#Phoenix blade au

[blade-liger-4ever]

Meet Moreena Krai, the most effective combat medic in the Phoenix Cell!

So, before I go into her place in my story, let me explain her design.

When I did multiple research tasks on Moreena, I saw that one source pointed out that she may have been dark-skinned based on Ezra's sketch of her. For that, as well as me just wanting to play around with concepts and try new ideas, I decided to make Moreena dark-skinned - which, additionally, may explain why Ezra crushed on Sabine (just an idea.) I can't recall right now if I chose to give her brown or gray eyes, but either way, I felt that maybe it would be interesting to give her a separate eye color from Ezra's deep sea blue, and further differentiate her from one of my OCs.

As for her outfit, I saw one fanfic depict her as a medic, and I thought that was a good idea. And although I'm no expert by any stretch of the imagination, I wanted to add a combat medic to the Phoenix Cell for when they're either on a planet's surface, or when they're in a dogfight with the Empire. For the colors, I chose that palette to reflect the Red Cross, and show that she's in the medical department. The blaster I added to show that she's gotta take up arms on the field, and that she won't be an easy target if things go south. My only regret is that I forgot to change her expression - but, seeing as she and Ezra reunite during my spin on S3, maybe it fits after all....

When Moreena left for Alderaan with her family, she and her younger sister, Judi, enrolled at one of the higher level academies on the planet when their grandmother noticed their separate talents: Judi's scientifically inclined mind, and Moreena's medical expertise when she came across some injured street urchins. Although Judi, despite being young and sharp-minded, came to accept much of the propaganda that the Empire spouted, Moreena kept quiet over it and wondered if she should have shown off that skill with her grandmother present after all. She didn't regret helping the urchins, especially since one of the boys acted a lot like Ezra when they had been kids, but unlike Judi she remembered what the Empire had done to their farm. And unlike her little sister - who was growing quite fond of the company of the Imperial boys who swaggered around the Academy grounds as if they were moffs - Moreena didn't want their company, or the constant reminder of the home she was taken from, and the one friend her age who knew the unfairness of the Empire.

As the next two years went by, Moreena and Judi reached the finals of their classes. However, Judi had become a model student for her school work ethic and Imperial support, in spite of the fact that she could be seen after hours partying with some of the rowdy students. By contrast, Moreena grew more distant from her classmates and sister, keeping tabs on the reports of a rebellion happening back on Lothal in secret. Following a gut instinct, Moreena dug and searched Imperial transmissions from the sector and discovered that there was a cell of rebels in the system that had caused much pushback and change to her home - and that one of the wanted "criminals" was Ezra Bridger.

Desperate to know his fate, and eager to be free of the Imperial academy, Moreena did more research, eventually realizing through determined digging that Bail Organa was the one quietly sponsoring and aiding the rebel cell. Because this had been accomplished through implicating means, Moreena ended up meeting Bail in person after one of his aides, claiming to be a recruiter for the Alderaanian Medical Institute, brought her to the palace to "see if her knowledge [was] comparable to a professional's". Bail was not angered when he met Moreena; rather, he was impressed by her tenacity and talent. After a long, private discussion about what she had done, and the cruelty of the Empire, Bail offered her two choices: go to the Alderaanian Institute without fear of repercussions from her illicit actions, or go on a private shuttle that was preparing to leave with new recruits for the Phoenix Cell.

Before the day was out, Moreena was packing necessities and readying for the shuttle, while her family was informed that she had accepted a scholarship to the Alderaanian Institute of Medicine.

Although the equipment wasn't as shiny or up to date as at the academy, Moreena threw herself into her work and even worked with her fellow medics to improve medical conditions in the cell. Six months after joining, Moreena finally got to meet Ezra again, but was surprised by the changes she saw in him. He had grown taller, broader, and was sporting a new buzzcut and had twin scars on his left cheek. But that wasn't what surprised her most: he was a Jedi Padawan, but strangely acting less heroic than the old stories told. No, he was wielding a breakable, purple-bladed saberstaff, and was using techniques that seemed dangerous and more Sith-like than she'd ever imagined.

Their reunion was strained and cautious, like two playmate animals who were just meeting after years of separation and abuse. Ezra would often come to her in the medical wing for checkups, or to see if she or the others were doing well. Moreena, though she was unnerved by his actions, always welcomed him there, and would try to get him to open up about what had happened. It was difficult, and took the help of Sabine and Zeb to put the pieces together, but Moreena eventually learned about Korriban, Kanan's blinding, and how Ezra felt he needed power to protect his friends.

This, in time, led to many arguments between her and Ezra, as Ezra's quest was leading him to a darkness he wouldn't/couldn't see, and Moreena wasn't going to lose him to the Dark Side. After a while, Ezra started to realize how comfortable he was getting with mind controlling his enemies and using other dark powers, but didn't know how to break away from it. Moreena became a spot of light for him in those days, and helped him chase away the darkness when he felt the pull grow stronger. This made their old friendship bloom into something more, and when Ezra sought out Maul to sever his connection to the former Apprentice and seek answers, Moreena proved a force of nature herself by convincing both Kanan and Sabine to bring her along to find him.

Once that adventure ended, Moreena and Ezra started a relationship, though they both took it slow due to the circumstances and experiences they'd had in the past years. Their bond grew stronger, though, and from Yavin 4 to Endor, they remained close, and joined Kanan and Luke Skywalker in rebuilding the Jedi Order.

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@princessallura052 @radicalrebelcat and all those who read this, I hope you like it! Moreena and Ezra get married probably right after Endor; better to take that opening while it's there than suffer the consequences of waiting. I see them with at least two kids, though a third is always welcome. I chose a different name for her little sister, although I don't know what fate she should suffer. I know at the very least her parents are on Alderaan when it's destroyed, which is one of the times Ezra and Moreena grow exceptionally close.

Stay tuned, for I may attempt designing Sabine's boyfriend sometime...

May the Force be with you all!

[kaidatheghostdragon]

Wings au, but:

Wings only manifest if you're liminal (they are thought to always exist, but only reveal themselves after an NDE/equivalent liminality trigger)

Wings are only visible to other liminals

Arent really functional so much as a representation of the soul, and not corporeal, just visual. Arent really set in stone either, they can evolve as the character develops, and might start out with strong influence of the triggering event that revealed them.

Can be a wide variety of things that could only be described as wings in the broadest sense

Not really any such thing as secret identities among liminals because of them

Liminality is extremely broad, so it covers most of the league and a small percentage (like 1-2% at most) of the civilian population

Different individuals:

Danny: a shadow void that shows a perfect view of space in the direction you're looking into it (but initially started as nondescript mass of light that matched his transformation rings)

Dani: an aurora, constantly moving and shifting, started out very ecto-green, shifted to more natural aurora colors over time

Batman: a cloak of shadow that occasionally takes the shape of bat wings

Jason: flaming phoenix wings, obviously (shape matches an eagle or condor, have remained pretty consistent, though they started more smoldery and are currently more flamy, flame is green when under effects of pit rage)

Poison ivy: "fairy" wings, actually look like giant leaves/flower petals, always appropriately seasonal

Superman: they look like solar coronal loops of plasma

Valerie: match the vibes of her nanosuit, might even be floaty and detached

Jazz: perfect white angel wings, very floofy (people mistake her for soft, then learn why angels are traditionally feared)

Cass: perfect angel wings, but black and obviously swan shaped

Damian: metallic wings where the feathers are each a blade, have gone from jagged to more sleek after moving in with bruce

Duke: sunbeams that trail like a regal cloak

Selina: has a proper cat tail instead of "wings"

That's all the ideas i had so far. Feel free to add your own for other characters.

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.3

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; You’re shot and not healing, what could be worse? Everything

word count; 3.8k | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: First post of 2024 what the hell writers!? 🙈

The walk to the excile point was a surprisingly smooth one, even if it felt like you were walking through hells trenches. The grim reaper himself strides beside you even though your footsteps aren’t matching his. They’re a bit… delayed, the thought that makes you want to trip. Fortunately, it’s nothing too drastic to actually make you stumble. God you hated Americans, so trigger happy with not a lick of skill behind those damn fingers. How they contributed to win some of the largest wars ever recorded was beyond you. Continuing to let your unreliable footing carry you on your marry way, You and Ghost both lead your sergeants, while they in response lead your privates to your designated location.

Soap doesn’t even blink at the weight he had lugged on his back even though it was sure to bite him in the ass when he dialed back to his normal size. The small force of everyone is on guard until the very last moment where your all loading helis. Even then the Scott noted how the Wraith and Phoenix’s shoulders did not seem to drop, even though you were being confined into a temporary security until you could return to base. You, Gaz, Ghost, Price and Himself —along with two lower rank hybrids— load into one of the two aircraft’s waiting for you while the other privates have no choice but to load on the second.

You sit next to Gaz and Soap soon takes a seat next to you gleefully accepting the opportunity, a bit confused when Price seemingly turned his eyebrow up at the arrangement. His head slightly tilted when he noticed you don’t meet the captains gaze but the bucket hat wearing man doesn’t comment on it and neither does he. The ride from that point is smooth until about an hour in your pilot experiences turbulence, and suddenly Your head is spinning, your gums are itching as if you were a toddler teething. Everything is heightened, you can hear the blades of the heilo even through the density of you headphones, your eyes are sensitive to the faintest bit of the moonlight peaking through the windshield, and your body spiked in temperature, burning hot like hell. Your attempt to take a breath was useless when the potent scent of blood hits your nostrils. So sweet yet it felt like the peach fuzz in your nostrils burned and you groaned abruptly.

“You alright Lt? You dinnae look too we-”

“Which one of you is bleeding” You interrupt the Mohawk’ed sergeant with a hiss, placing a hand over your nose and curling over your knees. Heads snap to you like a mouse in a trap and Price is up out of his seat before anyone push the weight on their knees to stand. The brunette kneels in front of you, you’re not looking at him but he can see your eyes are dilated theirs faint veins trailing under your eyes that look like they want to spur from beneath your skin. You irises are layered with a foggy film and you look so far away it could’ve broken the captains heart, but he had to be your superior before he could be your comforter and he was sure you could handle it.

“Hey, Hey! What’s goin’ on? Look at me! What’s happe-?” It happened to quick to process, in the bat of an eye the Scott would say. One moment you’re looking distant and far away in your seat and the other you have one of your privates Tank against the cold steel wall of the heilo with that certain look in your eyes. You see it a few times in his line of work.

Bloodlust,

Fangs sprout from the roots of your gums, deep dark red veins swarm under your eyes, your pupils have taken over the whites of your eyes, and you are not yourself to say the least. In quick action Gaz squawks —even though it’s more like a screech— it put you down to your knees while you hands clutch your head mouth open in a small ‘o’ with a silent scream ghosting from your lips. It throws you off for a minute, but it’s not a minute long enough. You adjust quickly and with the same speed you pinned down the raven haired private you do the same to the rich skinned Sargent, a hand wrapped around his throat effectively stopping is antagonizing screeching. You bare your fangs at him with a hiss and he nods with a groan on his lips.

“I get it Lt, n-no more screeching… you g-got it”

Before you could do anymore damage your soon the one groaning when that scent takes over your senses again. When you turn to the source in your somewhat unconscious mind your realize it wasn’t your original subject, the scent was much more… potent

“This what you want? Come ‘ere, take what you want” Ghost’s gruff voice rings over your ears as he stands tall, combat knife in his right hand his opposite palm sliced open blood dripping like water from the tap. You didn’t quite lunge at the blonde but you weren’t gentle either. It was different… you were rigid as your fangs pierced his jugular taking exactly what you wanted with a hand wrapped around the front shoulder covering of his bullet proof vest. Soon however, you’re groaning into the surface of his skin ready to pull away when your frame was restrained against the wraiths keeping you in place. Your senses are be ridden into overdrive, grunting in protest against the lieutenant struggling inevitably. Shadows slither up your body effectively keeping you still and you’re weaker than ever —it concerns the Brit to no end— effectively out like a light, dead weight pressing against the front of Ghost’s torso. that he takes willingly. The chopper is finally quiet, seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours. The captain and —conscious— lieutenant are the first to move, the skull masked soldier sits with your unconscious body in his lap. He swings your legs over his knees and holds your shoulders and in his arm supporting the weight.

Price examines your flesh, nothing alarming to the eye until he gets to the ending of your collarbone and beginning of your shoulder blade. It was barely noticeable to the eye with your all black gear a hole is punctured through your shirt —the fabric saturated with blood— just where your bulletproof vest stops.

“Gaz. Bullet wound, collarbone to shoulder area, ammo unknown, no exit.” The brunette calls out to the sergeant and he notes it immediately, going up to the pilots cavity to grab first aid coming back a practical second later. He hands his captain; gauze, scissors, forceps, tape, and medical wrap. Not nearly enough to give you a beginning of a processable recovery but, it’s something to keep you stable and sterilized. Price takes the shears cutting a big enough square in the fabric of your shirt for him to see with the shitty helo lighting. With enough gauze to clear out a cotton field the bleeding is finally stopped. What stands out the most however is your veins, different shades of black and gray spreading from the wounds up your neck and down your arm. Price curses gruffly, Ghost grunts in disdain, while Gaz catches a gasp in his throat and holds it there. Without another word and with a steady hand the dragon goes in with the tweezers fishing about for the stray bullet wearily when you twitch, ignoring how his lieutenant tightens his hold around you. Soon enough without hitting a nerve he pulls out a bullet its black resembling the color spreading abnormally through your veins.

“Never seen anything like it Cap” The brown eyed sergeant murmurs analyzing the bullet while the older brunette begins to patch you up good enough to where you aren’t bleeding out.

“Somethin’ illegal i'm pretty sure, Americans and Russians in wits with one another? Can’t be arsed to think about it” Their captain is cold, no humor in his voice to spare. Soap perks up at it having been waved away throughout the whole process of it all, ‘safety percussion’ the harpy tried to mutter to him softly even though it came off as passive and off putting the Scott got the message. With a knee bouncing in uncertainty the Scott tries his best to see through the gap of two fit frames that are practically shoulder to shoulder, begging to see anything —straining his eyes in the process— but in the end he wished he didn’t.

“Is she still breathing!? Check ‘er pulse how many beats per minute?”

“Mactavi-” The lieutenant begins with a hiss

“Those types of bullets mark hybrids for death, big ones, powerful ones, like us… like her. Wolves, dragons, sirens, cockatrice, harpies, hellhounds, cyclops, every big shot in the books. I don’t know how the ‘ell her heart hasn’t stopped”

“125 beats per minute Cap, her heart isn’t slowing it’s… going into overdrive” Gaz’s brows furrow at the words slipping from his lips as if it wasn’t his own recognition, as if he were learning it for the first time. Price curses moving towards the captain's cavity taking a hold of the mic that connected to his coms that ranged to base, speaking hardened than the brunette ever heard

“This is Bravo six, I want nurses on scene upon my arrival landing time ASAP. I have a member down… if I don’t see medical you won’t see a day of rest, private.” His voice fades out into the front of the helo with thundering steps that demand attention. Gaz kept a pointer and middle finger on your pulse point still counting the beasts as minutes pass, Soap felt short of helpfully useless, and when Ghost finally speaks up his voice is directed and sharp. Looking forward the two lower ranked hybrids one is checking over the other and they both look at him with attentive eyes

“What the hell happened in that building”

💌💌💌💌

“-nd she saved me” Your head is ringing and you can’t find it in you to peel your eyes open. The feeling of being heavily sedated yet pumped full of adrenaline at the same time, it felt so close to suffocation your body forces Itself into fight or flight. You're strapped to an average hospital bed with steel restraints, the cold metal on your hot skin not soothing you whatsoever. When your eyes peel open you eyes your vision is blurry you only make out blobbed figures until blinking a few times. A bright light is being shined in your face and you bare fangs at the person behind it.

