael is suffering, he’s in pain, he’s lost the person he loves the most and yet here Magnus is, selfish as always-

Raphael finally turns to look at him, eyes puffy and shining with caged tears, and all of Magnus’ thoughts silence before the pain that he feels for him. “I’m so scared of leaving her alone, Magnus.”

“My boy.” Magnus is unable to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Raphael into a hug. The boy is shorter than him, and smaller, and he buries his face in Magnus’ chest as he doesn’t shake, doesn’t sob, doesn’t wrap his arms around Magnus too tight. It burns in a thousand different ways, this not-closeness, this cage of fear Raphael put himself in.

They’re both trapped within themselves, desperately afraid to step out, but still weakly trying to reach for each other.

“She told me we’d find a way. That I didn’t have to tell her what was happening, didn’t have to explain, that she would help me anyway. She kept- she kept trying, Magnus, and there was nothing I could do-” he laughs wetly. “I’ve always hated saying no to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says, because he is, and there’s nothing else he can say. Raphael can’t stay with her; that never goes well with anyone. Besides, the clave has been particularly adamant on keeping downworlders and mundanes strictly separated lately; Rosa’s life is not the only one at risk if Raphael stayed with her.

She might even accept him, but it’s worthless. All that means is that he has to be the one to leave.

It’s a completely different kind of tragedy, not at all like what happened to Magnus’ family all those centuries ago; yet it feels exactly the same.

“Lo siento,” he repeats, hoping the familiar sounds of Raphael’s language bring him comfort instead of pain. All he does in response is nod, so Magnus can’t be too sure, but he’s shaking a little less, seeming to ease a bit into the hug and the way Magnus strokes his hair.

“When we moved here,” Raphael starts. The sound of his voice startles Magnus a little bit, and he chides himself for getting distracted by the touch; he’s not the one who needs comfort, “Rosa was four. It was all- pretty fast. One day we were helping my mom sell enchiladas on the street, the other we went on a days-long trip. And suddenly, we didn’t know anything. Even the way we sat would get us weird looks. We couldn’t understand anyone. No one could understand us. She was terrified.”

Magnus swallows down the lump on his throat. He understands this way too well, having seen his mom’s language suddenly become forbidden in her own house. It’s scary, being locked away from the world like this.

“She stopped talking,” he continues. “At all. Even in spanish, at home, to our mom- she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t cry out when she was distressed, or in pain. She wouldn’t yelp in surprise. It was like she was mute.”

“She must have been scared,” Magnus says, trying to sound sympathetic, and not like he had no idea what to say.

“It was scary. I think- if she wasn’t there, I might have done the same thing.”

Magnus keeps stroking his hair.

“But I couldn’t, because I had to take care of her. Our mom couldn’t. There was so much on her plate. I was so worried for Rosa. She was so bright, and funny, and smart, way more than me. Still is. I wish you could have met her,” he sighs. Magnus knows he’s grieving over that, too, all the things he didn’t do. “Seeing her so quiet, I couldn’t take it. I talked to our neighbors, they taught me English, so I could speak for her, and explain things to her. We made our own kind of sign language, so I could understand what she meant- and one day she started talking to me.

“Not anyone else, just me,” Raphael continues, “I would go with her everywhere. She would talk to me, and make jokes, and laugh - and then someone else would say something around us, and she would draw back again. It was terrible, seeing her so scared, kept away from the world. But I could be her bridge, and with that, she got to learn at her own pace. I didn’t, so I know that that’s a big deal.”

“It’s terrible,” Magnus agrees, “walking blindly trying to find straws to grasp, knowing you can’t afford to make mistakes.”

Raphael hums. “Did you have to leave after- your stepfather, too?”

“Well, no. I was found by my father soon after. But after I ran away from him - I was in a completely different country, in a completely different time, and I didn’t know anyone.”

Raphael nods again, in a way Magnus knows means he’s paying attention to what he says. His fingers start tracing little circles on Magnus’ belly, and he looks serious, like he’s trying to commit this information to memory.

He doesn’t ask anything, though, and Magnus is glad for that.

“You went through it so she didn’t have to,” he states. “That was pretty brave.” He knows Raphael isn’t a lot older than Rosa. From what he’s told Magnus, two or three years, tops. He can’t imagine it, being only six and having to figure out your own on the world, with the responsibility of someone else on your shoulders.

“I don’t regret it. I kept trying to teach her English, even if she wouldn’t say anything when I did. I knew she was listening. Eventually she started talking again. First with my mom and the neighbors, in Spanish, then a little English then and there. She can speak perfectly now.”

Magnus nods. “She’s strong, too.”

“She is.” Raphael’s smile is unbearably sad, barely a tug, his eyes too still. “But to me- I still see that little girl who was too scared to stand up for herself. She’s so- great, and happy, and I was supposed to be there, to take the blows for her, to make sure she keeps- she doesn’t-”

Raphael shakes his head. “I know she can do without me,” he continues, “but I don’t want her to have to. And I- I don’t want to do without her.”

There’s a sob at the end of the sentence, and then a few more. It’s way more quiet than the breakdown he had when Magnus first found him, or that fateful day when he finally caved and tried to eat the blood on Magnus’ stock; he’s not crying with abandon. He holds himself tight, and hides his face on Magnus’ chest, and doesn’t make too much noise.

That makes it even more heartbreaking.

“I had to run away,” Raphael says. “When she started crying, telling me to stay. I had to run away so she wouldn’t see me break down. I turned my back on her. I’m so sorry. God, Dios, I’m so sorry-”

“You’re protecting her,” Magnus tries to reassure him. He knows it’s pointless, but he tries anyway. At the very least, he doesn’t want Raphael to feel guilty for doing the right thing. “You didn’t turn your back. She knows this. She knows you wouldn’t turn her back on her, Raphael. She knows.”

“I couldn’t even hug her,” is all Raphael answers, muffled by the tears.

Magnus holds him tighter, purely on instinct. He feels a little silly; he’s nowhere near the comfort Raphael wants. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and Magnus is nothing but the reminder that his life is all upside down.

A crazy, lonely warlock who can barely handle his own baggage. That’s all he has to offer to Raphael.

But he’ll still offer it.

“Lo siento,” he repeats again, “cry away, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Lo siento.” Then, because he feels like Raphael doesn’t know it, and he needs to, “you’re a good man, Raphael. You’re so good to your sister. She won’t forget that.”

It makes Raphael sob harder, but he keeps it up, knows he needs to know it, and needs to let it out too. “You did good,” “you’re a good brother,” “you’re so strong,” “I’m proud of you.” He barely notices it when the first “te quiero” slips; probably wouldn’t have had at all, if Raphael hadn’t immediately answered.

“Te quiero también,” he says. It’s the first thing he’s said since Magnus started talking.

Magnus takes that as a win, and continues to comfort him, letting Raphael cry himself to sleep.

Once he does, instead of pulling away, Magnus simply lies down on the couch, and sleeps right there with him, hand still tangled in Raphael’s hair.

It’s as much for his sake as it is for Raphael’s.

*

When Magnus gets home, back from a day of shopping for potion ingredients and getting some more blood to replenish his supply, the sun is about to set. He’s pleasantly tired, ready to waste the rest of his evening away with Raphael, who must be waking up.

He closes the door behind him, and there’s a blur in his peripheral vision. Fast and noisy and going straight in Magnus’ direction, too fast for him to even process anything but the threat.

The worst part is, his first instinct is to freeze. The flinch is all but imperceptible, the move to cover his face and not really defend himself; he doesn’t move, doesn’t jump, his magic doesn’t react in time. Pliant. Helpless.

He registers that, bitterly and with just the narrow - sharp - edge of fear, before he registers that it’s just Raphael.

Who’s looking miserable. And also has a bag in hand.

“Sorry,” Magnus says, at the same time, and his tone just as small, as Raphael. He almost laughs to himself at the ridiculous pair they make, before he’s distracted by his double take. Raphael has a bag in hand.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Magnus says, his body looking as if it’s waiting for the bell to ring so he can move. Undecided on his next step. “What’s going on?”

“I think I should leave,” Raphael answers, and even if it’s a direct answer to his question, it still feels abrupt. “I was just getting my things and waiting for the sun to set. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Oh.

He- wasn’t expecting that, somehow. Raphael had been doing well lately, but he hadn’t really found a clan. Magnus wasn’t even aware that he was getting close to other vampires. “Okay,” he says, like he hadn’t been planning on watching a movie with Raphael that night, or teaching him how to make potions next week - Raphael had mentioned that he liked cooking, but it was too painful to do that just yet when he knew he couldn’t eat, so Magnus was thinking of teaching him how to make some potions that didn’t require magic, have him reconnect, somehow, with his hobby. Then again, it’s not like he told Raphael about any of these plans. He just- assumed. “Where are you going?” is the first thing he asks, stomach churning at the idea that it’s the New York Clan. He doesn’t want Raphael with- her. Then again, it’s not any of his business.

Raphael looks, if possible, even more miserable. “I’m not sure. For now I was just going to look for the nearest one. Then I’d see where would be best.” Then, mumbling to himself, almost like some sort of reassurance, “New York is big, there must be plenty of clans.”

Actually, there is only one, because Camille has been systematically dismantling and destroying other clans for decades now, and Magnus stops and frowns. Raphael doesn’t even know about the clan situation in New York. Why is he in such a rush to move?

Magnus sits down on the couch opposite from him, slowly. Like he’s afraid of scaring Raphael away. Once he’s settled down, legs crossed, arms relaxed, he speaks, “wouldn’t you rather know the clan before you move there? It’s a pretty big commitment,” as softly as he can. Maybe Raphael needs a change, he reasons with himself. Or maybe he just wants to get away from here. “If the problem is the loft, I can always redecorate it. Or I can find an hotel for you to stay,” he offers. Raphael shakes his head vehemently, like Magnus’ words are attacking him.

“No. I don’t want to take even more from you.”

Understanding downs on Magnus like the descending of an elevator, and suddenly he feels silly. Of course. He should have known. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, “you not wanting to impose?”

“I think we can both agree that I overextended my stay here.”

“You must have really good persuasion skills, then,” Magnus answers, raising an eyebrow. Raphael always speaks - clearly, for lack of a better word, almost technically, his terms precise and specific. But when he talks like that, like the lines were taken from a textbook, Magnus knows that he’s speaking from rationality, not from heart. He can’t say he likes it.

Raphael just looks at him for a moment, brow just slightly furrowed. Like even he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the end, he replies like Magnus hadn’t said anything, “I’ve been here for months. Just staying and- crying.” He says it like he’s tripping, and there it is. That little lapse of truth. Magnus tries to grab it with all his might. Subtly.

“If I recall correctly, you also tended to my bruises right on the first month,” he says, “and showed me some really good music the other night.”

Raphael grimaces like Magnus is being difficult. “You know what I mean. You’ve been way too kind to me. I can’t keep taking advantage,” he says, sincerely.

