#TINY BASIL AND MONSTER TEETH?!? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dantesinfcrno · 4 years ago

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trigger warnings !! suicide, suicidal thoughts, drug use / overdose, body horror, death, blood, violence, self harm, abusive relationships. most importantly, bad writing!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 ：𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀 .

frigidity, heartlessness ╱ the absence of love ╱ virgin mary, corrupted .

winter child with shards on its mouth –– the snow quivers before khione, goddess whose lips do not tremble. cataclysm upon birth, no life to be seen as monster opens its eyes. before words could be uttered, before a name could be given to beast, untamed, it knew of fate. worthless creature, undeserving of shedding a tear. void big enough to fill any mansion, all touch lost –– who would cradle an interrupted demon, a fallen angel? who would wipe the anguish that never created roots inside tiny body, broken?

( … )

one vivid memory: it sitting down in the floor a living room ( no house is ever the same: all empty in a pantheon of different ways ). it is invisible, as Father dreams of his own tales, as Mother unravels the world. no one holds it up. –––– galatea? –––– it calls for Her, voice too firm for a child, first words incisive ╱ poignant knife. She stares into its eyes, peering at the chaos She created –– and turns Her back.

( … )

verses wrote themselves against its skin, fairies would whisper secrets into its heart. before it could walk, small deity devoured books –– in search of a love he did not know of, this powerful feeling it could never obtain. the titans who gave birth to lucifer ╱ lilith, anew, could spare it no sweet nothings. the tutors brought in could not hold down treacherous creature, could not embrace it, could not understand it. oh, the gentle kiss that would break the curse. oh, the sweet princess that would awake humanity inside tainted guts. the choirs sang of redemption, absolution –– but they also snarled at child born with a target on its back, holy water falling at its feet. you were never meant to receive tenderness ; you shall not know what love entails. it all echoed inside this fortitude: melancholy the only tune beast ever knew ╱ maddening: to never be touched ; to never be loved without worship, without loathing.

( … )

poignant claws would drag themselves over a violin, and he interrogated the stars. who else, who else. can famine become savior? can ferocious teeth learn to taste another’s core without devouring it whole? i can try, i can try. boy, blizzard –– locking itself in the garden of eden, mortality discovered as fingers bleed, as thorns find home in the anatomy of god, interrupted. –––– you can be anything you desire, vessel. –––– serpent hisses, crawling up its core. –––– i choose to live. i choose to love all monsters, made out of darkness & concrete alike. –––– dante replies, half-smothered, half-breathing, apple tasting sanguine on his lips. ophidian smiles, knowing this end will be self-made. –––– you can’t be helped, child, you can’t be helped.

–––––– 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮��𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈 ：𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

resentment, anger ╱ agape ╱ your presence soothes me .

to seize the adoration one was never deserving of: a sin, an addiction. bringer of nightmares, a king crowned with madness –– and all he wants is all he can never have, prince amongst commoners, crawling through cobbled streets in search of scraps. there is relief in the tender stares he receives from older women, insisting him to turn back and find home. i don’t have one, i never had one. bones of a boy, muscles of a boy, but he –– savage, feral, bleeding life into a world that despises him.

( … )

this is what he knows of love: he must give it, even when it hurts –– somebody must be willing to rip their own flash, gift it away, and remain lacking forever. with hate, he learns this: puncture your flesh in order to feed the mouths that bite your legs ; turn your head to receive double the punishment, as it might turn you palatable ( they all want to break you, and if you shatter prettily enough, you might find gilded dregs to store inside your ribs ) ; swallow what no one wants to hear & drown in it.

( … )

being made entirely of open wounds, there is no deity capable of dragging him back to the fiery pits that gifted him life ╱ gifted him curse. lucky vessel, so close to a heart of his own. he rips one off a deer ( unfortunate as all that cross his path ) ; does not recall his face as he becomes other. the horror of inevitability is the only beauty he knows of, as he undresses, carrying only skin & blood. summer child ╱ crooked teeth, crooked smile. eris lies underneath ophelia: sweet, poisoned honey. there is an empty space, and there is laughter by its side. lord shiva, this is all i have, this is all i am. is there any other way to love, but to turn into madness? dante’s shrines are always filled with silence –– but he still brings limbs, lungs, livers as offerings to friends, lovers, foes.

( … )

light quivers through the cracks –– through the smile always perched on his lips, meaningless. he embraces the world: atlas, knee-deep in dirt, bound to shackles rooted in tartarus. he bears the weight with joyous laughter, bullet-wound on his throat. unconditional love to all but himself. –––– this is how my salvation will come. –––– he mumbles, wine-drunk, licking aphrodite’s mouth. oracle, foolish in his hopefulness. –––– i will love, love, love, until the point of murder. i will love the unlovable ; and i won’t ask for anything in return. –––– as he kisses madness into a stranger’s lips, as his body becomes a one night miracle for those who need it most. –––– i can give, and give, and give, and you won’t hear my voice begging for anything else. –––– as he lays in a bed that is not his own, as he wraps his tongue against quickened pulse, as he becomes one with a galaxy that had long disowned him. dante holds the unknown in his arms, and promises to adore it ( sweet, inescapable destiny ╱ ouroboros: we therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, beast to beast ).

–––––– 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐛. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ：𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄 .

withering hope, abandonment ╱ philautia ╱ unfading love .

there is a limit to what forsaken hands can do. dante has picked stars, reached burning celestial bodies, cut his palms while tending to flowers with more thorns than petals. maybe i will encounter the lacking piece ; maybe there is half a soul to be found. a possibility is all that drives him forward, as skies turn grey and greyer. death is served, and young piece of sunshine ╱ corrupted shard of blood moon refuses to take it. i will keep on living –– i refuse to pass, i will not become more ghost than i already am. he moves around life, life runs right through him –– a sword lodged below his collarbone, forcing him to cough up blood. he is not a memory anyone can have. dante thinks about his absence in a world that already feels much like nothing: everchanging figure with a thousand names, an opaque face, a hidden mouth.

( … )

merciless crow weighs heavily on his shoulder –– that, a haunting dante can’t run away from. he pledged the remnants of his tortured soul ; promised to bloom flowers inside of his guts ; swore he would not howl when the thorns slayed him. –––– how do i love without feeling it flow in my body, how do i love without receiving it in my bloodstream? –––– fallen next to thanatos, locked away in a luxurious bathroom, he wonders and wonders. foolish messenger, victim of hubris ╱ icarus, aware the sun would burn his wings, but taking the leap of faith & crashing, drowning in saltwater. –––– who am i to challenge the gods? –––– he murmured, anguish sorrow rising and falling in the rhythm of his chest. dante remembers rain falling endlessly –– but, most of all, he remembers silence. –––– oh, dear. i am alone, aren’t i? –––– he questions a ghost, tears rupturing his flesh. what he tried to hide meets sunlight in its last breaths. miserable boy, crestfallen human –– he discovers himself once he uncovers death. soothsayer full of shame, guts filled with medicine, wrists torn by ache. what prophecy could he utter with such a defiled existence? no one will come for him, is his last rational thought. no one will remember him. dante: nothing, no one, infinitesimal. –––– all i have tried to give is all i do not have. –––– the veil falls from his face and the earth quiets.

( … )

he wakes up, bittersweet taste lingering in his body. my bones have finally shattered, he muses, not entirely awake, i have nothing else to give. his tutor does not spend the night by the side of his hospital bed ( white, everything pearlescent, pristine, sickening ), and dante doesn’t expect his parents to come –– and they don’t. ordinary, meaningless existence. he should have passed to another realm, but he had vowed to keep on living. –––– fate is anything but forgiving. –––– is what he mumbles to a kind nurse: the one individual worried for him, but only because it is her job. he holds her by the wrist one day, mouth opening and then closing. can you stay with me? can you let me go? –––– thank you. –––– and there are no other words he is able of uttering throughout his stay. alone, is all he’ll ever be, no pink hues to enlighten his days. he notices his age in a file, wrong by two years, but does not say anything about it. who cares? who cares but you? do you at all?

( … )

his scars do not turn into bird wings. what should i fear, if not death, if not desolation? the torment of being devoured –– no, that is what he loves the most. in one of many nights ( lustful, adoring, fickle ), basile fast asleep by his side, dante’s fingertips caress exposed skin –– brutal tenderness, a blade he could never inflict upon himself. –––– i think i can only ever love whatever part of me when i find it mirrored in you, mon cher. –––– he confesses, obsidian irises shining. to hold on, to make room for fragile things, to fracture in the same crevices, even with leaden bones. –––– dragons and butterflies are one in the same, aren’t they? –––– dante whispers, cherry lips dragging across basile’s ears as emerald cradles carnelian closer, closer.

–––––– 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐕 ：𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 .

unfortunate attachment ╱ philia ╱ i have lost all .

grief supposedly works like this: denial ; anger ; bargain ; depression ; acceptance. dante has never fell into the latter –– there was not a day he felt his mother’s absence as an axiom. galatea died in his arms, no last breath redemption gifted to her only heir, but her number remains his emergency contact. perhaps–– this is the closest he will get to love: half-ghost, half-illusion ; one he can confess all his sins to ; one that will not reprimand him no more ; one hollow image ╱ sacrilegious saint he can pour his most selfish desires onto. once her body is laid five feet underground, dante kneels. –––– i would have done you a favour, mother, had i died before you.

( … )

dante’s dismay is always reminiscent of a forest, petrichor, and a bonfire put out during the night. galatea by his side, barely addressing his existence. miles deep into the woods, birds were singing once he heard mother, titaness, whimper. dante reached for her, cradled her, hugged her –– for the first time, for the first time, for the last time. intact arrows were lodged on her throat, on her chest. what could he do? –––– stay with me, please. –––– dante begged and begged, but galatea’s eyes were no more. trembling hand holding cold fingers, desperate cries as he forced himself to walk, to search for an exit he knew no longer existed. his feet were cursed with blisters once he found a small village, his cheeks marred by dried tears, his arms covered in matriarchal blood. catatonic emptiness –– and each new fracture of his soul was a new explosion, sharp, dangerous, lost. he remained by her side, acute desperation as the reality crashed upon him, a rogue wave. –––– come back to me. –––– as he curled his body next to hers. always freezing, you were always this cold anyway. –––– come back. you have to come back. –––– as he clung to her limbs, as his eyes sunk in sorrow. does this pain have a name?

( … )

poppy’s empty room and the vacant space left by galatea were one in the same. dante lingered around her bed, head throbbing –– grief never leaves, it only evolves into smothering shadow. dante places a small bouquet atop her pillows, mumbles a prayer in a faint voice. –––– i never had much. –––– he whispers, and hopes poppy can hear him, feel him. –––– but i had you. and i will find you, baby girl. i promise i will. –––– there are no smiles to brighten up his complexion, no light shining through his ribs. this night, like many others, is spent entirely on research. who can i reach next? what can i sell of my soul to have you back?

–––––– 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕 ：𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍 .

departure, resignation ╱ pragma ╱ all good things come to an end .

spring child, full of heartache. oh, how he wishes he could give it back: so many lives lost as he aimed for a pulse of his own, and dante now chases numbness. bodies become a blur, just in time for him to turn into a ghost. cheap whiskey and smoke mix themselves in his tongue, there are pills dissolving in his mouth, there is a stranger pressing him up against a wall. why is it not enough? why must i crave what i can never have? oh, to grow yourself a heart only for a friend to pull it out, for a friend to crush it beneath their feet. foolish boy. you should’ve been grateful for the void i gifted you, is the echo growing inside his brain, his mother’s voice a tortured ghost. to believe one could truly love him –– the most reckless of all behaviours, the pain that could extinguish him into dust. what is heavier than this emptiness? what is more consuming than this void? –––– she … she told me she was going to find someone else to go home with. –––– hollis’ words can’t be erased from his mind, and dante finally crumbles beneath their weight.

