#anyway i got so much blood out of my body this better be a sufficient amount of blood for this test if they ask me for more blood ill riot

[creekfiend]

I just did some allergy test kits and they have you collect your own blood so they can analyze what antibodies are reacting to what proteins and stuff and so they give you a lancet and a little blood wand kind of like for checking blood sugar I guess but I think they need more blood for this. anyway. it took a long time bc I had two tests which meant I had to stab myself three times to get enough blood (almost 4 but made it in just under the. blood wire) anyway the amount of blood you need is a little bit ridiculous and does not easily come out of one little pinprick fingertip stab so you have to like, stand up and hold your finger below your heart pointing down, swing your arm around in big circles, massage your hand and finger to encourage the bloods to go toward the wound, etc etc, so get enough blood and readers. I was doing the most ridiculous fucking Blood Summoning Dance in my bedroom at four am. can I just say. hopping around swinging/shaking my arm, chanting "come on blood come on blood you can do it COOOME ONNNNN just a little more blood yessssss...." like some sort of Dracula. my dog wanted to help SO BAD she had NO IDEA what I was doing but she was DETERMINED to by my assistant

then afterwards I had the following conversation with myself

me: ok so I should throw away this last lancet I didn't use me: why me: what do you mean why me: we should keep it. for just in case me: just in case of what???? me: just in case we need a sterile method of extracting up to ten large drops of our own blood at some point in the future.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

Trick! (+ Julian hurt/comfort, if you've got it?)

some of this is new, some of it isn't, and some of it definitely needs to cook a bit more (so if it sounds incomplete or rocky in places, shhh no it doesn't, you didn't see that), but here it is!

____

“Doctor Bashir,” a voice said from next to his ear, finally penetrating the haze of his panic. “Breathe.”  

And with a gasp, Julian did. 

The air felt – almost sharp. It burned cold in his lungs with each breath he took, the motion of his chest guided along by his hand on Garak’s own, held there by Garak himself. Spots danced in Julian’s eyes as his vision returned, and he squeezed his eyes closed, the sudden onslaught of light blinding.  

Garak didn’t pull away, perhaps able to tell that his steady breathing and sturdy figure were the only things tethering him to reality.  

Slowly, Julian came back to himself, awareness returning in fits and spurts. He took note of the sensations around him, categorizing them. It was an old familiar ritual, though it had been many years since he’d needed it. 

The floor beneath his knees was cold and hard, and the texture of Garak’s suit was soft under his fingers. Cool air was flowing from a vent nearby, just barely close enough to rustle his hair. The familiar scent of Garak’s scale oil surrounded him, spicy and comforting. His mouth was filled with the taste of blood, and he swallowed, grimacing. 

Gradually, the roar of his blood in his ears quieted and his heart rate returned to normal. He blinked sluggishly, seeing his surroundings for the first time. 

Somehow, Julian was in a maintenance corridor.  

It was, he supposed, better than having a panic attack in the middle of Quark’s, but he could still think of better places to be – his quarters, for instance.  

He couldn’t quite begrudge the presence of Garak, though, who was knelt in front of him, still holding one of Julian’s hands to his chest. His expression was uncharacteristically open, concern and something almost soft visible in the lines of his face.  

“Are you back with us, my dear?” he asked, squeezing Julian’s wrist lightly. His scales were blessedly cool against his skin, and Julian wished to lean into the touch, find out how those hands would feel elsewhere on his body.

For a moment, he debated leaning forward, just to see if Garak would give him a hug if he was sufficiently pathetic about it. It wasn’t as though he’d be on the station much longer, anyways, if Garak reacted poorly. 

Instead, Julian slumped backwards, his head thumping heavily against the wall behind him. “Yes, I – think I’m okay now,” he said, which was possibly the biggest lie he’d ever told, though he knew Garak wouldn’t hold it against him. “Thank you, Garak,” he added, as an afterthought. 

Garak raised his eyeridges, his skepticism plain to see.  

-----

(though it's a little lacking on the 'comfort' bit, I'm afraid)

I haven't talked about this fic much because i am quite certain it will take forever and an age to write, but I'm also excited about it, so there's a rather poorly organized summary of the au that this is set in under the cut.

(from this ask game, btw. this is the only ask i got for it, if anyone else wants to send one. :) i put a very brief summary of my way-too-many wips in the notes, for your convenience.)

The fic that this is from is based entirely around the idea "what if bashir didn't know about his augmentations?" and making that. make sense. And, because it's a bit of a stretch of the imagination to think that an augment as brilliant as bashir wouldn't eventually figure it out, it is also an "i made richard and amsha WAY WORSE" fic. Essentially, the events are as follows:

Jules finds out about the augmentations, and, understandably, is Wildly Upset. He threatens running away, telling the authorities, etc. and declares that he is, unequivocally, Julian now.

(also please note that julian is trans in this, but he'd still been fine with the name Jules before the augmentations, but after he's like. nope. getting rid of that.)

Richard and Amsha, not wanting their money and good work to go to waste, have a brilliant idea! What if Jules just... forgot.

They fake some form of reconciliation with Jules (who, to them is still their daughter) and then find more sketchy medical officials who are willing to help them out.

An implant is placed within Julian's brain, which telepathically suppresses "unwanted" knowledge and memories, as well as (for their safety) puts some blocks on Julian's abilities, preventing him from performing so well that his augmentations may be discovered (ie, the postganglionic nerve/preganglionic fiber mishap)

It ALSO prevents Julian from remembering that he's a trans man (and also that he's attracted to women and aliens. The Bashirs want grandchildren, after all, and the pesky little genetic tests that come with cross-species and same-sex children could be quite dangerous for an augment)

Unfortunately for the Bashirs, it's. well. not a very good implant. which means that it develops side effects in the form of Nasty Headaches whenever something causes Thoughts that needed to be Suppressed.

so we begin the story with Jules Bashir, freshly graduated and on DS9, who is beginning to get... a little nervous, about these strange headaches of hers, which are beginning to interfere oddly in her everyday life. Certain people cause terrible headaches (Dax, for one), and even getting too excited about research can cause them!

(also, because i think i am very clever, this fic does not actually have any Julian-POV until After the implant is removed. the first half is a mix of bashir's personal logs and the POV of other characters.)

the excerpt above takes place after the implant is removed, and right when Julian is remembering the augmentations.

(why does he remember his transition and name before he remembers the augmentations, you ask? uhhh, suppression, i suppose? really it's just more dramatic this way, but for the sake of sounding like i plan things well, i'll say "the augmentations were traumatic, so he suppressed it".)

[ridiasfangirlings]

Fem!Fushimi gets her first period while living with Yata (she was a late bloomer). Fushimi's never been super interested in her own body, so it takes her by surprise, even more so when she doesn't know how to take care of herself during that time. Yata's reaction and subsequent help?

Fem!Fushimi would probably be a late bloomer, she’s so skinny and unhealthy I can definitely see her getting her period way late. I imagine she’d be pretty chill about it though, like some people would wake up in a pool of blood and freak out but Fushimi just stares all ‘….’ and then pulls out her PDA and does a couple quick searches. She realizes what’s happened and clicks her tongue like what a pain. She decides to wake Yata, imagine her prodding him trying to act calm but it’s actually becoming slightly more urgent as Yata keeps snoring. Yata opens his eyes and sees Fushimi standing in front of him with blood all over her shorts and he immediately screams, like wait what happened are you dying did you get attacked, like he has no idea. Fushimi clicks her tongue and calls Yata a virgin, this is just my period you idiot. Yata’s like ‘your…what’ and Fushimi gives this heavy sigh as she tries to swallow her own embarrassment, telling Yata he needs to go buy her pads. Yata’s brain is still rebooting and Fushimi clicks her tongue again as she says she can’t go to the store like this, Yata realizes he’s being trusted with something and is quickly like yeah yeah got it I can do that.

Yata’s probably even more off kilter than Fushimi here, like while they were in middle school he’d gotten so used to thinking of Fushimi as ‘just one of the guys’ that this reminder that she isn’t a guy knocks him off balance. He has no idea what to buy and just picks up a bunch of different stuff, when he brings it back he asks Fushimi if she needs any help and she rolls her eyes like there’s not much you can do is there. Yata knows she’s right but imagine he’s worried anyway, like Fushimi goes into the bathroom and she’s there for a long time, and it suddenly occurs to Yata that for all Fushimi’s posturing she probably doesn’t know much about her own body either, Kisa surely never taught her anything. Yata’s been all determined to be self sufficient and take care of things himself but imagine he decides to call his mom anyway, because he doesn’t know who else he can talk to.

Yata’s mom is all ready to come over and help and Yata has to quickly tell her that it’s fine, he doesn’t really want her to see their messy place and anyway he’s the ‘man’ here right, he should be able to handle this. Imagine Yata’s mom giving him a whole list of things to do while Yata hurriedly takes notes, like okay he needs to go buy a heating pad and get some aspirin and maybe some chocolate and more blankets and here’s how to get the blood out of the sheets. While Fushimi finishes in the bathroom Yata starts the laundry and decides to make Fushimi something tasty so she’ll feel better. Eventually Fushimi slinks out of the bathroom wearing a new pair of pants and just looking irritated and cranky, Yata immediately has her climb under the kotatsu and tells her to take a break, he’ll take care of everything. I can kinda imagine Fushimi after this being a little dramatic when she gets her periods, like she probably does have bad ones (because it’s Fushimi and that’s how her luck is) but also she knows that Misaki will fuss over her if she acts like she’s in pain and she secretly likes that, having Yata make all her favorite foods and getting her heat packs and being super conscious of her health for a few days.

[serafiel-jacobs]

Confession (Fanfic)

New Chapter of my Angst series 💜

“Honey I’m home~” Paracelsus shouts and he can hear Simon groaning in frustration. But unfortunately, treatment for Simon will have to wait, he has to analyze Carlo’s blood as soon as possible, he doesn’t want the blood to go bad, Paracelsus makes his way to his medical room and from his medical bag he takes it out, beginning the process, he knows the results won’t disappoint him.