“You’re not taking advantage. It doesn’t bother me.”

Raphael chuckles, like the idea is a joke. “You don’t mind a stranger staying at your house, feeding off your supply, needing your help at every turn for three months?”

“It’s hardly a stranger if they’ve been living with me for three months.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, sighing, like he’s drained, like he’s trying to get every ounce of air to have the energy to keep going. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s because I appreciate it that I can’t keep doing this. I’m pulling you down, taking your space. I have to go and figure this out on my own.”

“I don’t think you’re underappreciating me,” Magnus answers sincerely, and for a second, it feels like his own offer of vulnerability to Raphael, “I think you’re underappreciating yourself.”

“It’s not about me,” Raphael says after a second of silence. “It’s just. I’ve been taking too much from you. And I know you’ll just keep letting me. Don’t tell me it isn’t true,” he adds when Magnus makes just the smallest of moves, “It’s not fair. You’re giving me a house, things to- feed, emotional support. You were there for me after Rosa, you-” Raphael falters, and that’s new. He hardly ever leaves a sentence unfinished, unless he’s having a breakdown. “It’s too much,” he finishes softly, painfully.

“It’s not,” Magnus says, just as softly. He sees Raphael shake his head, like he’s ready to say that Magnus is lying, so he takes a split second decision. “Having you here far outweights it.”

It’s his own display of vulnerability, but it’s not incidental, this time. It’s not an offer for Raphael to take, either; it’s a promise of honesty he makes to the both of them. He doesn’t want this conversation to be over before it even starts.

So he continues. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Raphael looks positively shocked, the force of it taking up all of his features, like he hadn’t even considered that option. He looks more shocked than he did when he first saw Magnus using magic. Magnus tries not to let that sting too much, not to think, did I do something wrong? Does he really not know?. Tries not to wonder if he’s so closed off he’s forgotten how to love. If he’s denying that boy the affection he so clearly needs, even as he feels it. If he’s becoming Camille, or his father.

“Having you here… It’s been doing me good. You have no idea how much,” he confesses, a little scared of how scared he is of saying it. “You’ve been giving way more than you think,” he finishes, nowhere near satisfied with what he’s managed to express, but still not knowing how he could continue.

“I don’t understand,” Raphael says, and the sincerity of it cuts Magnus.

“I-,” Magnus doesn’t look at him. He can’t. There’s something grabbing at his throat, a mix of fear and pride, the kind that’s heavy, that pulls you down. “I’ve been lonely,” he manages.

Raphael still looks lost, almost afraid, like a lone sailor who sees a storm approaching. So out of his depth it’s terrifying.

Magnus sighs and pauses, trying to gather himself, because he feels the same way. He's never even talked about this with anyone who wasn't there when it happened - and even then, Ragnor, Cat, and Dot had gotten a version with more furtive silences than words. Because they were there, and they knew how to fill the gaps.

Talking about his mum had been easier. Hell, even his father.

Camille was different. And he battled within himself, simultaneously sure that he was just telling this to Raphael to force him to stay, and that telling him would drive him away for good. And that's just typical, with Camille - all paths are equally painful, and all lead to the same place, no matter how wildly different and even conflicting.

So, in a fit of stubbornness, and defiance, he does the opposite of what he's convinced he should do. He tells Raphael.

"I had an ex. A vampire. Over a century ago," he begins, and has it been this long? It definitely doesn't feel like it, the wound fresh and rotting like it was carved only yesterday, like it was being carved right now, "she drove me away from almost everyone." He admits quietly, and feels, strangely, like what Raphael had described a confession to be like. "Even Ragnor, and Catarina. I-" deep breath, "I haven't been able to bounce back."

"What did she do?" Raphael asks, and his voice is quiet, soothing, as if it's holding Magnus' hand. But there's a strain underneath, too, something that sounds like the fire that burns in his eyes, that rightful fury that reminded him of hell. A fire Magnus had only really seen in the eyes of those who believe in it.

"Honestly? I don't know," Magnus says, truthfully, despairingly, like he hates the words. "It was just exhausting. Terrifying. Every time I looked, it seemed I was more cornered than before, and I was so scared of being alone, scared enough that I'd just… Let her do what she wanted," he admits, the shame burning hot in his throat, scratching him raw, leaving him defenseless and burning and weak like before. But he pushes through, a miracle in and of itself, "and she convinced me that she was the only one who could ever love, or even like, me."

Raphael looks at him, that fiery gaze even more intense than before, and Magnus can't face it, because if he does, it'll take him over, and he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve its protectiveness. It'll burn him, because he's unworthy, and he's weak, and heavenly fire is poison to people like him.

His hands are clenched so tight they're shaking, and he focuses on them, on the grounding pain, on the movements of his fingers as he rubs them together. "When I freezed, today," he says, his voice sounding shaky, and small, and pathetic, "it was instinct. Something I learnt from her. When she was mad, she would come to me running, just like you did," so fast he just heard the noise of the disgruntled air being cut by her body, sharp and loud and destructive, "sometimes she'd shove me, sometimes she wouldn't. But I never knew, so sometimes I flinched, and that would - really hurt her. So I learnt not to flinch, just freeze and brace myself to keep from hitting my head."

Raphael hisses, and Magnus jolts, seeing his fangs are drawn out. He covers his mouth with his hands quickly, looking a little sorry, but still burning, rage, anger, fury. He's getting better at controlling himself, though, because he manages to draw them back, and say "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, that's - probably the last thing you want to hear now is a vampire hissing."

Magnus chuckles, humorless, "it's ok, my boy. You don't scare me, just- like I said, it was instinct."

"Still, I don't want to force you to remember that. If I had known what I was doing to you-"

"No!" Magnus says, with that kind of strength and conviction that jolts his whole body, his brain only processing that he said it after he already had. "No, no, Raphael, I'm sorry, that's not what I was trying to say at all, my boy, I'm sorry-"

"I just never expected to be hurting you on top of-"

"You don't! That's what I was trying to say-"

"Please, Magnus, what can I do to-"

"No, my boy, no," he says, this time calm, but firm, and Raphael silences. Briefly, he notices that he got up at some point.

Raphael looks at him, and his eyes are big and wild and expectant, like he's waiting to follow Magnus' lead, and it's heartwarming and confusing and helps him keep talking.

"It's not about that. You hadn't even done anything that reminded me of her before this, today," he says softly, softer than he's ever heard himself talk. "And it was just a split second. Believe me."

"I believe you," Raphael answers, nodding. Magnus smiles.

"What I am trying to say," he continues, making a show of sitting back down on the couch, all relaxed body and certain movements, and he can see Raphael visibly relax on his own couch, "is that after her, I was afraid that everyone would hurt me. I was afraid that I'd let them, like I had let her. I put up walls, and I made a front for myself, and I didn't let anyone get close. I didn't make any new friends. And I felt as lonely as I thought I would once she left me."

Raphael looks at him with something akin to shock in his eyes, but Magnus just keeps going, not stopping to think of the implications of that. "You're the first person who got close to me. You're my friend, and having you here has been doing me so good," he confesses, "to remind me that I don't have to be lonely, that I won't be. You haven't just been taking, my boy, you've given me so much. So-," he stops when he sees Raphael get up and walk towards him.

The hug is almost sudden, even if it follows very slow, calculated movements, the kind that is designed to give you every out. Magnus overflows with it, even with the awkward position of him sitting and Raphael standing, even with the limited contact. Raphael's face hides into his shoulder, and he feels fierce, strong protectiveness in place of the vulnerability from before.

"So," he chokes out, "I really don't want you to go."

Raphael nods. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

"None of that," Magnus laughs, a little wobbly, like he's overloaded.

Raphael huffs, suspiciously fond. Then he says, "te quiero, Magnus."

Magnus' eyes widen only slightly, and he answers, "te quiero también."

*

Magnus stumbles down the street, trying to support himself on a nearby house’s wall. He’s close; only a matter of two blocks before he gets home, but he feels like he’s been walking there forever. He’s so exhausted he didn’t even manage to portal himself home.

It had been an emergency call - a friend of Catarina’s who had recently adopted a little warlock girl reported her missing. They went straight to Magnus. He had been dedicating a lot of his time to that, recently, many warlocks reaching out to him when there was some kind of emergency.

He’s always kind of fulfilled that role, helping people when they needed it, but recently the number of calls he’d gotten had skyrocketed.

People have been speaking of making him High Warlock of The City Of New York.

There’s no High Warlock of The City Of New York.

He doesn’t even know if there are any High Warlocks for specific cities; distance is not a problem, so High Warlock positions usually cover a pretty large area. Hell, some of them cover entire countries. The Iberian Peninsula has only one, and most of the time she is so bored she petitioned to be able to make regular warlock work as well.

(It was approved.)

But New York - New York had been messy, and scary, recently. There had been a rise on hate crimes, and most of the downworlder community was on edge - but especially warlocks, who had been preferential victims of kidnapping. Crazy shadowhunters wanting to study “demon blood”.

They weren’t very organized political groups - yet. But the number of hateful shadowhunter groups had been on the rise, and the Clave had done nothing to stop it - not that anyone expected them to.

And New York, well, it had a pretty high warlock population density, and a particularly uncaring Institute in the hands of particularly bigoted shadowhunters. It was the best place for hate groups to start, and the High Warlock of the state hadn’t been managing to handle all the calls from all the population.

Hence why Magnus had been called in so many times, and why people were speaking of giving him a position.

He’s not sure if he should take it - certainly there are people more fit for the job than him. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on his people in such a hard time, and he never believed a lot in institutions such as the High Warlock position in times like this. And - well, he isn’t sure if he would be able to manage all of the region’s problems, his own, and also take care of Raphael.

Not that Raphael needs him a lot - he was more and more independent these days, long used or at least resigned to his vampire life. He has started volunteering as a cook in a nearby shelter, something Magnus had learnt filled him with joy; he’s made a few other downworlder friends, even a few vampires. It has been over a year - soon, Magnus guesses, he won’t need Magnus anymore, and will look for a real place to live in.

Magnus is - scared of that.

He doesn’t want to - he should be happy for Raphael, and he is, he truly is. He’s glad he’s making friends, going outside, finding joy, reconnecting with himself, his love for cooking, finding a place and a community. He’s proud of him, even. He would never want Raphael to be dependant on him, unhappy and lonely.

Honestly, Magnus is probably the dependant one.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Raphael - he had been feeling so lonely before him, even with his small group of friends, with his regular visits to Pandemonium; he had no one to talk to and no one to give him company for more than an hour or two. He and Raphael had settled into an easy routine; for the first time in, who knows, so long, Magnus felt like he had someone to share his life with, somewhere to belong, something he could be a part of.

It scared him to know he’d lose that soon. Raphael won’t want to see him again once he leaves - Magnus is probably a walking reminder of the worst moments of his life, anyway.