“Stitch! Are you trying to lose a limb!? Back off!” The doctor barks at the dirty blonde nurse who flinches double, scrambling to get away from your bedside and out of her superiors way. Kyle is holding your hand at your right not caring if you’d scold him for being so worried all the time, Simon sits in a corner where he can see everything the medical team dies to you while also seeing who comes in and out of the door, John hovers reluctant with all medical staff —with that my team my concern mindset—, while Johnny stands beside Tank and Red near the door as they give the nurses their rundowns. You go to open your mouth only to be met with your vocal cords screaming at you in protest. The inability to speak makes you you groan that sounds more like a whine of a kicked puppy than anything

“I apologize, lieutenant. We believe it’s a side effect of the gunpowder in your bloodstream and we’re flushing you out as quickly as possibl-”

“Are there any updates to the status reports I requested?” You would have usually made fun of the dragons unusual impatience if you were in the comfort of his office; however you're in this cold, stale room that smells of too much bleach.

“Yes captain, the bullet is in fact meant to kill stronger hybrids. Once the hybrids are pierced with it there’s really no return for them, the gunpowder runs through the stream they become lucid quickly and all docile tendencies are forgotten. However, we suspect that that particular outburst from lieutenant y/l/n will be her only one because we’ve nailed down where it came from. We played around with time frames that lined up the best. You were shot and just before the ammo could burst with its gunpowder and spread the toxins through your stream you had fed blood to your lowerank to heal him.” The doctor cleared her throat before giving the room a much wanted update of your condition

“That doesn’t explain why she dropped ‘im like an old toy when Ghost’s blood was introduced.” Price spoke up too many gaps were missing for the brunette's taste as he ran a few fingertips through his short salt and pepper beard.

“I didn’t think such a… uncomfortable topic should be discussed as of right now” At the sound of reasoning Simon moves to stand messy bandaging over the he cuts having waved away the nurses who’d tried to attend to him —a little papercut shouldn’t not taken their attention off of you—. The room seemed significantly smaller when the lieutenant stood

“If opposing threats tread with those bullets we need to know everything about them. Nothing in this line of work is comfortable” His voice screamed demanding; demanding of attention, demanding of response, demanding of results. The middle aged woman visibly swallowed before speaking with a voice filled with discontent.

“With previous blood work of you three well, you all line back to lieutenant Y/l/n, or more precisely she lines back to you” Soaps ears perk up and so did his tail, fur rigid against the skin of it. He wants the brightest apple but he wasn’t the dullest pen either. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together but it sounded so off putting. You fed from them? He’d been around vampires before and you did show qualities of one, the fangs, the pitch black eyes when you fed, it was evidence and it was there… but you didn’t smell like one and seemed to have not even the slightest sensitivity to the sun. The mystery of it all killed him

If you weren’t a hybrid what the hell were you?

“Us, but it doesn’t make sense. She had me there could’ve bit into me” Gaz finishes for the medical agent brows furrowed once again the skin between them creased. The doctor nods while prying on a pair of blue latex gloves

“Doctors from both sides of base have been working on it for now, we believe it’s because you weren’t bleeding. It wasn’t potent enough for her to take interest in it. Our second guess? She was attracted to what or who she got done with last.” The room was silent, one heavy fog was replaced with another. No one speaks of what’s been revealed however you’re onto the next topic before you can dwell on it. The head doctor approaches you slowly, as if you were a skittish cat in the wild.

“I’m just gonna draw a little blood from you to run a few tests, make sure we didn’t miss anything.” You blink at her with sharp eyes and tense muscles when you see the size of the needle, not too much length enough to prick a vein the girth however made your hand twitch in Gaz’s palm. It even made the Scott want to tuck his tail with a wince.

“Hey. You’re alright, you’re fine, you hear me? You’re alright” Ghost had stepped up beside Price to your temporary bed, the heart monitor spikes and before you know it the needle is in your shoulder —meer meters away from the bullet wound that was mending itself at an inhuman speed—. You hiss jerking it away but the doctor is a good one and follows your quick motions successfully. Collecting enough blood in the clear syringe to send off to the labs. She quickly bandages your wound back confident, but not ignorant enough to linger around an upset hybrid.

“Test results should be back as soon as possible, in the meantime while lieutenant Y/l/n flushes the toxins out of her body the side effects of the bullet are still possible until further notice.”

“Which are?” The harpy huffs temper running unusually short, palm gripping your closed fist tighter —not enough to hurt but enough to notice a difference— a lick of tired at the woman’s shirt answers.

“Anything from spikes of heart rate, cold sweats, immense… hunger and most of all intense hallucinations. We think by the time her voice has returned most of the threat should be absent. All we can do is let it run its course, I’m sorry.” The brunette discards of her gloves and leaves the room idle. As much as you try to stay away your eyes droop low and are soon closed tight

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Soap sits next to your bedside, warm cup of coffee in hand, his eyes straining to look at the small tv mounted on the wall even though he wasn’t actively watching it. He had finally got Ghost to stretch his legs and go take a shower after three days of nothing but cold sweats and spikes of heart rate from you he decided his —other— lieutenant's heart needed a break. After much pestering, convincing, promising to stick by your side, and a little threat that summed up he wouldn’t think you would like to hear about him rotting next to your bedside the wraith finally took a leave after 72 hours.

“Kyle,” The Scott thought he was just imagining things at first or that it came from the Tv but as he stares at you for a while he realizes it was simply not true. He stared at your face for a while until you’re mumbling again and it pangs his chest a little. He didn't know any of you that well —didn’t know anyone except Price and Gaz really— but he still cared nonetheless it was in his nature.

“Simon, dont.” You’re starting to sweat again and your heart monitor is starting to beep. The werewolf moves to stand ringing for a nurse when it seems to get worse, your body is jerking and you keep mumbling in distress.

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You're walking up the stairs of some abandoned building, it's eerily chilly and there's really no light except for the dim overhead light on each floor you pass by that continues to flicker. The stairs and walls are concrete to match the walls and floors, you have your rifle pressed against you sweeping each floor swiftly with precision it could almost feel... normal. You reach the fifth floor and there's a stagger in your step. All of your privates lay dead in pools of their own blood like stuck pigs, hybrids and normals alike lie dead. After a spare moment you continue on to finish your mission as you were ordered to, as you were required to. The next floors to come are still filled with dead privates none lie peacefully, all gone in agony, too soon, you could read the tombstones now.

Your boots march almost rhythmically up three more floors and as they go by you are more and more desensitized to the bodies that sprawled the floor. You make it to the final story of the building and there's a door staring back at you, almost challenging you to open it and you take the duel with not the slightest bit of shake in your hand. The door opened with a loud whine at the unusual action and your riffle drops from your arms at the sight behind it.

You see your captain first, bucket hat that you always made fun of inches away from his body. His right horn that sits atop of his head looks damaged beyond repair and his neck is sliced open from ear to ear. Your breath is trapped in your throat and your body doesn't allow you to move. Your mentor, the reason you are where you are, your sacred captain, lies sliced like a sacrificial lamb. Your eyes trail away from the brunette's cold body and you wish they didn't, there lies your sergeant. One of the two full broad wings adorned with brown feathers are gone, singed away. Your sweet brown eyed boy stares at you voidly. There's no crease of his eyes to let you know he's smiling, no brightness to alert you of life, and the look of adoration he always gave you in particular that was taken for granted forever absent. You cradle his bruised face in your palm and this time you can't stop your tears from running downstream on your face.

"Kyle," Your voice cracks at the slightest utter of his name. You don't think you can say anything else or it'll mean it's true, it'll mean your captain and your sergeant are dead. You reluctantly stand a silent promise to come back to them both and make your way further in the room. You can see the back of a balaclava staring back at you and it helps you breathe better. You approach him with his callsign spilling from your lips. He looked to be hacking intel, just like your mission called for. You approach him putting a palm on his shoulder just for his head to fall limp and you could almost laugh. This had to be some cruel, sick, twisted, joke that should end any second now. It doesn't.

"Si get up right now, get the fuck up! GET UP SIMON!" Your body is trembling as you roughly shake his body, there's no response that comes from it hazel eyes rolled deep into the back of his head and you don't know which hurts worse. Your stomach churns when you gently lift the mask off his face to see toxins spreading through his veins up his neck. The best soldier, the strongest man you’ve met, your one and only, was dead.

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Put blood, sweat, and tears into this chapter because you guys deserve it

if you voted on my poll from the last chapter then you could see I used all prompts in this chapter except for one which we’ll deep dive into another day🤗

some have asked for a taglist so comment to be added

I hope you guys are having a wonderful year so far I love you and thank you for everything! -G

[phoenixarts96]

DP x DC Prompt: Soulmate Wings AU

Ever since coming back to life from the Lazarus Pits, Jason had always felt off-kilter. Initially he just attributed it to his changed appearance via the Pits and eventually adapted, yet still the feeling lingered. Even after reuniting and beginning the process of reconciliation with his family, the off-balance feeling still remained. Of course, he kept this a secret from everyone else, never breathing a word to his team nor to his family, least of all Bruce. That is, until one night while on patrol as Red Hood, he encounters a glowing meta, with floating white hair that seemed to defy gravity, and eyes that shone an intense Lazarus green. But what was truly prominent of the meta's appearance, was the shimmering ethereal blue-gold phoenix wings that sprouted from the shoulder blades.

More ideas/headcanons:

Jason's ghost form and Danny's ghost forms have wings, neither human forms have wings. Both have phoenix wings, Jason's in fire of red orange yellow, and Danny's in blue and gold for his ice and electricity (inspired by ice phoenix designs).

Danny can see Jason's wings (and therefore is able to identify Jason as his soulmate), but whether Jason can see Danny's will be up to interpretation. If Jason can, it would be interesting to see him bewildered and trying to research into it, maybe pulling Duke along due to his meta powers. Which eventually leads to the rest of the Batfam finding out. Babs and Tim start their own research while the rest of the Batfam teases Jason relentlessly. If Jason can't, it would still endlessly confuse him due to Dannys attempts at wooing him and concern the Batfam with the disturbing number of gifts being sent to Jason.

Once Danny realizes Jason is his soulmate, he starts trying to woo Jason. But since he really only knows Jason is his soulmate via his ghostly form, he attempts to ghostly court Jason, which gets misinterpreted by the Batfam as possible threats towards Jason's safety. Like, Jason just gets sent ominous presents with no explanation with themes and symbols relating to death. In one instance along with the usual death presents he also gets a red duck candle allegedly able to ward off any demons in the vicinity.

Most interactions between these two are when Danny's Phantom and Jason's Red Hood. Although Danny's wings would be on full display, Jason's would mostly be an outline until the Pit becomes agitated and flares up, in which the wings become more visible (and possible other ghost traits may appear). There may be a few civilian interactions thrown here and there in which it's possible that both are able to see at least a faint outline of what appears to be wings on the other.

Danny's presence may also influence the Pit. Whether he makes its effects better or worse will be up to interpretation.

[the-switch-conspiracy]

SVSSS AU Post Canon Time Loop. Warning: people dying a lot and gore.

~(O-O)~

One, two. The first times came as a surprise. Between a breath and the next; dropped tea cups shattering. Their shocked eyes meeting, barely widening enough to expose blood shot whites, before the rippling wet sound of metal into viscera filled the stilling air. Like flowers, red bloomed on green, on white, soaked through black. They were but puppets falling from cut strings, their glass eyes staring accusingly at the coming dawn. Three, four. A little faster, a little more refined in our response. The first bodies to fall crushing the delicate stalks of grass beneath them, were not their own. Their attackers staining the visage with their rot. An ever growing expansion with no end in sight. A shining sword glare pierces through bone. Movement to his left, his companion falling lit my the gentle morning glow, before a blinding pain to his eye. Then black. Five, Six. Curls blowing in the wind as demonic Qi rose, several demons cut down. Zheng Yang singing as it dispatched three, four attackers in a row. The edge of the blade shining red in the harsh midday light, his robes twirling around his body with each nimble twist. He turns his back towards the sight, hope forming in his heart. An arrow shot towards his eye blocked, a sword glare cast, slicing head from body. In an instant comes a familiar sound, his husband's voice releasing a death knell of a gasp. Before him; a white lotus painted red, the delicate mist raining from a still beating heart. Twelve, Thirteen. It all started a few day’s earlier, at the reminder of a certain upcoming plot point. The mating migration of the Silk-Winged Butterfly-Hawk, a once in a century event wherein the said birds left the hidden realm the predominately resided in to dance above the great Eastern Lotus Lakes.

- He dodges a strike to his side, his back hitting his husband’s. One by one they slaughter those circling them. A hand seal summoning a thousand lotus petals to rip through flesh, peppering strangely corroding skin. The moons soft glow beamed down on them, their hands slickening with heat and silver reflecting blood-

A hint to his husband later and they were packed and ready for their trip. Sure they could have had Mobei-Jun teleport them there, but it was about the journey AND the Silver-Winged Butterfly-Hawk mating migration destination! It was to be a leisurely bit of travel, he and his husband, stopping just a few times along the way. So imagine his surprise when he came across his favourite Shidi just two days into their trip!

- The beats of thousands of wings taking off, hundreds of birds scattering to the sky. Brilliant white robes flaring against the waters' glare. Cheng Luan glowing silver, fuelled by it’s user’s potent spiritual energy struck out in a shining ripple. His strikes flow like a wave, his form strong and ceaseless under the barrage that assailed him. The War God and his Soaring Phoenix -

His dedicated Shidi had been travelling in the area as part of a mission for the sect. There had been sightings of strange phenomena, and stranger creatures appearing in the area surrounding the Lotus Lakes. While Liu Shidi hadn’t seen anything of the sort himself, he was concerned about their safety. Or well specifically his Shixiong’s, although Shen Qingqiu did have a plan to change that. Well, the outline of a plan, more of a partial kind of well… it was a work in progress! So, this information was perfect! If there was indeed issues in the area it would be remiss of Shen Qingqiu to not survey the area himself as an immortal cultivator, and he couldn’t just leave Binghe, plus his Shidi was already on it so joining them would be no problem! Perfect.

-Liu Qingge parry's a strike, his sword burying itself to the hilt. The wound festers red and black around the blade, the skin pulsating as it seemingly climbed up its’ surface. Trying to tug the blade free was fruitless, as if it was being consumed by the deforming mass beneath him. He swings both the blade and the body stuck to it to block the blow from his front. He can't block the blow that impales his side, nor could he stop the blow to his throat. Thrown from his feet he lands in the lake, sinking beneath the silver water. Bubbles form as his body thrashes in his death throes. White stained red, petals crushed beneath his submerging form. The stain spreads; the bubbles stop.-

It’s fun travelling with them both, yes his husband and Liu Qingge fight like cats and dogs, but on Binghe’s side he practically playing! It’s enrichment!

“Shen Qingqiu, control your husband!” The red flush spreading across his Shidi’s face was rather fetching, he could see why his husband liked causing it… and well, it’s not bullying if his Shidi likes it. The satisfaction points speak for themselves! Though admittedly they are much, much higher when he’s the one teasing his Shidi, a gain however is a gain!

“Liu Shishu just can’t handle losing to this one, maybe Shizun should kiss his wounds as a consolation prize~” A teasing sneer spreads across Binghe’s face as he gloats, a sneaky little glance towards this husband follows. Ah Binghe, you’re coming across too strong! We talked about this, be more gentle! Treat him like a skittish cat!