( … )

his eyes are swelled up once he reaches london. perhaps, there is a limit –– even for a demon, even for a grotesque creature. perhaps, as he crawls atop galatea’s grave, he meets his end. knife wound, love wound: it bleeds all the same. his body is freezing, even when the night is still –– there is an image replaying in an infinite cycle behind his eyelids, frozen tears clinging to reddened cheeks. –––– was saying ❝ i love you ❞ my undoing? –––– he murmurs into the night, the claws of a demon resting upon his shoulders, smothering and lukewarm, and shivers caress his spine ( tiny spiders, nails across a chalkboard, vermins crawling through a corpse ). –––– he asked me to find him, and i did. –––– there is no humour in his laughter. such unforgivable stupidity, and he can only punish himself for it. unsheathed talons lacerate his scalp: apathy as a life-threatening poison, as he sinks rotten nails inside of his flesh and hopes to come up with a crown, reborn. there is no rage as perished daisies become his halo, as dead mother becomes dead son, on his knees, forehead to the ground. cold rain soaks up his bones: a preferable fate to succumbing to loneliness –– suffering, but religious ( i am only holy when broken, i can only adore as a morgue does with a corpse ). can rose taste him in basile, he wonders? is he too fleeting to be felt, even by a tourmaline angel? –– the one that loves him, loved him, somehow. melinoe whispers in his ear ( mother of madness, but he trusts her –– who else does he have? ) : that was a lie. what does one gain from worshipping you? –– hell, fervent kisses, languid hands, consuming touch, everything, too much, nothing at all.

( … )

jester, conquering his way through pleasing his majesty’s body, filling his bed. oh, to be aware of one’s low worth –– never good enough, even when it came down to being used. tiring illusionist, shuffling the same cards, over and over and over… could he blame anyone for forsaking him? ares, begging to be forgotten. no more pain, no more. the heavens are deaf, however, and it continues: plague in his bones ; hunger in his chest ; torture in his skull. if he stays down for long enough, perhaps no one will bother to look for him. pitiful dead boy turns blind man, hearing his last heartbeat, moonlight on his tongue, constellations on his lips. what is there to be said at his tombstone? unknown, unloved, unmissed. this, the only way he’d ever be able to go. you may have broken my heart, but only i hold the power of shattering my own soul. water springs from his eyes: weeping angel, at home in a cemetery. –––– not even your ghost is capable of loving me, mother. and still, you’re all i have. –––– he whispers, restless, plunging prayers down the earth. love me, you should’ve loved me, love me, please.

–––––– 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞: 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 . ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈 ：𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 .

you will be my death ╱ eros ╱ poisonous calamity .

eros finds him –– no mercy, no mercy. mercutio picks him up from the ground, dirty and paralyzed, says nothing. dante wakes up in his bed, undressed, filthy, sore. –––– you always come back, don’t you? –––– the emerald’s voice reverberates in his head, each syllable another nail on his coffin. phobos & deimos are also children of aphrodite, is what he learns with mercutio –– standing tall, smile of a hunter, canines of a wolf. –––– i am really everything you have, huh? –––– his laughter is haunting, and the desai becomes child, forgotten –– once more, once more.

–––– i never had you. –––– dante mumbles, looking out the window. the abyss stares back, offers no answers, vanishes. –––– never had anyone at all.

( … )

when the morning comes, mercutio presses dante against a wall –– hand around his neck, vicious. dante does not blink as breaths become shallow, as lights seem to fade. –––– i’m not scared of you, fool. –––– melancholy in defiance, tone dripping in dark blue. –––– kill me. I’m all yours. –––– and he smiles only after his feet touch the ground, a slap across his cheek. bitter glory. thanatos is always lingering in his spine, never daring to break him. untouchable, even by death. sobriety in nothingness, in madness: mercutio looks inside his soul, and realizes he is messing with a demon with nothing to lose. –––– you have stepped over my guts and claimed the beast inside of me as yours. you have more reasons to fear me than anyone else, and you better start acting like it. –––– dante bows, and leaves. always an actor leaving a stage –– trickster, villain or tragedy? he doesn’t know anymore.

–––––– 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚) 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐛) 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫, 𝐜) 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ? ––––––

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈 ：𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 .

my regrets follow you to the grave ╱ memento mori ╱ remembered beyond the tomb .

dante comes back at midnight, after four long days. there are finger marks against his trachea, there are new quicksilver lines against his body, there is new darkness pressed underneath his eyes. quiet –– inside his heart, white noise. inside his mind, an ocean in which he’s drowning. for poppy, he muses, for poppy: he must move onward for her, if not for anyone else. he can barely hear his own heart, beating, struggling. just until i find her, and then...

#𝑿𝑰𝑰 : REFLECTIONS .#𝑽 : DEVELOPMENT .#body horror tw #suicide tw #blood tw #violence tw #abusive relationship tw #?#drug use tw #overdose tw #self harm tw #suicidal thoughts tw #i couldnt fit in ludus and storge in this #but #yeh

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years ago

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FIC: With Wax Melted III

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The table was somehow not crowded at all as the sound of cutlery scraping, requests for platters to be passed and the quiet background music filled the kitchen. It had been a while longer before Jo announced dinner was prepared and she’d gently coaxed the group into moving. Grey was almost certain she’d made the table bigger somehow but that was a thought for later, when he wasn’t having to negotiate exactly how to fit everything on a plate together.

“Hun,” Jo murmured as she leaned over his shoulder to take the bowl filled with the home made pasta dressed in the pesto and fresh rocket leaves and dish out a small pile onto his plate. About half the size he had been trying to negotiate onto the plate. “You realize the bonus of family-style is that you can take seconds, right?”

“Oh, true.” Grey let out a quiet laugh as he sat back in his seat. His plate could be filled again if he wanted it to, and as he took a forkful of the zesty pasta and enjoyed the slight lemony finish, he knew he’d be taking a second helping of pasta if not everything. “This is so good, Jo.”

He wasn’t kidding though - the taste was just right with the pesto he’d been talked through tasted like a truly basil bliss. The lemon offset it perfectly and the pasta itself was al dente and Grey was going to never get over how quickly and efficiently Jo had whipped up the fresh dish. The yellow strands were beautiful and were delicate in a way he’d never attempted to make of his own nor were they as thick or too perfectly made as the store bought where it lacked the rustic and obvious care and love that these ones did. It was perfect.

“Of course it is, you helped.” The blonde chided him back, tapping the back of his head with the handle of the serving spoon before she rounded the table to help the other blonde in the house sort out her meal. “Hey, lemme help, Ombre!”

“You helped make the meal?” The question came from Grey’s right, and the curious look on the elder’s face was veiled slightly more than the curiosity in his tone. Amon glanced between his plate and the shadow before giving a slight nod. “It’s very well made.”

“Oh, well, I helped. Jo did a lot of it.” “Really?” “She’s definitely under playing how much is her work-”

“Multitalented, hmm?” Amon turned from looking towards Grey down towards the other end of the table where the two blondes were talking and Jo was dishing up not only the pasta but encouraging the younger girl to try a little of both the vegetarian and meat options - “If you haven’t tried meat, you should and see how you feel, Ombre” - before he turned back towards the man beside him. “I have to stop underestimating her, perhaps.”

“Don’t do that,” Grey grinned a little, taking the plate of caperese salad that Harry handed him to add a few of the fresh tomatoes onto his plate. “She likes being underestimated.”

“Yeah, and she also likes shooting you in the back when she gets the chance.” The researcher piped up as he let out a laugh of his own, tucking into the crumbed beef parmesan that had both the gooey cheese layered on top and the thick tomato sauce Grey’d made layered between the still crisp beef schnitzels. Jo must have only heated that through enough to brown the cheese under the griddle so that the crumb wouldn’t get soggy, and if the eggplant version wasn’t so delicious, Grey’d be tempted to give it a try himself. The sauce had been thick when he’d last seen it, and he almost had thought when he left it it had been a little chunky still - but the sauce that filled the layers between the umami-rich eggplant slices was instead thick in a silky way with no graininess. The béchamel white sauce and golden brown cheese on top had the right level of gooeyness to it, pulling in a long string of golden deliciousness with each slice. That Jo’d made both options was going down well, as both Grey and Shada appreciated the meat-free alternative and Harry and Ombre both had a bit of each on their plates, while Amon had been advised with a sly look from Jo she’d made sure to make their beef version a little bigger. Harry grinned around his mouthful before adding. “I mean, it’s good when she’s on your team but sucks when you play for the opposition.”

“I’ve seen that being on her bad side is not a good idea.” The slightly deeper tone in Amon’s voice piqued Grey’s interest before he found himself blushing to realize exactly how true that was, and the veiled intent behind the man’s words. That was something they couldn’t see eye to eye about, but Grey found himself appreciating that the other had put that aside, as usual, on his behalf. There was a pause before the older man asked carefully, the cool tone disappearing from his words. “But what do you mean by team?”

Grey half listened in as Harry appeared to go onto one of his famous, disjointed stories explaining the whole concept of first-person-shooters and gaming; eyes darting on occasion to see that Amon seemed to have known exactly what he was doing getting the other distracted and babbling away. It took the pressure off both Grey and Amon to do more than nod or mumble encouragingly while getting to enjoy their meal, and Grey did always find Harry’s passion for their shared hobby to be fun to experience second hand.

As he chewed on a piece of his garlic breadstick (which was somehow pillowy and held a sweet nuttiness from the browned garlic, and he almost felt proud at his contribution to this part of the dinner at how well the garlic and herbs had been balanced), Grey turned his attention past the two other men down to the other end of the table where Jo had finally sat down and was now caught between his two sisters talking about some shopping trip they hoped to do. It was fast paced, and Grey watched on as Jo’s eyes darted back and forth between both other women like a tennis match trying to follow the flow of conversation and getting horribly lost. After a few moments of observing, the blonde finally seemed to notice his observation - brown eyes fixing onto his instead for a moment before he could see her cheeks turning bright red around a bite of her dinner at being caught and the wink Grey delivered her. Jo quickly swallowed her mouthful and jumped right into the middle of the conversation, a tiny twitch to her lips letting Grey know it was just as amusing to her.

“Brother?” “Hmm?”

“Can you please tell Cupcake that I will entirely behave myself this year for Christmas. Please?” Shada’s voice singsonged across the table as she had spotted his watching the three women’s conversation. “I won’t even try to sit in Dean’s lap if he forgets to ask me to.”

“Oh like I believe that, Shada.” Grey chuckled, shaking his head at the other. “Anyway, if we’re having Jo’s family for Christmas then-”

“Then we get to come too, right?” Ombre chirped up happily, tossing her hair in a hilarious mimic of her older sister. “Oui?”

Grey shook his head for a moment and found himself sighing deeply as Jo chimed up with that teasing look on her face. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure we’re doin’ anthin’ for Christmas. At least, not with anyone else.” The eyelash batting from the blonde did nothing to stop the embarrassed groan that got from him. “Just kiddin’, but I really don’t know if everyone will be around this year.”

“Perhaps we’ll have a relaxed one this year.” Grey added, shrugging a shoulder at the deflated looks he was receiving from both sisters. It was still a month away, they could work something out closer and perhaps they’d be distracted or busy anyway. The approving look he was receiving from the man beside him helped a little, as did the way Harry quickly jumped in to explain his plans for the holiday season and changed the topic along with it.

Dinner flowed well though, and Grey found himself in awe at just how comfortable it felt for him to be sat there surrounded by the group that had assembled. Even Amon was convivial and Grey had watched eyes wide when Ombre had tried to convince the demon to ‘do the pretty eye trick’ only to have her distracted by Jo’s suggesting they go feed Nana her dinner since they’d finished early. The look of relief on the demon’s face though at nobody else daring to use the phrasing or to bring it up was priceless though, and a gift of itself to Grey. That it was comfortable for three monsters, a demon, a hunter and a hunting researcher to be sharing bread - quite literally when Harry and Shada squabbled over the last roll before Jo offered half of hers to the loser, Harry - and it feel like a regular family occasion felt both surreal and perfectly normal for Grey. Normal was whatever his life with Jo was shaping up to be after all, it was normal for the sun to rise in the east and for his world to warp itself to neatly match with her rising times that perhaps it should feel equally normal for her world to wrap and bend itself to match his.