Seeing him leave will hurt.

But as long as Raphael is still there, he’ll want to focus on him, because Raphael doesn’t have anywhere else to go, while there are plenty of competent warlocks who could take a High Warlock position. He doesn’t want to leave his people, and he won’t - which is precisely why he won’t take such a responsibility if he can’t have it be his priority. Even if he knows Raphael probably won’t be there for much longer.

But he doesn’t want to prepare for that ahead of time. He doesn’t want to face the inevitability of it.

He’s just so scared of being left. Even if he knows it’ll happen. Has to happen. For Raphael’s happiness. For his good. It’s not like Raphael - owes it to him to keep in touch, to see him, when Magnus knows that he had no choice when he decided to stay with Magnus, and he probably only represents more pain for the boy.

So he supposes he’ll cross that bridge when it comes crashing down under his feet.

He’s alright with that - it’s not like preparing himself will really lessen the pain.

The visits that end up being shorter and shorter, the calls that will stop being returned, the furtive running when Raphael encounters Magnus by chance - Magnus knows he’ll pull away slowly, because Raphael is a nice boy, and he probably thinks that it would be ungrateful to cut Magnus off his life completely once he leaves.

But the disgust- the bad memories will win out, eventually.

And that’s okay. Magnus doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Much less to Raphael - he’s not only company, not just someone to fill the hole Camille left in his heart; Raphael might be the person that comes closest to understanding him. He knows about Magnus’ past, and he understands what it’s like to lose everything you knew in just a day. He’s hilariously sarcastic and never endingly good, he cares for others more than he cares about himself sometimes, he has a patience Magnus could never hope for and a cool head that never meant a cold heart. Magnus was so proud of him, of how he acted and his values, he could cry. He loved Raphael like he’d love a son, and he’d rather die than make Raphael suffer, force him to revisit the times that almost managed to dull his light and pull him away from the very things he dedicated his heart to.

He wishes he could be something other than darkness in people’s lives, though.

At least he managed to save today’s girl - she had been kidnapped by a small, but vicious shadowhunter supremacist group, and even her caretaker couldn’t find her.

Magnus had been trying to find her for a few days, when he supposed one of the shadowhunters slipped up. He got a try. He got to her fairly easily, but he didn’t know what state she was in, or what they were planning. Catarina was working a shift, Ragnor took too long to answer, and Dot was helping the actual High Warlock with another problem she couldn’t tell them about. But Magnus didn’t have time to wait, so it was just him and Kai - the girl’s caretaker.

Kai was also a warlock, although a pretty young one - only starting to venture into their 50s. Noelani, the girl, was only 7, just old enough to start to get a real hold of her magic, and just naïve enough to let people know about that. They had been on visit in New York, Kai having been called to speak about gender colonialism at a Nā ʻŌiwi NYC event. As their tutor - Noelani wanted to be a kahuna lapa’au, a magical healer, and, as the only other warlock and seeing as māhūs were traditionally responsible for keeping alive the traditional hawaiian practices, Kai had taken her under their wing - Kai had taken her with them, and the bright, overly enthusiastic about sharing her knowledge of magic, girl had attracted the attention of shadowhunters. About halfway through the month-long event, she went missing, and Kai called to Catarina, who was helping them both with healing magic, and who called for Magnus’ help.

Taking down the shadowhunters with their combined power wasn’t hard, even if Magnus did most of the work - there were only 4 of them, although he suspects they might have other connections. But the last one managed to cut Magnus with her sword, and, as it turned out, it had magic-suppressing venom.

If Kai hadn’t given her the final blow, Magnus could have been in deep trouble.

As it was, though, they were both fine, and they managed to leave with Noelani safe, the shadowhunters’ little lair burnt to a crisp, and their bodies sent over to the nearest clave branch. Magnus knew the clave wouldn’t mind, because that way they could return the bodies to their families, say they died honorably in some battle, and once it was clear that the crimes were stopping, take credit for solving the problem.

“Protecting the downworlder community is part of our job,” they kept saying, even as they did a piss-poor one.

But Magnus couldn’t portal back, and, because Kai had never been to his loft, the best they could do to help was portal him somewhere in Brooklyn. Magnus didn’t have any money for the subway or a cab either, so walking it was. Noelani and Kai had offered to walk him to the loft, but he had waved them off, saying that he was fine, just needed a magic replenishing potion; and besides, they were scared and needed time to cool down. A walk would probably do him good, anyway, get some exercise and a bit of fresh air after so long working on this case.

It was all true, at the time. But the venom seemed to have longer-term effects that were much slower on the uptake. By the time he reached the street of his loft, he was exhausted, his wound was bleeding out, and he had trouble walking as well as breathing.

By the looks of it, the shadowhunters were succeeding in creating new weapons against downworlders. Fantastic.

He would be fine though. He just needed to get home, take his magic replenishing potion, and then get rid of the venom. Worst case scenario, he’d call Catarina. She’d know what to do, and if she didn’t, she would figure it out. She was smart like that.

So that’s what Magnus is telling himself as he limps down the last bit he needs in order to get home, the magic replenishing potion is on the apothecary, right on the first drawer, you just need to drink it, have a stamina potion if you need to keep yourself awake as well, you’ll be fine, as he stops for a moment to get some breath, almost there, just this little breath and you’ll be fine, no need to panic, it’s okay to go slow, as he starts walking once again, just that corner and a few more steps and that’ll be it, the wards will let you in, it’s so close now, come on, as he turns around the corner, there’s a shadowhunter at my doorstep.

There’s a shadowhunter at his doorstep.

Magnus blood runs cold, and instinctively he freezes, but the shadowhunter immediately turns to look at him. They’re like sharks, they can smell his blood as soon as it starts to drip down, showing his weakness. They thrive on it.

This guy is not here as a clave representative - if he were, that wouldn’t be much better, but the fact that he’s not makes even more anxiety pool deep inside of him. Magnus didn’t tell them he was the one who gave them the bodies, and if they traced the magic back, it would be Kai’s, not his. Besides, the shadowhunter’s alone, and smiling, and shadowhunters never smile when it comes to clave business.

He also has a huge seraph blade drawn and at the ready. And shadowhunters do smile when it comes to using these.

“Magnus Bane,” he says, almost conversationally, except for his distinctly threatening stance. Magnus figures the snarl at the end of his words is just how he’d normally say any downworlder’s name. “I knew we should have come for you sooner. This little chat of ours is long overdue, don’t you think?”

Were he not in a distinctly weakened state, Magnus would be rolling his eyes. Shadowhunters’ one-liners were always absolutely terrible, and the fact that they always said it like they were evil geniuses only made it more cringe-worthy.

But Magnus is is a distinctly weakened state, and he can’t afford himself to relax, not when he know he’s slow and weak and has no magic. So he stays still, and stops his automatic magic functions - his magic already subconsciously keeps his glamour up and his adrenal glands producing testosterone, even when Magnus is too weak to use it consciously, much in the same way that his body would keep breathing if Magnus were in a coma. Right now, though, he needs every reserve he can get, and he’s also hoping that having his warlock mark exposed will make him look more ready for the fight than he actually is. Maybe even make the shadowhunter feel a bit more threatened.

It doesn’t. He’s starting to shake in weakness and the shadowhunter only lets out a low whistle. “Oh, I love it when you do this. You guys try so hard to hide it, pretend you’re real people, don’t you? But this is when you show who you really are. Ugly, deformed animals. You know it, and you can’t hide it, not when it matters.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if he could. He just looks at him, his vision at least a little better with his natural eyes out at night, his legs shaking slightly as he tries to keep himself upright, his throat closing up in fear and the almost childish refusal to let the shadowhunter’s words truly sink in.

He’s too weak to throw a punch. He’s too slow to run, and has no place to go to. He has no weapon. He barely has enough magic to create some sparkles, even now that he ceased all of its functions. He can’t send a fire message to call for help. Raphael isn’t home. Maybe if the shadowhunter lunges at him and he can reach his throat, he can use the last of his magic to taze him, but even that’s a long shot. He can feel his magic getting weaker and weaker, and the shadowhunter’s sword is long. He has no strength, he has no speed. He has just enough adrenaline running to keep up with what’s going on. The shadowhunter lets out a disdainful, “bring it on, warlock,” and makes towards him.

And it hits him. He’s going to die.

He’s going to die the only way he never wanted to - by the hands of greedy, hateful killers, his body to be used to inspire more fear in his people. Weaponized against those he tried to protect.

And painfully.

Bleeding out. Beaten up. Helpless and tired. And something tells him this shadowhunter won’t mind taking his sweet time with him.

Magnus falls as soon as the shadowhunter’s body hits him, a full force launch that knocks him down easy. So easy the shadowhunter himself loses his balance for a second, not expecting so little resistance, and in his stumble Magnus manages to touch his neck.

But not to conjure any magic.

He realizes, belatedly, that he should have gone for his eyes. It wouldn’t require much strength, and if he fell down, Magnus would have a chance of making it to his loft. He could even call Catarina the mundane way from there, not to mention he had his wards.

But he didn’t. He tries to reach up with his other hand, but the shadowhunter lands a punch to his exposed ribs before he can. When his arms fall down from the blow, he steps down on Magnus’ shoulder, hard, not enough to break anything, but enough for him to scream, which is just humiliating.

He’s going to die, and he can feel the cold of the seraph blade against his throat, and the shadowhunter is probably saying something, and he doesn’t know how he could move without cutting himself right now, and he’s too weak to do anything, and the adrenaline is only helping him panic, not think, and the shadowhunter is probably laughing, enjoying his weakness like they always do, and he’s going to die, and that might be his last thought, he’s going to die, alone and weak and hated and not even managing to put up a real fight, this shadowhunter is going to kill him, and he’s going to die.

Raphael lunges at the shadowhunter and breaks his neck.

It cracks like wood under someone’s feet, and just like that, he’s gone.

“Raphael,” is all Magnus can manage, and it’s a useless thing to say, but it’s the only one he wants to right now.

Raphael. Raphael. He’s here. He saved Magnus.

“Magnus,” he answers, his voice laced with all the fear Magnus was feeling before, and Magnus can barely register why. Suddenly, he’s lying on his couch, and there’s noises of things being open and thrown out so fast coming from his apothecary he kind of snaps into life again.

“Mierda, mierda, mierda, carajo, coñ- puta madre, ese desgraciado puso esa mierda en su- vamos, vamos, por favor, Magnus-”

Magnus has no idea what he’s saying, even if he has a feeling he could piece it together if he could think clearly right now, but Spanish is far from coming naturally to him. Still, Raphael says his name with so much anguish, Magnus feels the need to intervene.

“First drawer of my desk. Magic replenishing,” he says, still a little weak. Raphael is at his feet so fast he can’t help but jump, and Raphael’s face does something that Magnus can only describe as twisting.