“Ah Shidi, Binghe’s only teasing.” He raises his fan to cover his face, coyly glancing at his Shidi from behind it, “After all, I’ll only kiss your wounds if you win.”

“Y-You- Shameless!” Yes, he did so love the time they spend together.

-Time after time, one after the other, the grief never fades. The deaths will haunt his mind forever, a permanent scar across his psyche. Will he ever be able to close his eyes without seeing Qingge cut down? His husband gasping for air? His own limbs severed? Yet the hoard encroaches. A never ending onslaught.

"Husband! Behi-" Pain tearing through his spine, an arc of gore glowing in the moonshine. Red blood, black blood. It doesn’t end.

3̵̨̲̰͉̤͓͓̜̯͉͈̕̕͜͜0̶̧̛̝̭͈̤͕͇͙̩̠%̷̞̦̈́̄͆̓̕ Thirty four, Thirty FiVe. His lungs were screaming. Every block, and lunge, and slash, and parry exhausting him to the bone. All he could taste was rust and ash, Qingge fell silently a breath, an incense stick, a shi chen, ago. His body a shield again this master's blunder. He can barely lift his sword, his meridians felt almost burnt from the power cloying the air. A sickeningly wet squelch, Binghe's roar faltering to a whimper as his body hits the rocks. Another demon down, or a cultivator? Bodies falling, falling. He can’t, he can’t. Two red moons fill the sky, water fills his lungs. [User seems to be struggling with this Mission! >_< Poor showing from host! Well User can always retry!! 500 B-points!] [Y/N] [Y]

6̶̠͠0̵͇̐%̶̆͜

FiFty SeveN. He's drowning in blood. Was it Binghe's arm he was holding? It must be, Shidi was dragging him. Somewhere. Hmmm, the shouting is getting closer, and Qingge's breaths sounded quite wet! Ah! He's coughing! Well better out than in, Shidi, ah it's... Dripping. Here, Shixiong will wipe it away... Why... Tears? Ah Shidi looks so!! So!!! If this master wasn't married! Ah Wait we...Well maybe Binghe will... Here Shidi hold on to Binghe for this one a moment. Why are you giving me that look? Ah you're crushing me! For someone so lithe looking you're really quite heavy! Ah, it's quite- Shidi... Liu shidi.. you... Please keep coughing please you're too quiet. Please I can’t... It's tOo quiEt it’s toO [User seems to be running low on B-points. User has 427 B-points remaining! Luckily User 0002 can use his VIP to reduce the cost to 400 B-points for the next attempt!!] [Y/N] [Y] FIFTY EIGHT. Not just demons, not just cultivators. No, of course not. It was him. His fault. Who else could it be? Only he had the power, only he had the will. Only he had the golden finger, the halo, the fucking audacity! But there was something wrong. Glowing red eyes, skin twitching, shifting, like textures not loading in. His voice crackling, modulated.

"Ah S̸͕̑ḫ̴̅ĭ̶̟z̶̡̏u̵͇͂n̵͓͝~ you thought that s̸͍͠e̴͋ͅà̸̗l̵̰͠i̷͓͝n̵͎͑g̵̜̉ this world from me would be so simple? There is nowhere you could run, no world you could jump to, that I would be u̵͚͊n̷̜͆ä̶̢́b̸̞̊ḻ̷͌ě̷̤ to follow. So please, just submit, this Junshang will treat you well."

“go… fuck… yourself..” Spitting words like spitting blood, the ringing of bells…. No… sirens blaring in the skies.

The monster’s ribs cracked and spasms, a twisted knot of glossy black bone and gently pulsating red wires. An artificial monstrosity. What had he done to himself, to gain access to this world? Qingge sprawled in a heap, a black puddle spreading beneath him, Xin Mo sheathed like a grave marker in his back. His husband split throat to navel, his body failing to knit itself back together, strangled gurgles bubbling in his throat. A hoard of demons, no… cultivators? They surround him in twitching, glitching, grinning masses. Their distorted faces all corrupted copies of his own. This time its his own blade that takes his life. The howling, glitching screams of rage following him into the dark.

“Y̷̯͛o̸͇͆ǔ̷ͅ'̴̗̐l̵̦̓l̷͍͠ ̵̜̂b̷͙́e̷̟̊ ̴̱͆m̵͚̈́í̵̲ǹ̷̻e̵̛͚ S̷̝͠h̴̭̔e̵̺͝n̶̆͜ ̵̳̏Ỳ̴̻ü̷͇a̷̤̔n̴͈̅!̴̼̐”

7̸̝̓3̷̬́%̵̧͊ [User 0002 is out of B-Points! It appears you have failed! (>U-U)> But! This generous system is willing to offer User 0002 a super! limited! one! time! offer if User is willing!] [Y/N] [Why]

7̵̙̑8̵̰͗%̸̯̈

[Because User 0002 transformed a stupid work into a magnificent, high quality, first-rate classic! It would be a shame for so much work to be unmade due to… external meddling!] [And the cost] [^-^ Will User 0002 not pay any price? This SYSTEM is offering User the chance to escape this fate! Protagonist Luo and Second Male Lead Liu will be alive! The best ending could be in your grasp!! After all “You can you up, no can no bb!” ] [Y/N]

8̷͙͊1̴͉̈%̴̘́

[Y]

8̸̘̊5̷̣̐%̷̟̆

[User 0002 has made the right choice! This SYSTEM can’t wait to work closely with User Shen! <(^3^)>] {Loading World State: 10….........33..............68.............99.........100%} {Creating Mind Space 100%. Building Temporal Archives 100%. Allocating User Permission. . . Complete}

{Clearing WORLD CORRUPTION FILE DATA: E̸̹̋Ṟ̵̅R̵͉͊O̵̳͘R̵̭̿} {Activating ARCHIVIST Protocol...}

F̷̥̀ï̸̮l̸̘̋ḙ̵́ ̶̘͊R̶̲͘e̵̯̋c̸͈̅a̸̡̍ĺ̶̤l̷̪͂ ̴̧̀C̷̤̑ȏ̵͇r̶͎͋ȑ̷͎u̵̳̔p̷̧͑t̵̤͝e̸̡͛d̸̨̽

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[sciencelings-arts]

Kill your demons, Kill 'em dead in your mirror, in your bed, in your heart, in your head Don't you look good in red Slay your devils, Kill 'em all, Take your throne, Paint the walls, And if you make it out alive, Hold that bloody head up high

Good in Red

-The Midnights

Artists commentary below the cut

First off, here's the song:

Red version, anyway let's speedrun the symbolisms:

The sword of justice is Apollo and Trucy flavored with the eyes and the diamonds, also the guard is supposed to resemble the scales of justice. There's also Apollo's bracelet and Kazuma's hachamaki, I felt like including a bit of him for the vibes. The halo of stars is used as a crown of immortality which goes with Phoenix's whole thing.

different version of the halo, more sharp and stabby and feathery. Anyway, I wanna ramble about what I was going to do with the background. So, with the theme of 'Kill your demons' I was going to try to include the silhouettes of heads on spears of the people that Phoenix dethroned, like Redd White, Manfred von Karma, Damon Gant, Matt Engarde, and Dahlia Hawthorne. As you can tell, that didn't pan out and no matter how I tried to work it, it didn't look good so I just didn't do it lol. Also, I guess the heads on spears would've gone past the point of being a little too gruesome for me, just in general.

This whole piece is based on one of the many paintings of Judith slaying Holofernes, which is why this specifically takes place in my Fem!Phoenix AU, I thought it hit harder, especially after learning about the version by Artemisia Gentileschi that's implied to be inspired by her own sexual assault. While I followed the versions where it's mostly just 'pretty lady holding a head', her version was more brutal and actually depicting the act of beheading Holofernes which was rad as hell. I just liked the Perseus and Medusa-esque pose of triumph more in the end.

My initial inspiration was Perseus and Medusa but then I stumbled upon the absolute tsunami of Baroque and Renaissance art depicting Judith and Holofernes and I just went crazy. Sure there's the whole vibe of 'cutting off the head of the snake' but there's like one statue of Perseus and it's not very interesting but people really went off on Judith. I love you women committing righteous acts of violence, and obviously, so many painters had the same thought bc holy shit.

And I drew the whole sword of justice and was only a little lazy with the blade because I knew it would be completely hidden

[trustinsighters]

Aymeric's Actions & Battle Quotes

GENERAL INFOS

Support NPC Name: Aymeric

Expansion: 3.X (Heavensward)

Job/Class Name: Lord Commander

Roles: Tank and DPS (both listed as Gladiator)

Duty Support: Yes (Patch 3.3 Lv.60 Sohr Khai)

Trust: No

ACTION LIST

Tank & Dps

Fast Blade: deals single target damage.

Riot Blade: deals single target damage; Combo action: Fast Blade.

Rage of Halone: deals single target damage; Combo action: Riot Blade.

Glory of Halone: deals single target damage; uses Royal Authority animation.

Circle of Scorn: deals split AoE damage (circle); Executed after: Glory of Halone.

Dull Blade: deals single target damage; uses Goring Blade animation.

Spirits Without: deals single target damage; uses Spirits Within animation; Executed after: Dull Blade.

Phoenix Down: revives the support NPC healer if they have been incapacitated; out of combat use only.

TANK Only

Iron Will: tank stance.

Feral Charge: rushes to target; increases enmity.

Provoke: increases enmity.

Noble Blade: deals split AoE damage (circle); increases enmity; uses Total Eclipse animation.

Wrath of Halone: deals split AoE damage (circle); increases enmity; Combo action: Noble Blade.

Sentinel: reduces damage taken; Duration: 15s.

Rampart: reduces damage taken; Duration: 20s.

Reprisal: reduces damage dealt by nearby enemies; seems to use it only during boss fights; Duration: 10s.

Noble Spirit: deals single target damage; uses Holy Spirit animation.

Excellence: invuln; uses Hallowed Ground animation.

DPS Only

LB1 Braver: deals single target damage.

LB2 Bladedance: deals single target damage.

Battle Quotes

Feral Charge

[EN] There! [JP] 隙ありッ！ [DE] Hinfort aus Ishgard! [FR] Encaisse donc ça !

Excellence / Low Health (1)

[EN] We must stand together! [JP] 押されている！？ [DE] Langsam wird es eng .../ Nichts aufgeben! (2) [FR] Nous perdons du terrain!/ Aide-moi, Halone. (3)

Rage of Halone

[EN] You underestimate me! [JP] 甘く見るなよッ！ [DE] Seht euch vor! [FR] Tu me sous-estimes !

Glory of Halone

[EN] It ends here! [JP] 受けてもらおうッ！ [DE] Noch nicht genug? [FR] C'en est fini !

Spirits Without

[EN] Down with you! [JP] 仕留めるッ！ [DE] Nun ist Schluss! [FR] Venez vous battre, pleutres ! (4)

LB1: Braver

[EN] This knight does not yield! [JP] これが騎士の意地だッ！ [DE] Nun ist Schluss! [FR] Tu l'auras voulu !

LB2: Bladedance

[EN] For Ishgard! [JP] 我が友のためにッ！ [DE] Für einen wahren Freund! [FR] Pour Ishgard !

Battle Sounds

[DE] Nimm das! [FR] Prends ça !

Pain Sounds

[JP] チィッ… [DE] Verflucht!

Defeated

[EN] Damn it all... [JP] 腕が落ちていた…か… [DE] Ich habe versagt. [FR] J'ai failli...

Revived (5)

[EN] It isn't over yet! [JP] まだ、終わりにはさせない…！ [DE] Ich werde es nicht hier enden lassen ... [FR] Je ne tomberai pas aussi facilement !

Notes:

Aymeric hasn't any Character Selection quote.

(1) Low Health line is the same as Excellence line with the exception that the voice doesn't play. Speech balloon only.

(2) Audio and speech balloon text don't match. Audio: "Nichts aufgeben!"; Balloon: "Langsam wird es eng ...".

(3) Audio and speech balloon text don't match. Audio: "Aide-moi, Halone."; Balloon: "Nous perdons du terrain!".

(4) Audio doesn't play.

(5) Revived quote isn't dubbed. Speech balloon only.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

The new trilogy means we finally got official French translations of the fifth and sixth games (the fourth already had one) so I did my thing and played through them, since they're always a lot of fun. Here are some things about French Dual Destinies I thought you might like to know:

Yes, it's set in France as per usual. They are all French people who live in Paris. And yes, that means that in this universe there is a Japanese village themed around yokai within throwing distance of Paris.

Athena lived in America in this version, and therefore peppers her speech with English and Spanish. My favourite unhinged franglais line was "let's get au travail" which I will be using from now on because it's hilarious

Many characters got French pun names again. Simon's name is "Jack Lamenoire" -- Jack, because the French version of Simon Says uses the name Jack/Jacques, and "lame noire" means "black blade". (Also he's not British or anything in this version, he just speaks in somewhat old-timey French.)

He has multiple nicknames for the judge that are all slight variations of "Your Baldness". He doesn't do that "-dono" suffix thing but he does refer to Phoenix in particular as "Maître Wright".

...I don't like pointing out things I didn't like buuuuuut his voice is a huge downgrade. Actually, to be honest, I don't like the new French voices that much in general... idk man they just don't sound very enthusiastic...

Filch's name is "Arsène Loupet", reference to the famous fictional thief Arsène Lupin, which I thought was pretty cool! (Herlock Sholmes was also a reference to that series too btw!)

Athena and Apollo use informal pronouns for each other pretty much from the get-go, but there have been some changes from the previous games: Phoenix now uses the informal "tu" for Apollo (and Athena) whereas in the prev game he didn't, Pearl now uses "tu" for Phoenix as well, and Klavier uses "tu" for Apollo now (but Apollo still calls him the formal "vous" lmao)

SPEAKING OF... SPEAKING OF. The French localisation continues to utterly baffle me when it comes to Klavier (or Konrad as he's called in French). No listen, liSTEN. In the previous game he was specifically stated to be English and did his law exams in England and dropped English words into his speech (and this is still the case in the trilogy version, I checked). But now?? They seem to have gone back on it and in this game he says he's German again, like the in English translation??? But he's still dropping English words into his speech randomly????? Look I already went through the five stages of grief when I found out they'd english-ified him, I made my peace with it, and NOW they change it???????

God and his new French voice sucks too (his old one was actually good)... what have they done to you my poor boy, was making you English not bad enough T_T Oh and he and Athena didn't even get their little language club moment where they both start speaking in the same foreign language?? Like, that just straight-up didn't happen here and I had been waiting for it aauuugh it's cool it's fine it's cool i'm okay i'm--

True to Dual Destinies fashion, there are still typos. In an emotional moment, Apollo took a leave of asbence from the office. Not absence. Asbence.

I can't put my finger on it but Robin's coming out scene felt more... respectful in French? The English translation was done over a decade ago so it feels somewhat dated, maybe that's why... I obviously don't know if she was purposely written to be a trans girl but she very much comes across that way, and it feels like the French translators were aware of that interpretation and took it into account, idk maybe it's just me

THEY GOT RID OF MY FAVOURITE LINE. THE FORESHADOWEY ONE WHERE SIMON TELLS ATHENA THAT THE PERSON SHE WANTS TO SAVE MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD DOESN'T DESIRE HER DEFENCE, AND HE'S CLEARLY TALKING ABOUT HIMSELF. THE FRENCH MADE HIM SAY SOMETHING ELSE WAY LESS COOL. I don't wanna be like "FRENCH TURNABOUT ACADEMY IS DEAD TO ME" because most of it was awesome, but man these occasional things made me wanna flip tables

Cosmic Turnabout and Turnabout for Tomorrow were great in French though, so there's that. Clay's French name is "Pierre" which worked surprisingly well because it means stone or rock, and the moon rock was also called that, so like, the phantom had to kill Pierre in order to get the pierre... idk it worked and it was cool

Simon and Athena switch to using informal pronouns for each other very near the end of the game, in the scene where they work together to psychologically mess with the phantom. It's around the time when they start openly calling each other by first name since everyone knows now that they're old friends.