---

When the idea of dessert had been brought up originally, with everyone splayed around the lounge room in different levels of satiated from the amazing meal already served, there had been a round of denials and claims that another mouthful would make them explode. Jo had tutted quietly behind her teeth and suggested she’d just bring in a little something in case anyone got pekish - and with the arrival of the large serving platter covered in delectables, those denials got far far quieter.

There were the small pastries from earlier of the salted caramel tartlets that were so perfectly sweet but bitter with the mix of salt and dark chocolate cutting through the sugary sweetness of the rich, buttery caramel, lemon meringue pies that had even been decorated with small pearls of ruby red pomegranate seeds that added to the sweet tartness of the cirtrus bites and meringue kisses which had swirls of colors both blue and yellow throughout to make small flowers of sugary whiteness that Grey had seen crafted beautifully, and that tasted like heaven the moment he tried any of them. There was fresh fruit with strawberries and blueberries and delicate mandarins sitting beside lovingly prepared slices of plums and pears, with halved figs that appeared to be drizzled with honey sat proudly next to walnuts, and almonds, and grapes. There was a small pot of what looked to be whipped, sweetened ricotta for dipping right beside another bowl of melted chocolate also awaiting the dip of a delicious morsel. There were cut up pieces of waffle and tiny doughnut balls sitting and waiting for their time to be enjoyed, and finally what looked to be a few shards of very quality chocolate decorated throughout. The whole platter was as vibrant and inviting as breakfast and dinner had been, and while Jo disappeared back into the kitchen in search of drinks, Grey was surprised that everyone held back enough for her to get out the door before the first few pieces picked and enjoyed.

“Ah ha!” Jo cried proudly as she came back in, a tray held in one hand that held the drinks for the group like the seasoned bartender she was. She pointed a finger around at everyone, not missing at all the sticking fingers or the half eaten evidence of their snacking already. “I told you you’d all find room, didn’t I?”

“It isn’t our fault,” Harry was the first one to speak up, licking the cinnamon sugar from his doughnut ball from his fingers before grabbing one of the serviettes that Jo’d left out. “You made it look all pretty. And I, for one, know what it’s like to miss out on your baking. So I clearly had to eat something.”

“Oh clearly.” The sarcasm rolled off Jo’s tongue quickly but it was obvious she was as amused as everyone else as she handed the researcher a milky looking glass with his Bailey’s and milk. “What are the rest of your excuses?”

“I never claimed I was full!” Ombre chirped up from where she’d opted to sit on the floor between the coffee table and television facing everyone. She had floofed her skirts out and was extremely excited that Nana had come downstairs during dinner and was laying on the rug nearby her. Grey’d watched the cautious look the dog gave the newcomer and was so proud to see how little reaction she had given other than an uncertain tail flip. “Besides, the tartlets are si doux - so so cute! I must try!”

Shada leaned forward from her spot on the couch beside Harry’s armchair with a small smirk all her own as she popped a grape into her mouth. “Can’t let it go to waste when you’ve put so much work in, Jo.” The smile Grey caught from her slowly shifted as if an idea had crossed her mind and he felt himself shaking his head right as the brunette added, “Surprised there aren’t any cupcakes, Cupcake.”

“Made them the last few times, and I had pastry on hand.” “Oh? So bought then?” “Nah, just made a pumpkin pie last week and made a double batch.”

The cups of tea were sat down quickly in front of the two other women from her tray as Jo shrugged a shoulder, before she moved around to the large armchair that the eldest in the room had taken up. Grey had happily suggested that his friend have the comfortable armchair nearest the spot on the couch that he’d taken for himself beside his sister, and watching as Jo handed off the glass, Grey had been amused at how accommodated for the demon had been. As well as everyone else. There’d been Guinness available as well as the regular beer line ups Jo kept about for hunters and herself, there had been a bottle of Baileys cooling in the fridge to make Harry a creamy after-dinner-drink, there had even been some specifically chosen Irish whiskey and liqueur that was what filled the glass that Amon was swirling carefully with a considered look. Grey couldn’t help the rush of warmth he felt realizing how much Jo’d taken everyone’s preferences in mind with even the dessert platter and the bourbon and coke she slipped into his hand; his sunshine making sure that everyone felt the same amount of warmth and hospitality throughout the whole night.

“And you, hunny, what’s your excuse?” Jo caught his attention from his musing with a wide smile as she perched herself on the arm rest beside him. Grey blinked uncertain what she was asking for a long moment, before she took pity on him. “You said you were full, and I come back in to see you dippin’ three waffle bites into the fondue.”

“Well, you know me. I fondue.” “Do you? Fondue?” “Sometimes.”

“Oh stop flirting you two.” Harry chuckled, breaking the joke as Grey tugged on the end of Jo’s hair playfully before turning back towards his friend. “Didn’t you spend enough time doing it today, huh?”

Grey found himself shaking his head as he laughed and tried to fight the blush from making itself known on his cheeks. “Hey, there’s company around, Harry. Besides, we were busy with preparing dinner all day.”

“Oh, totally,” Jo gushed on top, and Grey saw her shifting to sit on the rug between his end of the couch and Amon’s armchair with the same bright red threatening her cheeks. “We were slavin’ over a hot stove all day, ain’t nobody had time for anythin’ else.”

“I find that hard to believe.” The growled comment from the other end caught everyone’s attention before the blush came rushing up full force as Grey caught the knowing look in the other man’s eye. Amon’s brow jerked up for a moment in a way that was so familiar to the expressions possible from him usually, and Grey felt himself letting out an awkward but amused laugh at recognizing exactly that look. “Though I do hope you had an enjoyable day, Grey.”

“Thanks, Amon.” Grey murmured the response out as he scratched at the back of his neck and tried to fight the blush down. It wasn’t hard to appreciate the at least jump from Harry’s teasing, but it didn’t escape him that the same was still happening.

He was saved from trying to work out how to change the topic as he watched in almost sickeningly slow motion as Jo’s hand moved from popping a meringue in her mouth to hitting out at the demon’s calf. “Oh, don’t you start teasin’ him too.” Jo chided around the mouthful of sweets, and tossed her head back to pin the other with a look. “He’s been very busy day - we took Nana for a walk down by the lake to chase the ducks and got lunch out. Ain’t nobody got time for much else when the pup wants somethin’ - as you know very well.”

“Ah yes, you did seem to raise a very demanding pup.” “She is a goddamn princess - she can be demandin’ as she wants.” “That says so very much.”

“Why thank you.” The glowing smile that was directed up towards the other from the blonde made Grey laugh at how carefree it was before Jo’s look transformed into a smirk and she crawled around the edge of the coffee table to sit next to the pup in question and give the slowly wagging dog a large amount of happy pets alongside the other blonde. “You’re such a good girl aren’t you. Don’t listen to grump ol’ Amon, he forgets what it’s like to be young like us.” The cooing was as gentle but clearly loud enough for everyone to hear and get a good laugh out before Jo and Ombre disolved into a quiet conversation over the dog.

Grey leaned forward to rest a hand over his friend’s forearm though, the corner of his lips twitching into an uncertain smile. “Jo just spoils her, I guess.”

“You might have to watch out for that one day. Unfortunately if you let your... pup make too many calls early on, you’ll have trouble helping them make good choices later.” Amon’s words sounded more bemused than annoyed, and the slight worry that Jo’s teasing might cause a problem disappeared at catching the other man’s eye as he took a sip of his drink thoughtfully. “Though perhaps you too will luck out.”

Grey swallowed a sip of his own drink trying to loosen his throat as he smiled across at the other, before his attention was grabbed by Shada demanding he explain some movie plot line Harry was talking about but couldn’t remember the name of the film for. That took almost everyone to work out that the researcher had completely mixed the plot lines of Venom and Upgrade which turned into an argument on which was better, and then why posession is so over used in Hollywood and before Grey knew it, Ombre was shouting loudly while Harry was teasing her about living out the intention of the Lazarus Effect, and everyone was laughing in their own way at the ridiculousness before diverting into just how wrong movies are about practically everything which lasted late into the evening.

---

“Thanks again for coming, Harry,” Grey said as he pulled the other man in for a quick hug and back pat before they stepped apart. Harry was smiling wide and Grey met it equally pleased as he’d accompanied the other to the door. It had gotten very late, and Grey hadn’t even known where the time had gone. “We’re catching up Sunday for brunch?”

“Yeah, man. There’s a burger joint down the refurbished docks I wanted to check out.” “Burgers sounds good. They got outdoor seating?” “Totally. You can probably walk Nana down and then we can actually have beers.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Grey nodded repeatedly and wasn’t surprised to be pulled in for another quick hug from the other before Harry made his way down the steps and towards the van parked out front. It always felt good to catch up with the other, and getting to find somewhere new to enjoy in town would be good for both of them. “See you!” He called out a little quieter than needed as he waved a hand after the other.

“We’re headed off too,” Shada said, getting a jump out of Grey when she and Ombre appeared to pop up behind him without his having noticed. The cheeky grin at catching him off guard was printed across both women’s faces as they moved in to hug him in conjunction. “Tell Jo we’ll be around to get her next week for shopping-”

“If she doesn’t have a, uh, for her it’s called a hunt right? Not a job?” “That’s right, Ombre.” “Ah, droite! I got it right!”

“I’ll make sure to remind her, but what do you mean tell her?” Grey smiled widely at both his sister’s as he pulled them both in after a moment for a hug each. Ombre swished her skirts as she shrugged a shoulder and waved a hand at the other to talk when Grey and Shada finally pulled back from their tighter hug. “Sis?”

“Your gal tired herself out. Again.” Shada replied with a smirk, dark eyes glittering with amusement as she jerked her head back towards the lounge. “You left for all of two seconds with Harry, and she did a repeat of last year.”

“Huh?” Grey frowned in confusion for a second before he shook his head and couldn’t help the impulse but to get a third quick hug from each of his sisters instead. When Ombre wiggled in against his side, an amusing feat given not only her height but her chunky heeled shoes, Grey finally held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, you two stay safe and have a good night, yeah?”

“Totally. It’s just in time for breakfast croissants in Paris after all,” The brunette said cheekily as she ushered the youngest out the front door, sharing a roll of the eyes with their brother as Ombre let out an excited squeal at the idea. “I do hope you’ve have a good day, brother.”

“With you guys, and Amon, and Harry, and Jo?” Grey said gently as he held onto the door and saw the blonde dash off down the steps excitedly before he caught his sister’s eye again. “How could I not?”

There was a pause as the dark haired woman seemed to pin him for a second, as if trying to discern if there was something she had missed, before the smile on her lips grew wider and almost as bright as his favorite kind of smiles. “Oh good. We’ll be around soon, Grey. I love you.”

“Love you too, Shada.” Grey couldn’t help the impulse then to quickly tug her into another hug, bringing a loud laugh out of the other at the tight squeeze, before they both finally pulled back and gave a gentle wave as Grey shut the door and Shada ran off after their younger sister.

He had completely forgotten Shada’s confusing commentary until he made his way into the lounge and had to bite back the laugh at spotting Jo’s head dropped where she was leaning against the side of the armchair, seemingly fast asleep, with their dog’s head laid equally asleep over her lap. In the chair, Amon was seated but seemed to be completely ignoring the dozing pair as he simply held his glass, staring at it considering.

“Oh no,” Grey finally managed to get some words out without laughing as he moved around the back of the couch towards the small group. Nana’s head slowly lifted, showing she had been merely dozing and her tail began to thump softly and sleepily against the floor. “Sorry that I left you with the boring pair, Amon.”

“It’s fine, Grey. I am sure that you’ve had a very eventful day, and she was-” There was a pause as the other appeared to pull his attention out of the slowly melting ice in his glass to look between Grey’s face and where the hunter was clearly fast asleep. Amon appeared to take a moment to select his words, brows creased slightly as the words took time to come to him. “-clearly very attentive and stressed this evening.”

“Stressed?” “Perhaps not, but she was far less relaxed than your usual evenings.”