“Sorry,” he says, and for a second Magnus marvels at the fact that Raphael knows, that he understands. He’s forgotten what that felt like, to have someone know, to not have to fake smiles whenever he was forced to remember. “Please drink, Magnus, please,” he insists when Magnus looks at him for too long.

Magnus gives him a small nod, then downs the potion. He can feel his magic spark to life again, slowly filling back up. He feels more aware, more grounded, even if still tired.

Raphael looks at him expectantly, like he’s hoping for Magnus to start floating or curing himself, so he feels the need to explain, “it’ll take a while for it to fully take effect.”

Raphael tenses in a way that tells Magnus that if he had weaker self control he’d be bouncing around the walls. “We can’t wait. Magnus. What else can I do? Please-”

“Did you- my wound-”

“Applied pressure, bandaged a little, I couldn’t find-”

“Third drawer, the little purple thing. I also need a stamina potion. I’m afraid I don’t have this one at the ready.”

Raphael is back with his balm. “Should I call Catarina? I couldn’t remember her number.”

Magnus shakes his head, even if he’s a little unsure. He doesn’t want to bother Catarina, but he also doesn’t want to put more stress on Raphael. Then again, standing in the sidelines while Catarina works would probably only make him more agitated. “You can make it pretty easily. Just mix some ginger powder, grinded malagueta, honey, and werewolf fangs. Equal parts. They’re in my apothecary, all labeled-”

“Like this?” he has all the ingredients in an instant, and mixes them in front of Magnus, like he’s afraid of doing it unsupervised. Magnus knows he’s far from a boy, but when he’s like this, so eager to help and anxious for his guidance, Magnus can’t help thinking of him like one.

Like a son, he tries not to think, even if he knows, deep down, that that’s what he feels. He’s watched Raphael grow and build himself, has seen him change and open up and look up to Magnus for help, for advice. He’s held him as he cried and been shocked to find out Raphael could do the same, too. Every time he sees Raphael helping others, or making new friends, or starting new projects, pride swells in his chest as if ready to burst. Raphael is his own man, but Magnus also feels that a part of him is permanently with him, and a part of him is permanently changed by Raphael’s presence.

It’s terrible, and he knows it. Raphael has his own family. The last thing he’d ever want would be to replace them.

But Magnus can’t help it.

So instead of saying any of that, Magnus just nods, and adds the last bit of magic that the potion needed to hold up, and drinks it in spoonfuls as Raphael carefully lifts his bandages, cleans his wound up with alcohol - for the second time, Magnus can tell now that he’s paying attention, and either Raphael was incredibly fast or he was more out of it than he thought - and spreads the balm in deliberately slow strokes.

It fills him to the brim with a mix of pride and some sort of love that’s almost painful, aching. He knows Raphael is doing it not to scare him and he feels so- touched, he can barely compute it.

He tries to reign it back in before any tears could make their presence known, and by the time Raphael is done, the wound is already closing and Magnus can feel his glamour snapping back into place and his hormone activity returning to normal. Soon the magic will finish what the balm started and the wound will be closed. He’ll just have to check to make sure the venom is out of his system. But if his simple magic replenishing potion was enough to undo its effect, he supposes it can’t hold up for more than a few hours.

“Water,” Raphael says, resolutely, “and food.”

“I don’t think I should eat,” Magnus protests, and immediately regrets it when Raphael’s eyes widen like he just passed out. No matter how much time passes, he never fully gets used to Raphael’s idea that feeding a person will solve all their problems.

Not that the idea itself is that foreign to him, but - the gesture is. No one’s really worried about that since he lost his mother.

“It’ll slow down the healing potion,” he explains, “I haven’t fully absorbed it.”

Raphael keeps still for a second, like he struggles to process that, but then he nods. “Water, then,” he says in a tone of finality that Magnus wouldn’t have dared to protest, even if he hadn’t noticed that he’s actually pretty thirsty. When he comes back with a cup and the hugest water bottle Magnus had on the fridge, he ends up drinking it all, and then some more after Raphael fills it again, until finally he feels like he’s stable enough to fully settle into his tiredness. His head falls back on the couch, and he closes his eyes as he hears Raphael shuffle about and carefully sit beside him.

Once he’s done, Raphael wraps his arms around Magnus and rests his face on Magnus’ shoulder, and Magnus has the weird feeling that he’s comforting Raphael as much as Raphael’s comforting him, even if that makes no real sense. His grip is so tight it almost hurts, but it’s exactly that Magnus needs, comforting and putting the best kind of pressure over him, grounding him, making him feel- safe. Raphael knows it, he realizes, he’s been living with Magnus long enough to know what he needs for comfort.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Raphael asks, slightly muffled. His hands are rubbing up and down Magnus’ arm, where they meet, like he wants to make sure Magnus knows he’s real.

“I feel fine,” he replies, and it’s not a lie. “My mind isn’t foggy anymore, my magic is going back to normal, the wound is closing. Soon I’ll be good as new,” he half-jokes. Raphael just nods, but otherwise doesn’t move an inch, and Magnus allows himself to just bask in that presence, that feeling of- home.

(He shouldn’t think it, he really shouldn’t. Not when he knows this is the last place Raphael would want to call his home)

“Are you okay?” Magnus finds himself asking, when the silence starts to feel heavy enough to put itself between them. Raphael looks at him like he’s crazy, and Magnus would feel sheepish if he had enough energy for that.

“He didn’t even touch me, Magnus, I’m fine,” Raphael says, in a slightly confused but still reassuring tone, like he’s afraid Magnus hasn’t processed what went down.

“You killed him,” Magnus replies, shame lodged at the base of his throat.

He couldn’t defend himself. He was weak, and dependant, and Raphael had had to step in for him. Raphael, who almost starved himself so he wouldn’t hurt others, who paid penance almost every day, who could barely handle the thought of upsetting someone else. He killed someone because Magnus was too weak.

He imagines catching the boy on his knees again, burning himself with ashes because of this, and the thought makes his stomach churn.

“Yeah,” Raphael says, still rubbing his arm affectionately, the touch grounding, “yeah, he’s gone, it’s okay.”

He thinks of his father’s voice, booming and disdainful. You’re weak. Thinks of feeling stuck, of being a burden, dependant. You need me. Thinks of Camille-

“Magnus,” Raphael says again, a note of desperation in his voice. He always got so lost when it seemed like Magnus lost his footing, and it only made him feel more responsible. “Magnus, it’s okay. You’re safe. He’s gone. You have your wards. I’m here. No one else-”

“I know. I just… I didn’t want to make you do this,” he admits, embarrassed. It makes him feel more childish, the way there’s nothing he can do. Nothing he could have done. He put yourself in danger, and he wasn’t strong enough to end it himself. If-

“Magnus,” Raphael interrupts, sounding shocked, “he was going to kill you.”

Magnus nods, a self deprecating smile on his lips. “I know.”

Raphael swallows, and Magnus can feel the distress in his movements, in the way his hands twitch, and his arms sometimes press a little too tight against Magnus for just a second. “Please tell me you weren’t going to let him,” Raphael says, “please tell me you weren’t- Magnus,” he pleads.

“I wasn’t going to let him,” he says, “I just. Couldn’t win. Of course I would, if I had the chance, I just. Wish I hadn’t made you- I know how you feel about hurting others.”

He turns to look at Raphael, even if it slightly upsets their embrace, and his eyes are wide like he can barely process what Magnus just said. He wonders, briefly, if Raphael hadn’t realized what he had done, until Raphael speaks. “Magnus. He was going to kill you. I would kill him a thousand times over. Honestly, I- I won’t even ask for forgiveness for this one.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to do with these words. They hit him like cold water, shocking but way too quick for him to realize it.

“I don’t care, Magnus,” Raphael says, even more emphatic this time.

Magnus breaks down crying.

It’s - hard to explain. He’s still scared of being so weak, the idea that he almost died still hitting him with shock every once in a while like crackling electricity. And he doesn’t want Raphael to have to deal with these things for him.

But there’s something about being cared for like this, of knowing that Raphael wouldn’t hesitate to protect him, that floods him with something that feels almost like relief.

He knows Raphael doesn’t have a “no-exceptions” moral code; he’s told him all about Rosa, about the fights he would get into when other students tried to bully her, about the people he’s hurt. He told Magnus about how he stabbed a white supremacist who went after a girl in Raphael’s neighborhood, one day. Raphael doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but there’s very little he wouldn’t do for those he loves.

I’d rather it is me making the hard choices, he had told Magnus once. It’s better if these sins are mine to carry.

But he knows how Raphael truly feels about it, from the small, almost imperceptible whisper that followed. I’m already rotten with them, anyway.

And Magnus feels terrible, sick to his stomach, like the worst man on Earth, that he added one more weight to Raphael’s shoulders. And even worse than that, because the fact that Raphael is willing to protect him, enough not to regret it, makes him feel so much lighter, better, relieved.

It’s been so long since anyone stood up for him without utterly despising him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hands going to his face so he can at least hide the tears that he knows he won’t be able to stop. Magnus rarely cries, is very good at hiding it up with smiles and gestures and mean comments, but when he does, it overtakes him with all his might, breaks him down into sobs like his lungs want to tear him apart, shakes him like there’s so much trying to get out that he can barely keep himself from bursting.

It’s ugly, and loud- and obnoxious, and annoying, and pathetic, and weak, and manipulative, and he can hear their annoyed voices in his head, every time we fight you just break down and then I have to stop everything and handle you, we will talk when you’re finished with this little fit of yours, and he can’t stop it.

“Don’t be sorry,” Raphael says, “don’t be sorry, okay? I don’t care, I’m just glad you’re okay, Magnus.”

Magnus nods, letting Raphael draw him closer and hide his face on his shoulders. He feels a little stiff, and cold, but Magnus melts all over him anyway, grabbing his torso desperately like he’s scared Raphael will be torn from him.

Raphael pets Magnus’ head slightly, muttering words of comfort to him, and he really feels like this whole thing is on reverse. He’s been the one to take care of Raphael for so long- and not just Raphael, he realizes.

By this point, taking care of others is something that comes from an almost sense of duty. If it were a choice, he would choose it, of course; but he doesn’t feel like it is. To not be the one helping Raphael feels completely unnatural, and he has a feeling that, if it were with someone else, it’d be good - but he feels like, somehow, he’s losing Raphael by doing this. Like it’s proof that he doesn’t need Magnus anymore.

He knew this. He already knew this. He’s been getting ready for it. But having Raphael hug him and murmur words of comfort to him, seeing himself as the dependant, crying one- it’s really rubbing it in.

He doesn’t even know what to do with it, because he’s not about to pull away, to drive their distance, to put himself together. He can’t. He’s so distraught, and wild, and terrified, all he can do is grab him like a lifeline, and hope that it’ll take at least a little longer for him to go.

“You’re alright. You’re safe. That’s all that matters to me. Okay? Don’t apologize. Te quiero,” Raphael says, in that short, calm, but unbearably strong way only he knows how.