Phoenix and Edgeworth also occasionally refer to each other by first name in this game, which threw me off completely. (Reminder that Edgeworth's French name is "Benjamin Hunter". Just picture Phoenix standing in front of Edgeworth and calling him BENJAMIN. Now you understand how absolutely bizarre it felt.)

Here's the entirety of The Dissin' of Phoenix Wright in French

[comfortless]

syl you can not casually mention blacksmith König and leave it at that!

sighing… ok, yes, i will talk about blacksmith! König more..! ^^

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. violence, physical/emotional abuse, descriptions of injury, death, angst, marriage on the gallows au.

Before König, there was his father, his father’s father and so on. Hardened men who were left to rot on the outskirts of the little village: sharpen blades, birth something from slabs of iron and silver. The work was tedious, but never dull. Scrape, burn, turn and roll- over and over until the smoke rose from the pit to sting at his eyes. Birth by fire wasn’t only in myths of dragons and phoenixes; he witnessed it each time he held pure malice in his hands as his hammer struck. Nothing became something, deadly and cruel. Day and night his life and lungs were filled to brimming with hellfire.

Accidents happen, naturally. No matter how careful he’s been, there’s nothing to keep the flame from entirely taking back after giving so much.

König’s father lost a finger while mentoring him.

His blue eyes were fixed on the man’s callused hand as the freshly smithed blade sliced through the digit like it was little more than a dollop of honey, no blood. There had been nothing but the crack of bone carved cleanly through, then the wet sizzle of meat cooking as it fell into the pit.

His father had screeched like a starved demon then, a barrage of insults tossed his son’s way like little more than passing pleasantries: oaf, useless cur, bitch.

König hadn’t been concerned, he sat on the stone bench looking up at his father and told him so, that he was fine: it had been cauterized, cleansed by the fire.

König lost the same finger that day.

His mother had fallen ill sometime last winter. The last memory he had of her was the look of frailty on her face, how her skin felt so cold and yet she lie dampened with sweat.

The dogs and buzzards had gotten to her grave, but it wasn’t them he felt any of the fire’s malice for.

Just his father.

The villagers didn’t know what became of the blacksmith, but König could recall it every night; how even with his dying breath he had only thought to curse his only son.

So, he wears the hood of the last executioner now, and the people shy away. They don’t like the look of death unless they can participate in it as a divined audience.

The dogs are never hungry, there’s illness all throughout the valley, and sometimes it only shines through in shimmering eyes while the villagers stare and giggle at the next withering soul led to the gallows.

König knows he should be there; like mother and father, his bones should be shared between panting mouths and blood-stained beaks. Sometimes the boars come sniffing too, and he’s always hated them, maybe even more than the birds. They’re ugly and sturdy, squealing and snarling like his father.

The villagers looked at the boars, though, because they were useful. Their eyes were hungry and happy each night the men set out on a hunt, unaware that their sons and daughters lurked in the bellies of the very beasts they starved for.

It’s cold even during the summer months in his shack.

There are blankets, a kitchen, a hearth, but it’s empty. The winter makes its wastelands each coming year, envious of how he can accomplish such with fire instead of ice. He doesn’t need to clean. The ash blackens the wood, cleanses all. One day, maybe, it would scrub him too.

The fire is a womb, but it’s never birthed anything truly alive. Not until her. A wildfire swept the field where travelers had gathered. With their supplies reduced to the very cinders König had come to adore, the surviving members sweep right into this cursed place like it’s a holy temple.

And the fire gave her to him.

König doesn’t know where this woman came to settle from; she isn’t like the other villagers, not even the travelers with their items and skills for selling. There’s still life in her eyes. He watches her as she wanders down the street with a smile on her face, one that speaks of a kindness that not a single one of these people deserves.

She introduces herself to them too, without a title to her name, and all at once any interest fades as the ghosts wander away from her.

His mother used to force him into the church when she was still alive.

She would take him by the hand as he lumbered after her, sticking out amongst the crowd of parishioners who would sing their hymns and stare at him with contempt behind their eyes. He hated going, but he did it for his mother; father was much too busy to spend his time with her and her fantasies. But König learned of angels there, fragile feathered things, all eyes and wings that wouldn’t stand a chance against a blade.

He didn’t think delicate things could be holy until her sweet, gentle smile is cast upon him.

This lady walks right up to him, doesn’t bat an eye at his hood when her lips curl up as she introduces herself. She doesn’t mind the sack of weapons thrown over his shoulder to take to the marketplace— the swords, the daggers, none of it. Her eyes don’t even glance their way; she looks only to him.

Women like this don’t want their homes and beds covered in ash, cinder in place of incense, fire instead of honey. But still she smiles while he says nothing.

König isn’t the only man who’s heart she steals, either.

The village is all gray, smoke and rot except where she walks. Flowers spring up for the coming spring, the deer and foxes are calling out for mates, and it’s all because of her— everyone must know it.

The farmer’s son brings her fresh fruit and whispers into her ear while they pass by his shack on a stroll. The man’s arm curls around her waist so naturally that König can only be reminded of the way that dagger sank between his fathers fingers, tore off a bit of him to feed back to hungry flame. If there were any god above he knew right then that it wouldn’t want him to allow that to happen to her. Not to an angel.

When the rest of the men, dogs and seraphim sleep, König tears the farmer’s boy in two— split down chest to abdomen and left as food for the pigs, right there in the middle of the field.

He doesn’t pray, he hasn’t since the last time he knelt by his mother’s sickbed, but he closes his eyes and breathes out a wish when he leaves that bloodied dagger at her doorstep.

He doesn’t pray, but he weeps when he rallies the villagers to apprehend her. She cries and fusses, face puffy from sleep and hair a mess. There isn’t a speck of blood on her, but the vultures take her anyway. König didn’t want to see her hurt; when her eyes find his, he turns away.

The day of her execution arrives like a festival ceremony. It’s been some time since the last, the scavengers are hungry, so famished he thinks he can almost hear them lick their teeth. There would be no death today, it’s already been decided. In distant places, a single act of devotion is all it takes to save a life, one that the beasts didn’t have the right to take.

The hunger wasn’t always just for death, but for something… a turn and change like steel in fire.

When the angel is taken to her death, rope dangling from her neck like a lead meant for cattle, he steps forward, parting the crowd with an ease. He’s practiced this a time or two in the smoke already, a lonesome and loathing god in the fog. The others scurry from him, looking up at him with pinched brows and bared teeth as if to goad he take her life instead.

Instead, he only catches her eye, smiles and lowers himself on one knee.

[pr3ttyf4wn]

Dont Ya Wish U Were Us?? ⋆·˚ ༘ *

🏫 Welcome to S.C.H.O.O.L

📚 Elementals

📕 Light and Darks

📘 Shifters

📓 Paranormals

🎤 The Phoenix's

🎸 The Blades

IM VERY VERY HAPPY TO INTRODUCE MY SUPERHERO!AU AND I HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYS THEM AS MUCH AS I DO!!!

[miles-wrightworth]

AA culprit AU (TW for mentions of blood and violent murder)

okay so buckle up

Phoenix: when Dahlia tried to poison him, he became interested in chemicals and toxins. he switched his major to chemistry and he now sells concoctions and poisons to anyone who is willing to pay.

he is a little bit insane. he has built up an immunity to poisons after accidentally drinking them and narrowly surviving every time (and cuz he works with toxins so much). at this point, he just tastes his poisons like soup like 'hmmm needs more acetone'

his hands shake and hes gone just a little crazy from the damage the poisons have done to him

he pretty much always has some sort of chemical stain or burn somewhere on him or his clothing.

edit: I'm thinkin' he's Mia's medical apprentice (she runs a hospital in this au)

Miles: Miles is what began this idea because i think he would be ten times hotter if he was a muderer. anyways-

dl6 still happens and everything is the same up to when Miles is about 15 years old and he finds out about mvk killing Gregory. he is pissed asf and apalled at the injustice of the whole situation and how corrupted mvks methods are. he feels the urge to kill him grow stronger every day.

he eventually does snap and plunge his pocket knife into mvk multiple times and gets away with it. Franziska is pissed because he murdered her dad but eventually comes to terms with the fact that Miles' crime has made the world an overall better place.

with no legal guardian, Miles and Fran are put in an orphanage and vibe there until Miles is 18. Fran learns how to make knives and Miles learns how to use them. Fran lives with Miles until she is 18 and moves out.

Miles is like 'hey. im good with knives, i despise injustice, and i have begun to like the sight of blood. i should put that to good use' and he becomes somewhat of a serial killer/vigilante

he picks targets carefully. corrupt people in the legal system, corrupt politicians, any shitty person he can find. he murders them brutally and due to the dl6 incident, he cant hold a gun without trembling, so his go-to method of killing is knives. he loves knives and he has a huge collection of fancy blades and throwing knives. he always leaves his victims crucified on the nearest wall with knives through their wrists pinning them there and bathes the room in their blood. thats how the cops know he did it.

the news dubs him the 'Crimson King' and Phoenix sees that in a newspaper and wants to see this guy for himself because he definitely recognizes that blurred pic the police took in the paper.

basically hes noble but extremely brutal and god thats kinda hot

Fran: Franziska is a bladesmith/black market arms dealer. Miles frequently visits her shop and he gets discounts on her wares. havent thought about her story a lot. Her relationship with Miles is strained after Manfred's murder and gets a bit better over the years.

Maya: Maya is a nurse at a nearby urgent care clinic. Phoenix frequently comes in begging her to help him but not tell anyone because he accidentally drank a lethal poison but nobody can know because its illegal to possess. also havent thought too much about her story.

added ideas: Klav is a drug dealer and Godot/Diego is a mafia boss

[euniveve]

the status of the long fics is still ongoing. my works often feature the same themes of trauma. tags colored red should be cautioned over as it may not catered to everyone's taste.

Long Fics:

The Phoenix to His Dragon - Morax/Fem!Reader, archon war, isekaid!reader, violence, blood, death, lore heavy, past!unrequited!guili, exploration of morax's trauma, mentions of reader's past, implied parental abuse, angst, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, marriage (currently being rewritten)

The Laws Regarding Attraction - Neuvillette/Fem!Reader, Attorney!Reader, Sassy!Reader, Reader is from Liyue, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, mentions of trauma in relation to the reader, unhealthy relationship dynamic (at first), angst, enemies to lovers, slowburn, initial unrequited love, one-sided pining, takes place 3 years before the Fontaine Arc. (Projected to be finished this year)

Drabbles/One-Shots/Imagines:

Together Forever - Zhongli/GN!Reader, imagine, dark content, cannibalism, yandere!zhongli, grieving!zhongli, angst

I'm Okay I Think - Zhongli/GN!Reader, one-shot, MASSIVE hurt/comfort, insecure!reader, angst, reader is implied to have depression.

I Can't Keep Control - Zhongli/GN!Reader, imagine, major character death (you), desperation, obssessive!zhongli

(How Morax Got His) Red Eyeliner - Zhongli/Wife!Reader, one-shot, domestic fluff, slight angst, mentioned!xiao

My True Love Gave to Me - K. Ayato/Fem!reader, drabble, modern!au, christmas, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort

Coming Soon (long fics):

Rex Lapis' Wife Would Like To Rest In Peace - Zhongli/fem!reader, arranged marriage, post archon-war liyue, emperor!morax, imperial harem, politics, suicidal!reader, exploration of trauma, reader is implied to have depression.

This Blade That Carves Loneliness - Zhongli/fem!reader, figure skating au, modern au, yuri on ice inspired, dealing with topics of depression, burnout, and guilt.

Tales of The Wisteria Chamber - K. Ayato/Fem!Reader, politics, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers to enemies lovers, angst.

[rottenpumpkin13]

You know what…let’s fucking go there!

Genesis gets everything he wants AU

Sephiroth, by some unseen twist of fate, has some kind of physical collapse due to overexposure to mako and ends up incapacitated on the field during a key battle in Wutai. He fails, becoming useless, and Genesis is the one to win the great victory. He gets all the glory for the first time ever.

When they get home, Sephiroth is gone. Restricted to R&D, physically unable to perform as he once did, and Genesis becomes the new hero of Shinra. His face is everywhere, people are saying he was the one that surpassed Sephiroth. PR is going wild with interviews and propaganda. The President awards Genesis in front of screaming crowds. All the young boys now want to be like the daring and fiery Phoenix of Wutai.

Genesis Rhapsodos becomes the new face of SOLDIER and the legendary victor of the Wutai War.

He got everything he dreamed of. He is the hero at last.

But did it satisfy him?

Glory had a distinct taste for everyone, and all the most discerning SOLDIERs knew it. Angeal would’ve said it tasted like metal, the type that pricks your tongue when your mouth is full of blood; the type you have to spit out before you swallow it and it settles in your stomach as an addiction. 

Sephiroth could go on and on about how insipid it was, oftentimes repeating himself as he told his friends just how flavorless his conquests were. Sephiroth couldn’t tell if it was a case of overconsumption that led to the lackluster feeling in his mouth, or if he simply never liked the taste of it at all.

It didn’t matter to Genesis, who always took everything Sephiroth told him with a spoonful of salt. He had an idea of glory that would’ve prodded one's hunger and left you salivating just at the thought of it. In his mind, glory was sweet, delectable, and downright sinful. 

His insatiable hunger for glory didn’t help his case. Genesis Rhapsodos was born hungry and lived life intent on satisfying his stomach at all costs, no matter who he had to step over to fill it.

 

Then, there came a day when glory finally forced itself down his throat. 

And it tasted like the ashes of the dead. 

The battlefield was enveloped in chaos, a symphony of clashing swords permeating the air. It buzzed with the hum of thundering spells. Genesis fought with unparalleled ferocity, his rapier burning brightly with the glow of the flames.

Up ahead, Sephiroth cut through the enemy ranks with his usual immaculate precision. 

But Genesis was not blind, and he had known Sephiroth long enough to notice it—Sephiroth's movements, once fluid, grew sluggish as sweat clung to his brow.

Then, it happened.

Sephiroth staggered, Masamune slipping from his grasp. The weight of the blade seemed too much for his weakened form. His strength gave way. He collapsed to his knees, crumbling like a doll to the muddy ground.

Genesis never did understand the force that propelled him forward that day. He was like an animal, slicing through enemies with pure rage and fear biting his skin, aiming to protect Sephiroth from his attackers. 

The following month, the streets of Midgar were wrought with the roaring cheers of a crowd, a sea of faces adorning banners and posters of a russet-haired hero. Genesis stood atop a grand podium with a gold medal around his neck, placed there by the president himself.

He was the face of SOLDIER now, the Phoenix of Wutai.

The exploding fireworks never penetrated the barrier between the vainglorious display outside and the desolation in Genesis' mind. It was quiet there. He only ever brought himself out when he needed to force a smile or answer a question. 

Though bathed in brilliance and splendor, Genesis felt naked before the abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

Sephiroth was confined to a bed somewhere in the R & D's medical wing. And Genesis would once again trade places with him in a heartbeat. 

Director Lazard's voice droned on, detailing Genesis's packed schedule for the upcoming week. Interviews with various media outlets, appearances at high-profile events, and promotional activities—all designed to solidify Genesis's status as the new face of SOLDIER.

"...And then there's the gala on Thursday night. The President himself will be there, and it's crucial that you make a lasting impression," Lazard finished, expecting some form of acknowledgment from the younger man. 