“Oh.” He found himself nodding as he moved closer to sit back into his spot on the couch, eyes not once moving from looking towards the dozing blonde. She did seem to have deeper bags under her eyes than usual that evening, and Grey had noticed she had had a relatively small dinner - more on her feet fetching this or that for others, or focused on adding to conversation and including everyone than on her own meal - and hadn’t even finished her whiskey and coke given it was almost entirely full in it’s spot on the coffee table, water floating atop where the ice cubes had melted. “Well, she... Jo does like to be a good hostess I guess.”

Amon quirked a brow up as he took a long sip of his drink, and Grey found his eyes darting from Jo’s face up to the other’s knowing look but unable to meet it for long. “She cares about you, boy. At least in that she has improved.” Amon growled the words out quietly as he swirled the last of his drink in his glass. “If she did not care for making you happy, do you think she’d have made the effort it takes to include myself?”

Grey couldn’t help the warmth that spread to him thinking about that. The other was very correct in that his very presence, sitting as he was in the form he was in the space he was, was something that required time and thought. And on top of that, coming from the blonde hunter, something extra to make that choice and trust - let alone the extra care to accommodate the other’s tastes for dinner and drinks. The amount of effort in that alone blew him away without even taking in that, as was slowly becoming tradition, she had trusted Grey’s trust in the demon enough to lower her guard such that she’d dozed off again in his presence. He shook his head sharply to try to stop the prickling feeling he felt in his eyes at looking at the image before him that tugged at something sharply inside.

“Well, I’m very lucky then.” He finally found the words himself, the depth of meaning only barely scratching the surface as he finally looked up to catch the other’s eye. Shrugging a shoulder as he finished his own drink, Grey sank back, boneless, into the couch with a sigh. “I.. I really have to say thank you, not just to her, but you too Amon. This was... a fantastic surprise. I really, really have to thank you for coming.”

“No need, boy.” The demon said carefully as he lifted his drink to his lips and finished the last of it with a worn sigh - the honey-infused whiskey the traditional post-dinner drink but one less common on this side of the pond - before he slowly pushed himself to his feet careful not to disrupt the sleeping hunter even as the dog got to her feet with a wag of her tail. Amon let out a quiet, warning growl as the dog moved to step onto Jo to jump at him and held the pup’s eye until Nana sank back down into a sit. “It was a pleasant evening. Far different than the last few times I had taken such a form up here, at least.”

Grey tilted his head to look up at the other as he set his empty glass down on one of the coasters on the coffee table. “Oh?”

“Definitely. However, I do find this a lot more restrictive so I will be heading off.” “Oh. Yeah, let me walk you out.” “Of course.”

The pair both slowly moved out of the lounge quietly, and Grey was not surprised to see Nana shuffle along quietly behind them as intrigued as she was by seeing the wolfish friend as he was that evening. He gave a gesture towards the stairs towards the dog as they reached the hall, and was pleased to see that with only minimal bouncing and weaving between his and Amon’s legs that Nana headed off to her bed without a fuss.

“Don’t forget to repaint those traps before bed tonight, Grey.” The taller man said quietly as he moved through to the threshold, looking up at the ceiling carefully. “Most was left in tact so it simply requires a touch up on the scratched areas.”

“Thanks, I’ll get to it right away.” Grey nodded as he glanced up and could thankfully see clearly even in the dim lighting the exact spot that needed repainting, before he moved forward to wrap a tight hug around the other for a moment. It was somehow strange to do this when it was a hard, human chest he had his face pressed against rather than thick, black fur, but it was as comforting and felt almost as natural before he pulled back with a smile at the same on the other man’s face. “Thanks again. For... For everything, Amon. I hope you know the importance you have, especially today of all days.”

There was a pause before the other man gave a nod, his eyes veiled but obviously aware of the significance despite the time since. Grey wasn’t sure if it was because he remembered specifically dragging him almost kicking and screaming from under that burnt out wreckage or not, but even if he didn’t - Grey was glad to acknowledge it to the other. That as much as Jo had given him on that day, she hadn’t been the only one nor was she the one that had been there with him the longest in that darkness. She was the sunshine that broke through the rain, but the demon shrugging a shoulder before him had been the rock that he’d clung to to avoid being washed away. At the thought, Grey quickly jerked forward to deliver another, brief but tight hug, before he pulled back.

“Again, thanks.” Grey smiled widely as he got a firm nod from the other, before Amon turned and began to step off the stairs, following the same rules to get away from the house before disappearing as Grey closed the door.

The rug was quick to replace, and as Grey turned about he moved as quickly as possible to replace and protect the house again before he headed back into the loungeroom. Jo was right where he’d left her, slumped up against the armchair and still fast asleep, her hand curled softly around where Nana’s paw had been.

He moved quietly over, and sank down to a knee beside her. “Jo, pretty one, wake up.” Grey gently shook her shoulder, softer than he probably need to to rouse her but enough that she should wake, only to have two hands reach out to grab his shirt instead. He tilted his head but could see her eyes still closed over and with a sigh, he shifted to slide a hand under her legs and his other around her shoulders. It took a moment before he moved to lift her, letting out a shocked breath when her arms went around his neck and he could feel the warm breath on his cheek. “Okay fine, we’ll get you upstairs then, huh?”

“Nuuhgh?” The vague noise came from the other before the hands around his neck held tighter and wound their way into his hair, before Grey gave his own sigh in response. Holding tighter, he slowly made his way out of the lounge, closing the door behind him and glad that Jo’d cleared away the dessert tray earlier in the night that he didn’t have to worry about anything but the lights as he slowly made his way upstairs. “Huungh?”

“Bed time, Jo.” “Uuh?” “Don’t worry, everyone’s already gone home, pretty one. Now its time for bed.”

“Mmmmokay.” Jo groaned the word out quietly, tucking her head against his chest as they got up the stairs and Grey navigated through the bedroom door. This was possibly the most unexpected end to the evening for him, but as he laid the other out on the bed and moved to tuck her in, he was unsurprised to find the two hands holding him tug gently to pull him down too. “Mmnoo.”

“Okay, Jo, but jeans off.” Grey chuckled quietly at her fussing and fighting to keep him near, shifting to kick his jeans down quickly before stripping hers off her legs too before climbing into bed behind her.

Tucking in against her back, Grey found himself tugging Jo back against himself and curling in against her to relax. It had been a long day, but as the other twisted around and tucked her face into the crook of his neck, Grey couldn’t hold back the laugh knowing that the day had been practically perfect for him, and his night was setting up to be just the same watching over until the sunrise and his sunshine would wake up.

---

#cc #ca #greypov #happy grey day part 3

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authorellenmint · 5 years ago

Text

Jaal x Ryder

After Jaal introduced Ryder to his family, she wants to offer him the same courtesy. Too bad her brother's a giant pillock.

Warm, angaran hands wrapped around Ryder's stomach as she tried to peer deeper into the metal drum. A plorp erupted from the briny depths, but the man behind her didn't seem to much care. Lips trailed gently against her skin starting first at the nape of her neck. The kisses were little more than warm whispers but as he dipped lower, tugging down to create a gap between her uniform's shirt, his teeth grazed against her shoulder.

"Jaal," Ryder clung tighter to the pot, trying to focus and not burn herself or the food. It was damn near impossible as the alien with seemingly no shame kept pushing every button he knew.

"Yes, dearest?" his voice purred behind her ear and there went that leg shaking again.

She could ask him to stop, to let her finish this in time, but it was rare for the Tempest's galley to be empty and rarer for the two to have so much free time alone together. "Could you hand me the basil?"

"Which is this base-ill?" he rolled around the human word on his tongue, which was enough to conjure up memories of what else he could roll with his tongue. Focus here, you've got to get this done or you'll have a lot of awkward questions to answer to.

"The big green leaves," she pointed to one of the first herbs out of cryo. The fact it grew like a weed on Earth helped it to fill in gardens on Eos and Elaaden. She'd swiped a few early ones they'd set up on hydroponics on the Nexus -- there were some perks to being Pathfinder after all.

Jaal placed the basil into her fingers and she worried the leaves a bit before dropping them into the pot. The smell struck her instantly, true basil just like the kind her mother grew in their tiny pots on the Citadel. It was artificial light that gave them life instead of the sun, and a dip in water rations instead of rain, but having that piece of Earth while in space was a welcome touch of home.

"You are smiling, darling one," Jaal said. He was no doubt smiling too.

"I was thinking of home," she twirled the spoon through the red-orange liquid watching her beloved basil sink to the depths. "I mean," Ryder paused and turned to her lover she found in another galaxy, "the Milky Way. This is home."

Jaal's lips twisted up and he pressed a kiss to her palm. "Are you saying that on my account?"

"No," she sighed. His purple mouth drifted higher up her wrist in kisses that were gaining pressure. If he used his teeth again, she was a goner. "Just reminding myself that we have a home. Meridian."

"It is an amazing feat," he broke from torturing her to stare into her eyes. The man couldn't stop singing her praises about discovering this place, as if he wasn't there by her side spitting in the archon's eye right along with her.

"One I couldn't have done alone," Ryder tipped her head back against his shoulder, her eyes closed as she kept stirring the tomato sauce.

His chest, so alien but comforting, wrapped around her back as Jaal whispered. "True, but is that not also the truth of life? Nothing we ever do is alone, we touch the stars and they, in turn, touch and guide us."

A laugh reverberated up her throat, "I never thought I'd be the type to fall for a philosopher."

"Really? What variety of partner did you see yourself with? How did Peebee put it? The lone wolf, whatever that is."

Ryder felt a blush sting her cheeks, but she shook it off. "No, not that. Just, I don't know. Talking shop about the Protheans and what I'd discovered was fun with my fellow scientists but... We aren't a family that sits around waiting for life to happen and it's not easy for people to keep up with."

"Ah, you require someone that's both bold but also considerate." He tipped his chin and those blue marbles for eyes stared through the distance. "I can see why you had to traverse to an entirely new galaxy to find that."

A fresh laugh erupted up her throat and she turned to Jaal with a smile. "You are an amazing find," she whispered, leaning closer. He cupped against her waist steadying her as Ryder lined up for a kiss. Before she touched his lips, she added, "The best I've ever had." When their bare skin made contact, a light charge lifted every hair on her body. It was like goosebumps and butterflies all crashing together at once. And it happened for every light touch. The longer, lingering ones could catch her breath in her throat.

"I adore you, Ryder," Jaal said in his booming voice, "and am grateful that your family is so daring in their endeavors."

Family. Shit! Ryder spun back to find the tomato sauce behaving, but the pot of water was reaching boiling. The oven was little more than a glorified heat lamp inside a box, but the stove could at least get liquids to 100˚C. Reaching over, she snagged up the strands of pasta they were kind enough to extrude for her out at Food Processing. It was a bit too thick to be considered spaghetti but nowhere near enough like anything else.

Cracking the dried batch in half, Ryder plummeted the strands into the boiling water and watched. "I wonder what flour that's made out of," she mused to herself.

"Flower? We are consuming flowers for this meal?"

"No, it's...we take a grain and grind it to a dust. Then use that to form the noodle thanks to water and, probably some other stuff. You're quickly learning us Ryders aren't exactly galactic renowned chefs."

Jaal leaned over, trying to get a whiff of the sauce she should have started an hour earlier. "The Angaran consider food to be a source of life, a gift given between those who create it to those who consume it. We are all trained from a young age in the arts of cooking, same as fighting, or sewing, or showing affection."

She twisted over, fully abandoning her pots to stare at this man. Poet, marksman, resistance fighter, philosopher, engineer, scientist, sewer, and potentially a chef as well? It was as if someone wrote down every winning trait in a mate and then jammed them all inside of this far flung alien. The fact he was incredibly affectionate and had no problems announcing it to any and all kept pushing Ryder into thinking she was still inside Cryo dreaming him up.

"Are you telling me, on top of everything else you can do; the weapons you rebuilt, that star map you made, the vibrating thing you can do with your tongue."

At that Jaal snickered. He never blushed, so Ryder often had to make it up for him -- her cheeks lighting up twice as bright even if she was the one to bring it up. Waving her spatula around, she continued, "And you're also a great cook?"