“Te quiero también,” Magnus answers immediately, through sobs, agitated and weak, and just as sincere. He wants Raphael to know. That he loves him. That it’s okay.

Raphael nods and hugs him tighter, and keeps saying it. Te quiero, te quiero, I love you, Magnus, te quiero, te quiero tanto. It makes Magnus sob harder, but it’s good, and he needs it, needs it like his strength and magic, needs it like he needed Raphael to barge in at that moment, desperate and unwavering, and make him safe, and bring him home.

He cries to Raphael’s words, and then falls asleep to them, and by the time he wakes up, startled to see neither of them had moved an inch, and is practically yanked back into the hug as soon as he tries to move, he starts to believe them, too.

*

It wasn’t long after that that Magnus took the High Warlock job.

They got a better name for it - High Warlock of Brooklyn. Less of a mouthful, more respectful, even if not as accurate. He carries it with pride, of his role, of his people, of the lives he’s saved, the people he’s helped. Slowly, he’s using the role to turn the city of New York into a safety net for warlocks, keeping them connected and tuned to help each other when needed. He has to, otherwise there was no way he’d be able to handle the amount of cases they get.

But he’s happy with what he’s been doing with it, with the way his influence has slowly started to gather warlocks closer together, connecting instead of hiding away from each other. He’s proud to be building a community based on mutual support and trust. He’s proud of the way people look up to him.

And yes, part of the reason he did it was because he thought Raphael was going to leave soon. He wanted to have something else to do so the loneliness couldn’t get to him. He wanted to help more people, since it was clear Raphael didn’t need him.

Even if Raphael took his sweet time to leave. It’s been almost a year since that happened, half of which was spent with Raphael all but glued to Magnus’ back, like he was scared that Magnus would be attacked again. Magnus had not-so-subtly started to train more in front of him, with dramatic and impressive bursts of magic and powerful punches and kicks. Raphael smiled in a way that told him that he knew what Magnus was doing, but otherwise took a long time to relax.

But he’s ready for it. He knows it won’t last long. Maybe Raphael is scared of leaving him alone, is looking for a better place to stay, is letting him adjust to this new role he’s taken. Maybe he feels indebted still - he wouldn’t be surprised if Raphael refused to leave because he wanted to “repay” Magnus first.

Magnus tries not to let that part sting. He knows that’s just how Raphael is, never believing he deserves care without giving anything in return; but a part of him keeps thinking, he wants to pay his debts so he won’t be tied to you anymore.

Anyway. He’s ready. He is. Even if he still feels like his home is only truly home once Raphael is back from the restaurant, even if he loves his late night talks with him, even if he’s the first person Magnus has opened up to in centuries, even if he has to hold himself from saying that’s my boy! whenever Raphael brings in some good news, even if he’s growing used to ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead in goodbye and even if he’s definitely way too attached, he’s been preparing himself for it, and he’s ready.

That’s what he tells himself.

But Magnus is a terrible, terrible liar.

"I suppose this is not another guilt-ridden outburst," Magnus says, calmly. Steadily. Still.

Raphael's smile is small, but real. "No," he says, ruffling his hair. "I've given it a lot of thought."

"Of course," Magnus answers, neutral as the diplomat he sometimes is. He pretends to be looking at something in his desk, even if it's completely cleaned out and he always magics what he needs into his hands, anyway. "I assume you have a place to stay?"

Raphael lifts his chin. "I'm joining the New York clan."

"That's…"

"I know," he sighs. "Camille's clan. I hate it as much as you do. But I can't… I can't let her get away, Magnus. For what she did to you. For what she's doing to other vampires. I've only met a few, and she makes them miserable," his fists clench and unclench almost subconsciously, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that Raphael holds himself so tight Magnus is scared he'll snap out of his own skin.

"You don't have to- avenge me-"

His voice sounds almost angry in distress, which is - not what he wants. He very rarely fails to keep his tone in check, especially when it comes to things like these. But Raphael doesn't seem to mind. He knows full well Magnus isn't angry at him. It hurts a little, how easily he can read him.

"I know that," he says with a little tilt of his head, like he's acknowledging all that's going on inside of Magnus in that moment. "But I don't want to watch her destroy so many mundanes' lives. I don't want to go to another city and be away from home. And I don't want you to have to deal with her presence everywhere. I don't want her to go unchallenged-" he takes a deep breath. "She's a monster, and I want to take her down. And I have a plan to."

Magnus doesn't know what to say. Raphael sounds resolute beyond words. And even if he feels guilty - for turning against Camille when she had helped him once, for letting Raphael go through her violence because of him - he can't find it in himself to tell Raphael not to.

He's seen what she's been doing to the other vampires. Even helped a few of them she had turned her back to. If anything, they deserved better - but Camille was good with political alliances, and she ruled them with a mix of painful isolation, favors, and fear, just like she did Magnus.

His stomach turns, and suddenly he doesn't want to think about that.

He doesn't have to, because Raphael keeps talking. “You don’t have to visit me, of course. I’ll come here. I won’t make you see her, I promise. I’ll try not to let her know about us, if she doesn’t already.”

Magnus’ nod is a little dumb. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t go see Raphael. He can’t make it known that they know each other. He has to stay away. He was expecting the distance to stretch slowly; he never thought it’d be like this.

“I understand,” is all he can think to say, soft and with just the smallest hint of the sadness that swirls inside of him. He swallows, and hopes that the motion puts a lid on his feelings. “When are you leaving?”

He doesn’t think the question sounds like an accusation. But Raphael still lunges forward and takes his hands in his. “I’m going to visit, Magnus, I promise. I’ll need it, too.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he replies, a little embarrassed. “Wouldn’t want you to be stuck with her nail polish claws all the time.”

Raphael smiles at him, a tiny thing that doesn’t quite land, just like Magnus’ joke. “I’ll miss you, Magnus. What you did for me… I can’t say how much it means to me.”

“It was nothing,” Magnus says, and it feels like it’s choked out, but the end result is so smooth he’s almost terrified at his own ability to hide it. “Just what anyone would do.”

“No. Most people would help me. You gave me,” he looks down at his own hands, fingers twisting a little around Magnus’, like they’re not quite sure what to do with themselves, “a home,” is what he settles with, “when I didn’t think I could ever have one again. I- this means a lot to me, Magnus. You mean a lot to me.”

“You too, dear,” Magnus answers, a little more firmly this time. “Te quiero.”

“Yeah,” Raphael says, sounding somewhat defeated, and Magnus tries not to think about what that means. “Te quiero también.”

“Well then. Let’s plan your moving,” Magnus says, already thinking about how he’s going to redecorate Raphael’s old room. He does that a lot, and he knows it; his things are too easily tainted with the presence of others. When he loses them, he can’t stand them anymore.

Raphael lets himself be led by Magnus’ automatic rambling, and even when they eventually settle on the couch and Magnus falls asleep on his shoulder, the distance between them feels wider than ever.

*

Magnus has always wanted to have a family.

Even from before he lost his mom. He wished his stepfather would raise him. He wished him and his mother didn’t have a purely contractual relationship. He wished he wasn’t going to leave within a year. He wished he didn’t scream at them both, or look at them with what could only be described as disgust in his eyes, or twist his nose when Magnus came back from his apprenticeship with the dukun. He wished he didn’t hate their food.

He wished his mom hadn’t died. He wished he could feel her hands again, washing his hair, the soothing smell of jasmine. He wished he could make her laugh one more time. Better yet, smile. That wide, soft, careless smile she pointed at him sometimes. He wished she would hold his hand as they walked to the port, feeling the cool breeze when it was day, shielding him from the cold wind when it was night. He wished he could hear her say it again, the this is my child that soon turned, as it was clear what his gender was, this is my son.

He wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t hated him.

It made him sick to the brim, like he could barely stand being inside himself, to think about it. His mother hated him. His stepfather yelled it at him as he tried to drown him. His father was so terrible Magnus couldn’t even wish that he was different - he just wished to get away, to run, to hide, anything. To not be him. To not be his family.

But he wanted family. He wanted the comfort of knowing there would always be a group of people who’d care for one another. A group he could belong to. A group he could love. He wanted to have a home, and he didn’t want to do it alone. He wanted to be soothed by the certainty of having others around, not terrified by it. He longed, and he looked for one in all the right and wrong places - Ragnor, Catarina, Camille, Freddie, lovers and friends alike. In Ragnor he found a quirky and caring uncle. In Catarina a close friend. In Camille, just enough to feed his hope. In Freddie - maybe the closest he’d ever gotten to companionship, even if tainted by both of their fears of opening up, and lost forever to his death. Raphael had been the one who felt the most like it.

He knew it was preposterous to even hope to be Raphael’s family. It was everything to him, too. And he had actually had it once. Magnus wouldn’t know where to start making one. He felt so helpless at his leaving, just like he did when his stepfather yelled at him, when his mom died, when his father brought him to Edom at the end of another day.

He wasn’t destined to have it. He wasn’t supposed to. He was rotten, and immortal. Broken and tainted by bad choices. He lost his chance.

He really wanted some whisky.

“All settled,” he said once there was no other way of stalling. Raphael wasn’t taking a lot, playing the role of a lonely vampire who’d just found out about the Shadow World. He wanted to look lost, so Camille would think he was easy prey. Magnus felt that this plan was mocking him, but he didn’t know why. “Take care.”

“You too,” Raphael answers, taking his weight from one leg to another like he can’t find a way to stand comfortably. Magnus sighs. Goodbyes are always painful for him, and awkward for the others. Sometimes he thinks he prefers it when people leave without doing it. But he supposes Raphael has had his fair share of disappearing suddenly. Besides, it’s not his style.

Still, Magnus doesn’t want to drag this out for him. Or for himself. He clasps his hands, seemingly satisfied with Raphael’s arrangements. “Well, good luck, then,” he says, lightly, like all the weight that drags him down was left at the bottom of his stomach, too deep to touch his words. “Take care. No, I’ve already said that. Well, then I suppose the pleasantries are already done. I’ll see you soon,” he says, purposefully vague, so it doesn’t feel like a promise, or a threat. He almost wants to turn away and slam the door behind him, redecorate the entire loft and then drink some tequila just for the burning irony of that. He doesn’t, though, because a part of him wants to see him leave, at least. He should be cheering him on. When a kid leaves their parents’ home, that’s freedom, right? It’s calls for pride and celebration.

Then again, it’s not like he’d know.

Raphael just stands in front of him. He’s stopped his - swinging, and is now looking at Magnus, something deep missing in his eyes like he’s not fully there. He’s unnervingly still, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that it sometimes feels like Raphael only has two modes when it comes to movement.

He never really managed to teach him how to use body language. It’d be pretty useful. Especially against Camille. Oh, fuck, Raphael was going to try and overthrow Camille. Magnus felt like his whole body was twisting. Was Raphael really ready for that? Magnus couldn’t even help.