Genesis was indifferent, his attention fixated on the PHS in his hands. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers against the polished conference table, his mind anywhere but there. 

Lazard cleared his throat and tried again.

"Genesis, this is a crucial time for your public image. You're the pride of Shinra now, and we need you to embrace that role fully," Lazard spoke. 

“Yes.” Genesis glanced up, his gaze distant. “I understand.”

He kept his attention fixated on the subtle vibrations of his device. The screen illuminated with a message from Angeal. 

Go. Now.

Without a word, Genesis rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. The papers Lazard had carefully arranged slid haphazardly across the table. 

He rushed down the hallway, not caring about decorum for even a second, en route to the medical wing. 

With a swipe of his key card, Genesis entered the suffocating environment, quickly finding the hallways where Sephiroth's room was located. 

Angeal stood guard outside the door. “Be quick. They could come back any moment,” he told his friend, opening the door with a stolen key card. 

The green light on the door panel blinked, indicating permission to enter. With each step into the brightly lit room, Genesis felt the pit in his stomach open wider. 

He had expected the scent of antiseptic to reach him first, the metallic scent of blood, even. So his surprise was marked by the strong smell of mako permeating the air like a suffocating cloud. 

Sephiroth lay on a medical bed, a shell of the man he once was. The soft beeping of monitors and machinery surrounded him.

Genesis' fist shook. He dug them into the side of his leg in hopes of stopping them entirely. But it was no use, the sound of his immediate, choked cries was enough to convince him to break down. 

He wanted Sephiroth to open his eyes, to tease him for crying, to get up and tower over him as he once did, to laugh at his jokes, to talk to him, to be there because he was his friend. 

Genesis stood beside Sephiroth's unconscious form. The memories of that day on the battlefield flashed vividly in his mind. He reached out, guiding his trembling fingers to Sephiroth's pale face. 

Gently, he brushed a stray strand of silver hair from his friend’s eyes. He was cold to the touch, but Genesis still traced his finger down Sephiroth's arm, slowly taking his hand in his. 

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Please come back soon.” 

The constant whir of the medical equipment was abruptly disrupted by urgent beeping. Genesis's eyes widened as he turned towards the monitor, the once steady lines now spiking violently. 

A knot tightened in his chest, a blend of anxiety and guilt settling in.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall. Genesis flinched and jumped back as Hojo's voice cut through the tense air. 

“Get out! I told you not to come back here! Now look at what you've done!” 

A flurry of medical staff rushed in behind him. The room was active with urgency as they flew into action. 

Genesis stumbled out of the room, the words seemingly ripped out from his chest. He could only watch with his mouth hanging open as the constant beep of the heart monitor became accompanied by a shrill alarm echoing through the corridor.

The last he could remember was Angeal wrapping one arm around him, guiding him away from the scene. 

Three months flew by, each week a slap to the face for those who found disquiet in the quick passage of time. Genesis’ name echoed through the halls of Shinra, adorned posters throughout the city, and was celebrated in news broadcasts. Yet, with every accolade, the emptiness within him turned into a pit of solitude. 

Angeal was far too consumed by his protegé. Zack became the center of Angeal's attention, an energetic student-turned-loyal companion.

Genesis watched from the sidelines as the bond between mentor and protegé flourished. He no longer had the energy for jealousy and accusatory fingers. 

Some said he had the heat of his glory to keep him warm. Genesis often compared it to the flames of hell slowly roasting him into a prized turkey ready to be carved and served at the grand feast of judgment day. 

The labs became his daily battle. Genesis's persistent requests to see Sephiroth were met with firm rejection. Hojo had erected barriers that had become more and more impossible to breach.

Yet, he went back. Each day, driven by a stubborn hope that defied reason and logic. At least he could say he tried, that he had never given up on Sephiroth. 

Curiously, that all shifted one evening when Angeal and Genesis were informed of a peculiar happening within the Shinra building. 

“He's DEAD?” One SOLDIER spat, rising higher in his seat. 

All eyes were on Lazard at the front of the room. He looked exasperated, the glow of his tablet reflecting off the glasses which were quickly slipping down his nose. 

“How?” Echoed another voice—Zack. 

Genesis sat adjacent to Lazard, across from Angeal where the two proceeded to share the same, dumbfounded expression. 

Lazard cleared his throat—for the sixth time, Genesis noticed—before continuing. “He was found unresponsive this morning in the hallway outside his office. His skull appeared to have been cracked, and all signs right now are pointing to an accident.”

“Some accident,” Angeal mumbled, his eyes wide. 

“Tell me about it,” a Second-Class SOLDIER sneered. “Ah, anyway. It's not like the bastard will be missed.” 

Lazard shot him a warning look. “Please show some compassion.” 

Genesis scoffed, crossing his arms. “Compassion for Professor Hojo. It'd be more reasonable to ask us to pull our teeth out one by one to pay the ferryman.” 

Lazard ignored him. “Dr. Hollander will be taking over the R&D department temporarily—”

“Goddess save our souls,” Genesis cut in. 

Lazard ignored both Genesis and the subsequent laughter from the others. 

“And he has asked me to assure you all that Sephiroth will be in good hands—”

“Hollander is of the amputate-your-arm-if-you-break-it variety,” Genesis said smoothly, sliding out of his seat. “So if Sephiroth’s cure lies in the hands of medieval medicine, I'm sure he'll be up and about it in no time.”

With that, he stepped out of the room, taking all the spite and sarcasm in the room with him. 

Hojo was dead, a glorifying piece of information Genesis wished he could share with Sephiroth, if only the man was awake. 

He signed, turning down the hallway that led to his office. Somehow, he had a feeling that Sephiroth already knew—somehow. 

A few weeks went by. The early morning sunlight filtered through the office windows as Genesis headed to the conference room. He yawned, swirling the half-filled coffee cup in his hand as he swiped his key card to open the door. 

He expected another monotonous day. However, what met his eyes left him frozen in disbelief.

There, sitting at the conference table, was Sephiroth.

The coffee cup slid through his fingers, splattering all over the floor. 

The shock radiated through Genesis, rendering him momentarily speechless. 

Sephiroth was paler than before, his skin almost translucent. He had thinned out a bit, and the dark circles under his eyes were telling of the poor sleep the man had suffered from. 

But despite the physical toll, Sephiroth's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. His predatory grin sent a shiver down Genesis' spine. It was a smile that spoke of something beyond the realm of mortal comprehension.

That was the thing that overrode Genesis' joy and killed his relief upon impact. 

Because Genesis knew Sephiroth. 

And this was not him. 

[delopsia]

Void | Bob x Rhett x Reader

✦°．• Void Masterpost Word Count: 8,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Villain/Dark!AU, prophetic visions, verbal altercations & mentions of physical altercations, a dash of magic, edging, unprotected sex, comfort, themes of betrayal, heavy usage of Outer Range's hole and the ore that comes with it. Brief Summary: You are the monsters they created, and they must suffer the consequences. But first, there are more important things that must be taken care of in the bedroom.

"Because it was your fucking job!" 

"It was no one's job to be an experiment!" Robert's voice bellows over top of Maverick's. A reverberating noise that crawls up the walls and dances around your ears. An echo you'd be able to shake if not for the ice that has formed in your bones. Joints frozen with something akin to fear. Equally cold but...calmer. 

At peace, even.

Chestnut shoes click across the tile, each foot perfectly timed, walking to an inaudible beat so smoothly that Bob's shoulders hardly bounce with his step. "I signed up to protect my country," his index finger jamming toward his chest. Once. "Phoenix signed up to protect her country." Twice.

So many people in this room, and yet Maverick is the only one speaking. His white-knuckled fist shakes as he raises his voice once more. Barking like a dog in a fight. "Phoenix agreed to fly the mission!" 

Smoke smolders in the corner of your eye. Lurking up in the rafters. But all you can look between the open switchblade clutched in Bob's palm and his audience.

This isn't how this was supposed to go. 

"She didn't agree to die." The walls shiver. You know this story. Yet this feels like the first time you've heard Bob utter it. "I didn't agree to lose four years of my life!"

No, no, no, this wasn't the plan. 

As unfamiliar as you are with Bob's old coworkers—no, friends, you're almost certain that the one who reaches for Maverick's arm is Rooster. The only man you recall having a mustache. Certainly, the only one who has any grounds to stop him, but Maverick isn't hearing it. Shrugging Rooster's unwanted hand away, "We tried to help you, but—" 

"You had me charged with desertion!" Bob's voice booms. 

Time nearly stops. 

Milliseconds ticking impossibly slow as that delicate blade flies out of his hand. Intricately carved steel dancing, catching in the light of the crystal chandelier as it twists across the room. A perfect dance that never loses her momentum, darting across a path with such precision that you wonder if it was practiced. 

Until it strikes home in a picture frame. 

Right between the eyes of a recently deceased Admiral. 

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, the plaque reads. You don't recognize that name.

The room explodes into movement before you can reach your next thought. Maverick surging across the room. The screech of his voice masked by the yelling of nameless faces that bolt behind him. A leader of a charge. His outstretched fist vying to snap those delicate glasses in two. 

Plumes of black smoke descend from above. Swift. Sweeping through the crowd with an ear-splitting howl. Gold twinkles in the air like pixie dust. 

It solidifies. A vaguely human shape that strikes Maverick from behind. His muscles going taut. Falling into a full-body spasm as he falls. Face slamming flat against the tile. Blood pouring from his nose. Boots squeal as his companions skitter to a halt. 

Smoke fades into fog. That vague shape now an undeniable form. Solid knee digging into the fragile space between Maverick's shoulder blades, the other, cowboy boot-clad foot firm against the ground. 

"Easy, Rhett," you don't like that eerily calm tone in Bob's words. 

By the looks of it, Rhett's not too fond of being called off so easily. His brows furrowed as he steps to his feet, spurs chiming as he finds his place on Bob's right side where his vision is the worst. The result of an out-of-date glasses prescription that can no longer fully correct that astigmatism of his. 

"What is that?" Someone's stuttering, his feet tangling as he backs up. Blindly bumping into the shoulders of his colleagues in his effort to get away.

Rhett's head tilts, his dark eyes meeting yours, deep blue still clouded with the ore flooding his body. But he doesn't say a word. Silent as the wind on an eerily calm night.

It is not a word or a shout that shatters the silence. Nor is it the thundering of feet racing down the corridor, Naval security responding to a distress call. 

No, it isn't that at all.

It's a sharp intake of air. Boots clomping against the floor as Robert stumbles backward. Heels of his palms clanking against his glasses. Groaning low in his throat as he doubles over, a guttural noise that is too loud to be in this room full of his opponent. His enemy. Streaks of black raise from his forearms, veins bulging with it. 

Your shoes are ungluing from the floor. Knees cracking as you cross the room, out from your idle resting place by the door, fighting against better judgment as you shove between the bodies of nameless pilots and backseaters. Your outstretched arms reach for those shuddering shoulders. Not here. Not here. Not here.

But your hands are going through Bob's frame. Your body as opaque as water. A flickering presence that can hardly be seen by the naked eye. Why now? Why here? Of all times for your body to start slipping out of this timeline, why does it have to be when Bob's eyes are flooding with that telltale black? Frantic baby blue irises dart across your translucent face, helpless. Until they too have been taken over by darkness. 

"Stay with me," Rhett's hands appear on your shoulders. A vague contact that grows as his hands darken, gold flickering through the air once more. 

But that can wait. You're not going to slip out of this timeline that quickly. It's Bob who he should be focusing his efforts on. "You don't need to—"

"'s gonna be worse if you slip outta here entirely," Rhett's palms firmly squeeze your shoulders; has already gathered up every molecule of you from where it's been meandering between the folds of reality. "He'll come out of it."

Bob's shivering body bumps against yours, moving blindly, "hallway."

"What?" Your voice blending with Rhett's. Two voices, one question.

Bob's shivering mouth can hardly form another word, his weight settling against you, and the strain it puts on your knees has you fearing that you're the only thing holding him upright. "Hallway," he breathes, voice hardly audible, "the hallway. There's, there's, in the hallway—"

"Rhett!" That voice. You don't recognize it. 

But Rhett does. Shoulders stiffening. Spinning on his heels so quickly that they squeak against the floor. The very first to lay eyes on the stocky frame stomping through those double doors, his face so red it could burst. 

Royal Abbott. 

"Rhett!" He barks once more. His clenched fist bears that same inky darkness that is spreading across Rhett's skin. And here, you'd thought he was the only member of his family born with this ability. 

"Don't move," Rhett's voice is low. A borderline growl. 

And he needn't say more because the room explodes into a plume of black smoke. Dancing out from his sides, swirling and twirling around your bodies, wrapping you and Bob in a misty blanket that swallows you up entirely. Plunged into a glittering darkness that puts the night sky to shame. 

"We still haven't..." No, no, no, why is your voice dying in your throat? "The documents—Bobby."

 His clammy cheek squishes against your temple, flimsy arms draping around your icy frame. "This isn't going to work," he mutters, words that only you can hear, "this isn't...not with Royal."

"What do you mean?" Your voice breaks, "We can't give up on this now!"

But it's far too late for a debate. Bob's fingers rise to his lips, a low whistle washing over the silence. A calm tone that doesn't match the frenzy it sends Rhett into. Across the room within the second. Darkness spreads everywhere he touches. Through the air. Across the walls. Voices yelp and shout as a dull hum grows into an ear-splitting whine—the distorted sound of a weathered gate being opened. 

The floor beneath your feet is no more. But you don't feel the fall. It's as if the world ceases to exist, leaving you and Bob to float within a dark nothingness. Your legs tangle as you draw each other in, arms wrapping around torsos and heads burying into crooks of necks, desperately clinging to each other out of fear of drifting apart. 

Gold flickers. A dusting of a presence that curls around your back, cold nose bumping into the back of your neck. 

"Rhett?" You whisper, and despite feeling the rumble of your voice in your throat, you cannot hear your own words. Lost to the void. 

The arms that coil around you are familiar, strong, and bearing scars you've traced more times than you can count. Hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips tracing letters into the sensitive skin of your belly.

I'm here.

Despite this vast nothingness, you've never felt less alone. Safely wrapped up in the arms of the only men your weary heart can trust, the only place where the world cannot flash its sharp teeth at you. 

Your feet settle upon solid ground, soft carpet squishing beneath your shoes. Home once more. Where a nest of blankets sits in the corner of the couch, pictures in frames hang proudly on the wall, and an electric candle flickers next to the television. 

Precisely as you left it. 

"You didn't need to call me off," Rhett says, in a muttering fashion that sounds more like a rumble than anything else. "I could have handled it."

"And what if you couldn't?" Bobby's sharp voice echoes through the living room and into the kitchen. Repeating over and over until it dies into crippling silence. A cruel sort of thing that is somehow louder than the words themselves. 

His weight shifts from foot to foot. Rapidly blinking. "I'm sorry, I...." his bottom lip shivers, mouth opening and closing, fighting for words that do not exist. "I can't...I can't risk..."

But his knees give out before he can finish his sentence. Dropping so quickly that you hardly have time to dive for him. Weary arms catching his waist, too weak to do anything but slow his fall. Rhett's appearing on the other side, his face long since softened. Eyelashes fluttering a million miles a second.

Black bulges from the vein on Bob's forehead, your only indication of what has once again taken over his psyche. Jaw locked so tight it shakes. Sucking in air through his teeth. Falling into a full-bodied shiver. 

You don't understand. How is it happening again? "Rhett—"

"I know," he's already got his hands on either side of Bob's head. Flecks of black emerge onto his skin, drawn from the mineral trapped in the very fibers of Robby's brain. Unruly and running rampant, forcing visions behind his eyelids and threatening to take over his very being. 