Even better, they surprised him.

It has extremely regenerative properties, no matter how the cells are damaged, they will keep themselves together protecting the body; but, considering Carlo told him that he had a fever before it was strange, so he tested the blood with a few bacterial infections that could cause that, but there was nothing, then he aimed bigger, a virus, and he got his answer, in reality, Carlo had influenza, and that means the boy should be dead right now, although some treatments exist, recovery is rare. It’s even more interesting that Geppetto didn’t get sick, possibly due to all the contact he was with Carlo he might be developing immunities.

But most fun of all, when Paracelsus took a little amount of Ergo and made it have contact with the blood, it fully absorbed it.

“Interesting” he needs to pay Carlo another visit soon, maybe he ought to bring him some lollipops since he behaves so well around him.

As much as he would love to continue, he is lacking more information and it’s been a few hours and he hasn’t checked up on Simon since he arrived.

“How are you feeling?” He already knows that he feels beyond awful, but he loves to tease him anyway.

“Can’t you go back to doing whatever you were doing?” Simon wishes he had more peace.

“I lack sufficient data at the moment, and I can’t neglect my favorite patient, not with how much pain you are in”

“Pain that you are causing me” Simon doesn’t want to deal with him, everything had been so perfect that day with Paracelsus being in his own world.

Paracelsus ignores Simon’s complaints and brings him back to his medical room, getting his tools ready, mostly syringes since it’s time for Simon to get his special shots.

Simon needs something to distract himself, he looks around to see what Paracelsus is working with, “What were you researching?”

“Some fun stuff” Paracelsus isn’t taking him seriously but he has to keep pushing.

“Enlighten me, your skills were always above others” Although Simon doesn’t want to stroke Paracelsus's ego, he needs to so that he can talk.

“Well, it’s better to tell you now, since it involves you”

“How?” Maybe if Simon can find out what he is doing to him he can put a stop to it.

“Well, I paid a little visit to Geppetto’s son…” Paracelsus has a big smile on his face.

“Because…?” What does Carlo have to with-

Oh.

“I’m going to need you to come with me next time” Paracelsus's smile is even wider, “Plus the boy wants to see his beloved uncle Simon again”

“If you actually have a reason to study what happened why do you keep me this way? What do you gain out of this?” Simon was once a God, and Carlo now holds his old arm, if Paracelsus is studying Carlo, then Simon suspects that he is analyzing it to use its properties for himself, or maybe he has other plans for it, either way, in this state he shouldn’t be of much use to him.

“Fun fact, your blood is the same as Carlo,” Paracelsus says as he boops Simon’s nose, “Well, almost the same, there are some, differences…that’s why you are in this state”

“Like what?” Simon needs to know.

“Can’t say~” Paracelsus hums, he can’t let Simon know, and besides, even if they didn’t share the same blood, he would have still kept Simon as his special patient, it’s just that everything ended up lining perfectly for him.

“I’m almost done, at it’s getting late, you need to rest” Simon doesn’t have a choice in the matter, as Paracelsus takes out a bottle of Ketamine and prepares the dosage.

Paracelsus takes Simon to bed and applies the anesthetic to his body, sure, he doesn’t need to apply something so strong but in truth, he uses it so that Simon’s state of mind becomes more delicate, it’s nice to see him become confused and in that state he is easier to influence, that’s why they share a bed, so that night he can whisper things into Simon’s ear.

——

Paracelsus wakes up when he feels slight movement in the bed, unfortunately for him, he is a very light sleeper, fortunately for him, he can see that Simon is in distress.

Simon is clenching his fists and trying his bed to stay still, he keeps looking at the sealing, fixated on something, and that’s when Paracelsus realizes he is hallucinating, a side effect of the drug used on him.

“What’s wrong my dear? Are you seeing things~?

Simon is terrified, he isn’t just seeing something, he is seeing someone, it’s Sophia, and she is in an even worse state than the one she was in when she passed, her rotting stiff body filled with maggots that crawl in and out, her hair is down and it’s original color blue is starting to look a seasick green, one of her eyes is hanging and the other is completely dark, her mouth is opened and from it drips a greenish-black ooze, just like the one from the petrification disease.

His beloved Sophia, his beautiful Sophia, no; this can’t be her, this isn’t the real her.

Sophia says nothing, she just stares at him, it’s killing him, but he is afraid to close his eyes, the look Sophia is giving him warns him not to, that he shouldn’t dare, this is his punishment, the punishment he gets for how he tortured her.

“Oh Simon my dear please don’t cry”

He is crying, he didn’t even realize it, and now he is shaking, and even worse his body involuntarily starts to move and he can’t stop it.

Paracelsus sees that he is entering a state of emergence delirium, and he finds it adorable because it’s an effect mostly seen in children. He stays awake for some time, watching him squirm, watching Simon suffer, but eventually, Paracelsus starts to get tired and wants to sleep so he gives Simon something to make him feel better and pass out.

The next morning is Sunday, and since Paracelsus doesn’t work on Sunday he gets to spend extra time with Simon, who is in a pretty bad state, today while giving him his treatments he stays quiet and doesn’t protest, he lets him care for him without much issue.

Now he is transferring IV fluids to Simon, and while he is sitting down, Paracelsus decides to join him and sit on his lap.

“You know, this all started because I wanted to have some fun”

Simon tries to look away but Paracelsus uses his hands to make him face him again, grabbing Simon by the neck.

“But now that we have spent all this time together, I think there is something more”

Simon starts shaking again.

“I think, I’m in love with you”

Paracelsus stops grabbing Simon by the neck and leans in closer to his face, kissing him, gently of course, he doesn’t want to harm his favorite patient, he doesn’t want to harm his beloved Simon.

“You are mine, Simon”

And he always will be.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moments of physical contact can occasionally forge long-term telepathic bonds between cultivators. These bonds are usually based on positive emotions like familial or romantic love, or deep feelings of friendship, but the emotions don’t necessarily have to be positive to forge a bond. Wei Wuxian is very upset to find out that punching Jin Zixuan in the face apparently counts as a sufficiently strong emotionally-charged moment of physical contact.

on ao3

Wei Wuxian had been obsessed with the idea of a resonant bond ever since he first learned about it.

Sure, it was a rarity. It was easier for a cultivator to find a friend, a lover, or even a soulmate than it was for them to create a resonant bond, which required not merely liking or understanding or even love but rather a single moment in time in which two cultivators were on exactly the same wavelength.

Their cultivation strength, their frame of mind, the state of their bodies, the exact way in which they touched – in that one moment, everything would be exactly the same, and the Heavens would forget for that brief moment to see the two as separate, like two separate raindrops merging into one before the moment passed, some difference introduced, and they were broken apart into separate beings again. Yet even after they separated, they would irrevocably retain some aspects of the other, a connection that generally manifested, it was said, as a mental bond that could not be broken, a tie that would keep them bound together no matter the distance.

Such a thing could not be worked towards, only hoped for; it was a matter of luck.

Wei Wuxian had never wanted anything more in his life.

The thought of never being alone again – it enticed him, it excited him. Jiang Cheng could wrinkle his nose in distaste at the idea that he might not be alone in his mind anymore, that someone would see all the stupid or terrible things he sometimes thought, but to Wei Wuxian that was the best part: that someone would see you and know you and you would see and know them, too. To have someone to accompany you through the best and worst moments of your life, always at your side…

To never fear abandonment, to never need to worry about someone going out only for a little and then never coming back.

It would be amazing.

That was what Wei Wuxian thought.

Well, that was what he thought right up until he punched Jin Zixuan in the face for insulting his shijie, his whole heart burning at the unfairness of adults who didn’t understand, at other boys who didn’t appreciate what they had, at everything all around them and at his own weakness in not being able to do more, and something just –

Clicked.

-

“Hey, wake up! Wake up! Are you all right?”

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, only to be assaulted with what felt like double vision. Above him were Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, hovering and looking anxious, and from the corner of his eye he could see Lan Wangji, who he so enjoyed teasing, was sweeping over to them with a grim expression – and yet at the same time he thought he could perceive different faces above him as well.

Three young men and two women, all looking down at him with smiles like sharks, ready to devour. Each one of them draped in the gold they lusted to take from his hands –

What the fuck? Wei Wuxian thought groggily. How did I end up on the ground?

Good question. I didn’t think I got punched that hard.

Wait, Wei Wuxian thought. Hold up, I got punched? I didn’t even see the peacock lift his fists!

…Wei Wuxian? Is that – you?

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide when he realized he hadn’t said any of that out loud, that to judge from Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s chatter they hadn’t heard either him nor the other voice. Which meant that the voice had to be...in his head. Is this – this is a resonant bond. We formed a resonant bond!

Shit, Jin Zixuan thought, because it was Jin Zixuan, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone!

What? Why?

Please!

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even known that the peacock knew that word.

Fine, he said, feeling generous on account of the whole bond business. I won’t tell. For now.

“Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asked, looking worriedly fretful. “Are you all right? You haven’t said anything.”

“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his head and trying to think of a lie to explain why he fell over like that. “I think the peacock must’ve had a talisman or a defensive weapon or something. Whatever it is, I’m fine now.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re all right,” Jiang Cheng said, looking deeply relieved. And then, a moment later – “Because I’m going to kill you - !”

There wasn’t too much time to talk after that. Wei Wuxian was sentenced to kneeling, and then his Uncle Jiang arrived and Sect Leader Jin arrived – oh no, oh no, oh no, I fucked up, Jin Zixuan thought hopelessly, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a bit of the same – and the next thing Wei Wuxian knew, the engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli was broken and he was being sent to pack up his things, to be taken home at once.