His thoughts are forced to a halt when Raphael brings him into a hug, sudden and tight. Maybe a bit too tight, but at the moment, it’s exactly what Magnus needs, that grounding touch and pressure that feels like safety and calms his racing mind. Raphael is small, compared to Magnus, but he feels solid and precious in his arms, both shielding him and needing to be protected. It’s recharging, warm, like his magic when it envelops him after a long day.

It’s a long hug too, enough for Magnus to consider his options. He doesn’t want to put more pressure on Raphael. But Raphael is hugging him. And he feels like Raphael would like to know- deserves to know that he’s loved, that he’ll always have a home with Magnus. That he’s family to Magnus, even if Magnus isn’t to him.

So, when Raphael lets him go, Magnus takes a deep breath and says, “Te quiero.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, putting each hand on one of Magnus’ arms, like he needs him to stay still to absorb this information, “You’re like a father to me. You know that, right?”

Magnus just stares at him, in open shock, frozen like his whole body and magic has stopped still. Raphael isn’t looking at him, which is probably a good thing, because he looks like he’s battling with the words before they leave his lips.

“You’ve taken me in, and you… Understand me… And you trusted me when I couldn’t trust myself. This will always be my home, to me, as long as it is your home. I don’t want to leave, and I…” he lets out a deep sigh, like he gives up on the battle, and then switches back to spanish, where he sounds confident, strong, certain, “Te amo, Magnus.”

Te amo.

It’s like the world is bursting out of Magnus.

Te quiero means I love you, but te amo runs so much deeper than that. It’s the kind of deep, selfless caring where loving a person feels a natural part of yourself. It’s deep, and strong, and calm, all at once, and many people live without ever saying that to anyone who isn’t their spouse, or family.

It’s bigger than when he made Magnus his mom’s special recipe. It’s bigger than the hugs, and the tears, and the time that he saved his life. It’s solid, palpable, words as solid as a spell’s.

And Magnus bursts.

All but lunges at him, forcing him back into a hug that’s, if possible, even tighter than the previous one. It knocks the air out of his lungs with a sob, sudden and desperate and relieved, like he hasn’t been breathing before he allowed himself to let that fear go.

He’s crying, like a kid, suddenly and freely and honestly, and all words escape him, except for the ones he holds deeper in his heart.

“Anakku yang kuhargai,” he says, amazingly clearly considering how overwhelmed he feels, “aku sayang kau.”

My precious son, I love you so much. It’s Malay. Words of his past, of his history, of his making, from so long ago Magnus doesn’t even know if they’re still the same, but still the ones his heart speaks in, the ones that touch him deepest even when he hasn’t dared utter them in years.

Raphael doesn’t know what it means, of course. It’s so silly- but he doesn’t have to, because he understands it all the same. And he knows, because he gets it, just how much Magnus is sharing by saying this to him, like this, in tears, in Malay, in the language that has always been family and home to him.

Raphael doesn’t know, but he knows, because he hugs Magnus back just as tight, and tells him “it’s okay, it’s okay, we will always be family, Magnus, it’s okay.”

And god, Magnus thinks. It just might be.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Ok my other Runaan x Ethari song: call it dreaming by Iron and Wine. Thoughts?? Also hope you feel better soon

I already feel a lot better today. Just a passing germ that hit really hard on the inside and moved on, I guess? But thanks!

Okay, holy cow, let’s look at these lyrics. uhh this got long

“Call It Dreaming” by Iron & Wine

Say it's here where our pieces fall in placeAny rain softly kisses us on the faceAny wind means we're runningWe can sleep and see 'em comingWhere we drift and call it dreamingWe can weep and call it singing

Where we break when our hearts are strong enoughWe can bow 'cause our music's warmer than bloodWhere we see enough to followWe can hear when we are hollowWhere we keep the light we're givenWe can lose and call it living

Where the sun isn't only sinking fastEvery night knows how long it's supposed to lastWhere the time of our lives is all we haveAnd we get a chance to sayBefore we ease awayFor all the love you've left behindYou can have mine

Say it's here where our pieces fall in placeWe can fear 'cause the feeling's fine to betrayWhere our water isn't hiddenWe can burn and be forgivenWhere our hands hurt from healingWe can laugh without a reason

'Cause the sun isn't only sinking fastEvery moon and our bodies make shining glassWhere the time of our lives is all we haveAnd we get a chance to sayBefore we ease awayFor all the love you've left behindYou can have mine

ngl, fam, It took me a few listens to get a feel for this one, but when I saw it, when it clicked in my head what these lyrics are saying to me, I legit teared up, okay.

This is an Ethari song. This is Ethari, learning to accept that Runaan is gone, and finding out that the world can still be beautiful. This is Ethari realizing that the world is more beautiful--and so his his own life--because he loved Runaan while he had him.

Here’s what I’m seeing: Ethari sitting in an evening meadow, full of soft lights--mushrooms, moths, fireflies, moonlight, birds, moss. It’s night, but it’s so very light and beautiful where he is. And he’s sitting like Runaan used to, to meditate. To center himself. And he thinks over what he’s had, what he’s lost, and what it means to him. How loving Runaan has changed him, made him happy. Made the world brighter, prettier, inspired Ethari to put more swirlies into it.

He sits, and he remembers. He cries a little, but he manages to smile anyway. Because as long as he lives, he’ll remember. Runaan lives on in him, and everything they had really happened. It was real, not an illusion.

The pieces that fall into place? That’s Ethari putting himself back together after he fell apart. And this bit here

We can sleep and see 'em comingWhere we drift and call it dreamingWe can weep and call it singing

is what it feels like to want to recover, even if you’re not there yet. He dreams of Runaan. He daydreams of Runaan. He cries for missing him, but only because he loves him so much, because Runaan made his heart sing. His heart learned to sing, because of Runaan.

And this whole second verse?

Where we break when our hearts are strong enoughWe can bow 'cause our music's warmer than bloodWhere we see enough to followWe can hear when we are hollowWhere we keep the light we're givenWe can lose and call it living

Realizing he hasn’t lost everything he is. That he still has himself, his own light, his own music, his own strength. He can see and hear those who still need him--Rayla, a reference to the ghosting spell. He has lost. But he hasn’t died.

This verse is really deep:

Where the sun isn't only sinking fastEvery night knows how long it's supposed to lastWhere the time of our lives is all we haveAnd we get a chance to sayBefore we ease awayFor all the love you've left behindYou can have mine

A time of mourning what’s lost can lead Ethari to remembering the best of times, how he lived out loud with Runaan every day, and how precious those memories are to him now. And now, as he’s accepting that Runaan is gone, he finds a place, sitting there in the moonlit meadow, where he can accept that he gave all his love to Runaan, and he always will. That even though he’s gone, Ethari still and always will love him with all his heart. And that’s okay. He’s okay.

A list of Ethari’s progress here in this verse:

Say it's here where our pieces fall in placeWe can fear 'cause the feeling's fine to betrayWhere our water isn't hiddenWe can burn and be forgivenWhere our hands hurt from healingWe can laugh without a reason

Falling back together, being afraid of being alone. Letting his tears fall out in the open when he’s sad. Understanding that anger is a part of grief, and so is missing his bed partner. Working too hard, maybe breaking things with his hands out of grief and rage, and regretting, and fixing, and apologizing. Finding joy again, on his own, because he’s healing.

Then this part again, but with one new line about the moon:

'Cause the sun isn't only sinking fastEvery moon and our bodies make shining glassWhere the time of our lives is all we haveAnd we get a chance to sayBefore we ease awayFor all the love you've left behindYou can have mine

Ethari finds a peace with his memories of Runaan. But he’ll never fully move on. Every full moon, Ethari conjures an illusion of Runaan, and they dance.

A time to dance, and a time to mourn.

This last verse, Ethari gets up from his meditation and dances the night away, lost in happy memories. And when the sunrise peeks and the moon sets, Ethari gets another chance to tell Runaan that, for all the love he left in Ethari’s life, Ethari will always love him, too.

[onsgiftexchange]

A Kiss Full of Petals

Hiya, Thea (LavenRain96) is here with her present to her secret santa, Devin ( @devinthedragondraws )~! I hope you’ll like this! :D

To be honest, I never heard of this event until my own circle of friends mentioned it in Twitter and Discord. I initially didn’t want to join with how busy I am as of late, but I was like: “You know what? F*** it, let’s make someone happy.”. Thus, I joined. To my pleasant surprise, my secret santa likes reading angst with a happy ending, or something that makes their heart swoon. That, and they also like sweet confessions and something that the characters are recovering from. So with that in mind, I wrote a mini-fic about the Hanahaki Disease (ngl I want to write this AU for some time now, and I’m glad that I get to do so in this way) and I had so much fun writing this, even though I admit that it feels a bit rushed (I apologize ;;;;;).

But anyway, once again, this is for you, Devin. Please enjoy!

—

The smell of cleanliness was quite pungent to Mikaela’s nose, reminding him almost every day of where he was. The white walls, the fine sheets and the IV on his arm even contributed to this fact… and he hated it. It felt like he was hidden away from the world, quarantined in the hospital all for the sake of healing. However, with how serious his disease was getting, it was inevitable that he would end up in the very place he dreaded on staying.

That was just how the world works; the one where the sickness known as the Hanahaki Disease exist.

Mikaela shrugged it off as a bluff at first with how fictitious the said disease was, especially with its low pathogenicity. But given his current circumstances as of late, he couldn’t deny that the disease was, in fact, real, and that he was feeling it in the most painful way imaginable.

He couldn’t speak properly—even something as simple as breathing proved to be an excruciating task for him without him coughing badly in return. Such things tend to put a strain on his throat that ruined his vocal chords and left a burning sensation that would take hours to calm down.

The flower petals that he spit out, though beautiful, didn’t do anything to lift his mood since the very sight of them clearly meant that he was near death’s door in each passing day. The thought of dying alone with this disease was something Mikaela couldn’t dream of imagining.

It must have been lonely to die like this, was the first thing that came to mind before his thoughts drifted to his childhood friend and crush, Yuuichirou.

Unfortunately, his thoughts were immediately halted as he suddenly felt a sudden surge from his throat, prompting him to cough harshly against his hand. It lasted for a few seconds, but for Mikaela, it felt like an eternity until his lungs slowly pave way to the tranquility from before. The hand on his mouth was shaking but it held firm— it was a simple way to try and soothe the after effect of his coughs. However, the fear of looking at the outcome of yet another violent episode of his disease also sustained him from moving his hand away.

The thick wetness and the soft, satin-like texture on his skin was something that Mikaela was already used to. It was so common to the point that it was embedded into his everyday life, but a part of himself was still in disbelief, still in denial that this was happening to him. His stubborn side persistently refused to acknowledge this. It wouldn’t just go and accept the fact that his love for Yuuichirou was slowly killing him. To do so would admittedly mean that loving the very man who had been with him through thick and thin was a mistake. A large, fatal mistake.