His hands swept against her jaw, the fused fingers thrumming tighter to the bone as those oceanic eyes darted across her face. Tipping forward, Jaal whispered, "No, I am in fact a terrible cook. I was taught by the mothers, but it simply didn't stick."

Ryder smiled, leaning forward to kiss him as she sighed, "There goes my 'this is all a dream' theory." Turning back to the stove, she eyeballed the spaghetti still drowned in the bubbling pot.

"You considered this a dream?" he returned to wrapping a hand around her stomach, his warm breath drifting closer to her neck.

"Not really," she laughed, "far too many bruises and lacerations for it to all to not be real. Though if you tell me you're some long lost prince I may have to revise that." Ryder dipped the spoon into her tomato sauce and then brought it to her lips. It tasted off. Nothing could compare to her grandmother's cooked fresh off the coast of Sicily every summer. But as she swallowed and tried another taste, the more muddled tomato, basil, and hint of kaerkyn broth flavors warmed her over.

"Here," she cupped her hand under the spoon and directed it to Jaal's lips. Slowly he took a gentle touch of the sauce, his eyes rolling tight as he tasted her attempts at cooking.

"It is..." Jaal blinked a bit, then took another lick of the spoon, "I rather enjoy it. Full of body, with a tartness that stings on the edges."

"That'd be the acid in the tomatoes. I would have cut it down with sugar but it seems Peebee's run off with the entire bag we had. I'd ask why but I fear what the answer would be," Ryder laughed. She spotted her pasta rising to the surface like an ancient monster pursuing a submarine.

Yanking the pot off the stove, she said, "Food's important to humans too. Not all of it, we don't treat say the nutrient bars in our ration packs like anything special...most don't, at least. But this was a dish my grandmother would make."

"Your family," Jaal whispered, his head tilting to the side.

While the pasta drained, Ryder's mind tripped back to that little house in the rolling countryside. They'd chase chickens for days, running through the olive groves the locals owned and, in general, just happy to be off the cramped space station. Even with the Citadel being the creme de la creme of space living, nothing could compete with the freedom of running on dirt and staring across an endless horizon.

"My grandmother would make this for us whenever we visited. Though she used fish sauce, which I'm afraid we aren't going to be making here anytime soon."

"Fish sauce?" Jaal coughed, his eyes wandering over to a trio of bottles as if he feared to catch something floating in it.

"Ah, well, it's when you take fish and then soak them in salt water for...a very long time. Makes everything taste better. She picked up the habit from her mother, who came from a different island. There was nothing my grandma wouldn't add fish sauce too. Scott once asked for chicken nuggets, like the kind they'd put on transit shuttles to shut kids up.

"Instead of thawing some frozen chicken byproduct that was probably five years old at the back of a deep freeze, Gran soaked those chicken tenders in buttermilk, spices, and her go to fish sauce over night before frying them up," Ryder mused to herself. They'd been all of six and of course threw a fit about not getting the frozen ones they expected. She'd give anything to taste her grandma's chicken tenders once again.

Realizing her companion fell silent, Ryder plopped the spaghetti onto a big plate and turned to him, "And I've completely lost you."

He smiled, "The words did not fully translate, but..." Jaal pushed back the hair dusting her cheeks, hiding it behind her ear, "your face lit with happiness as you spoke of your mother's mother. And that is heartwarming to see."

Forgetting she was holding a plate full of spaghetti, Ryder slipped closer to her lover. The plate stuck between them but she leaned across the gap, aching to kiss him. Just as they were about to touch lips, a spark dancing off of Jaal to wake hers alive, the door to the galley sprung open. Ryder's eyes swung up to find her little brother standing awkwardly in the hallway.

"Scott!" she smiled, staggering up and attempting to bury away the blush. He had a bottle in his hands, that he kept patting senselessly while staring at how close his sister drew to an alien. He'd only known of the angaran for a few weeks since waking up, and hadn't really met any since they touched down on Meridian. This was going to be interesting.

"Hey Sis, got your note and..." he lifted his nose in the air and sniffed, "are you making Grandma's sauce?"

"Yup, I thought that..." Ryder shook her head and wiped her hands down her pants. Maybe she should have swiped an apron out of stores the way Vetra suggested. "Let me start over. Scott, this is Jaal."

Scott laughed, but reached over to shake the angaran's hand, "You don't need to get all formal there. We met during the party."

"Yes," Jaal finished shaking hands the human way, then he guided Scott's fist to show him how angaran greeted each other. Like a true Ryder, Scott was more than happy to go along, curious to get it right. "And then later during Peebee and Drack's afterparty."

"You can remember that? I mean any of that?" Scott blinked wildly, fading back to the safety of being just inside the galley.

"A little, if I don't think too hard," Jaal laughed.

Ryder tugged a few plates out of the cupboard and began to divvy out her concoction. "I just thought that it might be good to have a quieter meet and greet, a chance to talk without worrying about Peebee setting her bot to strobe."

"Or your engineer cranking every speaker on the Hyperion so loud it blew out half the relays," Scott added in. "But alright, I get you." He turned to the alien and folded his arms, "So Jaal, what's your story?"

"This may take some time," Jaal's eyes darted over to Ryder who was piling more of the sauce onto the plates.

"Which is why I made food," she shoved the first one into the guest's hands, then the second into Jaal's. "So we can all sit, relax, and talk about things."

"A wise idea, dearest," Jaal sighed, wrapping a hand around her waist while balancing the plate in the other. She caught Scott's eyes bulging a moment at the public affection and Ryder winced. The crew was getting used to Jaal's open everything and so was she. Others however...

Shaking it off quickly, Scott threw on a smile, "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving to eat anything that's not hospital jello."

"Gel-o?" Jaal tilted his head.

"We have much to discuss," Scott laughed, the three settling in to trade backstories while shoveling food into their faces.

It went well at first, Jaal forced to once again explain angaran culture to some alien fresh off the boat. Ryder wondered if he ever grew tired of it, but the way his wondrous eyes sparkled and his hands became animated she suspected it was partially why he volunteered to join her ship that first time. Scott was on his more or less best behavior, asking a few questions and making certain they were all on the up and up.

Taking a pull of the wine he must have scammed off Addison, Scott sighed, "It is so nice to be out of bed, any bed."

"How long until you have leave to get out into the field?" Ryder asked.

"What? Don't tell me you miss me already?"

She reached across the table to lightly slug her brother in the arm. Scott winced at the soft jab, furiously rubbing it. Glancing down, Ryder admitted, "You know I do. Losing Dad was..."

"Yeah," he blinked a moment. "But, look at all you got up to without him."

"Wasn't that how we usually worked? Hard to be trapped in someone's shadow when you never see the one casting it."

They stared at each other a moment across the table, neither having the time to process what losing their distant father meant. Neither wanting to. It was heartbreaking, but also numb, not the same as their mother. Which...God, she didn't know what to think about that mess. Hope. Life. Ryder's head hung down in exhaustion and she felt Jaal's hand skim against her shoulder. Glancing over, she smiled at the man who'd been watching the sibling reunion carefully.

"So," Scott shifted up from his seat, "how did you two meet?"

"Her ship crash landed on my planet and my people agreed to assist these aliens rather than destroy them," Jaal summed up.

"Though you could have always killed me in my sleep," Ryder jabbed back, remembering well his half hearted threat upon their first meeting. She paused and smiled, "It's probably a lot easier now, too." Jaal skimmed his forehead against hers, the magenta ridges upon the top cresting past her skin. It was strangely soothing.

"Yeah, I meant the other part. You two being a...together thing." Scott shifted higher and then scoffed, "Out of the two of us, I thought it was going to be me who seduced an Andromeda alien."

Ryder snorted, "With what skill?"

"I've been told I'm rather debonair, thank you very much."

"Asari dancers looking for a bigger tip don't count," she cut back with and her brother glared.

Scott looked about to list his better attributes, which she could chop down without trying, but his eyes swung to Jaal instead. "Me? What about your past, oh charming as chalk sister of mine. Wait until I tell your boyfriend? Is that what you're going with?"

"I...uh," she caught his marble eyes and faltered. It wasn't wrong, but it didn't feel right either. Maybe the angara had a better term. English kinda crapped out once you got past the age of 30 when it came to love.

Jaal scooped up her hands and smiled, "Dearest is what I call her."

"Okay, well, Sister's Dearest, you want to know about the time she stuffed an entire wad of cotton up her nose?"

"Scott!" Ryder launched forward, trying to catch her good for nothing brother but he dodged fast from her grasp.

"We had no idea she did it until there's my sister with her head snapping forward in a sneeze..."

Ryder scrambled further over the table, almost snagging onto his collar to get him to stop, but Scott weaved again, his eyes never breaking off of Jaal's. "A spray of snot and cotton coats the teacher's desk. This prissy old Turian lady just taps her mandibles and says...and says..."

He was having trouble speaking because Ryder managed to hook her arm around his neck in order to try and catch him in a headlock. Scott bent lower, his face turning bright red from the strain. How often on the Citadel did she have to do the same damn thing to him? It was a wonder her little shit of a brother ever survived long enough to get out to Androma. Wiggling like a fat cat trying to sneak in through a too tight pet door, Scott's ear snagged on Ryder's arm and he popped up.

"She says, 'Young Lady, our nose is not a storage device.'"

"I swear to god, I am going to kill you," Ryder threatened, leaping towards her brother. He deftly dodged her grip but missed a biotic yank that twisted him in his seat. Collapsing his palms together, Scott wrapped his elbow around Ryder's neck and then pulled her deeper into his armpit.

Crap! She could send him flying up to the ceiling, or shatter the bones in his body with her shockwave, but... Giving in, Ryder stopped squirming in order to wrap her arms around her little brother in a half hug. "I'm glad you're back," she whispered.

It took Scott a moment to release his death grip, afraid she was trying to pull some sneaky move, but Ryder meant it. They'd never been a close-knit family, even the twins fading away as she took to traversing Prothean dig sites while he was assigned to the relays. Traveling to a new galaxy, watching Dad die in front of her, Ryder clung to what little she had left. Her eyes glanced over at Jaal. How much more could she add to her family? She felt a flush rising in her cheeks at the thought. The openly emotional angarans were really rubbing off on her.

Shoving away her brother, Ryder rose up and tried to adjust her hair back into something other than angry squirrel. Scott nudged into her side with his elbow and he smiled, "I'm glad you survived all of this too, Sis. It'd be a lot emptier here without you."

A soft laugh rolled through Jaal's throat, his lips fluttering while the eyes shut tight. Ryder slid closer, returning to her seat, but she couldn't stop wafting a question at him. "I understand now," he smiled, beaming at her while snuggling closer, "you wished to not only show me your family, but invite me into it."

Ryder blinked. Was that what she was doing?

Dangerous guffaws echoed from Scott and he slapped the table. "So that's why you picked Grandma's secret pasta sauce recipe. Shit, Sis, if I knew you moved that fast I'd have told Mom to stop worrying about getting grandkids off of me."

"What?" she turned on her brother, thoroughly lost.

"Dad never told you? He made that for Mom the night he proposed."

"That wasn't..." she whipped her head over to Jaal who looked unaware but growing more curious by the second, "I didn't mean to... I hate you, Scott." Ryder jabbed her hand as if she would slice out her brother's ungrateful heart.

"Yeah, yeah," he wiped her finger away and then leaned back in his chair as if the matter was settled.

Ryder plummeted back into hers, trying to not stare guiltily at the engagement meal she had no idea she created. Beside her, her dearest was leaning closer, no doubt about to ask for clarification. Maybe it'd be best if it came from Lexi, or Cora. Liam would just muddy the waters, or be excited by the idea because then he could throw an angaran bachelor party. Ah shit.

Doing her best to not stare death at the plate of leftover food, she lightened when Jaal whispered, "Ryder, thank you for this."

"For forcing you to suffer the excruciating company of my weasel of a brother?" she tried to sound stern, but it slipped into a smile. It warmed her heart to have Scott back and to have the two of them getting to know each other and perhaps bonding.