Jin Zixuan was swept away by his father, too.

“A pity about the engagement,” Sect Leader Jin remarked idly as they walked together. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have said such a thing. Your mother will be disappointed.”

Wei Wuxian could feel the way that that jabbed at Jin Zixuan’s heart like a stab with a sword.

“Still, it’s no harm,” the man continued, indifferently ignoring the impact his words had had on his son. “One could even call it a gain! You won’t be burdened down with that shrew’s daughter anymore.”

That what?!

Tune out of this conversation, please, Jin Zixuan said, his thoughts dull and sluggish and resigned. It’s going to get worse from here on out.

It did.

Sect Leader Jin commented at some great length about his views on Madame Yu’s many faults – her temper, her strength, her nosiness, her thought that she was worth anything other than a pair of legs and an inheritance – and contrasted it with some salacious comments on her positive traits – mostly the legs, with a few comments on the upper half as well – and then he started speculating about Jiang Yanli, too, in a way that made Wei Wuxian’s blood boil.

It’s not about her, Jin Zixuan told him, his voice a little desperate in a familiar way – he was used to having to defend his father, and just as obviously didn’t want to. He’s building up a defense.

What?

For my mother. She’ll be angry at him for agreeing to break the engagement, so he’ll say that it was my idea, say all this stuff, and then she’ll be angry at me for believing it, instead, even though I don’t. This isn’t what I wanted at all.

Wei Wuxian frowned. You wanted to marry my shijie? You sure didn’t show it!

No, I just didn’t want to marry anybody, Jin Zixuan said, and…okay, fine, that was a pretty respectable position. Wei Wuxian didn’t particularly want to marry anyone yet, either. I just got angry when everyone was talking about how it was a done deal, that’s all. Just one more thing that got picked for me.

Wei Wuxian had heard Jiang Cheng complain about similar enough things – how much of his life was selected in advance, how much was organized for the benefit of his sect rather than his own interests, how little choice he got. How even if he’d been as good as Wei Wuxian, or even better, he still wouldn’t have been able to go out and hunt pheasants all day the way Wei Wuxian did.

He refused to feel sympathy. Well, you shouldn’t have taken it out on my shijie!

Probably not. Jin Zixuan was silent for a moment. It probably doesn’t help, but I’m sorry for my rudeness.

Wei Wuxian hated it when people were reasonable. It made it so much harder to stay angry at them.

Are you going to tell me why I can’t tell people about this bond yet? he asked. You’d better have a good reason, I had to put up with an entire scolding from Jiang Cheng because I didn’t have a good excuse!

Later tonight. I promise.

That night, Wei Wuxian excused himself early and hid himself in his room on the boat. He knew that he was giving both Uncle Jiang and Jiang Cheng the impression that he was feeling deeply guilty about having broken the engagement, thereby making them feel bad about it, which he didn’t intend, but he really wanted to hear the reason. If it wasn’t good enough, he’d really break Jin Zixuan’s nose this time!

It really is a good reason!

Well, then? If it’s so good, don’t keep me in suspense!

Jin Zixuan sighed. Wei Wuxian felt it like an exhalation on his cheek, as if Jin Zixuan were right there beside him. You know how a resonant bond is supposed to be equal?

What do you mean ‘supposed to be’? Wei Wuxian asked, and felt something cold in his belly.

There are forbidden techniques, ancient ones, that are designed to manipulate a resonant bond into an unequal state. To make one side the master and the other the slave.

That’s disgusting!

If we told anyone, my father would find a way to get one, Jin Zixuan said, and he wasn’t guessing. His voice was utterly certain. There’s very little money can’t buy, and he wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of having a spy in the very heart of the Jiang clan.

Well, then just don’t tell him!

Just like I didn’t tell him about what I said about your shijie?

Wei Wuxian got tripped up by that. It was true, Jin Zixuan hadn’t said a word about what had happened, and yet his father had already known every last detail. How..?

One of my ‘friends’ told him, of course. Probably more than one, actually – I wouldn’t be surprised if they all passed it along. It’s what he pays them for.

He pays for your friends to spy on you?!

I already told you that there’s little money can’t buy. Why not friends?

I wouldn’t be friends with people who accepted money to spy on me. Why do you?

If it’s not this set, it’ll be another, and it’s all the same. If they won’t be bought, then I can’t be friends with them…anyway, I’ve gotten used to these ones.

All of them? Wei Wuxian asked. Even Mianmian? She didn’t seem the type…

Her name is Luo Qingyang, and yes. Her parents are sick and my father’s paying for the treatment; if she doesn’t tell him everything, he’ll cut off funds…she told me about it, though. Said that if there was ever a time that I wanted her to ‘forget’ to report something, she could do that. That’s more than most would do, and probably about as much as anyone can expect –

Have you ever had a friend that wasn’t bought? Wei Wuxian asked. I mean…ever?

Jin Zixuan was silent.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Well, I guess you have me now, Wei Wuxian thought, with only a tiny amount of self-pity for the stupidity of agreeing to be friends with Jin Zixuan. Still, if he’d survived his efforts at being Lan Wangji’s friend, he could survive anything. No one’s going to buy me!

But –

Nope! No take-backs! We have a resonant bond, peacock. You think I’m going to waste a gift from the Heavens like this just because it’s with you? You’ve got another thing coming!

…can you at least stop calling me a peacock?!

-

Madame Yu made her displeasure clear enough when Wei Wuxian returned, ordering him to kneel all night and do every available chore and things like that, but Wei Wuxian didn’t take it to heart – he never did, really.

Like Jiang Cheng, Madame Yu’s bark was worse than her bite: for all that she hissed and spat and punished him with kneeling or holding up weights, she’d never denied him resources, kept him back from training, or even denied him the spot of head disciple to promote another less qualified in his place, which she very well might have if she were a bit pettier.

So he didn’t take it personally, even if Jin Zixuan seemed indignant on his behalf – you were defending her daughter! You’d think she’d give you some leeway for that, at least! – and at any rate it was better than Jin Zixuan’s slow meandering way home, with his father disappearing every night into a brothel or the bedroom of some innkeeper’s daughter or something like that.

It was better than Jin Zixuan’s mother’s reaction, too, which was to scream and shout and say vicious nasty things, to smash plates and vases against the walls right over his head, and then to pull him into her arms and make him promise over and over again that he would never betray her.

I think I suffered more in terms of physical exertion, but you get full points for all the emotional devastation, Wei Wuxian said after Jin Zixuan returned to hide in his bedroom. Does she do that a lot?

All the time, Jin Zixuan said. All the fucking time.

After a moment, he added, guiltily, It’s only that she loves me –

Ugh, don’t even start with that, Wei Wuxian said. Complaining about awful parent-related trauma is boring, I get enough of it from Jiang Cheng. Help me figure out what I should do tomorrow: flying kites, swimming, or hunting pheasants? Oh, or fishing!

…seriously? Do you spend any time cultivating?

Oh, come on. It’s my first day back!

That just means you have more you need to catch up on!

-

Your shijie is really nice.

I told you!

You didn’t! You just hit me!

-

Wei Wuxian loved having a resonant bond.

Sure, it wasn’t with someone useful like Jiang Cheng or even wonderful like Lan Wangji – I can hear you, you know – but it was kind of nice to have someone to complain to when it would be awkward to put it onto Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli.

The other half being Jin Zixuan was also not as bad as he had first thought it would be. Sure, he was just as spoiled, arrogant, vain, and deeply cynical about human nature as Wei Wuxian had thought – I can still hear you! – but he was also an awkward introvert with no social skills and an over-active guilt complex – fuck you too, Wei Wuxian – and, in the sum total of things, surprisingly tolerable. Thanks? I think?

It’d certainly made the indoctrination camp more tolerable, even if it did mean having two people talking in his ear about how he needed to think more about the consequences of his actions and how it might reflect on his sect, and certainly having Jin Zixuan confirming that the other disciples had made it out of the cave and were moving at full speed to try to get help made the days he was waiting with Lan Wangji a lot less stressful, and their ensuing rescue a lot easier.

But sometimes –

This is a terrible idea! You can’t do it!

You don’t get a say! Wei Wuxian snarled. This is my decision.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said. A moment later, quieter: Is this because I couldn’t make it to you in time to help?

Wei Wuxian swallowed, feeling his eyes burn. The Wen attack was a surprise to everyone, he said. Even if you were able to convince your father to let you go help with everyone you had, it wouldn’t – you wouldn’t have made it in time to do anything.

After his father had refused, Jin Zixuan had snuck out of Jinlin Tower through what he’d thought was a secret passage and tried to go anyway, only to be caught and dragged back. Wei Wuxian appreciated the effort, even if it didn’t make a difference in the end.

When they were on the run from the Wen sect, after, Jin Zixuan had encouraged Wei Wuxian to head to Lanling, swearing that he wouldn’t allow anyone to turn them over to the Wen sect, but they hadn’t gotten that far.

And now…

It’s my choice, Wei Wuxian said. You don’t get a say.

Fuck you, Jin Zixuan said again, but his voice was softer. Fine. But I’m here for you.

Wei Wuxian smiled, just a little bit, and told to Wen Qing to start.

-

I’m going to murder my father, Jin Zixuan said, conversationally. And then go to the hell reserved for patricides and be reborn as a chicken right before slaughter.

For shame, Wei Wuxian said. Not even a lamb or a goat?

No, I want to be able to bite someone and mean it, and chickens are better at that than goats.

Wei Wuxian giggled, a little hysterically. It’s fine, he said, looking around the Burial Mounds. It’s fine that he won’t let you come to my rescue immediately. Not like I’m going anywhere.

He’d thought – they’d both thought – that the resonant bond would break or maybe transfer to Jiang Cheng along with Wei Wuxian’s golden core, but it hadn’t.