You know that it's been growing. That the increase of this...this thing, whatever it is, has been eating away at him. A sort of eternal hell whose violent attacks keep his muscles tight and his eyes wide open for days on end. But you didn't realize that it's been this bad. Rhett's only removed some last Tuesday, and here he is again, two weeks earlier than usual. 

Bob slackens. Free of whatever invisible strings have been pulling on him, and when his eyes open, they're themselves again. Not black with the time mineral, or a muddied mixture of it, just the baby blue that is as soft as he is. 

"I can't lose you," he chokes, tone suddenly frail as he looks between you and Rhett, "Either of you." His shivering arms curl around the backs of your necks, drawing you both in. 

And it's easy. Sitting here on your living room floor, burying your head in the crook of Bobby's neck, your arms tight around him. Rhett's wrapping around you two like a blanket, long curls of his hair tickling your cheek. A big pile of shivering flesh and bone that defies the will of fate herself. Souls from separate timelines, trespassing in the name of a four-letter word. 

You could stay here forever. Pressing endless kisses to their cheeks, like you are now. Feeling the softness of Bob's skin and the coarseness that is Rhett's out-of-hand stubble. 

"How did he find you?" Bob's speaking again, albeit not very loudly. A whisper punctuated by the reciprocal smooch on the tip of your nose. "I thought you were the only one who could control the mineral?"

Rhett's quiet, his head shaking. "I don't..." pausing to accept his honorary nose kiss, face scrunching and all, "I don't know." 

You don't like that answer. Not one bit. 

But there isn't anything you can do about it. Not right this second, at least. For now, you've got a bigger problem on your hands, particularly named Robert Floyd.

"Think y' can get up for us?" Rhett's asking, his fingers carding through the short strands of hair atop Bob's head. Perfectly kept, as if he's still got a strict Naval standard to adhere to. It's as if he has yet to find his individuality, even after all this time. 

Weak, he nods. 

It's easy getting him down the hallway and into the bedroom, where the curtains are still open, showcasing that grandiose view of the valley below, distant, snowcapped mountains, and twinkling stars above. As wild as a place can possibly get when you live so far up on this lonely little mountain.

Far too isolated, but it's the only place that can ensure you'll know when someone is coming. 

"Need t' try gettin' the rest of that shit outta your head," Rhett mutters as the two of you guide Bobby to the corner of the bed, where he can't possibly miss the mattress. 

Your head cocks to the side, confused, "didn't you just take some?"  

"I mean, gettin' it all out," he says it like it's easy, some simple walk in the park, despite having never walked that path before. 

Eyes darting to Bob's fallen face, you reach to run your fingers against the curve of his cheek. Some thoughtless little motion that has him nuzzling into your palm, desperate for the warmth of it against his skin. Not enough to soothe the wrinkles on his forehead, from the way his eyebrows furrow with thought, but it's a start. 

You know what he's worrying about.

And you wish you didn't.

"I don't..." his head shakes back and forth, refusing to look up at you and Rhett like your gazes will burn him alive, "how do I...if I lose the visions..." His tongue too flimsy to get the words off, all but flailing in his mouth. 

"What d' ya mean?" Rhett's taking the words right out of your mouth.

Frustrated, Bobby's head shakes back and forth, unintentionally pushing your hand away. "What if something happens?" His voice cracks. Suddenly frantic. "And I can't—and I can't protect you?"

On its own, your voice finally bursts through, "We'll find a better way." And you don't have a clue what that better way is, but there has to be one out there, right? 

That sudden burst of hope shatters the moment Bob's glassy eyes flash up at you. Windows into his soul that must silently communicate his thoughts with you because, by the time his uneasy mouth opens, you've already heard what he has to say. "The visions are the only way I can keep you both safe." 

...but is it worth the expense of his life? Being slowly and painfully consumed by an out-of-control substance in the name of protection? 

Rhett's big, wavering hands reach out, no longer stained with midnight ink, as he takes hold of Bobby's wrist, guiding it up until knuckles brush against his scratchy cheek. You can't tell who it soothes more. "It's eatin' you alive," there's a hint of fragileness to Rhett's tone, "Please...just let me try."

Now your hand is being taken hold of, squeezed up against Rhett's chest, just above his thumping heart, alive as ever. His stubble tickling as he cranes his neck down to kiss your fingers. 

"Okay," Bob lets go of a breath, and it's as if the weight of the world lifts off your shoulders. His mouth opens again, but his tongue fails to produce another word. Distracted by the way he's warily holding his arms out, a welcoming invitation that you can never deny.

Hugging him feels awkward in all of the right ways. Your cheek squished against Rhett's shoulder, half bent over as you struggle to squirm onto the bed. Three pairs of legs flailing, but your arms refusing to unwind from Bobby to help. 

Four years ago, you'd hopefully believed that practice would end the bumping knees, sharp elbows, and clumsy limbs that don't quite go where they were intended. Unpracticed and out of sync with the two bodies sharing the room with you. And you're almost ashamed to admit that, if anything, it's gotten worse. 

Almost.

Because now there's a confidence to the way you press kisses to Bobby's sensitive neck, and you're unafraid to meet Rhett's darkened eyes as you do it. You're familiar with each other. Can tell that the hand disappearing beneath your shirt belongs to a cowboy and the knee between your thighs is attached to a former aviator on the run from the police. 

You've heard the story more times than you'd like to admit, but it still feels strange. That this gentle soul could be sentenced to five years in prison, all because he and his pilot were sent to fly through a time hole that didn't spit them out until four years later. As if being given a false funeral and losing a massive chunk of his life wasn't enough.

"I can see those gears turning in your head," Rhett's suddenly right next to your ear. Sends you jumping and knocking your forehead into Bob's jaw. 

"Rhett!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already laughing. So is Bob, for that matter. All at your weary heart's expense. 

Soft kisses press to your skin. The work of two pairs of lips trailing across your cheeks, Robby's working his way to your mouth, Rhett on his way to your sensitive neck, teeth scraping against delicate flesh like a warning. What that could be, you're not sure because you're silenced before you can even begin to speak. 

And you're downright melting into this familiar touch, noses bumping together, moving blindly. Your hands are roaming up Bob's chest, curling around the back of his neck, clinging as you swing your leg over his waist. Straddling him is so much easier. 

Dully, you're aware that Rhett has stopped; can feel the way his hungry eyes eat up every movement. The way Bob's hands grip your waist, how you sigh and tilt your head, inhaling the sweetness of cologne that still clings to him. Drowning in the small, surprised grunt when you nip his bottom lip. 

Thin, bitten lips part, welcoming you like a sweetheart who's been waiting for you to come home from a long day at work. Smiling and leaning up into you, his soft tongue twisting with yours in some lazy, practiced dance that makes your head spin. Breaking away only to gasp for a breath, then meeting again.

To your right, someone whines. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby," you coo. Can already feel the way a pair of big blue eyes are drilling into you, no longer happy with just watching. But knowing what you're going to find doesn't make the pang in your chest hurt any less; Rhett's hands rest innocently in his lap, bottom lip jutted out just a smidge, eager to lean in and steal your kisses away from Bobby. "Did you feel left out?" 

He hums, too content with this newfound attention to speak. Scratchy chin bumping against yours with every peck, four, five, six times, until he's been called down to steal from Bob, too. 

It's times like these when you wonder how they look so similar without being related. The scruff of Rhett's jaw is a mere distraction from their matching noses. Bob's eyelashes are thinner, and his cheeks bear a dusting of freckles that Rhett only carries a sprinkling of on his back, but God, the blue gazes peering up at you are identical. 

Until Bob's hips buck up against your ass. 

Your gasp echoes, eyelashes fluttering, "Bobby!" 

"I'm sorry," he grins, sheepish, "couldn't help myself."

But your knees are already digging into the mattress, grinding yourself back against him in such a way that you can feel his length twitch in his slacks. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you catch yourself wondering how many more times you will get to experience this. Your time is limited, cut even shorter by the furious hearts of men and women you don't know, vying to find a justice that will ultimately tear you apart. 

To have Robert jailed in the name of setting an example that you cannot flee from the law. 

To charge Rhett for framing his brother for his murder; who cares if he survived the attack? He lived, didn't he? 

To return your weary soul to a place where friends are your closest enemies. bold enough to lock you out and leave you in the cold as some sick prank, refusing to speak your name to cover their hides.

Betrayal is a hideous thing; it doesn't start small; no, it shatters you into a million tiny pieces and asks how you could ever be so angry for what it did to you. Because you survived, and the sight of your soul bloodied and broken has made their warped heart feel a twinge of guilt. It demands forgiveness when you have none to hand out. It makes you question if you're allowed to feel these horrible things, anger and hurt, and something you can't quite name. 

But these hands that roam your paper-thin skin, the delicate ones stroking your hips, and the strong ones roaming your arm...they have never made you feel so horribly. They have every reason to; they've been hurt, too, but the only thing they have ever done, from the moment they found you on the street, is love you. 

"So, how's this fixing to go?" Bob asks after a long while, his head tilting as he looks up at you like he's trying to eavesdrop on the thoughts in your head. 

You'd almost forgotten the ongoing plan to pull the mineral from his head. 

Rhett hums, gingerly squeezing your wrist, "jus' keep doin' what you're doin'."

You needn't be told twice, thighs shivering as you scoot yourself downward. Far enough to feel the heated bulge between your legs, where you crave him the most. Don't quite recall when the heat in your core had sparked to life, but oh, does it burn brighter at Bob's groan. 

The corner of Rhett's lip rises, transfixed by this show you're putting on. 

Bobby's hips jerk up, pressing painfully close but so unfortunately separated by these layers of clothing. Why do pants have to exist? All they do is get in the damn way.

The two of you must have the same thought because you reach for each other's waistband simultaneously. Your practiced fingertips slide across the smooth leather of his belt, unfastening it while he thumbs at your button, yanking on the zipper. Rhett's boots thunk against the floor as he kicks them off, suddenly spurred into action at the sight of you two pulling the offending garments down your legs, underwear and all.

From the moment you're able to, you're back in his lap. Can barely think about the way that Rhett pulls your shirt over your head, too distracted by the soft glide of skin against skin. The glide of his cock against your folds, heavy and throbbing with the same need that has made you dizzy in the head.

"Ain't you two just a sight," Rhett whispers beneath his breath, never once tearing his gaze away. 

"You can always join," you tease, delicate fingers reaching out to tap the tip of his nose if only to see it scrunch. 

All it takes is one glance before Bob figures him out. "That devil's got a trick up his sleeve." 

"Damn right, I do," now that he's moving, you regret opening your mouth. Because nothing good ever comes out of Rhett Abbott sidling up behind you, heavy cock resting against the curve of your ass, as he presses kisses to your naked shoulder. Gingerly working his way up your neck to that soft spot behind your ear. 

Two of his fingers nudge at your lips, wordlessly asking for entrance that you happily grant. Tongue slipping between them, wrapping around each knuckle, lightly sucking on them in the same fashion you do his sensitive cock head. You know he recognizes it because he twitches against you, breath catching in his throat.

Bob's hands smooth up your naked thighs, the callouses of his palms catching on the sensitive insides of them, rough in the gentlest of ways. Knows what he's doing almost as well as you do, how to make you shiver and whine around Rhett's thick fingers, all from such a simple touch. He's yet to daringly reach where you crave him most, innocently roaming your body like it's a work of art. 

You almost hate Rhett for drawing his hand away from your mouth, leaving it open and far too empty. But it's hard to be upset when he dips between your legs, dripping fingers dragging through your folts, across your aching clit, until he can lazily circle your entrance. Still aching from how they had their way with you in this morning, pushed to a limit you didn't know you had.

It's hard to tell who gasps louder when two fingers dip inside, your breaths intertwining into one.

"So tight already," Rhett murmurs, his voice darker than the midnight mineral flowing through his veins, "thought your poor lil' pussy would still be gapin' from us."

Bold, Bob's hand roams between your quivering legs, meeting where Rhett's fingers laz thrust into you. And you're certainly not expecting Bobby to push his finger in, too, but there are suddenly three within you. Curling to stroke at a sensitive bundle of nerves that Rhett has intentionally been avoiding. 

"Soaking, too," Robby's eyelashes flutter at the way you jolt, his cock jumping against his belly. Flushed at the tip, heavy in your hand when you reach for him. You may not be able to reach Rhett right now, but you can play this game, too.

Your soft palm running up his heated skin, thumb swiping over the single beat of precum that has collected at his tip, not enough to wet him, but it makes him glisten all the same. Not quite the borderline faucet that Rhett is, making a downright mess on the back of your thigh. 

Bob's other hand disappears beneath the pillow, fishing out the poorly hidden bottle of lubricant that certainly should not be hiding there. If you could see Rhett's face, you just know you'd find guilt written all over it. 

For once, though, his inability to put things where he found them has made things easier. Don't have to quit stroking Bob's throbbing length as he pours the clear fluid until he's satisfied with the glide. Laziness enables more laziness. 

"Do y' need more?" Rhett's fingers twitch in you, and the corners of your vision sparkle with a painting of the galaxy. Always seems to spasm after using those mythical abilities, briefly losing control of the unnamed ore that his body manufactures on its own accord.

At least he didn't make you see into the future this time. 

"I think I'm alright," your tongue tingles in your mouth, difficult to move. 

Their fingers pull away simultaneously, leaving you way, way too empty. But again, you've got the perfect remedy for that. Scooting up Bob's soft thighs and guiding him to meet your dripping sex, cock head kissing your loosened entrance. Their hands interlock on your hips, holding you steady; in the odd freak event, you slip up and take him all at once.

It's never happened, but they act like it happens every time. 

If it has something to do with those visions, you're thankful you haven't witnessed it. 

Just like how thankful you are for the gentle pressure of Bob's cock, his thick tip slipping inside for the second time today. Just big enough to make you weaken at the stretch, a whimper catching in your throat. Dragging against that bundle of nerves as he slips past, indirectly massaging against it. 

Rhett's sinful hand dips between your legs once more, two fingers bracketing Bob's cock, feeling where it disappears inside. 

The rain pattering against the window is the only thing you can hear; the three of you stunned into silence as you sink lower and lower on Bob's lap. Fighting to relax around him, pushed closer and closer to the border of too much when your skin finally meets with his. Flush against each other. Nothing left to take.

A shaky breath slips past your lips, heart pounding heavy in your chest. So, so full. 

"You're shakin', baby," Rhett's breath tickles your naked shoulder, "needin' Robby that bad, hm?" And maybe that's why you're having such a hard time controlling yourself, shivering palms settling on Bob's sturdy chest, fighting to lift your body.

Only manage to lift yourself an inch or two before you're sinking back down, and barely able to match that when you repeat it. Exhausted muscles further weakened by the drag of his cock along your walls, rubbing right where you crave him. So good, but you can't fucking move, face wrinkling as your knees sink into the mattress, rising the smallest bit, only to fall back down onto him.

Bob's fingers swirl against your weary hips, "Having trouble?" 

All you can do is nod. 

Those hands rise, smoothing over your back. Only takes the slightest bit of pressure for him to draw you down into his chest. Laying against him as he digs his feet into the bed, searching for leverage. 

And then he finds it, and he's thrusting up into you long and slow, and you might forget how to breathe altogether. Cheek squishing against his flushed collarbone, your eyes rolling as he does it again. Can only imagine what kind of view Rhett's got. It must be quite something because he's gone virtually silent. Watching in silent awe.

Maybe you'd be able to ask if you weren't rendered speechless by the way Bob drives up into you. Blunt tip rubbing right past those quivering nerves, punctuated by the soft smack of skin on skin, gradually quickening. Your hands are fluttering. Grabbing at the sheets. His hair. A little bit of both. 