"I adore any opportunity to know more of you, and those who've touched your life," Jaal said full of sincerity.

"So," Scott sat forward, "what we have here is a galaxy, an entirely new one with five outposts ready for colonizing."

"Yup," Ryder smiled, her hand entwining with Jaal's, the alien that helped them get to this point. "So much to discover it makes my head spin."

"I guess I've just got one question for you, Sis," Scott inched up, a mischievous grin filling his face. "Is Eos a wedding in spring kind of place, or are you holding out hope for Kadara by summer?"

"You little..." Ryder whacked her brother in the face with a handful of cold spaghetti. Even as it dripped, leaving orange stains in its wake, Scott couldn't stop laughing and neither could she.

#jaal x ryder #mass effect andromeda #fic #short fic #sharing

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ahomeganeyatsu · 6 years ago

Text

Ran Off in the Night (Part 11)

The sound of metals clashing was the first thing that Lucas registered when his mind slowly sifted out of the debris of unconsciousness. His head throbbed, the slightest movement inspiring his stomach to puke his guts out right beside him.

What the fuck was he doing lying on the ground? Why did his head hurt? How the hell did he get here? Where was here?

His vision was blurry and everything seemed to be layered with a thick fog. The experience reminded him of that night after Emma's party. Lying on the ground, having no idea how he got here, his body hurting and the world muddled all around him.

An inhumane snarl and a roar of pain interrupted his thoughts. Lucas flinched at the sound, realizing how close it was. Too close in fact. Even if he managed to move from his current position, Lucas wouldn’t even have enough time to get to safety before whatever made that sound caught up to him. He still wasn’t going to just lie here and get himself eaten. Lucas had some dignity. If he was going to be eaten by a goddamn monster, he wasn’t going to make it easy for the fucker.

He pushed himself up—or tried to anyway—and the world blacked out for a second. It was a miracle that Lucas didn’t expel what little of the food he ate. Too early, he thought and his insides roiled before he upchucked what used to be a slice of pizza and the coffee he drank earlier. Shit, he wiped away the gathering tears in his eyes and coughed, I'm never gonna be able to look at a slice of pizza the same way again. Lucas winced at the pain in his throat and spat out the pooling spit in his mouth. He breathed as much as his lungs allowed him to. Fuck, he hoped he didn't bruise them. Lucas didn't need that added to his problems.

Thankfully, the pain in his chest was tolerable. He still felt a little dizzy but the world wasn’t spinning out of its axis anymore. He readied himself to stand and run when something stopped him.

“Don’t move!”

Or someone.

He would have laughed if he could see himself right now. He imagined he looked like one of those meerkats in that documentary he watched (Basile recommended it, although he had no idea why), head whipping around at the sound of that voice. It wasn't a good decision as the sudden movement had the world spinning again. Nausea threatened to have him spilling bile but he appeased it with a few deep breaths. With his stomach calmed, Lucas chanced another look.

Well, color me fucked. Lucas watched captivated. Quell had said shadowhunters fought demons for a living. He had known from the very moment when 24 had his glowing sword leveled to his neck that the guy was dangerous. It was more of an awareness. Like something you've overheard and accepted but never truly understood. And as Lucas witnessed 24 dancing around the demons, slicing at them, and parrying their attacks—it finally sunk into him.

He’s dangerous.

What surprised him though was his reaction to this thought. He was scared, yes, but it didn’t seem to matter. Lucas didn’t think he would stay away. It didn’t feel like he would. In fact, even if it had sunk in just how dangerous 24 was before, Lucas would have still searched for him. Maybe it was because he was used to living on the side of danger? Always toeing that line that separated the deficiency of self-preservation and the absolute absence of one. Or maybe he was really that desperate for answers. The desire born from a relatively answerless world. He didn't know why he had this ability. He didn't understand why his parents split up or why his dad wouldn't give two shits about him or his mom. He didn't get why the fear of being yourself had to be this crippling. Then 24, this shadownhunter bulldozed into his life and for once, he felt like a question could be answered.

So, like last time, he was going to be reckless. Lucas tried his best not to be. He could count the times he slipped in one hand. Memorable instances seeing as they always did blow up on his face.

He wondered how this was going to turn out. The blow-up was inevitable. His attraction towards the shadownhunter excluded. How much damage control was he going to do? Would he even survive to be able to do any? He hoped he would.

Something shifted in the shadows behind the demon hunter. His attention fully taken by the remaining bug-like alligator demon, avoiding the deadly stinger rapidly becoming fiercer and erratic in its attacks. Lucas waited to see if the shadowhunter was aware of the new threat. But each second told the teen he wasn’t.

Lucas discarded the command 24 had shouted to him. With an unexpected surge of strength, Lucas slipped his backpack and hurled it towards the shadowhunter yelling, “DUCK!”

Lucas was glad the shadowhunter didn’t hesitate and ducked before he got clipped by Lucas’ flying backpack. He barely kept the look of grief off his face knowing he'll never be able to use that backpack again. Not because it was shredded to pieces, no. It was more about the smell that would no doubt be clinging to it as he watched it hit the demon right in the mouth. It was a small sacrifice, he thought. Better his backpack than 24's head, even with that disastrous mop of hair.

Like you wouldn’t want to run your fingers through that, a tiny voice whispered, snickering.

He couldn’t even hush that little traitor when the burst of second wind he had felt quickly deflated and he was dropping on his ass, trying to keep the world from going sideways for too long. Whatever distraction Lucas afforded the shadowhunter seemed to have worked because the next thing he knew a pair of leather-gloved hands were cupping his face.

“Putain, Lucas, are you alright? What else hurts?” He blinked staring into storm-grey eyes flicking all over his face. Hands gingerly tried to feel for any possible bumps on his head and Lucas just really couldn’t do anything but keep himself breathing. “Lucas, can you hear me?”

“Uhhhh,” he responded intelligently. Lucas could practically feel the worry coming off the guy in waves. He wanted to reassure him he was fine, but his head still throbbed and he figured 24 could tell he would be lying to him anyway. Lucas was running out of words. He mused if he might really be concussed as he had begged not to be earlier. The way his heart was beating against his rib cage or the way he can’t seem to breathe around the shadowhunter told him it probably wasn’t the case. Especially when he could feel his neck prickling with heat under those eyes.

He couldn’t last under that attention and Lucas averted his gaze. He tried to look somewhere else. He let out a shocked sound and his hand reached out to a tear on the male’s shirt. “Y-You’re hurt,” Lucas said shakily. With the lack of decent light and the dark material of his clothes, it was easy to hide that he was bleeding.

The shadowhunter looked down to where Lucas’ hand was gently placed. He could feel the warm blood that was beginning to saturate the material there; his fingers were slowly seeping with the color red. Lucas can feel the careful control he held on his breath beginning to slip. His heart racing into an erratic pace that had nothing to do with their proximity. His body trembling not because of the freezing air. “Oh, I didn’t notice,” 24 said and he shifted slightly, hissing as it aggravated the wound. “Fuck. Okay, not a simple scratch then.”

Lucas lifted his head to give the guy an incredulous look. “You’re bleeding, like a lot. How can you think that’s just a scratch?” his voice was rising with a panicky edge. Lucas had never had any problems with the sight of blood. Except, seeing this amount was making him nervous. There was something lurking just beneath the surface of his unconscious, something he could pluck out and examine and things would begin to make sense. It didn’t seem important at the moment. Not when he had someone bleeding right in front of him.

“Used to injuries. And we’re built—“ he winced, his hold—now on Lucas’ shoulders—tightened as he gritted his teeth and steadied his breathing, “—differently than mundanes.” He looked paler and he was shaking now. “Nothing an iratze can’t heal.”

“Drop the tough guy act,” Lucas muttered and gently pushed the shadowhunter to sit. He knew it was bad when the guy easily tipped over. “How can I help?” Compared to him, Lucas was fine. His head still hurt but it was something he can ignore for now.

24 opened his mouth but Lucas glared at him, the male quailing under that look. “Don’t even think of saying you’re fine. Now tell me what the fuck I need to do.”

He sighed. “Can you check my pockets for my stele?” Lucas had no idea what a stele was but looking through pockets should be easy enough to find it.

“Okay, now put some pressure on that,” he ordered him and 24 followed obediently. Lucas’ hand sifted through the male’s pockets. He couldn’t help but feel awkward about this. This was the second time he had been this close to 24. Two situations so vastly different but still managed to produce similar emotions. Lucas guessed that if the shadowhunter hadn’t been injured or if he hadn’t been battling demons earlier, Lucas would probably have had a heart attack with how fast his heart would be beating.

He imagined meeting him in the Sans Jour as he had hoped earlier. Lucas would be leaning over the railing, scanning the crowd below and he would find him, right there in the middle. 24, feeling his eyes on him, would then look up and their eyes would meet. He'd sport that little knowing smirk that sparked something inside of Lucas. His head will tip to the side, a little challenge, a little demand, for him to come down. Lucas would raise his brow and push away from the railing and make his way downstairs, taking his time even when all he wanted was to dash to where 24 was waiting for him, afraid that he would lose him again. Then like the sneaky fucker he was, 24 would snag him from the side before Lucas could walk to the dance floor where he supposedly was, scaring the living shit out of Lucas.

But things turned out differently.

24 didn't show up at the club. Lucas got chased by a fucking demon and nearly mauled to death. Then, even if Lucas had no idea how, 24 managed to save him and got himself injured in the process. The guy had said not to look for him, but Lucas, stubborn and impulsive as he was, did the exact opposite. And here they were.

There’s that undercurrent of thrill and nervousness from being this close to 24, but it was overpowered by the guilt and worry thrumming in his bones that this possibly wouldn’t have happened if he had listened to the guy in the first place.

Lucas’ hand wrapped around something hard with uneven smooth spots and pulled it out. It was a stone, he couldn’t tell what color it was with the lack of light. Really, where was a light when you needed it? He startled and nearly dropped the item when it began to glow this pure white light. “This doesn’t happen to be that stele thing you were saying, right?” He looked up to the shadowhunter’s eyes but the guy wasn’t looking at him. Instead, 24’s eyes were transfixed on the glowing stone Lucas was holding. “Is this the first time this thing glowed?” Lucas asked, eyeing the stone with uncertainty.

24 shook his head, still looking at it. He lifted his eyes to stare into Lucas’. An unreadable expression flitted in his eyes but it was too quick for Lucas to even pick apart. “It isn’t. And that isn’t the stele. Try my other pocket. ”

A question was at the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it and checked the other pocket. His fingers bumped against something and he quickly wrapped them around the item and pulled it out. It's a wand or something close to it anyway. It was smooth, save for the symbols decorating it. It was silver-white and translucent, smooth to the touch like a mirror.

“Okay, that’s the one,” the shadowhunter said. He tugged at his shirt and lifted it exposing more of his skin. Lucas stared at the newly bared skin, swallowing the dryness in his throat. Black tattoo-like marks decorated the pale expanse and he could see scars from various injuries. “I need you to trace this mark,” he said, hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand holding the stele and leading it to a particular mark that rested just above his right hip.

Lucas leaned forward to take a better look. The mark reminded him a bit of the G clef or a funky looking h with a number six wrapped around it. He began to trace this iratze thing and he nearly gagged when it dawned on him that he was burning him.

Lucas dropped the stele as if he was the one that had been burnt. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he screamed. “I can’t— You’re making me burn you!”

“Lucas, relax. It’s fine.” He reassured him but Lucas wasn’t having any of it.

“Fine?! How can this be fine when I’m carving you like a melon! We’ve only met two times, I don’t even know your name! You’re asking too much.” It didn’t even matter that he had been the one to offer his help. That he had been determined to do so. He just didn’t expect that he had to trace the fucking mark by burning it. “I can’t— how can you even—”

“LUCAS!” Lucas’ panicked rambling was cut off when a hand cupped his face. “Lucas, I need you to breathe.” He hadn’t even picked up on the fact that he was beginning to hyperventilate. “And I need you to listen very carefully.”