Wei Wuxian had been depressingly grateful for it, for the by now familiar Lanling cadence of Jin Zixuan in his head. It made the horrible quiet empty of the Burial Mounds a little more tolerable, a little less awful.

Anyway, he said briskly, shaking off his terror at being here alone but for the voice in his head. I have an idea…

-

I feel like if I knew Chifeng-zun looked like that I would’ve made befriending Nie Huaisang more of a priority when I was younger.

I know, right? Wei Wuxian thought back. Just…wow.

A moment later, he added, a little irritably, I thought you were into my shijie again?

I am! I’m allowed to have eyes, okay?

Not if you’re surnamed Jin you aren’t.

Fuck you.

Nope. And Chifeng-zun isn’t going to, either.

He could feel Jin Zixuan rolling his eyes. I don’t even want him to, I was really just looking. Anyway, how’s Lan Wangji doing?

Lan Zhan? He’s – well, he’s always bothering me about going back to Gusu with him, talking about how my demonic cultivation is dangerous to me, but oh, you should have seen him when he joins us to fight..! You can forgive anything, really, just to watch him move – Wei Wuxian paused. Wait, why are you asking?

No reason.

Jin Zixuan! You tell me this instant -

-

Jin Zixuan was locking Wei Wuxian out of his head again.

It was a technique they’d worked on developing together – with some assistance from Wei Wuxian’s brilliance and Jin Zixuan’s ability to find and purchase extremely rare reference texts, whether on resonant bonds or just more generally, including when Wei Wuxian had needed some help figuring out some things about demonic cultivation while trapped on the Burial Mounds – as it had become moderately urgent following Jin Zixuan’s first spring dream involving Jiang Yanli, and even more so once he’d decided that he really did want to marry her, actually, if she’d be willing to have him.

There were some things Wei Wuxian did not need to know about his shijie.

Still, it was unusual for him to block him during the day. One might even call it suspicious.

I’m sorry, Jin Zixuan said abruptly. It had to be done, and you weren’t going to do it.

Huh? What are you talking about…?

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouted, and Wei Wuxian turned, surprised. His shidi’s eyes were red as if he’d been crying, and he ran up and pulled him into his arms. “Wei Wuxian…!”

“What?” he asked, puzzled. “What’s this about…?”

“How could you?!” Jiang Cheng demanded, weeping into his neck. “You should have told me – you had no right to – to give me – Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian’s back went stiff. You didn’t!

It was the truth or you getting kicked out of your sect! He needed to know!

Fuck you! It wasn’t your choice to make!

I’m not going to stand by and let you get schemed against, Jin Zixuan said. Certainly not by my own father. I won’t!

I’m going to make you pay for this, Wei Wuxian said darkly, then looked down at Jiang Cheng in his arms. And possibly thank you for it. But I’m definitely going to make you pay!

-

This may sound weird, Jin Zixuan said. But I think I’m being poisoned.

Based on what I know about Lanling Jin sect and its politics, it’s not weird at all, Wei Wuxian said instinctively, then frowned. Are you serious? It’s not just baby fatigue or something?

That’s what I thought at first, too. But now I’m not so sure. He was silent for a moment. I don’t want to sound like my mother, but…

You think it’s Lianfeng-zun? I’m not saying he doesn’t have the most motive for it, but do you really think..? He seems so nice.

He is, most of the time. Jin Zixuan sighed. Maybe I really am just tired.

Wei Wuxian didn’t think so. He’d had a half-dozen years of listening to the backstabbing, vicious world of Jinlin Tower under his belt by now – had fought bitterly in the war only to fight even more bitterly for something like the right to attend his own shijie’s wedding, something that ought to have been his by right – had nearly suffered an ambush when he tried to attend Jin Ling’s first month party, with Jin Zixun attacking him and Wen Ning going unexpectedly crazy and Jin Zixuan rushing over as fast as he could to make them all stop. If he hadn’t already known about Jin Zixuan not knowing about this, if he hadn’t felt something go wrong and thrown himself in between them without thinking, Jin Zixuan might’ve died there and then on the Qiongqi path.

If Jin Zixuan thought he was being poisoned, he was probably being poisoned.

I’ll come visit you and look into it, Wei Wuxian said. We can pretend that I’m there to visit shijie.

They’d long ago confessed the truth to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, of course. For some reason, neither had looked all that surprised.

With your reputation, even if you figured something out, who’d believe you? Jin Zixuan asked. Ask Hanguang-jun if he’ll come, his reputation will bear up.

Lan Zhan? Sure! I’m always happy to work with him. But you know, he’s been ignoring me recently…I don’t know why…

Tell him about the resonant bond.

What? I thought we were still keeping it a secret.

Tell him. He doesn’t tell anyone anything.

Good point, I guess. You think that’ll help him stop ignoring me?

Yes.

Wei Wuxian generally trusted Jin Zixuan’s reading of people, now that he was mature enough not to let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. All right, I will. Can you tell me why?

You’ll find out when you tell him.

Unhelpful.

Noted and ignored.

Fuck you.

Yeah, you too. See you soon.

-

Jin Zixuan?

Yeah?

Thank you for my love life, but also, FUCK YOU.

[asweetprologue]

tension in a touch

Octoberfest 5: Hover

People were afraid of Geralt.

As Geralt’s half-official barker, Jaskier was deeply aware of this. His main obstacle in improving Geralt’s reputation was not hate, despite what Geralt thought. The witcher didn’t discuss it much, but when people shied away from him, when their heart rates skyrocketed, when they cast him sideways glances, Geralt assumed it was because they despised what he was. A mutant, a freak of nature, a monster. And he was right, in many ways, but Jaskier thought Geralt sometimes didn’t quite understand why human beings hated things. Almost always it was because of fear, and Geralt made people nervous. Jaskier was there to comfort them, and then to rally them. It was a process. 

Unfortunately, as they began traveling together Jaskier realized that he was afraid of the witcher too. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he hoped Geralt never picked up on it. Jaskier was drawn to the man anyways, of course. He’d been able to smell the adventure on him from across the tavern in Posada, literally. Dirt from the road, old blood rust and an air of tragedy clung to the man like a thick cloak. It had been a moment of clear and crystalized genius, when his eyes settled on Geralt. Jaskier had known that he would follow the witcher across the Continent even before he’d heard the man speak. 

But all his enthusiasm didn’t mean that Geralt stopped being intimidating as shit. Jaskier, fresh faced and still not used to the rough and tumble way of the world, was a little scared of him. Geralt was careful, always projecting his movements and making himself obvious, but something in Jaskier’s hindbrain still raised its hackles and screamed at him to run anytime Geralt was near. It was pure instinct, an animal recognition of a predator nearby. 

But it just wouldn’t do. If he was going to convince the world that Geralt deserved to be praised for his deeds, great as they were, he couldn’t be afraid of his own muse. So Jaskier decided that he would just do the exact opposite of whatever his instincts told him to do, until they learned to behave. 

He forced himself to be close to the witcher, all the time. At night when they settled down to sleep, Jaskier desperately wanted to put his bedroll on the other side of the fire. Instead, he plopped right down next to Geralt, receiving a brief glare that made him sweat. When they ate at taverns, Jaskier sat in Geralt’s space, instead of allowing the table to act as a barrier between them. After hunts, he made himself help wash off the worst of the muck and blood and ichor, at least so that people wouldn’t truly bolt at the first sight of Geralt down the street. 

Over time, he found that his palms sweat less, his fingers were steadier, and his heart stayed calm in his chest even when he was pressed shoulder to shoulder with the witcher. Geralt was often snappy, peevish and foul tempered, but he never hurt Jaskier after the first punch to the gut. And that was really on Jaskier for bringing up Blaviken. Generally speaking, Geralt was perhaps even overly cautious. He never returned Jaskier’s friendly gestures, carefully keeping distance between them as if he expected Jaskier to startle at every brush of their fingers. And he had, in the beginning. But slowly he felt himself grow less jumpy, a part of him learning to recognize that Geralt wasn’t going to harm him. 

It was fine, the neutral ground Jaskier had been searching for. Things might have stayed that way, if not for the cockatrice hunt. 

Jaskier had insisted on going along, as they were exceptionally rare creatures. He might never get the chance to watch Geralt fight another, he reasoned, and had worn Geralt down though a slow process of argumentation supplemented by a few strategically placed ales. Geralt had reluctantly agreed, warning Jaskier that he had to stay well away from the fight. 

They had both underestimated the beast. Jaskier got too close, he could admit; Geralt wasn’t paying him any mind, focused on dodging the creature’s massive tail and razor honed beak. It was a fascinating fight. The cockatrice was like a strange mix between a rooster and a lizard, its beady eyes watching Geralt intently as it used the ends of its hooked wings to claw into the ground. The fight was fast, almost too fast for Jaskier to follow. Geralt was like water, here one moment and gone the next, baiting the creature into reckless attacks and popping up somewhere else to hack at its flank. Occasionally the cockatrice would attempt to take off, and a concussive burst of aard would echo across the small field that they fought in, knocking it back towards the ground. 

Everything would have been fine, truly, if Jaskier hadn’t seen Geralt get knocked over by the cocktrice’s tail. He shouted in alarm from his place on the hill, far enough away not to draw attention to himself, if he’d kept his silence. The cockatrice, circling Geralt, looked up sharply at the sound, interested in a potentially less threatening meal. Milky eyes focused on him, and Jaskier felt panic pulse through his chest, so strong he wondered how he ever could have called his nervousness around Geralt fear at all. As the cockatrice turned to advance on him, he knew this was what real fear was. 

In that moment, Jaskier didn’t think. He didn’t do the smart thing, which would probably have been to run back towards the village and try to take shelter amongst the smattering of houses there. He didn’t do the cowardly thing, ducking down to try and hide where he was. Instead, he did the incredibly stupid thing, and ran towards Geralt. The cockatrice, being directly in his path, was probably thrilled. 