"Bobby, Bobby, Bobby," you catch yourself babbling. Don't know when your lips started moving or how to shut yourself up. It's too early to be falling apart. It's, it's...

"There you go," he's whispering in return, "does that feel good?" 

Outside, thunder rumbles, the bedside lamp flickering as the wind begins to howl around the corners of the house. But you can't be brought to worry about potential power outages and how you'd clean up in the dark because Rhett's hands are smoothing up your thighs. Drawing your attention back to the way your swollen cunt spasms around Bob's length, the kind of thing that makes you shiver from head to toe. 

"Talk t' him, darlin'," Rhett croons, absolutely entranced, his rough palms roaming up the soft skin of your back. 

You don't even know what to say. Scrambling for words that you've forgotten the meaning of. But your fists are clenching around handfuls of the comforter as you push back against him, meeting thrust after thrust. Harder. Faster now. Bouncing your body with every soft smack. 

"Come on," Bob rasps, and you've leaned back just enough to see the redness that's formed on his cheeks. He's lost his glasses, lying discarded near the pillows. Unfocused blue eyes peering down at you, eager to drink you in. "Talk to us, baby."

"Feels," choking on your words, eyes scrunching shut. Come on, come on, it's right on the tip of your tongue. "Feels good—!"

"Yeah?" That tone. Rhett's up to something, and you're too weak to look back and find out what. "Y' like it when y' get Robby's fat cock in your lil' pussy?" 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, your head is starting to spin, cunt clenching needlessly at his words. Can feel yourself grow wetter, downright dripping around the thick length driving up into you. And there's nothing you can do but pant for a breath you can never catch, taking every inch.

Bob grumbles this loud noise that vibrates out of his chest and into yours, "Rhett—"

"Would be a shame if he..." Before Rhett can finish speaking, Bob is gasping, stuttering to a sudden halt, "stopped." 

"Quit," Bob's shuddering breath cuts him short, "Quit rubbing my balls like that." 

But Rhett isn't stopping. You can feel his thumb bumping into your skin with every feather-light spiral, massaging in this frustrating sort of way that makes Bob jerk up into you. Unable to do a damn thing about this torment without hurting himself. His hot breath hitting your forehead, flushed cock still throbbing deep inside of you. 

"Shit, Rhett, that..." he pants, breathless, "that...'m gonna cum if you keep..."

"A'ight," and just like that, Rhett stops. 

But he's not done.

No, now he's curling an arm around you. Gingerly guiding you to sit on your haunches, your heavy head falling back against his shoulder, still full of cock. Split wide and putting on a hell of a show for Bob's darkened gaze. Especially when Rhett dips down, his fingers slipping between your folds in favor of sliding across your clit. 

"Rhett," you don't know what else to see. Repeating their names like an incantation, the voicings of a weary heart desperate for a promise of forever. The one thing that the world doesn't want you to have. So unfortunate that you crave it like a fallen angel craves the warmth of the heavens.

But Rhett's hands are just as warm. Burning fingertips spiraling effortlessly around that swollen bud. Has you clenching down around Bob's cock, squeezing him up against the frenzied nerves along your walls, crying high in your throat. 

"Just like that," Helplessly grabbing at his meaty wrist, squeezing until you can feel iron bone pressing back against you, "Rhett, just like...just..."

Your tongue is starting to go limp in your mouth, and somewhere between the haze settling in your senses, you catch the way Bob's eyes roll back into his head. All from the involuntary massage of your pussy, desperately chasing the way Rhett's rubbing you. Heat pools in your lower belly, sending your skin prickling. 

You're...you're...

Head lolling back against Rhett's shoulder, your eyelashes flutter closed. Heart hammering against your chest, feels like the entire room has begun to spin. Can't think of anything but the soft nudge of Rhett's jaw against your forehead and his soft whisper of your name. 

"Cum for us, baby," he breathes, fingers working a little faster, "come on."

And you do.

Oh, you do.

With a cry that you cannot hear, the ringing in your ears growing into an all-encompassing hum as your orgasm washes over you. Pussy squeezing around Bob's cock, chest heaving as you gasp for air, head spinning off of your shoulders and up into the clouds above. And it's warm, and it's perfect, and for just a second, you think you might be able to see a bright light in the distance of your blackened future. 

But then you're coming back down all too quickly, returning to your senses just as your weary cheek comes to rest against Bob's sweaty chest. His cock slipping out of you, still painfully hard and begging for attention. 

Attention that Rhett's all too eager to give him, scooting closer, collecting their flushed lengths into one oversized hand. Stroking loosely at first. Spreading remnants of leftover lube and your wetness onto himself until every motion is punctuated by a sickly squelch. Knuckles bumping into the curve of your ass, the only indication you have that he's still moving. 

Bob's arms coil around you, fingers kneading into your weary flesh, has to occupy himself with something. Breath fanning out against the top of your head, swallowing down a grunt you hardly catch. It's not what he wanted, but oh, is he not complaining, bucking up into Rhett's warm hand, jostling you in the process.

"Awfully quiet down there," it's hard to tell if Rhett's remark is directed toward you or Bobby, maybe both. 

Bob's trying his best to talk, his head shaking back and forth, unintentionally grants you an excellent view of the vein in his neck, flexing with the motion. "It's hard to talk when you're—fuck, when you're..." his speech stumbles into a whine, and you can feel the way his belly twitches beneath you, "God, your hand." 

You can't help but lean up and press your lips to that thin skin, gingerly sucking on the vein. And so what if your free hand reaches up, two fingers pinching a pale pink nipple? 

"Ah—"  He damn near jumps, body bucking up into yours, "Hey!"

It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. Now that he's made one loud noise, he can't close his mouth again. A melody of breathy moans that could make anyone fall to their knees. Backed by Rhett's guttural groan, bucking up into his own hand, the meaty head of his cock bumping into you.

"I'm..." Bob's panting, "close."

Rhett stops. Not another word or warning spoken, as his big hands curl around your hips, pulling you up onto your knees, ass up for him. You already know what's coming, but you're hardly prepared for the aching stretch of his cock pressing into you. The glide smoother than before, still stretched and open for him.

"Again?" You squeak, voice punched out of you by the smack of his balls against your oversensitive clit. Not ready for another cock to fuck into you just yet, but he's already moving. Short, jerky thrusts punctuated by the exhausted wetness of your pussy, sent into a spasm of flutters around him. 

Below you, Bob grumbles, "You don't have to tease me for this to work." 

"I know it," you can hear Rhett's wild grin distorting the corners of his words, "but it's more fun this way, ain't it?"

His cockiness is short-lived. Karma, you suppose. Because he's leaning down, his body caging yours. Rutting into you a little quicker as he buries his face in your shoulder, muffling those soft grunts until he's stuttering to a halt, cumming in you with a garbled cry. And you're just lucid enough to feel the twitching of his cock, the heat that fills the deepest parts of you, pumping you full until he has nothing left to give.  

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?" Teasing, you tilt your head to look back at him. Wasn't quite anticipating him to be leaning in for a kiss, but the shallow peck is a welcomed gift. 

Rhett's quiet until he draws out of you, leaning back on his haunches to get a look at the mess he's made of your cunt. His cum already beginning to leak out, threatening to stain the sheets again if you aren't careful. 

"Look so pretty when you're full of us," he muses aloud, and before you can open your mouth again, he's nudging into you again.

Or is that...no, that's Bobby, who's sinking into you. A shiver wracking down his spine as Rhett guides him back inside the absolute mess they've made of you. Cum and sweat, and lube coming together to create this sickly noise that makes you shudder. 

"Am I hurtin' you?" Bob's gasping, the edges of a Texas-born accent audible, and you genuinely don't know what you would do if he always spoke like that because it's enough to make you bite back a moan.

"I'm alright," reassuring both yourself and him at the same time.

That's all he needs. Jerking up into you without abandon, arms squeezing you tight to his chest, anchoring you to his overheated body. The softest sounds drifting from his lips, punctuating his every shallow thrust. But just as quickly as he started, he's tipping over the edge, stalling to a halt with a noise you can only describe as strangled. Filling you once more until you don't think you can possibly let them between your legs for a minimum of forty-eight hours.

You've hardly got the strength to lift yourself off of him, collapsing to his left. They're leaking out of you, coating your thighs in a sticky mess that you have no hope of cleaning on your own. Not in this century. 

By the looks of it, Bob might be able to join you for a nice, hundred-year nap. His half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling, hardly reacting to the two fingers you're walking across his chest. 

But he reacts when Rhett's rough hand wraps around his spent length—jolting, wailing, as Rhett's empty hand rises to press against his forehead. Wicked thumb massaging over that flushed, weeping cock head, right where Bobby is most sensitive. Sends him into a full-bodied tremor.

"Sen—sensitive!" Tears roll down his flushed cheeks, speech devolving into something incoherent. 

The hand on his forehead darkens. Drawing some nameless black ore from the depths of Robert's overworked brain. Cruel, how such a thing can be such a gift to one man and a curse to another, destroying and building up innocent bodies without rhyme or reason. 

It runs out. That steady stream of midnight fading away in wriggling splotches until it's no more. And it still might not mean the end of those visions. There's no way to tell if there's more hidden somewhere in his body, or worse, it may have begun to manufacture itself like it does in Rhett. Running rampant for eternity. 

But right now, there's no more, and Rhett's letting go of his abused length, and you're both leaning in to press kisses to his clammy cheeks, and it's the closest thing one can get to perfection. Your exhausted mind can hardly find the energy to return to what happened earlier.

A discussion for tomorrow. 

"Are you okay?" You whisper somewhere around when he stops shaking. Calm at last. 

He hums. The best that you're going to get. 

And he's quiet like that for some time. Virtually silent, reduced to grunts and offhanded chuckles when you decide it's time to clean yourselves up before things start to dry in places they should not. Three pairs of legs stumble down the hall and into the bathroom; Rhett's arms are full of clothes, you're fumbling with the hot water, and Bob's simply glued to your side. 

"Pink or purple?" Rhett chirps, and you don't need to look to know that he's reached under the sink and picked up a handful of bath bombs. He'd use them all at once if you'd let him.

Without a word, Bob points to the pink. Conveniently, it's also the bomb with a toy capsule hidden inside. A mystery that will surely join the small shelf of collected surprises above the towel rack.

Somewhere between the fizzing of the bomb and a sneeze that nearly sends Rhett falling into the bath, Bob grabs both of your hands. Toying with your fingers as if amused by their shape and varying sizes. How Rhett's hands are massive even compared to Bob's, and how soft yours are. 

"Do you think you got it all out?" He asks after a long while. Breaking whatever silence had fallen over the room. 

"Felt like I bled y' dry," Rhett hums, his foot kicking against yours, vying to start another water fight, "but there ain't no tellin' this early."

That doesn't seem to be the answer Bob was looking for. Hell, it certainly isn't the answer you want to hear, either, but what can you do other than wait?

A clear capsule rises to the surface, bouncing with its excitement to be seen and opened. A small yellow duck with a misprinted eye that has left one half of its head coated in black. 

"Looks like someone turned Rhett into a duck," Bobby chirps, twisting the adorably shaped hunk of plastic in his fingers. And now that he says it out loud, it does look like Rhett when he uses his abilities. Whatever they're meant to be called. 

The duck travels into the bedroom, one way or another. You find it sitting on your pillow, staring back at you with its singular eye like it's been employed to keep an eye on your whereabouts while Bob fusses with the security system. Motion detectors and alarms galore, monitoring every room and entry point that could possibly exist. 

They act like there will come a day when someone breaks in, and you hope it's a measure fueled by worry rather than a vision detailing the worst. 

But tonight isn't that night. No, just one of tangled legs and kisses pressed against sore skin and muscle and mumblings about plans of getting back into the Naval base. Get ahold of those documents that narrowly slipped through your fingers earlier. Copy and replace them before anyone is the wiser, keeping the originals as evidence of what happened. The only truth that can possibly force them all to acknowledge what they did to Bobby and his old pilot, Phoenix.

You wish you'd gotten the chance to know her before the hole took her life. Bob's recount of her always makes her seem like such a lovely woman. 

"We can do it for you too, you know," he says, and you know he's directing it toward Rhett, because the evidence of the crime against you has already been collected. 

The security footage of so-called friends locking you out in the cold, some grand plan to get back at you for forgetting to reserve the first cabin. A little "Oops, it's annoying to be forgotten, isn't it?" that left you stranded in the worst blizzard the state had seen in decades. Wandering through a perpetual blanket of white until a hole opened up beneath your feet and swallowed you up.

To think that they tried to cover up what happened to you, in the same fashion Rhett's family did to him, by pretending it never happened. Everyone in the house had simply forgotten the past twelve hours. No, we don't know what happened to them, officer; they just disappeared!

"I know," Rhett's cold nose nudges your shoulder; you'd almost forgotten that he curled up behind you, "wanna enjoy Perry in prison, a lil' longer."

Your fingers reach to run through Bob's damp hair; need something to do."Are you still showing up in the cell to scare him?" 

"Absolutely."

The air is silent.

And then the three of you devolve into a giggle. 

The drone of the city is one that swallows you up before you've even stepped foot into it. Flashing lights, squealing horns, and clashing of voices. People. Individuals with their own stories, purposes, and meanings in this world, crossing paths for the briefest moment, on their way to a better destination. 

You are surrounded by more people than you can count, yet you might as well be invisible. A ghost that can be stepped through, only visible to a select few. 

Rhett's hand squeezes yours, and it's the most solid you've felt in weeks. Maybe it's the kind of curse that applies to more than one. The three of you seemingly frozen in time as the world bustles about, never stopping for a second because the world does not stop for just anyone. 

But it will soon.

God, you hope it stops on a fucking dime. Sends everyone reeling, a sucker punch flying in somewhere from behind. Rattles everything they've ever considered about themselves, the people around them, the higher power above, the world itself. Because America tells you that the only things worth knowing are those which can be known. 

America is wrong.

You are worth knowing.

And you want them to hurt like Rhett did when his brother picked up his fists and beat him into the ground because how dare anyone make a simple comment about moving on. To feel the complete and utter betrayal to wake up to your father throwing you into the unknown, uncaring of how you plead for your life. Promises that you won't tell anyone what happened.

You want them to lose like Bob did when he and Phoenix were deceived. Convinced to climb into the backseat of that F/A-18, not knowing they were about to be sent through a hole that wasn't just some silly illusion. To be struck by an unknown substance that kills their best friend and forces them to suffer violent visions. 

Return home after five years to find that you have been given a false funeral, your possessions no longer remain, and the Navy is accusing you of desertion. Any other way would force them to explain what happened, and a ruined life is worth the price of secrecy. 

You want them to know what it's like to be betrayed by those they trust the most. Left for dead and not be given the grace of having their names plastered in the paper. Reduced to just another faceless person. A tragedy for one day, forgotten on the next. 

Your eyes dart to the small phone in Bob's hand. It doesn't hurt to look at it anymore—no more bubblings of memories or invisible nippings of frostbite at your skin. It's just a cheap phone meant to do its job, and that is all. 

Rhett looks to Bob.

Bob looks to you.

You look back at them.

Together, you smile. There's no going back from this, and that's okay. You are the monsters they created, after all. Bob's finger taps the crudely designed button on the phone. 

Every screen in the city lights up with the same video. 

Oh, what could have been.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: afab (they/them) Character: Blackbeard & Marco Vibe: NSFW noncon AU: Mythical Creatures Prompt: Bad End / Size Difference Gift Giver: @tenzeniths

Summary: A bad storm takes you outside the safety of your Phoenix's territory. He does not find you quickly.