The teen took a shuddering breath as storm-grey eyes held his gaze. “If you don’t trace the iratze on my hip, I am going to bleed out. There may also be demon poison in my veins. It’s not that potent, but I need the iratze to heal as much as it can. I know you’re not okay with this. But I need it. Will you please trace it?”

Lucas gulped and his hands clenched tightly. He could read the I’ll die right under those words. And Lucas really did rather want him not to die. “O-Okay,” he choked the word out and blinked through the tears pooling in his blue eyes. "Okay." He picked up the stele again and leaned forward to try tracing the iratze a second time.

“Eliott,” he heard him say softly as he made the first stroke.

“What?” Lucas looked up and met those eyes again.

“Moi c’est Eliott.” It was weird how he said it. Like he was offering it just to Lucas, and only Lucas. There was a niggling thought that told the boy he wasn’t just being offered Eliott’s name. That in reality, the other male was giving him more than that.

Lucas only nodded. He really couldn’t formulate a response to that. Didn’t know how to. He just returned to tracing the iratze mark.

He did it as quickly as he could. He wasn’t the greatest artist, but he managed to trace the faded lines—scars his mind grits out—and he watched as it glowed. He glanced at Eliott to check if it was working. He held his breath and slowly the vice grip around his heart eased as Eliott's face relaxed. The wound took its time to heal, but it closed until all that was left was a pink gash. It was amazing really and Lucas can’t quite believe that had just happened.

“One more favor,” Eliott said after some time. He still looked a little worse for wear but definitely better than earlier. “Can you write a message for me?” Lucas didn’t understand why but thought he might as well. It wasn’t the strangest request he received, considering he just burnt a mark on the guy. He sifted through his pockets coming up with a crumpled receipt and the card from Quell. Fuck, she’s going to wring my neck when she finds out. He quickly pocketed the card. He’ll deal with that later; for now, he faced Eliott.

“I… I don’t—“ Eliott produced a pen out of nowhere and handed it to Lucas with a smile, “—have a pen. Whatever.” His wrote the short message Eliott relayed to him. Lucas couldn’t help how his brows rose when the shadowhunter told him to write the name of the addressee.

“What now?” he asked after he finished writing the last word.

Eliott took the piece of paper and his stele from Lucas. He traced something at the very bottom and Lucas watched transfixed as Eliott let go of the paper and it floated as it burnt, the sparks resembling fireflies meeting the sky.

Eliott pushed himself up from the ground and promptly offered his hand to Lucas. The teen accepted, his blue eyes lingering on their hands coated in Eliott's blood. His hand squeezed Lucas’ and storm-grey eyes inquire gently if he was alright. Lucas could have just nodded, said ouais like usual, but his own hand squeezed back.

It seemed to be the correct response because Eliott gave him a bright smile. And Lucas just stared, feeling a swoop in his stomach. He didn’t know how Eliott could convey that much brightness when he looked exhausted. He didn’t want to feel it, but the heart was an involuntary muscle; if it wanted to flutter like that, it was going to do what it damn well pleased.

Eliott still hasn’t let go of his hand. He knew he had to get him to release his hand, but his voice won’t work nor was his hand inclined to leave where it currently was. He let the guy lead him. Lucas watched him duck a bit and grab something, before lifting it towards the blue-eyed teen.

“Sorry, about your backpack,” Eliott said sheepishly.

“I’m going to have to burn it, aren’t I?” Lucas grimaced, taking hold of a strap that wasn’t coated in demon saliva. The smell was enough to make him want to puke his guts out, but he refrained. He wasn’t incredibly fond of the idea of him throwing up in front of Eliott.

"We can ask Warlock Quell if she could do something about it." Lucas snorted and Eliott shot him a curious look.

“She’s not going to be pleased to see us,” he muttered under his breath. Especially when she finds out I didn’t follow her instructions.

Lucas waited for Eliott to ask the question he could see swimming in those eyes. He didn’t and Lucas wasn’t going to push him.

“Come on, her shop isn’t too far from here if we take a shortcut.”

“Shortcut? What sh—” he yelped as he was pulled and lifted, his arms immediately going around Eliott’s neck. He pressed his face into the shadowhunter’s chest at the rush of wind when the taller male bounded up the sides of the building.

Lucas would forever deny it, but several posts that night across several social media platforms recounted the strange sound of a young male voice screaming “PUTAIN!” over the rooftops of Paris.

#hah #look what i have #i know took awhile #but here it is #elu fic #elu shadowhunter au #elu chaptered fic #elu

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purrincesscatitude · 6 years ago

Note

27: “why the hell is there glitter everywhere?”

Domesticity is bliss. Or something. I dunno, kids are cool I guess. Prompt from this list. Yes, if you like this, you can still send me things!

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Adam stood in the threshold of the playroom, arms crossed and surveying the damage. The very sparkly damage.

“Why on earth is there glitter everywhere?” he asked the two little girls in the room.

The two in question–coated in shimmery silver among the mess–looked wide-eyed at one another.

“She did it,” they said in unison, pointing to Chainsaw. The raven was perched on the windowsill, her feathers streaked with sparkles.

Adam quirked a brow. Chainsaw screeched in her own defense.

“Compelling argument,” Adam acknowledged, and the bird puffed her chest. “We ready to tell the truth?”

The smaller of the two looked at her messily painted toenails as she shuffled her feet through the carpet. Glitter puffed up like dust clouds. “Glitter fight,” she admitted quietly.

“Glitter fight,” Adam repeated.

They both nodded.

“Noah said she wanted glitter in her hair,” the taller explained, pushing her thick brown hair out of her eyes. “And so I put just a little bit in her hair, and then I said I wanted some too, but she dumped too much, and–”

“It all fell out like ‘woosh’ and Helen, and Helen said that–”

“–I wanted to get her back, and. Yeah.”

Chainsaw provided a witness testimony; she croaked in affirmation.

“Thanks for telling me the truth,” Adam said with a soft smile. “Anyone get hurt?”

They shook their heads.

“Anyone get upset?”

“No,” they said.

“Did you have fun?”

The smaller girl looked up, smile wide and eyes alight with a too-familiar gleam of chaos. She held up her arms and Adam picked her up. Glitter sprinkled from her pink tutu to the floor. “I’m all shiny,” she announced, shoving her arms in his face.

“Oh no, too bright! Too much sparkle power!” Adam cried, and the little girl cackled. “Hey, you know who would love to have some extra sparkle in his life?”

Both girls smiled sharply. Noah squirmed to get back down, and Adam obliged.

“I think he’s in the kitchen,” Adam stage-whispered.

The girls took off, pitter-pattering down the bare wood floors of the hallway. Chainsaw flew to Adam’s shoulder. “Thank you for your jury service,” he said, stroking the feathers on her neck.

Adam followed their giggles and a trail of glitter to the kitchen, where they were hiding (quite conspicuously, if Adam was honest) behind the kitchen chairs and whispering conspiratorial to one another. Bluegrass music played from the portable speaker sitting on the wood grain countertop. Ronan stood at the stove, spatula in hand, minding the sizzling grilled cheese in the cast iron and a stockpot of soup he’d made from the tomatoes and basil in the garden. Before he had gone to investigate the suspicious shrieks, Adam had been tracing the top lines of Ronan’s tattoo with his lips and teeth as a well-deserved thank you for the the previous night.

Ronan seemed to be completely unaware of the sparkle monsters approaching, although Adam could never be certain that he wasn’t just pretending for their sake. For someone who never lied, he was a very good actor.

The girls looked back to Adam. He nodded vigorously, leaning against the door jamb and gesturing them onward. They tip-toed across the tile, snickering all the way. Ronan was still humming along with the music, flipping sandwiches with a satisfying hiss.

With a war cry, the girls grabbed Ronan’s legs and rubbed their glitter-coated selves into his black jeans.

“Jesus holy mother forker!” Ronan cried, startling and scrambling to juggle the spatula before it could land on either daughter’s head.

Ronan tried very, very, very hard not to curse around the kids, at least not seriously (although once they were alone, Adam could get Ronan to weave poetry in curse words if he provided the right…inspiration, shall we say.) It had been 5 years since they welcomed Helen home, and Adam was certain by this point that hearing Ronan fake-curse would never stop being hilarious.

The girls shrieked in victory. Ronan roared, which only made them laugh louder.

“Glitter? Are you kidding me?” he cried. “You monsters!”

Helen grabbed Noah’s hand and led the hasty retreat to where Adam was standing.

“You little ghouls better be careful,” Ronan said, approaching slowly. “We kept the receipts. We can return you at any time.”

“Nu-uh!” Helen countered. “Dad told me he shredded those ages ago. You’re stuck with us.”

“Yeah,” squeaked little Noah. “No take-backsies.”

“Betrayal,” Ronan gasped. “I thought we were a team, Parrish.”

“They made a persuasive argument.”

“Well, if I can’t return you, guess I’ll just have to eat you.”

Ronan charged. The girls screamed and ran back down the hallway, peals of laughter echoing behind them.

But Ronan didn’t follow. He stopped in front of his husband instead.

“So,” he said. “It was a craftplosion?”

“Glitter fight,” Adam explained.

“I knew we named that kid after Czerny for a reason,” Ronan grumbled. He shooed Chainsaw off his shoulder, who cawed sulkily and flapped her wings in Ronan’s face.

“Technically, I think Helen started it. Which, also appropriate.”

“The face that launched a thousand ships of glitter.”

Adam laughed. Ronan brushed some sparkles from Adam’s perpetual 5 o'clock shadow with his thumb. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he asked softly.

Adam rested his head against the door frame and chewed his bottom lip. “I think there was one time in college when we were drunk when you said ‘if love was trees I’d love you as much as that forest.’”

“Well that made no forking sense.”

“It was the sentiment that mattered.”

“Of fucking course it was. Shit. ‘Forking.’”

“Nice save.”

“Shut it, Parrish.”

“Make me, Lynch.”

He accepted that challenge with soft lips and a hand cupped gently around Adam’s chin, until a tiny voice called out, “Daddy, is something burning?”

“Oh fork me,” Ronan hissed.

“I’ll go lead the clean-up crew,” Adam said. “You don’t burn the house down, please.”

“Just for that snark, you’re getting the extra-crispy sandwich.”

Adam looked around the corner, saw it was empty, and then flipped Ronan off. Ronan laughed, and pressed a kiss into his lips, his cheek, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. “I love you a lot. A lot a lot,” he said into his collar bone, smiling as Adam shivered.

“Mmmm, so good with words,” Adam muttered, breath catching in his throat. “Go watch the food before it turns to charcoal.”

Ronan licked a stripe up Adam’s neck.

“Gross,” Adam said.

“That’s for insulting my cooking.”

Ronan intended to only kiss him once more. Adam demanded 3 extras.

It would be another year before they stopped finding glitter sprinkled around the house.

#pynch #trc #trc fic #fanfic #fan fiction #the raven cycle #ask #fic prompt #my writing

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theherocomplex · 6 years ago

Text

No one said invasion on the news till the last day, even if everyone understood what was going on by then. How had she realized what was happening?

The herbs, sweet and green. Her parents were coming for dinner, and she needed more basil for the chicken. She'd reached out for a few leaves, not noticing the acid burn in her fingers till her nails were eaten away. And even then she just stared, numb, while her brain shrieked an alarm she could hear echoing through the building, and up from the street.

The trees moved without any wind. Shadows in the sky, a cloud of needles blocking out the sun. Shannon clutched her wrecked hand, something hot spiking in her lungs when she tried to breathe. Sirens, dogs cut off mid-howl, something wet splashing against her window screen.

Leaves, she realized, red-brown and slick. Placental, she thought, the first coherent word to make it past the pain and the screaming she knew was now coming from her, along with the rest of the world. The leaves split, tiny black teeth worrying at the screen. Her herbs, still sweet, still green, lashed in the humid air while the leaves in her window buzzed like mad hornets.

She knew then. So she ran, barefoot, toward her parents' apartment, while a new kind of rain fell from the ships overhead.