Jaskier ran faster than he ever had in his life. The cockatrice was barrelling towards him, and Jaskier took off at an angle, rushing down the small incline towards Geralt, who was already up from where he’d been knocked prone. Jaskier could see the moment that the situation caught up with him, Geralt’s eyes going wide and panicked as he realized the danger. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen Geralt move above a light jog before. The man usually let monsters come to him, rather than the other way around, but he was running now. He was amazingly fast, and Jaskier wondered who was faster. Geralt, or the monster. 

The cockatrice had flown up, gaining some distance. Probably to dive down and catch him with some momentum. It gave Jaskier a precious extra moment, but he could sense the bird-like creature getting ready to move. Geralt was only feet away now, sword held in reverse as he sprinted towards him, and Jaskier’s lungs were burning with exertion and fear. The cockatrice let out a shriek above them, and Jaskier heard a rush of air past its wings as it dove towards them. 

Jaskier ducked. 

Geralt slammed into him almost at the same instant that the cockatrice did, throwing Jaskier bodily to the ground as a shimmering golden field sprung up around them both. The cockatrice slammed into it full force, its huge body impacting with a horrible cracking sound and spinning off to the side. Geralt winced at the force of it, the quen shield shattering apart harmlessly. He was curled protectively around Jaskier’s fallen form, one hand - the one that had been holding his sword, now abandoned - clutching the back of Jaskier’s head. Protecting him from hitting the ground when he fell. 

For one brief moment the two of them were still, Jaskier fighting to get his bearings as Geralt hovered above him. Their faces were inches apart, Geralt’s panting breath ghosting over Jaskier’s cheek. His palm was warm against the back of his neck, and his strong thighs bracketed Jaskier’s hips in a grounding press of limbs. Though the danger had not yet passed, Jaskier felt a sense of pure, undiluted relief wash over him. Geralt was here, and nothing could hurt him. 

It lasted only a second before Geralt was back on his feet, stalking over to the fallen cockatrice. The creature’s wing had been greviously injured in the fall, and it was no hardship for Geralt to dispatch it once he retrieved his sword. Jaskier sat up slowly, wincing at his newfound bruises. Better than a cockatrice talon in the back of his skull, he thought, but he’d still be sore in the morning. 

Geralt stomped back over to him as soon as he’d finished the job. “I told you to stay back,” he growled. His face was stormy, but Jaskier had seen his expression just before the cocktrice dove. It had been just as panicked as Jaskier had felt, a naked fear and determination that Jaskier had never seen on Geralt’s face in battle before. He’d been worried. He was worried still. “I never should have let you come,” he grumbled, kneeling. Warm hands pressed over Jaskier’s shoulders, his chest, working their way through his hair to check for injuries. Where once it might have made Jaskier nervous, now he only felt warmth blossom under his breastbone. 

Placing a hand over Geralt’s where it rest just under his collarbone, he said, “I’m alright, Geralt. I’m not hurt.”

Geralt glared at him. “Not for lack of trying, bard. What possessed you to shout at it like that?”

Jaskier blushed. He was winded from the sprint, heart still pounding away in his chest at how close he’d come to serious harm, so hopefully Geralt would attribute the flush to exertion. “I, ah. Saw you fall. I was afraid you’d been hurt.”

A strong eye roll was directed his way. Whoever said witchers couldn’t feel apparently didn’t recognize annoyance as an emotion, because Geralt was clearly experiencing it. “I would have been fine, Jaskier. You could have died.” His hand was still on Jaskier’s chest, over his slowing heart. Jaskier was supremely comforted by the touch, in a way that perhaps should have been concerning. 

He gave Geralt a look he hoped was sufficiently chagrined. “It does seem I owe you my life, witcher. I hope to be able to repay you.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Just don’t go shouting at any more cockatrices in the near future.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier said, and then added, “but I know you’d be there to rescue me if I did.” He gave Geralt a grin, to take a bit of the edge off of the statement. It was too much, he knew, too much trust to put in the witcher’s hands. 

He was rewarded with an embarrassed huff of breath, and was allowed to watch as Geralt’s ears turned just faintly red. It was amusing, but Jaskier knew deep down that it wasn’t a joke. From then on, Geralt would always mean safety to him.

[glyxy-wvs]

hey if you accept requests can you make a fluffy fanfic about Lucifer and Mammon being close? like that pic that you reblogged?

Hello, Anon! Omg, sorry for the long wait!!! 🥺💖 I was busy with irl stuff but AAAA I have finished the fluffy fic! I'm sorry if it didn't reach your expectations.😓 It was a bit difficult to write 'cause I'm not really used to writing fluff.😂 But I hope you like it!! (Also, I didn't base this fic off to the art that I had reblogged, but it's still a fluff fic!! It's fan art, and I think I need permission to write a fic about it.😅 So here's fluffy fanfic of Lucifer and Mammon being close.) Thanks for being the first person to request me haha. Please enjoy this. _ A Day To Relax. [ 1 & 2 ]

Mammon's back hurts; he did the best he could to organized the library at RAD. Maybe he deserves this, or maybe not. He sighs for the tenth time of the day.

There's nothing he can do about it because this was his light punishment for skipping classes again. Although he hates doing chores for his discipline, he needed to be a good big brother for Asmodeus.

Mammon decided to skip his classes so that he could be there to support his little brother. Everyone was busy at that time, with upcoming exams and projects, not one of the brothers could make time for Asmo. The latter understood. It's not like he could force his brothers to watch the stageplay with his classmates. But when he saw Mammon among the crowd with his D.D.D out, he almost cried while performing on stage.

(He felt a bit guilty when he found out that Mammon, believe it or not, skipped classes to watch him.)

Mammon stretched his back when he felt his phone vibrating. He took it out from his back pocket to receive a message from Asmodeus.

[Hey.

I just wanted to say thanks for supporting me there.

This beautiful brother of yours is going to treat you tomorrow! <3]

His lips cracked a smile. He feels soft and loved. Mammon chuckled as he took his bag, ready to go home. He had finished organizing anyway; he preferred to play on his phone for a while.

He started walking to the hallways; almost all of the demons were back to their places already. Some are doing their part-time jobs, and some are being lazy at home (Preferably Belphegor.)

"Mammon."

In instinct, Mammon quickly turned around. He already knows that deep voice.

"Are ya gonna assign me another chore to do?" Mammon quickly questioned his older brother, who was leaning into the student council's door frame.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly annoyed already. He pushed back his hair and fixed the wrinkles of his uniform.

"No. Well, if you want to do more. Your choice." With that answer, Mammon crossed his arms, a pout on his face— ready to complain. But Lucifer stopped him.

"Remember that cafe I showed you the other day? Let's go there, my treat." Lucifer stated; he laughed when he saw Mammon froze.

"I don't believe you." His eyes narrowed, looking for a flaw in Lucifer's face and words. "Are ya' truly Lucifer? What if you're a ghost possessing my big bro's body?"

Mammon intentionally loudened his gasp; his eyes were wide, one hand placed on his heart, while the other was grasping on his hair. He paused for a dramatic effect.

Lucifer brought his hand up quickly to pinch his brother's cheek. "You idiot. It's me, of course." He proceeded to ruffles Mammon's hair. "Come on, let's go before I change my mind and give you another chore as punishment. Maybe you could clean up the laboratory next time for a month."

He whispered the last part, but Lucifer knew Mammon could hear him, making the second-born whine.

The two exited the school, taking a detour through the streets.

"I thought yah were gonna give me another punishment." Mammon broke out the silence; Lucifer hummed before replying.

"Why would I? I only gave you a chore for skipping classes, but you being there for Asmodeus? You don't deserve punishment for that."

Mammon stared at the far distance. The cafe they were going to has a nearby sea, and he smiled at his elder brother's words; he enjoyed these simple moments between them. (They're rare. They don't hang out anymore like they used to do in the Celestrial realm. That's why, as much as possible, Mammon cherished these moments.)

Mammon could say that he's close with Lucifer, but not like before— It's weird. Lucifer is his older brother, his family. But as time passed by, Mammon started to get nervous whenever he had done something wrong. He doesn't want to anger and disappoint Lucifer. (But sometimes, he can't help it— he misses his big brother's attention.)

"We're here," Lucifer said. Mammon followed the latter's gaze and immediately formed star-shaped eyes.

"WOAH!! I didn't expect it to be this cool! I only saw the picture but never expected that it would be this big!"

Mammon kept looking around the newly built cafe. The cafe was a bit massive, with a view of the sea beside it. Its structure is similar to a casino. Mammon could already smell the fresh-baked bread and pies inside, making him giggle.

Mammon had loved the view it was showing; he could eat while staring at the horizon. The cafe was located on top of a hill, not too far from the beach. It looks so nostalgic and therapeutic that Mammon took his time admiring the whole place while Lucifer already entered the cafe.

Mammon wished it wasn't too expensive. He knows that Lucifer would be the one to pay, but he doesn't want to burden him with that kind of responsibility. The second-born tried to grasp the wallet on his bag, but then he hesitated. Mammon recalled that the money in there was a payment to his debt.

Ah, yes. Mammon needed to pay it today but decided it would be better to bond with his brother first.

He sighed, still has a firm grip on his bag. He's feeling unwanted emotions today. He wants to cry, laugh, or do something he doesn't usually do. Mammon was overwhelmed with emotions.

He remembered Levi's words that it's okay to be feeling emotions you usually can't explain. Sometimes, it doesn't have to be a reason.

Mammon's snapped out of his thoughts, thinking that Lucifer was likely waiting for him inside. He turned to see the display of different pastries outside, and Mammon immediately recognized Simeon's art.

Mammon recalled Simeon's word. He said that he's going to work part-time somewhere near the sea. And this made Mammon excited. He had already counted the treats and thinking which one would his brothers choose. After planning, he tried to hurry inside but suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Mammon looked over to his shoulder to see an unfamiliar demon. Their body is most likely the same size as Beelzebub but with a strict stare present. Mammon felt like he was burning.