Mikaela knew better than to regard Yuuichioru as such. He may be flawed in some parts of himself, but that wasn’t enough to make Mikaela love him any less. To Mikaela, Yuuichirou was his everything. He was his best friend, his family, his confidant, his partner-in-crime…

… But why was loving him so damn painful?

Mikaela knew the answer to that well. It was a hard pill to swallow in a consistent pace, but for Yuuichirou’s sake, he gladly took it with a smile, even at the cost of his own happiness and health.

As long as Yuu-chan is happy, it’s enough, Mikaela reminded himself as he finally lowered his hand to reveal a streak of blood, and a small handful of red and white flower petals. The bloodied sight brought a heart-wrenching smile on Mikaela’s face before he sighed softly and aimlessly dropped the petals on the floor.

He felt a little sorry for giving his nurse some extra work to handle, but as of now, he didn’t care anymore. His hope to continue living with his most cherished person was starting to dwindle.

~ 0 ~

“I will not tolerate this behavior, Mika.” Krul stated firmly with her arms crossed as she looked at Mikaela with a frown, “I finally found a compatible lung donor for you, and I won’t waste this opportunity just because you refuse to let go of your feelings for Yuuichirou.”

Mikaela looked away in defiance, his brows furrowed with equal anger.

Krul sighed while she softened up just a bit, “Listen, I know that you like him, but Mika… Is he really worth dying for? You have a future ahead of you and it will surely hurt Yuuichirou if you die now. Haven’t you thought of that?”

“ I don’t care, ” Mikaela wrote on his mini white board Krul provided him with as a form of communication. “ I will not allow my lungs to be replaced by somebody else’s. ”

“Don’t be so stubborn. You know well what will happen if you don’t get operated soon.” Krul exasperated before she stood up from her seat, still frowning due to Mikaela’s lack of cooperation. “I’ll set up the appointment right away. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to have that surgery. We’ve waited long enough.”

Mikaela opened his mouth to voice a protest, having forgotten for a moment that his vocal chords were on the verge of being destroyed if he add anymore strain on them. However, whatever he wanted to say died in his throat when a knock was heard on his room door, pausing his thoughts.

“Hey, Mika…!” Yuuichirou greeted cheerfully with a wide grin as he opened the door. His smile faltered slightly upon seeing that Mikaela wasn’t alone in the room, and that there was tension in the atmosphere. He clearly knew right then and there that he entered at such a bad time.

“… Oh, um, hello to you too, Krul-san.” He awkwardly addressed with a respectful bow towards Krul. “Did I interrupt on something? If so, I could just—”

“—It’s quite alright, Yuu-kun.” Krul acknowledged with a small wave of her hand. “In fact, I was just about to leave. I’ve already said what I want to Mika very clearly regarding his operation.”

“Operation?” Yuuichirou repeated in confusion before his face lit up. “No way! You’ve found a donor?!”

“Yes, Mika is going to get his surgery soon. He’ll be cured in no time..” Krul confirmed but her words only made Mikaela angry. How dare she just brush off his feelings for Yuuichirou as if it was nothing but a burden on her shoulders? If Yuuichirou wasn’t in the room, Mikaela would likely throw a tantrum and be forcefully restrained on the bed until he calmed down.

“That’s great news, Mika. I’m so happy for you.” Yuuichirou cheered with a smile on his face, completely oblivious towards Mikaela’s dilemma. “It must really suck to be coughing almost every day. I mean, when was the last time you talked properly? Oh, and I really miss your voice. So with the surgery on the way, everything will be back to where it was.”

Hearing that, Mikaela didn’t know if he should cry or be offended with what Yuuichirou just said. Either way, it was heartbreaking to know that those words were coming out from his friend’s mouth, and it seemed that sadness won over his emotions as Mikaela was blinking away the tears that were trying to fall from his eyes.

Mikaela’s bravado from before slowly disappeared, replacing itself with sorrow as he took Yuuichirou’s enthusiasm for his recovery as a sign of rejection. An innocent one, and yet it stabbed deep like a knife in his heart.

But, still… Mikaela smiled, masking his hurting.

“ You’re right, Yuu-chan. ” Mikaela wrote down in his white board. His once straight and confident handwriting was now dissolved into something soft and shaky. “ Once my surgery is done, I can go to school again and be with you guys. I must have brought you a lot of trouble. ”

“Nah, don’t be sorry, Mika.” Yuuichirou shook his head in consideration before he took a seat on Mikaela’s bed, “As long as you’re well again after all these days, this is nothing. The Shinoa squad will continue to wait and support you until the very end.”

Mikaela couldn’t help but feel a tinge at that sentence. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for his friends to worry about his health, but truth be told, the squad had nothing to do with his illness at all and Mikaela wished Yuuichirou would put them aside even for just a little bit. He knew that it was selfish to even think about that, but Yuuichirou had been his friend ever since they were kids. So, shouldn’t he have more priority over them?

No, don’t think that. This is enough. This is enough…

Mikaela encouraged himself that the attention he was receiving was already sufficient. There was no room to be greedy in a situation like this, especially when he was on the verge of dying. Any kind of attention, though brief and pitiful, was more than plenty. He could make do with that.

“Well then, I shall take my leave now that I have Mika’s consent on the operation. Take care of him in my stead, Yuu-kun.” Krul requested with care. Whether she was aware of how Yuuichirou’s words affected Mikaela or not, she didn’t show it and kept her expression unreadable.

“Sure thing, Krul-san.” Yuuichirou agreed with a nod before turning his attention back to Mikaela once Krul left. “Man, it’s been a long while since we’re alone like this, don’t you think?”

Mikaela smiled in nostalgia as he wrote down, “ I agree… ”

Yuuichirou chuckled in reply before he settled in a comfortable silence with Mikaela, staring down on his friend’s white board and his handwriting. Without a word, Yuuichirou reached a hand out and placed it a top of Mikaela’s, prompting the latter to look at him with a raised brow.

“Sorry for being sudden, but… I’m just happy.” Yuuichirou explained himself softly. His face showed nothing but a serene smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said I missed your voice. I may find it annoying sometimes with how you keep on nagging me to do stuff, but your voice is… I find it nice.”

… Huh?

Mikaela’s eyes rounded in surprise at Yuuichirou’s sudden confession. He liked his voice? Mikaela didn’t really see anything special with his voice. That was just how it was—ordinary and plain. For Yuuichirou to admit that he found his voice pleasant made Mikaela’s heart thump just a bit. It didn’t even help that there was an obvious blush on Yuuichirou’s cheeks after his confession.

“W-Well, you sing really good, so it’ll be a waste if you just let it wither away with this disease of yours. The kids in the orphanage will be sad.” Yuuichirou added on, but it only served to further heighten his embarrassment.

“ How about you, Yuu-chan? Will you be sad? ” Mikaela couldn’t help but write the question down out of curiosity.

“O-Of course, I’ll be sad. Don’t make me repeat myself, Mika. Geez…” Yuuichirou nearly shrieked with a frown and his face bloomed red like a tomato.

Mikaela chuckled at Yuuichirou’s reaction. The look on his face reminded him back in the days where Mikaela would often tease Yuuichirou just for the sake of getting on his nerves. Now that they were older, that teasing became one of his forms of endearment for Yuuichirou, and Mikaela would wonder from time to time if Yuuichirou even took notice of it.

“Anyway…” Yuuichirou’s voice cut through Mikaela’s thoughts. “Even though I’m happy that you’ll get a surgery and recover soon… I feel sorry for his person you have unrequited feelings with. I mean, you’re smart and handsome. Anyone would practically beg on their knees to date you, you know… That person must be lucky to have caught your eye.”

And that person happens to be you., was what Mikaela wanted to say but he held back out of fear that Yuuichirou might react badly at having another man like him that way. From what Mikaela understood as of late, Yuuichirou and Shinoa have a… thing for each other. The hints were subtle, but Mikaela could tell that Shinoa had a major crush on Yuuichirou. Yuuichirou, on the other hand, still kept treating her normally to the point that it was impossible to know if he liked her back or not.

But even if that was the case, that didn’t change the fact that Mikaela still chose to hide his feelings because he valued his friendship with Yuuichirou so much. He would rather risk his health than his relationship. But with how he was going to be removing his disease surgically, shouldn’t he make the most out of now? Mikaela could always tell Yuuichirou that he was joking in the end since Yuuichirou identified Mikaela to be a trickster at certain points in their lives.

It was a low move, but Mikaela was becoming desperate. He wanted to at least kiss Yuuichirou before his feelings for him were gone—forcefully and painfully taken away from him during surgery. He may not remember the kiss after the operation, but he at least told Yuuichirou how he felt albeit masked within a joke.

With an intake of breath, Mikaela then wrote down on his white board what he wanted to say, “ Hey, Yuu-chan. Before my operation, can I tell you something? ”

Yuuichirou read Mikaela’s message before he nodded, “Of course. What is it, Mika?”

Without writing anything back, Mikaela leaned close to Yuuichirou and planted a kiss on his cheek. His warm lips met soft skin briefly before he pulled back with one of his usual, teasing smiles—ready for Yuuichirou’s outburst.

However, Yuuichirou’s reaction was anything but what Mikaela expected. Yuuichirou was looking at him in surprise before it changed into a small frown. Mikaela blinked and waved his hands a bit to clearly tell that the kiss was nothing but a joke, but Yuuichirou clearly wasn’t buying it.

“… Shut up.”, were the words that left Yuuichirou’s mouth before he reached and grabbed Mikaela’s hospital gown before he leaned close and landed a kiss on Mikaela’s mouth, bruising it with how rough he was.

Mikaela jumped in shock and pushed Yuuichirou away for a bit to put some distance in between them. When they pulled apart, Mikaela noticed a flower petal hanging loosely on Yuuichirou’s lips—a blue rose petal that held the same shade as his own eyes. The sight of it rendered Mikaela speechless, and his silence only spurred a blush to grace Yuuichirou’s cheeks once again.

“Yeah, I have it too… because I thought you love someone else,” Yuuichirou confessed as he took the slightly wet flower petal on his lips. “It’s not as bad as yours, but… yeah…”

Yuuichirou looked away shyly, unable to say anything next now that he just outrightly admitted to like Mikaela that way. Fortunately for Yuuichirou, no words were needed to be said as Mikaela gently cupped his face and kissed him again. Unlike when Yuuichirou did it roughly and in a blinding rush, this one was full of passion and love—silently telling emotions that were kept hidden away for so long.

The taste of flowers in his mouth was unavoidable, and yet despite that, Mikaela felt so light that he could feel himself breathing freely.

“… Yuu-chan,” Mikaela rasped in a crooked voice, which surprised Yuuichirou.

“Mika, your voice… It’s back.”