“Farewell the Green Gardens is just millennial angst and monster fucking.” -- me, to @aban-asaara last night.

#oh writing #bee writes ftgg #standard disclaimer that this is painfully unrevised #body horror cw

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clownsgobeepbeep · 6 years ago

Note

✂️

✂ Eskimo kisses

I know that you know who the father is, but I honestly feel weird calling him by his name lol uwu Anyways, I wanted to write some 'past' baby stuff to also explain a certain relationship

Though of course, none of this really matters lol

He had a strange son.

He was strange in the way that at birth, he was already with fully grown, razor sharp teeth and claws, and he had a hunger for whatever meat that could be provided to him.

He was strange in the way that without knowing either one of his parents, the baby had already become so enamored of his own mother and even attempted to chomp off his father's fingers at birth if he neared her.

He was strange in the way that he instantly took a liking towards sharp objects and attempted to take whatever he could to then stab whatever and whoever he could.

He was strange in the way that he practically hated his father for absolutely no reason.

He was strange in a plethora of ways, such as the way he stared at his father with a single eye that matched both of his.

Basil stood in front of wooden bars that caged him in his crib, his little clawed hands holding onto the bars as he stared at his father's blue eyes, practically staring right into his soul. The baby sucked on his pacifier as his father leaned against the doorway of his room, silently staring right back at the baby as if they were having a staring contest.

Neither of them did blink however, no movement in the entire house for they were the only ones at home.Basil's father finally walked tilted his head so that it was straight. He moved into the baby's room and had a green and a blue eye right on his figure. Finally, he stood right in front of the crib as Basil stared up at him with a nonchalant expression.

His father reached into the crib which made Basil release the once broken cars and lift his small arms as he was gently grabbed and lifted up. He was now face to face with his father who blinked at him, Basil responding with an unheard suck of his pacifier.

"Now that your mother's not home, what do you have up your sleeve?"the man asked, Basil once again responding with a unheard suck of his pacifier. "Or are you going to be a good boy with your father?"

The two stared at each other as Basil only continued to suck on his pacifier, then blinking his eyes once. Sure this was a baby, but Basil's father sure did feel as though only mother was cared for.

"Basil."his father spoke, so Basil blinked once. "Ah, now we're having some communication."

Basil then unexpectedly turned his head, looking back at his crib and lazily reaching a hand out to it. The tiny hand attempted to grasp at it, but he was too far from it, especially with his father's height.

"You never want to sleep, but now that mother's not home and I am, you do."his father stated, Basil leaning back as if wanting to do a backwards dive into his crib. "Uh huh. That's what I thought."

But then, Basil got up and grabbed onto his father's arms, leaning to the side to try and take a look at the doorway behind him. His father turned for Basil may have heard the front door open, but his father looked at the clock in the room and shook his head at Basil.

"Whatever it is you heard, it wasn't your mother. She's still at work."

Basil let out a deep breath as he leaned back once again, reaching towards his crib before his father sighed and finally placed him into the crib. The baby wiggled around for a bit before he was entirely comfortable, then feeling his orange blanket be placed onto his little body as he dug his hands into his monster plush and closed his eyes. His father gave a chuckle as he gently caressed one of Basil's cheek swirls.

"How did I ever end up like this?"he mumbled out, obviously not expecting a reply. "One night I go all Fabio on my wife, next thing I know, I have a son willing to stab me if I dare even kiss her."

He gave a shrug but then fixed Basil's hair, eventually stepping away from the crib and walking towards the doorway. That was until he sensed something, like if something was wrong. And something was indeed wrong, for he now felt claws digging into his leg. Although, they were now digging into his skin in an aggressive manner, but more like...a comforting one.

He looked down to see dark green limbs wrapped around his leg, a green and a blue eye both staring right at him, though not as apathetic as before. The man gave a smile before leaning down and taking hold of the baby that was holding tightly onto his leg, then lifting him up to carry him against his chest.

"So, what is it this time Basil?"he chuckled, then feeling as Basil leaned in to rub his nose against his father's, giving him an eskimo kiss which made him chuckle again. "You want something, don't you?"

Basil then leaned back, raising one of his front hands to poke his father's nose.

"Yeah, same nose as yours."

Basil then poked his own nose, right before he leaned in to put his head on his father's shoulder, hugging him as he shut his eyes and made him give a quiet laugh.

A strange son indeed. But, in a good way.

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lolcat76 · 7 years ago

Note

This is definitely not Mia and definitely not a request for a Bill/Laura vampire au. But you should write one anyway. NOT THAT YOU HEARD IT FROM HER.

Ok, anon who is definitely not @okaynextcrisis, have some vampire fic.

The worst part about being undead in Los Angeles was thefood. Oh God, the food. It had been centuries since Laura first claimed a homein the dusty settlement of Los Angeles, and in that time, she’d seen an entire,sprawling city of immigrants sprout up around her. Each neighborhood rich withhistory and flavor and culture, and the spices…they perfumed the air, anise andchipotle and basil, and a hundred other spices she’d never had a chance totaste.

She walked through the streets of Koreatown, Little Tokyoand Echo Park in the early evening, stopping before nondescript storefrontswhere people stood in lines for local favorites. She could have gone to BeverlyHills to catch a whiff of the latest celebrity chef’s newest vanity project,but it was the local haunts that drew her in. Sometimes she wandered for hours upand down Highland, waiting for the Hollywood Bowl to let out and the hot dogvendors to fire up their makeshift shopping cart cooktops, the scent of grilledonions rich and heavy in the air.

If she tried hard enough to remember, she could almost taste it.

That’s the part they always left out about becoming avampire – eternal youth and beauty were all well and good, but blood tastedlike blood, thick and salty and metallic, no matter who it was from or whatthey’d eaten for dinner. If she knew then what she knew now, she’d have justdied of smallpox like the rest of her family and taken her chances in theafterlife. She bet Heaven had hot sauce, at least.

***

She left the Cinerama Dome after the late showing of thelatest girl power movie. Sunset Boulevard, this late at night and this fareast, was sketchy at best. The only people on the streets were the homeless,trying desperately to get comfortable for the night in the doorways of closedsouvenir shops, and the creeps drifting from one strip club to another.

She was hungry – the lingering scent of buttered popcornclinging to her hair was almost enough to drive her mad – but she wasn’t monsterenough to kill someone who society had already done its best to destroy, andshe just didn’t have the stomach to get close enough to the overly cologned,greasy assholes with a wad of dollar bills in their pockets that were stumblingout of the Seventh Veil.

She’d just have to skip dinner and head home. Laura strolledup Cahuenga, sharing the sidewalks with the other poor, unfortunate souls whowere forced to walk, rather than drive. Most of the people she passed didn’t botherto make eye contact. LA was, even in broad daylight, a cordially unfriendlytown, and her ivory skin – far too pale and cold for Southern California –marked her as enough of an outsider that people gave her a wide berth withouteven giving much thought to what exactly it was about her that made them shiver.

Funny that they consider her the stranger, since she’d livedin Los Angeles before California even gained statehood, but it had been decadessince she let that bother her.

She made her way up Cahuenga, past the fancy hotels andhipster bars that were still going strong. Past the CVS and the 7-Eleven (she’dalways wondered what a Slurpee tasted like), past the few people she’d knownfor generations who were just looking for their next meal. She nodded at them,and they nodded in return. They had an unspoken agreement – she stayed out oftheir way, and they stayed out of hers, and the bodies they racked up were foundfar from their neighborhood.

Of course, the vampires who took up residence in the Valleyprobably had a problem with that, but that’s what they got for settling in the armpitof Los Angeles.

She was just coming up to Franklin, just a block from therent-controlled walkup where she’d lived for decades (and thank heavens forslumlords who never bothered to knock on her door when it came time to renewher lease), when she caught a whiff of cumin in the air.

A heady, fragrant aroma, cutting through the reek of cookingoil. Mmmm, Mexican food. There was no shortage of Mexican in LA, but somethingabout the little shop on the corner drew her in. Why where they still open at2am?

Unlike the cheap pizza places on Hollywood Boulevard, theshop didn’t have a line. She was far enough into residential territory that shewas fairly certain that the bulk of tonight’s menu was being prepared fortomorrow’s breakfast rush. Still, it smelled almost heavenly, and she hadnothing else to do with her night, so she went in.

The seating area was bare bones at best – cheap plastictables and chairs, but the floor plan was open enough that she could stand atthe counter and watch the cook flip meat on the grill and pull fryer basketsout of the hot oil. His face was heavily scarred – could have been from acne,could have been from spending years standing in front of a deep fryer. She usedto have scars too, once upon a time, but now her skin was perfect, a completelyblank canvas.

She wanted to know what stories those scars would tell.

“Menu’s on the counter,” he said.

Food, right. She could order something, take it home, andbreathe it in until the smell of rot overpowered the cumin and cilantro. Or,when she got home, she could give it to Gina, the woman who lived in a tentjust outside her building and babbled about the end of days.

Or, she could forget about the menu altogether and sample adifferent kind of food. He wasn’t young, but he looked healthy enough. He wasclearly strong, but he didn’t have the wiry build that got stuck in her teeth.He was solid. Comfortable, shethought, before she brushed the word away.

Comfortable was her sheets and the mattress she’d stolenfrom a producer that was too drunk to notice that she didn’t want to screw himbefore she drained him of blood. Comfortable was things, not people.

“if you see something you like, let me know.” He flipped thechicken on the grill. “We’re closing soon, but I could be persuaded.” He tosseda grin at her.

So many men had used variations of the same line, so manytimes, and so many of them had ended exactly the same way. She made a show ofpatting her pockets. “I can’t find my glasses, and I can’t read the menuwithout them. Can you help, Mr….?”

“Adama. Bill Adama. Sure,” he said. The part of her thatused to be alive envied how easily he came to the counter, leaning into her ashe pointed out the house specials. He had no fear of her. Didn’t even noticethat her mouth was watering as he talked.

Oh, to be a man.

He was just launching in to his description of his family’srecipe for menudo when she struck, lightning fast. She sank her teeth into thethick cords of his neck.

Just as quickly, she pulled back and wiped at the stingingon her lips. Garlic. Good God, did the man bathein the stuff?

He brushed at the side of his neck as though he was swattinga fly. Didn’t even notice the two tiny droplets of blood forming.

“Garlic,” he said pleasantly. “Good for the immune system.Keeps you alive, or so my abuela told me.”

“Smart woman,” Laura conceded with a huff. She crossed herarms and glared at him, and he mimicked her pose.

“So, I guess you’re not here for the food?”

“Well, not anymore.”

His lips twitched.

She was over three hundred years old, had killed countlessstronger, younger men, and he was laughing at her. She was half tempted tobreak his neck out of spite, or to drain him anyway and let the garlic knockher out for as long as it took to work its way out of her system. She lickedher lips again. Garlic, yes, but underneath that, a hint of cumin and…was that…cinnamon?

“God, you’re delicious,” she whispered before she could stopherself.

His grin became a full-on belly laugh, and because Laurastill had a sense of humor after all these years, she laughed with him. Helaughed until he couldn’t breathe, and Laura, who hadn’t drawn a breath since thedays of Junipero Serra, patted him on the back until color finally came back tohis face.

“Been a long time since a woman told me that,” he said.

“I’m sure,” she said demurely. It had been a long time sinceher dinner had flirted with her, but he was most definitely trying to charmher. She hated to admit it, but it was working. “Garlic, huh? Your abuela musthave had some interesting stories.”

“Not nearly as many as my abuelo. Came back from the GreatWar a changed man, to hear him tell it.”

The bell over the door rang, and Laura glanced over hershoulder to see a very familiar, if unwelcome, face. She was still on the fenceabout killing Bill, but she wasn’t going to let this smooth-talking upstarthone in on her territory. Again. “Lee.”

“Laura.”

“Abuelo.”

Laura’s head snapped back. What?

Bill shrugged and grinned at her again. “LA. What can I tellyou? It’s a strange town.”

#spaceparents fic #lolcat fic #Laura Roslin #Bill Adama #spaceparents au #who doesn't love a story about food?#Anonymous

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