"Heya! May I ask—who are you?" Mammon said; his tone wasn't that confident, and it's evident with his form that Mammon's going to run away in any second now.

He felt the grip on his shoulder got tighter, and the demon dragged Mammon into a less crowded area. He knows he's far powerful than this guy; he's one of the princes of Devildom. He's the Avatar of Greed. But man, he entirely wants to relax today. Mammon tried to stand with honor and kept his breathing in control.

The demon startled him. "Where's the money?"

And then Mammon realized.

"Oh!? You must be the brother's witch! Ah, here— give me a minute," Mammon took out his wallet and gave them the money. He doesn't feel that nervous anymore. Okay— he lied, maybe a little bit. Can't a demon have fears too? "Geez, you scared the hell out of me for a second there. The agreement was me and her meeting later." He muttered the last part.

But a dark aura surrounded him, and Mammon quickly backed away. He can't meet the other demon's eyes, but he can feel the rage from him.

Is the money not enough?? It can't be. I perfectly counted this; I also worked hard for this. What else could be missing???

"With all due respect, please don't go any nearer to him."

A voice. It must be Lucifer's. Mammon couldn't stop overthinking. What if Lucifer scolds him after this? What if Lucifer started to regret spending time with Mammon because of this?

Mammon looked up, tears threatening to fall. He saw his elder brother, standing behind them as classy as ever. His composure is straight, yet the glaring eyes are full of terror. Mammon recognized Lucifer's stance. It's for preparing himself to change into his demon form if the rest of his younger brothers are in serious trouble.

When the demon started to get closer to Mammon, the latter only felt a swift wind before realizing that Lucifer was there, in front of him now. "Didn't you hear what I said? What else do you need from him?"

"The money."

"It's not sufficient? Then alright, here." Lucifer took out his wallet to satisfy the demon in front of them. Mammon's full-out panicking now. His older brother saved him from trouble, and now he's going to be a disappointment in Lucifer's eyes.

"There, you got the money. Tell your sister that my brother had paid the debt." Lucifer dragged Mammon out of the other demon's sight. He looked back with sharp eyes.

"And as great as reasonable, if you're looking for Mammon—" He looked back with sharp eyes. "—strictly appear to see me. Thank you."

Both never turned their eyes back again as they entered the shop. Mammon quickly explained the whole situation. "I'm sorry! I'm sure— precisely sure that I had counted that money. And it's exactly the price the witch had been asking. I don't know what he's up to with—" He kept on babbling as they reached their reserved seats. Lucifer sighed.

"Look, stop chattering; it's annoying. I believe you. Can't I have a day where I relax with my little brother under no stress or orders whatsoever? Seeing you outside in that kind of situation is making my blood boil. How dare he waste such time when you and I could have been eating here already."

Mammon snickered, ah yeh— It's been so long that he forgot how dramatic Lucifer could be at times.

"Forget about it, Mammon. You had settled the debt, and the food that I ordered is already here. But make sure whenever you're going to meet someone concerning payment, always inform me. I'm serious. If the shares had been a burden to handle, you are welcome to visit my office anytime."

Lucifer already had bread in his mouth, but his expression is still irritable from the situation earlier. Mammon can feel his tears coming back again. Why am I so emotional today?

"Ah. Uhm, hey—" He called out to his older brother. "Thanks for backing me up earlier. I appreciated it!"

Lucifer munched the donut he was holding and then drank the newly served tea. His gaze was on the view outside, seemingly avoiding eye contact. "Hm? Of course. I'm your big brother after all, in case you forgot about it."

In moments like this, it was a rare scene between him and Lucifer. They usually argue and sometimes making each other's day stressful. But, just them eldest brothers, talking and sharing random topics— Mammon cherished this.

And behind that frown the eldest always wears, Lucifer could say the same too. He loved calm moments like this.

"But ain't Michael my first big brother?" Mammon teased. Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Silence, you have no elder brother other than me. Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor, you all are my baby brothers." And when Lucifer realized what he said, he quickly replaced the topic. "And eat the dessert I ordered for you."

Mammon's eyes turned into stars immediately when he recognized the smell, "Woah, no way?! How did you know this was my favorite?!!! This desert is expensive! Big bro! You do love me."

Then they chatted, random topics or something concerning about their home that needs fixing. Nevertheless, the atmosphere around them is comforting and warming. After a while, they had finished eating, and the moon was already out. Both agreed to go home.

"We should invite the others here too!" Mammon stated as he breathed the cold wind that passed by them.

"Yes, that would be a pleasant bonding time. Just don't be too chaotic, please. It's hard to handle all six of you."

It was a great day, Mammon thought to himself. It was entertaining and soothing to talk with his big brother without insults nor orders. Lucifer treated him today; it was— nostalgic for Mammon. It's like he doesn't want this kind of treatment to end. But of course, as the little mischief, as he is, he asked one more request.

"Lucifer!" Mammon rolled the letter r, a bit of a whining tone. "It's night, and I'm tired, yah know? Can I request a piggyback ride?" He knows Lucifer will reject it immediately. So it wasn't like he meant it, already hoping for the worst.

But then Lucifer looked at him, a contemplating expression, before getting down on one knee.

"Alright, just this once. Hurry up before I regret my decision."

Mammon's eyes were wide; he smirked before quickly hugging Lucifer from behind. He felt himself getting lifted off, and it reminded him of the old times, back in the Celestial Realm.

Lucifer doesn't mind; he also missed this. But not like he's going to say this out loud.

I should start spending time with my little brothers whenever I'm free. That would be nice.

[hermannsthumb]

nsfw prompt: hermann in lacy boxers. newt is verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry into it

Anonymous said: Follow up to the hermann's lacy briefs ask: newt wears tacky neon briefs and Hermann is Just As Into It

loosely inspired by a conversation I had with @k-sci-janitor the other night 👀 second part isn't AS incorporated, but, I did try. not sfw below cut! (but it's more of an M)

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

“Well, shit,” Newt says.

As far as lab accidents go, it’s not as bad as it could be. Neither of them are bleeding, for one thing. All their limbs are still intact. And only a very small portion of the lab is on fire, not even anywhere near Hermann’s shit, and Newt manages to deal with it before it spreads by deploying the emergency fire extinguisher in record time. True, their clothing is splattered with a very mild (non-lethal!) amount of kaiju blood, and true, it does sizzle worryingly at first (kaiju blood will apparently eat through cotton like nothing), but Newt’s grown very adept with dealing with these sorts of things. (He kind of has to—they happen every other day.) “In ya go,” he says to a stunned Hermann cheerfully, tugging him along to the decontamination shower by his elbow. “Don’t be shy.”

It takes Hermann a few seconds of pleasant silence to get over his initial shock, and then he begins bitching. “This is the final straw!” he declares, along with stuff like “I can’t take your incompetence much longer!” and “I will be submitting several complaints to the Marshal about this!”, and even smacks Newt’s ankles with his cane a few times. Once he realizes that there’s now a neat little hole burned into the front of his sweater, though, and an even larger one spreading by the shoulder, his complaints fade away into weak sputters, and he doesn’t make as much as a peep when Newt shoves him under the freezing spray.

“Sorry, dude,” Newt says. “How was I supposed to know kaiju blood was combustible?”

Hermann growls at Newt.

As per lab containment protocol, once the shower is turned on, the lock is engaged, and they’ll only be allowed to exit once they’re deemed sufficiently toxin-free by the...toxin-censors, or something. Newt's still not really sure how it all works. That, or, you know, if one of them punches in the override code. But that kind of takes a while, and Newt kind of did need a shower anyway, so he decides to just roll with it and let himself be sanitized. Better safe than sorry. Even though he’s pretty sure that blood was neutralized. Probably. It is a little worrisome that it was dissolving the fabric that fast, since Newt hasn’t had that happen to him before. “Okay, warning,” Newt says, “I’m gonna take off my clothes. You might want to, too. I’m not sure why that had the reaction it did but we probbbbably don’t want to get it on our skin.”

“No,” Hermann says.

“Tough luck, I’m gonna get naked,” Newt says. “It’s happening. You need to, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermann says.

“Safety protocol!” Newt shouts.

It’s hard enough to shimmy out of his skinny jeans bone-dry, but in the shower it may as well be impossible, especially since he forgot to take off his boots first. Also, it’s hard to move even a foot without bumping his ass against Hermann, and Hermann growls (like, seriously, what?) again each time he does. Newt finally succeeds in stripping down to just his undershirt and neon-green boxers, and since a quick once-over confirms his skin seems to be totally burn-free, and he can't feel any sort of excruciating pain that would suggest otherwise, he decides he’s fine to just stop there. No reason to needlessly flash Hermann his junk. When Newt turns around, he’s almost surprised to see Hermann in the exact same position as before: clutching the shower railing for dear life, his eyes fixed directly at the ceiling.

Oh—Newt’s dumb. Hermann left his cane outside. A wet shower is already potentially treacherous, but a wet shower without anything but a crappy railing to properly stabilize himself definitely is. “Okay, look, don’t take this the wrong way,” Newt says, “but can I help you undress? I just mean—it’ll probably be hard for you to do it like that.”

He points to Hermann’s iron grip on the railing. Hermann shakes his head.

“I would rather you not,” he says. He looks down at Newt's briefs, goes red in the face, and looks back up.

“Hermann, seriously.” Newt steps forward with a sigh and tugs on Hermann’s blazer. “It’s a safety thing. I promise I won’t look at your old man bloomers or long johns or whatever, you just seriously need to take this all off so I can make sure you’re not hurt.”

“Stop it, Newton,” Hermann grumbles, and then, when Newt gets the top few buttons undone, full-on snaps “Newton!” and pushes Newt away. "Get off of me."