“Oh…” Mikaela blinked in amazement upon realizing that his voice was back, even though it sounded a bit different now after all the pressure that disease gave it. Nevertheless, his eyes stained in unshed tears of joy. “My voice… Yuu-chan, it’s—”

Before Mikaela could say any more words, Yuuichirou claimed his lips again in a soulsearing kiss, effectively silencing him as words couldn’t express the happiness the other was feeling. Mikaela merely just closed his eyes in silent acceptance before he wrapped his arms around Yuuichirou and returned the kiss in full, allowing them to enjoy their intimate time together as they healed each other through a kiss that was full of petals.

[spideychelle-romanogers]

oh! i was just thinking! can you do all of the headcanon questions for james parker???

Their physical weak spots

James has no reflexes. So going for his limbs is very effective. You could trip him in a second and it would take no time to use his arm to twist him to the ground. James also isn’t the kind to cry out when he’s in pain but that almost amplifies the sensation for him. He has more of a panic reaction, so essentially causing him any pain can be very crippling for his self-confidence, which is part of why he can be so mousy now.

Their emotional/moral weak spots

We can all just be grateful nothing has happened to his brother or aunt. He can’t bare another loss. James tends towards either a very euphoric state or a very depressed one. Since he’s never really sought out help anytime something has happened (with his parents or Ben), I don’t think he really knows how to cope with loss and another hit could deeply wound him.

Scars or painful spots

He’s got a few minor childhood scars from one too many risks he took with his bike or in the park. He has a very limited ability to judge the extent of his abilities. He often thinks he’s braver or stronger than he is. He’s probably all marked up but so subtly no one could really tell. 

Best places to kiss on their body

Not to be a sap or anything but the second I saw this question I just imagined someone kissing him on the cheek and tbh his entire face scrunches up like he’s the happiest human on this planet. He turns completely red, he kind of freezes and doesn’t know what to do but he loves it. He normally doesn’t like being touched but once he really knows and likes someone I feel like there’s nothing cuter than that reaction. That just tore me up ngl.

Guilty pleasures

James and Peter used to have a lot of video games when they were kids. He would sell his soul to play again. It’s almost an addiction, because most of the reason they got it taken away was because James gets obsessed with whatever new game he gets. Eventually he’ll learn to curb this but for now if you mention a video game he’ll launch into a giant speech before ending on “not that I care or anything. I don’t play video games.”

Their vices (physical or emotional)

Aggression. Thankfully no one tries to hurt the people around him when he’s such easy prey. If he ever saw anyone taking aggression out on other people, he’d probably get very forceful. He forgets himself in his anger, and he has such a high threshold for rage with everything else he goes through. Doubt. He has a hard time trusting people. He doesn’t even fully trust Ned, Michelle or Peter. The only person with his absolute trust is May. Which is saying a lot because he doesn’t actually have a reason to distrust the others. Lying. James couldn’t tell people the truth about his condition if he tried. He just doesn’t want to talk about it. Revenge, if he had a surefire way to make someone pay for what they’ve done,  he’ll take it.

Jealousy, his greatest vice, James would do anything to be like Peter and he’s spent his entire life fighting to compete. Peter has always stood as this goal for him. If he can be like Peter, or even beat him at something, then maybe he has a shot at living a normal life.

Their tickle spots

Jc everywhere. I mean he hates being touched, but once he’s okay with it he’s still super sensitive. Just touch him and he cries out. He also kind of enjoys it. He hates his laugh though. When he’s being tickled it gets into this high pitch that people think is hilarious.

Bad memories/experiences

James actually hates thinking about the times where he’d just shut down. Every day was a struggle for him because he watched people break down over his behavior but he also couldn’t exactly change things. He just felt like he couldn’t talk anymore, and he couldn’t force himself back into talking, so he just had to sit there and watch his family members crumble as if he was doing something selfish.

Fears/phobias

Pity. James can’t stand to be treated like he needs some kind of treatment for nothing other than the way he was born. That isn’t fair to him. He tries so hard, so much harder than everyone else, to accomplish the same things. To be given free handouts of compassion because people want to see him as some freak, that’s his living nightmare.

Bad or petty habits

He basically doesn’t trust anyone. And if you had even a little of his trust but then lose it, you’re hardpressed to ever get that back.

Grudges and vendettas

Nada. No one’s ever spited him too badly.

What gets them flustered

Any affection or praise whatsoever makes him squirm. In a good way, but still he shrinks into himself because he can’t believe he did anything to deserve that sort of kindness. He loves the attention, though, don’t ever let him fool you.

Ingrained habits/forces of habit

Corrects even minimal mistakes, especially when it comes to grammar. Forgets to take in the emotional implication of words.

He never corrects, judges, criticizes, or even remarks on anything Peter does because he just assumes Peter is doing the right thing, in the most passive aggressive way possible.

What it takes to make them cry

Hurt his family. Tell him he’s nothing more than his condition. Remind him he’ll never be as good as Peter, because that’s all he ever really thinks about when he’s feeling low.

Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’

All he wants is to beat Peter sometimes. It’s sad but true. People make him think Peter is what his life would be if he hadn’t be born the way he is. Nothing in his life has led him to think he can be his own person. He hates living like that.

Regrets

Letting any and all competition or goals consume him. That he never relaxes.

Things they’ll never admit

That he feels anything but love for Peter. 

People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them

No one.

What-ifs/Alternate Timelines

In a world where James was bitten and not Peter, James never would have had the impatient impulses that Peter does. He doesn’t want to prove himself. He just wants to help people.

 In a world where he ended up with Michelle, that relationship would not have been anywhere close to perfect but it would have been decently okay.

Turning points in their life

James was very sheltered before his parents died. No one dared mess with their family, so all he ever knew was pity from others. He was used to everyone being nice to him for no reason at all.  After their parents died and they started going to another school, James started getting bullied for the first time in his life and he realized that people would start to treat him worse than they would his brother.

Still, he’s learned to appreciate the reality of this situation. It hurts. It’s sad. It’s painful, but it’s real. He’s not being lied to all the time. That’s worth it, in his opinion. He finally gets to see the world for what it is.

 People who’ve influenced them greatly

Peter, of course, just because James does everything he can to be just like or better than Peter at everything. Peter doesn’t know he’s competitive, and James doesn’t mean to be, but it’s true.

When the Parker twins were dropped on her lap, May did not know anything about autism, nor did she really understand that James was different. For a few weeks, she and James had a hard time adjusting to each other. James liked that she wasn’t treating him differently than she treated Peter. When Peter outed him, James was very upset, but May didn’t change much because she didn’t know what to do about it. This was the best part about her. All she could do was try her best and that meant more than enough to James. 

If he succeeds at anything in life, it’ll be to show people the kind of compassion May has shown him in just doing her best to understand him. She’s perfect because she’s imperfect to him. He doesn’t know how to tell her, but she is his role model. Whatever other successes he meets, he wants to have a heart like hers.

[meanderfall]

Hm, watching the Hero short again I definitely see what you mean about his violence being scary, but I dunno about explosive. He seemed pretty controlled to me, like it was definitely anger that was driving him but he wasn't just lashing out it was very calculated and you couldn't even tell he was angry until he started talking. And in the comics he seems really level headed, even in situations where a lot of people would be pissed (like how Ana was pissed at Gabe in Uprising but Jack was calm).

If Gabe is cold in his anger I think Jack is probably more of a slow burn. From what we’ve seen, as a commander he was cool under pressure and as 76 he got more violent the more he got worked up (he only bashed one dude’s head in, the earlier ones were taken out efficiently). So I’d guess it probably normally takes a while to actually get him to show he’s mad, but once he’s there he can be vicious. I’d also guess that it’s probably easier to anger him as 76 but I have nothing to back that up lol

Alright, so i rewatched the short, and you’re right that I made him sound a lot more violent and angry then he actually is. 

Still. When he gets physical, he’s just. Really brutal. He smashed a dude’s head against a wall (and honestly the only reason it wasn’t smashed open imo was because they dont do graphic violence) and he used the fuck out of fear tactics to terrorize these gang members. And even though I know Gabriel is just as capable to pull that shit and probably as, the fact that I haven’t seen him to do it just makes it so Soldier 76 is higher up in terms of anger and brutality than Reaper. Not to mention, you can actually literally hear him growling, and that isn’t just because his voice is pure gravel. (there is a reason i mentioned that in the other ask in conjunction with Reaper.)

As for the rest of everything you mentioned, I should mention this first. I actually differentiate between Jack and Soldier 76, as well as Reaper and Gabriel Reyes. They’ve changed and gone through enough that in my mind, they aren’t exactly the same people in my mind. So I do not use their names interchangeably in any post tbh, not unless im tired and it doesn’t really matter in that case.

So! In my opinion, Jack is exactly as you described; level-headed and slow to anger. In the Uprising and Retribution comics, no matter what stress he’s been under and what has happened, he doesn’t really get angry. Actually, he mostly seems tired and sad, which is heart-wrenching ngl.

(And once again, I am brought back to the meta that floated around during the event that compared the voices between Jack and Gabriel. Because during the event, Jack seemed… harsher and more urgent in his orders, whereas Gabriel seemed calm and collected, confident even. Which sort of kind of makes you question, what actually is Jack’s temperament? Tbh, at this point, I just kind of assume that that’s just his Commander voice. Oh! Or maybe, because there’s also meta that, since Ana wouldn’t have her biotic rifle and Jack has a biotic healing field, that Jack was the field medic for the original Strike Team and would have been the rallying point for everyone (the team’s Heart lol), and maybe he developed that voice in order to communicate with the other members of the team. )

But Soldier 76 is… different. He’s harsher. More aggressive. Still really fucking tired though. And I don’t think we can consider his current interactions with Reaper and Ana in the comics as necessarily representative for his current temperament because imo he carries a lot of regrets and guilt over them, so ofc he’s not going to be angry or necessarily brutal/vicious with them.

Mostly, I see Soldier 76 as holding a lot of emotions within him. Anger, guilt, sadness, hurt, hate, love, fear, regret, desperation… it’s all roiling beneath his skin, pushing at it, wanting to be let out, and sometimes… sometimes he indulges (e.g. him beating up that gang member with a pinata). So, where I see Reaper as being cold anger waiting to unleash retribution (heh) upon Talon and the scum that brought down Overwatch, Soldier 76 is the flip side of that, searching for answers and ready to bulldoze through anything to find what he’s looking for.

(And… there really is such a huge difference between Jack and Soldier 76? Like!!! Literally, while bashing that one dude with a pinata, he’s yelling “you don’t own these streets!” And then!!! There’s that moment where he actually hesitates between chasing down the gang members and protecting Alejandra.

That moment is always so huge for me, that he hesitates. And I’m always left wondering why did he? What was going through his head? What tipped the scales towards the other end?

And tbh, I always think that his natural choice would be saving Alejandra, but something happened to him that would make him actually consider prioritizing his mission over saving a life. What happened to you, Jack?)