Content Notes: non con, assault, oral received, forced orgasms, over stimulation, cream-pied, begging, painful sex, piss, mdni, 18+ , DEAD FUCKING DOVE - I think this is literally the darkest thing I've ever written.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

THIS IS EXPLICITLY STATED OTHERWISE

READ THE CONTENT NOTES BEFORE CONTINUING

You’d been attending to the Phoenix for a few years. You knew of the other mythical beasts that existed, even if only by name, as Marco had done his best to keep you informed.

A bad storm had ripped you from the mountainside, however, and while you had survived with minimal injuries, you didn’t know where you ended up. The problem with this area was that there were enough mythical beasts that it often messed with the physics of the mountain.

You could be at the foot of the phoenix’s mountain, or you could be at the foot of a completely different mountain. It could be hours before he realized you were missing, and depending on how far out you were it could be days before he finds you.

Fortunately, in the time you’d spent attending to the Phoenix, you’d developed skills to help in times like these. You had your own flames. Nothing like his, but enough to keep you warm, and enough to ease the ache of your fall.

You were also a little stronger than most humans. Hunting, foraging and fishing were easier when you were faster and stronger than most other predators.

Despite that, or maybe because of it, hubris was still a flaw you possessed.

You knew to give water you couldn’t see into a wide berth, but you were too focused on trying to find food. Specifically fish. The rocky barren vibes of the surrounding area didn’t bode well for forest game, so the lake seemed a good idea.

Until it wasn’t.

The tentacle that snapped out from the water was far too fast for you. It was around your ankle and pulling you off your feet before you even fully registered it. Flames danced around you in response to the harsh impact against the stony beach as you dragged toward the water.

Pulling the survival knife you had out you drove it deep into the rocky beach as deep as you could. There was no way you’d reach your ankle, but even as the blade tossed rock and sand aside it wasn’t slowing you down much at all. A sharp tug nearly dislocates your leg from your hip as you’re lifted fully off the beach.

You manage to keep a hold of your knife, but as a mythical beast rises up from the water you’re pretty sure you might as well be wielding a toothpick.

“Zhe-ha-ha-ha…” Deep black eyes, a lush ornate black beard with a toothy grin behind it greets you as you’re brought to eye-level with the beast. “The bird’s got an attendant, huh?”

“Teach.” You growl.

“Oh, seems my brother has educated you.” His grin turns dark as a flurry of whip-like tentacles assail you in sharp snappy succession. You put up your guard as best you can, but the water-slicked appendages bludgeon and tear at you and your clothes.

You lash out at the attacks when you can, but your skills aren’t on par with the older and stronger beast. Teach nearly breaks your hand knocking the knife out of it and it’s everything you have to defend your chest and head after that. Marco can heal more on you than others, but he cannot bring you back from the dead.

You aren’t sure how bad your injuries are as small flames flicker over your skin, but you willfully suppress the reaction after a time. Just like with the original phoenix flames, yours consume your stamina in order to heal you, and you can’t risk blacking out because your body was healing surface wounds and bruises.

The assault continues until teach breaks your guard and you don’t have the strength to bring your arms back up. The attacks aside, the blood has been rushing to your head and you’re dizzy from being dangled upside down for so long.

That’s when the bastard drops you.

The water is freezing cold, and it’s not deep enough to stop you from slamming into the stony sand hard enough to knock the wind from you. It’s a struggle to break above the water line, but you gulp in a desperate and painful breath before tentacles overwhelm you again.

The strong, flexible appendages push you back underwater and rip away what remains of your tattered clothing. Revoltingly smooth and slicked tentacles pin your arms to your side and lift you up out of the water. Sputtering and coughing you try to ignore the suckers twitching against your bare skin.

“You survived.” He muses. “Attendants really are more resilient than humans.”

He brings you close to his face. He’s massive compared to you, and your legs are spread wide as he makes you straddle his stomach. His tentacles move and trap your arms behind your back as he presses your bare chest into his long and thick beard. Pearls and small gold bands decorate the mass of black wavy facial hair.

It probably looks very regal below water, but it’s cold and soggy against your skin.

“The really important question is, are attendants smarter than humans?”

Your stomach twists at the implication, but with your current state it wouldn’t take a smart person to realize what was going on.

“Zhe-ha-ha-ha-hahahahahaha!” He throws his head back and laughs loud enough his belly shakes. “You are, you are!”

You can feel the cold, slimy tip of one of his tentacles push at each of your entrances. You shudder, but you don’t struggle or try to fight back. You can’t escape his grip in the first place, and in the second you need what strength you have left if you’re going to survive.

“Entertain me, little attendant.” He commands.

“… How?” You look up into endlessly black eyes as you ask your question and feel your stomach nearly upend over the curl in his grin.

“Beg for it.”

“Drown me, you - ah!” He pulls you back and up to his mouth, flicking a thick wet forked tongue over your breasts. The action surprised you, but the continued motion was sending thrills through your chest. You hated that it felt good, hated the sweet pleasure as he teased his way into your cunt and ass at the same time.

“F… fuck.” You husk. There had to be something in what he excreted. Your body was sensitive, but not to this point. Damnable mythical beasts.

“Beg me to stop then,” he muses, the slicked tentacles pushing in deep and filling you up sweetly and perfectly in one smooth motion.

He moves you away from his mouth, using the tentacles to hold you out in the cold air. He places one massive hand on your hip, his thumb following the line of your thigh toward your clit. You shake your head.

“No,” you manage. “T-take what you want… I can’t stop you, but don’t.”

“Use you as I please, but don’t make it feel good?” Amusement in his voice turns into another laugh as his thumb rolls over your clit. You can’t suppress the sound of pleasure as your body comes undone. It feels good, it almost feels as good as Marco makes you feel.

If it wasn’t for the sickening twist in your guts from the situation it would be perfect.

“B-bastard!” You growl as he continues to tease and please you. You can feel it building up inside you. He’s being careful, and he’s certainly had enough practice to know what he’s doing. Its’ not just how he’s touching you, it’s the way he’s looking at you.

Those dark eyes are taking in every intimate detail of your body.

Teach reaches out to fondle your chest and you twist your body violently, trying to keep him away. There’s a pause and a wicked grin on his face before he retracts his hand. Instead, two tentacle snake up your sides.

Slowly.

Inevitable in their destination.

It doesn’t matter how you move, it didn’t matter in the first place, but these are already against your body. There is simply no escape.

You bite your lip, closing your eyes and shaking your head as they curve along under the swell of your breasts. Tapping and twitching, they curl against your stiff nipples, squeezing and massaging the tender flesh as Teach presses his thumb into your clit with a little more pressure. The tentacles inside you shift at the same time, massaging every sweet spot you have.

The orgasm is a surprise, the small muffled huff of pleasure turns into a raw scream as your entire body lights up in unexpected pleasure and euphoria. Teach and his tentacles move ruthlessly, sending endless pleasure through your body, inside and out, until one orgasm turns into two.

The overstimulation is almost painful, but not enough to stop the continued shocks of pleasure. When the third swell begins to consume you, you’re babbling for him to stop. Begging him to quit. No matter how you begged, swore, thrashed or  roared he didn’t relent.

You cum so hard you can’t breathe for a minute, your body goes rock hard it’s so taut. It’s an animalistic sound that finally breaks free from your throat, and spots erupt in your vision as your head swims.

You don’t realize that Teach has moved you to his mouth until he sucks harshly on your clit. The pleasure and pain are like a javelin through your body. It shatters you.

All you can do is pant and sob as he pulls his tentacles out of you. Slick and piss drip from between your legs, but you’re not sure when your bladder failed you. Your senses are hazy. You can barely register that he’s talking to you, barely register the shift and change in your body.

He gives you time. Watches as the flames you can’t suppress anymore flicker over your body. You’re tired when you come to your senses, but he knows the moment there’s light in your eyes.

You get a second to understand where you are, and what happened before he thrusts up into you.

He’s massive, and it doesn’t matter how much he “prepped” you with his tentacles, doesn’t matter how you came until your muscles couldn’t even contract anymore. His thick, ridged cock bullies its way into your dripping cunt and it burns.

Grimacing, you growl against the pain, and swallow down the cry of agony as he moves without giving you even a moment to try and adjust. Every time he bottoms out inside you, you almost choke on the foreign pain. It’s deep and intense, hammering into your body with every ruthless thrust.

He takes no care with you, goading you about how you asked him to treat you this way. He’s giving you what you wanted, so you had no right to complain.

The slimy bastard uses you for hours. Filling your insides with thick, acrid cum that stings like salt in your wounds as his own heavy cock forces the cold spend out with his continued assaults.

At some point you dissociate.

It’s not until the warmth of teal and gold flames sinks into your skin that you come back to your senses. Anguish is written on the face of your Phoenix. You think you hear the revolting laughter of cold water and oily rocks, but your consciousness goes dark before you can be sure.

[alexanderlightweight]

*Wednesday is subjective and can last up to 36 hours due to insomnia. Wednesday starts on Wednesday and ends when the author passes out sometime later.

The Rules + Notes

Only Malec prompts accepted

It’s okay to prompt another chapter for an existing fic, even the oneshots. There is a chance i won’t be able to or want to fill it, but i’m always willing to consider. Just be polite.

I write a lot of dark stuff, so feel free to specify if you want to avoid something or want something specific.

I really do enjoy just the fun of building a fic from a single word, but I’m also happy to try and tackle any longer and more complex prompts. 

If your prompt isn’t filled the week it’s sent it, I’m still going to write it. I always respond to an ask to explain why I won’t fill it if I’m not going to.

If I can’t/wont fill a prompt, I’ll post it and explain and say it’s okay to send another.

prompts are only open on writing wednesdays or if i specify otherwise (this was changed because of how many prompts i get easy wednesday and thats the specific prompt day)

feel free to ask me if i've got your prompt but please know it sometimes takes time to get to all of them and I write verses based on the mood I’m in

I don’t post all of my fic fills to ao3 but I do try to do about half of them. Posting takes a lot of spoons and I generally end up adding more to the fics when I post them so it takes a bit.

I want it very clear that I do this because it’s fun and healthy for me and everyone who prompts is super sweet and I don’t do it to get feedback from prompters (but I always enjoy it)! It's really just worth it to me for the expression of shared art. Because I wouldn’t write half of the fun stories I love creating and exploring without the prompts from others to tickle my thoughts.

However, my partner and I are very protective about my mental health and I have social anxiety to the degree that I sometimes still need my handheld after strangers talk to me so I don't go rolling into a blanketball and scream.

If you are rude, I will sic my boyfriend @saeths (who is an asshole) on you and they will happily come down like a blistering gust of burning wind from an out of control wildfire. Seriously, they think it’s fun to fuck with people and they’re very protective. {i have npd and a lack of acceptable targets -saeth}

They would enjoy it, except the part where it made me upset. 

So don’t make me upset and I won’t set saeth on anyone.

Also saeth and i tend to flirt in posts on our blogs back and forth. so if you don’t want to see that because you’re here for fics and want to avoid it the tag is always ‘saeth & kitten’

- Lumine

The Author likes to write

darkly!soft romance

magical realism & magical flora and fauna 

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (3DNE)

Magnus/Cat/Ragnor friendship 

Exploring the eldritch and angelic natures of nephilim and the fallen divinity of greater demons

Alec’s Institute and shadowhunters being competent 

creature!character fics

soulmates

The Author won't write

non-con/rape

cheating

major character death

hurt no comfort

sad endings

any main pairing besides malec

mpreg/kidfic

camille centric fics

non-magical mundane/shadowhunters inverted au’s

Verse List (under cut)

this eldritch delight – soft-horror malec (Alec is the Trueblood heir, Addams Inspired) 

star eater – sentient!shadow Alec Trueblood au 

the agony of living – chronic!pain alec

Elysiums Tears – Alec is cursed with visions of the future(s)

all your cracks I’ll paint gold – deruned Alec 

the bonds i'd break – all your cracks i'll paint gold au

in his wake, petals fall – Alec loves flowers and Magnus loves indulging him 

cider verse – Alec and Magnus are in a secret relationship since before canon 

pray to the hunters – Alec worships dead shadowhunters instead of Raziel 

the price of lust – Manipulative dark Magnus 

a stolen blade – assassin!alec au soulmates

dressed to kill – mob!wife Alec

flames of triumph – Phoenix Magnus & unicorn Alec 

ripples of magic – Sentient Institute & wards

in the light of the night – Alec hunts circle members to feed the angelic core 

the core of me belongs to you – Alec is the institute 

rituals & souls – Magnus summons an alec for himself after meeting the possibility of him 

to find, to yield – power imbalance, dominion magic

the frost of fury – competent Alec takes no shit in his institute

to break with fate – the circle wins 

all my fears forgotten – alec has amnesia 

like real people do – dragon!alec 

saint & sinners – shadowhunter!magnus & mentor/mentee

hoarfrost kiss on lips aflame – nephilim are more eldritch than mundane and it presents in the most chilling of ways

heartbeat like fire – sentinel!magnus & guide!alec 

spoils of war – Alec is a political hostage disguised as a groom 

devotion across worlds – Alec Trueblood (sentient shadows) is summoned to another universe and mistaken as an angel

marriage of inconvenience – Magnus marries Alec to save him from marrying Clary 

running from my dreams – alec has to work through past trauma when the Institute is poisoned 

walls of adoration, claws of desperation – Magnus and Alec are pre-canon secret relationship. alec is older in this fic, he's 7 years older than izzy and was raised by trueblood grandparents

bleed for desire – Magnus is king of the east coast and happily steps in to take care of newly born vampire Alec 

art of obsession – au of bleed for desire (instead alec ends up falling into Edom and Magnus decides to keep him there for a bit and go on vacation for a bit)  

your heart is full of jewels – alec is mistaken by mundanes as a sugar baby

an extension of you – alec is known as belonging to magnus' and that means something for downworlders

not all that glitters is gold – dragon!magnus with a lot of kink and monsterfucking

for you the world will burn – maryse isn't a good person, but she is a good mother and that is sometimes the more dangerous combinations

finders keepers – alec ends up in another universe and that magnus decides to keep him

feral sweetness, like honeycomb – incompetent shadowhunter and Alec deals with them and Magnus is there watching *its how they meet

soulfire – magnus summons another magnus bane to help him save his soulmate. magnus/alec/magnus

flames so cold they shatter – alec gets the lightwood family gift and remains the lightwood heir... and the only lightwood left

to tremble from your gaze – BDSM verse, dom!magnus and sub!alec

the craft of adoration– alec manipulates his way into magnus' arms

the most fragile of poisons – magnus pretends to be a damsel in distress, aka enjoying overprotective alec

undertow – kelpie!alec au with accidental courtship and BDSM

the treasure of kings – alec and magnus aren't impressed to find that lilith's son takes after his mother (aka wants to bang a lightwood)

the same sky – malec time travel to back a few years before canon, both of them

a warlock's hoard – a/b/o universe, omega/omega malec

to be or knot to be – a/b/o universe, alpha/alpha malec (look it was punny, i couldn't knot use it)

the worth of a life – asmodeus asks for the parabatai bond instead of magnus' magic to save jace

the desecration of souls – lilith has a claim to alec as her son thanks to valentine's experiments

the bonds i'd break – au of 'all your cracks i'll paint gold' where alec takes a chance and steal leaves nephilim/shadowhunter society but keeps his runes

guided by my unchained heart – alec resigns from the institute when jace is made hoti and goes to magnus

the taste of his magic – dragon!alec and magnus (he can shift into a cat) meet because alec can't keep his claws off of magnus' garden

(i'm trying to add some stuff but saeth will come back and fix it!)