Newt is not dealing with this shit right now. It's one thing for Hermann to be pissed at him when they have a whole lab between them and plenty of space to cool off, but crammed in to a tiny shower together where he's within arm's distance of a grumpy Hermann, who would probably joyfully throttle him at any moment, is just not how Newt wants to spend the next twenty or so minutes. Especially not when all he wanted to do was make sure Hermann wasn't getting literal acidic burns. It's a completely un-cool way to repay a kindness. “Fine!” he says, and throws up his hands. “Whatever! I don’t care. You always have to make everything weird."

Hermann glowers at him, which looks pretty silly, because it's hard to take him seriously with his hair plastered to his head like that. Then, (to Newt's surprise) he reaches a trembling hand up to his top button. “I will do it myself,” he says. “But please look away. I need—privacy.”

"Privacy," Newt echoes with a snort, but obliges. Anything to get Hermann to cooperate is a-okay with him. Once he's got his back to Hermann, he hears Hermann's clothing hitting the ground with a series of small wet splats against the tile. Blazer, sweater, button-down, pants. His belt jingles when it drops. Despite the chill of the water, Newt feels the back of his neck grow warm. Hermann is practically naked behind him. Newt doesn't think he's seen Hermann any nakeder than his pajamas before, once when they dragged themselves to LOCCENT at three in the morning for a kaiju alert system test run and he got an eyeful of Hermann in a dressing gown and slippers. Even that was almost too much for Newt. "Any burns?" he says over his shoulder.

"Er," Hermann says. "I think—"

"Well?"

Hermann is silent. "I'm not quite sure," he finally says.

Newt sighs. "Okay, just let me—"

Newt's scientist mode kicks in over his holy shit Hermann is semi-naked next to me mode (and, okay, maybe his protective over Hermann mode kicks in just a little too), and he turns to Hermann unthinkingly to assess any possible damage. And then freezes in place. Because, well. He's not sure what he expected—maybe Hermann scowling and shivering in some dorky little striped boxers and an undershirt, or maybe that he layers up on undergarments just like he does sweaters.

He is absolutely, one-hundred percent not expecting to see Hermann in a lacy blue pair of underwear and a matching bralette.

And, well. At least the water is cold. Newt doesn't like to think about what sort of physiological response his body might have otherwise.

As it is, Newt just sort of stares at Hermann. And his sexy underwear. Or maybe he gapes. He definitely does when he realizes that it's not just plain sexy underwear—both pieces have little gold stars embroidered across them—and it's simultaneously so cute and so much sexier that his knees begin to wobble, and he's worried he might pass out. Hermann stares back, chin raised almost defiantly, his jaw set hard. Neither of them speak.

Then Newt clears his throat and makes an attempt at it, because he's not sure what else to do if not play it cool. "Um," he squeaks. "Um. I don't—I don't see any burns." Newt does not look anywhere else on Hermann's body, so there's a good chance that's a lie. It's kind of hard to pull his eyes away. "Are you—do you—" He takes a deep breath. "Do you always...?"

"No," Hermann says. He works his jaw back and forth. "Well, go on, then."

"Go on what?" Newt says. Is Hermann sensing the (frankly) pornographic thoughts racing through Newt's head at a mile a minute and giving him permission to act on them? Because Newt doesn't have a problem with that. He 100% does not have a problem with dropping to his knees and begging Hermann to let him put his tongue on him through the lace, or groping Hermann's chest through the top...

"Tease me," Hermann says. In a sexy way? Newt wonders, because he can do that, and he's all set to start grabbing Hermann's ass or something when Hermann clarifies "I know you want to tell me how silly I look."

Oh. That's dumb. "Why would I do that?" Newt says. Before he can help himself, he blurts out, "Dude, you look fucking hot."

"What?" Hermann says.

The shower shuts off, and an alarm beeps twice as the door swings open. The emergency protocol seems to have ended. Neither Newt nor Hermann make a move to leave. "What?" Hermann repeats again, a little quieter. He's looking at Newt like he's grown a second head.

"It looks," Newt says, "um, hot. I like—" He feels himself blushing furiously. He's not sure where to stare—still at Hermann? Or does he force himself to turn his gaze to the floor or over Hermann's shoulder or something? He can see one of Hermann's nipples through the lace top. Oh, my God. "I like how it looks on you." (Insane understatement.)

Hermann falls silent again. "You do?" he says.

"Yeah," Newt says. "Do you—like, every day? Or?"

Hermann shakes his head. He's watching Newt with a carefully guarded expression, like he's still skeptical that Newt is telling the truth and isn't about to just start laughing at him or something. "Not at all," he says. "Er. This was rather unfortunate timing. It's—well, it's a way to feel more confident, I suppose, when I've had a rotten week."

Newt doesn't start laughing, of course. Newt inches closer. He likes the contrast of the dark blue against Hermann's skin, and he wonders how soft it is. He wonders if it would feel soft to him, too, if he touched it, or dragged his palms up and down Hermann's chest. He wonders if Hermann would like that. "I often," Hermann says, and then his voice trails off.

"Huh?" Newt says, somewhere to the vicinity of Hermann's belly button.

Hermann clears his throat. "I often think of you. What you would do, if you saw me this way, and..."

Newt finally snaps. "Can I touch you?" he says.

Hermann nods, the smallest, shyest little smile on his face. "If you'd like," he says.

[windmaedchen-fairytail]

Power Lust

It’s been a couple of weeks since Ivan’s experiment. Makarov hadn’t left him alone about this business, so in the end he had budged and admitted the use of the rare lacrima. What he failed to understand was the drama his father made out of it. Laxus was clearly fine and Ivan was there to help him adjust to the new found power. One could have thought that his efforts and time spend to nurture his son would be met with enthusiasm, however, in reality, Makarov was barely tolerating it.

Not that Ivan really expected anything else by now, as tolerating him was one of his father’s specialities. He shifted his weight and leaned against the frame of the open door. He was watching from afar as Laxus did some extra training, trying to conjure lightning and making it hit the dummy.

“KACHOW! KACHOW! Hahahahaha!”

Laxus shouted out loud above the noise of thunder every time his lightning struck. He danced when he hit his target and groaned when he did not. He wouldn’t sulk for long, however, as the joy of finally becoming a wizard like his Dad and Grandfather gave him the strength to continue.

The passion in Laxus’s movements and voice brought a smile to Ivan’s lips. His son had accepted the lacrima much better than he had anticipated and all he needed now was guidance to bring forth all that he is capable of.

When Ivan heard the faint steps behind him, his smile disappeared from his face. He turned around to see Makarov stand next to him, watching out into the garden. For a moment, there was silence between the two men but then the older Dreyar began the conversation he came to have.

“He is so motivated to learn and become stronger. He is doing that for you. Does that make you happy?”

“I am certainly pleased to see this, yes. The result is better than I had hoped for and Laxus might actually become a useful asset.”, replied Ivan calmly. When he heard Makarov grunt in disapproval, he looked over. Was that not what he had just asked for?

“That wasn’t quite what I was thinking of.”, sighed Makarov. “Result? Useful asset? Can’t you ever stop talking about people like they are tools and appreciate them for their souls?”

“At least I DO appreciate the fact that they ARE tools and I will utilize Laxus to the best of his potential. It will give him a real purpose beyond just being my son - or your grandson.”

“Tools and experiments, is that all you really care for? Did you not feel any love for Laxus the way he was? Was he not good enough?”

Now it was time for Ivan to grunt in disapproval. How could that weak boy be good enough? He was constantly sick, couldn’t do any magic yet and still needed a nanny nearly 24/7. Was this not exactly what he needed, to become stronger, more powerful and gain independence from all the guild’s mother hens around him?

Another thought crossed Ivan’s mind, as he turned to answer his father.

“If challenging your son and training him to become better and stronger than the Status Quo of yesterday is, in your eyes, a lack of love - I dare say I love my son as much as you did yours.”

“Ivan! What are you--”

Makarov stopped mid-sentence and turned to face his son. While Ivan returned the gaze, his eyes were clouded and shielded the view into his soul from Makarov’s penetrating stare.

Laxus’s voice drew their attention before the conversation could continue.

“Whoohoo! More! More! Kachow—OUCH!”

The blonde boy jumped in circles for a moment, shaking his arm frantically. The lacrima had been implanted into a host body much weaker than its inert magic level. This meant that while being used so clumsily, overflowing magic will escape in an uncontrolled manner, causing some harm to the encompassing tissues. A minor problem that will go away with training. In fact, Laxus himself seemed hardly fazed by it, as he started laughing during his little dance of pain.

“Laxus! Remember what I told you about visualizing your attack first. If you go too fast, you’ll loose control!”

Ivan reprimanded him from afar. His son lifted his arm to the sky as if to say “All good!” and then turned around to get payback on the training dummy.

Makarov pointed at Laxus and reproached Ivan with it.

“This is hurting him! You WILL stop this.”

Ivan ignored the warning and chuckled quietly do himself.

“Come now, we all have had our accidents as we were training. I don’t remember letting that hold you back from encouraging me to continue. Isn’t this exactly as you like it?

“This is different, Ivan. There is a line to everything and this-”, Makarov pointed at Laxus, “-is crossing it. You KNOW that to be the case. Implanting that lacrima into his weak body could have killed him in the spot if you had made even the slightest mistake. It STILL could kill him now, if you excerpt him too much.”

With a wave of the hand and a groan Ivan dismissed the issue.

“Yes, yes. Stop complaining. Life is a risk. Look at him! He is making the best out of himself, overcoming his weakness. He would never have had any of that strength without me.”

“LOOK! DAD! GRAMPS!”

Laxus pointed excitedly at a charcoaled area on the dummy that glimmered a bright red around some sharp edges of the wood. His lightning had burned it. His family responded in unison, one in approval, one in dismay.

This wasn’t what Makarov hoped for.

“I know very well that as a father you wish to see your offspring become strong and self-sufficient. It is our responsibility to support them in that endeavour, too. But this is a shortcut that will harm him, Ivan. Why don’t you see that?”

“Oh quit it, old man. You have not the faintest idea nor do you care about my work and all you have ever done is impose sanctions and recite love poems to me. It has, frankly, long been useless to lecture me.”

Ivan’s tone changed. Where he showed patience before he exchanged it now for bitterness. He was too old to be lectured on anything any more, especially as he thought the lecturer to be a hypocrite on that matter.

Makarov lowered his head and resigned in agreement. 

“Indeed. Forgive me for having let you down at a time when I still had the chance to reach you. Now, all I can do is prevent damage to others…”

“Tsk. Do you even have the guts-”

“Yes.” Makarov interrupted his son decidedly. “I watched you and your schemes for long enough and I should have done this much sooner. Listen well for I am saying this only once.”

Makarov underlined the weight of his words with an unwavering, direct look into his son’s dark eyes.

“Ivan, CEASE your training this instant. Do not take your responsibility for your son’s well-being lightly…  if this continues in any shape or form, you will have no place to return to. Neither guild nor family.”

It was Ivan who looked away, focusing his gaze on Laxus. He couldn’t imagine Makarov to pull through with his threat. His father’s love for him made him weak and he always skirted around serious punishment before. So why would he do it now?

============================================

Ivan had seen enough. Laxus was still not ready yet and there was no point in watching his son any longer for today. He got up from the tree trunk and sighed heavily.

“It’s been a couple of days and you still haven’t destroyed that dummy. When you said you had chipped it, I thought we’d see you perform the final blow today… looks like I was mistaken. Time for me to get back to work.”

With alarm Laxus’s eyes darted over to the moving figure. He had sweat pouring down his body and bend forwards a bit to rest his hands on his knees. The dummy in front of him had nothing but a few new scratches.

“No, Dad, wait!”, gasped the young boy desperately. “I just need… ONE more try… and then I can go with you.”

“Hmm? I really can’t waste any more time here, Laxus. You are still too weak.”

Ivan graced his son with a look of disapproval, then turned and walked away, ignoring Laxus’s further pleas. He heard moans from behind him and thought for a moment that Laxus had started to cry again, so he focused on his own mind to distract himself. He had imagined that the intense desire to be strong and at his side would accelerate Laxus’s development, particularly since they had to meet in secret like this. Instead, despite the initial incredible pace, Laxus slowed down again. Is it possible that the cap Makarov is trying to put on the boy dampered the effectiveness of their training? He should try and send Laxus along some jobs with the others to encourage him to--

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

Ivan’s thoughts were harshly interrupted by an intense scream coming from behind him. He turned around instantly and looked back to the small clearing where Laxus had been standing a moment ago. Now he was down on the floor, jerking in visible pain. The continuous groans of agony drew him back very quickly. What on earth had happened? Was a stray, uncontrolled discharge of the lacrima able to bring Laxus down like this?

Lightning still sparked forth from the writhering boy and forced Ivan to approach with caution. He noticed the red blood on Laxus’s face, hands and hair and searched his pockets for something to cover the wound with. As he found nothing, his hands untied the knot of his cravat and folded it down to a smaller, double layered cloth.

Ivan knelt down besides Laxus and reached out to touch him by the shoulder but he withdrew his hand instantly. “Argh!” An electric spark shot through his body as he made direct contact with Laxus’s bare skin. Ivan gritted his teeth and tried to push Laxus onto his back once more anyway. This time the magical electricity was tolerable. The boy’s groans turned into weak sobs and his body grew limb as the effects of the sudden discharge ebbed down.

Ivan now gently lifted the protective hand covering Laxus’s face. He held the cloth ready but the moment he saw what was underneath, Ivan knew this was going to be some permanent damage. And a certain someone would NOT like this.

“Damn.”

======================= END PART 2

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

Part Two

Aelin leaned her head against a solid chest and counted the beats. These stolen moments were what she and Sam lived for. His breaths were even, and the gentle rumble of thunder outside assured their temporary safety.

 Arobynn's plain was delayed due to the torrential downpour flooding Rifthold. They'd received the text at the same time, and Sam immediately came to find her. Sneaking into the manor was risky, but Tern, Harding, and Mulligan were all occupied, and no one would dare enter Arobynn's office while he was away.

Well, everyone besides them. The danger was definitely worth it, Aelin mused as she stretched like a cat and sprawled into a more comfortable position over the muscled torso. A hand reached up and dragged calloused fingers through her hair, making her preen with satisfaction.

 Sam chuckled from below her, spread out like a starfish on Arobynn's poached polar bear rug. She felt sad for the untimely death of the creature, but she couldn't deny it made the perfect spot for their rendezvous.

 "We can't stay like this forever," Sam reminds her gently. He works his fingers down her long blond hair to the nape of her neck, where he works at the knotted muscles.

 "Not now, but soon," she reminds him as if he wasn't the one to concoct their crazy escape plan.

 A kiss pressed against her forehead marks the seal of his promise. "Soon," he agrees. "This hell will be over for you and me." The conviction of his voice lets that little tealight of hope in her chest flicker dangerously.

 "We will be free. The only dreams we will be having is what our home together will look like," she nuzzles into his chest and urges him to keep going. He knows she likes it when he talks long term to her.

"In the mornings, I will wake up to you in my bed. Your hair all over the place, and your arms constricting me like a hungry python."

 She cracks her eyes open at that and gives him a sleepy glare.

 "I wouldn't change a single thing about it," he continues. "Knowing you are safe with me is all I will ever need to be happy. Waking up to you in my arms is enough beauty to sate me wherever we end up. I'll be the happiest man alive."

 Tears burned the corners of her eyes, and a lump ached in her throat. For so long, she'd been deprived of affection and relationships of any kind. Aelin couldn't help the feeling of free-falling every time Sam declared his love. It was a treasure she thought she'd never had again. "I love you, Sam," Aelin whispers against his chest and presses a messy kiss to the muscle there.

 "Then why didn't you look for me?" His voice cracks in pain.

 Startled, Aelin's head shoots up. Ice chills her blood, and the screams that pour from Aelin's mouth are unearthly when she's faced with the gaping holes where his eyes should be.

 His eyes. She feels that familiar pain beneath her ribs. Those eyes that had been so kind. Made her feel so safe and radiated warmth. Aelin mourned their loss. Mourned him.

 "You didn't look for me," those damning words left his lips again.

 Aelin wakes up with a sob. "I'm sorry," she yells to the empty room.

 "I'm sorry," she keens. There are no hands in her hair. No beating heart beneath her cheek. She curls into a ball and grabs locks of her hair, pulling at them until strands fall loosely into her hand. The agony builds until it pinches her gut so hard and wrenches her heart so profoundly that she barely makes it to the toilet before hot, acidic bile burns a path up her throat.

 It burns through her over and over until she's leaned against the toilet seat sobbing. Her arms wrapped around her midsection protectively.    

 Morning sickness should have passed by now, but she still spent a great deal of time in this position. It never got less painful, and Aelin's seemed more aggressive than what other mothers recounted experiencing online. Her constant sickness and nightmares were leaving her feeling weak.

 Maybe it was a punishment for bringing a little life into a world that had savaged its father? That thought crossed Aelin's mind often. Perhaps it was penance for her selfishness. Her wanting to keep this small piece of Sam despite knowing the kind of life it would be subjected to endure.

 There was no forgiveness for the things she's done. Why would the universe let her have this? She should just be grateful it hadn't been taken from her entirely.

 Spineless, coward.

 Aelin laid curled up on the bathroom floor for hours. Existing in a constant cycle of sickness followed by mental torment. Chills wracked her frame, and she trembled on the cold tile. She barely had the energy to lift herself up when the urge to vomit struck her. Words floated in her head, furthering her misery.

 Coward. Liar. Oathbreaker. Life taker.

 That's where Lysandra found her, at a much more reasonable hour of the morning. Aelin was so tired she could only sob when the door cracked open. Her head fell forward and rested against the porcelain seat, too weak to hold it up any longer.

 Lysandra had cringed and very gently guided her head from the toilet rim to her shoulder, nestling Aelin's forehead into the crook of her neck despite the cold-sweat there.

 She crooned sweet nothings and soothed Aelin until she had the strength to stand up and collect herself. Lysandra helped her dress and brush her teeth. She left Aelin to sit on the couch and came back with lightly buttered toast, a glass of water, and a cup of ginger tea.

 Her attempt to decline it was futile. Lysandra left no room for argument. Slowly, Aelin bit the toast and sipped the tea. Bite by bite and drink by drink, she finished the breakfast.

 Lysandra didn't relent her hovering for the rest of the morning. As she was forced through her morning routine under her friend's watchful eye, she began to feel more human, and that awful pain slowly faded to the background of her mind. Nausea still rolled in her belly, but the food and drink helped settle it enough for her to function.

 Now here Aelin was, only a couple of hours later, filling muffin cups to have ready for the early morning regulars.

Her attitude was dismal.

 She felt sick. Her body ached from hours of lying on the cold tile. Sweat soaked her clothes and chilled her forehead. Just looking at her cup of tea made her angry that it wasn't coffee, but her stomach burned so furiously that not even coffee sounded good. It was a horrible paradox and was only just that much more upsetting.

 Aelin felt her eyes begin to burn with tears, and she slammed the bowl of batter down so hard that it splattered up her apron. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes and tried to will the tears back down.

 Maybe she would cave to Lysandra's demands that she go upstairs and rest. It went grated against her desire to be self-sufficient and independent, but taking a hot bath and curling up in her bed sounded like pure bliss. The baby would likely benefit from her decompressing, too. That thought sold her on the idea.

 The bell at the counter rang.

 Aelin took a deep breath and washed her hands quickly. She would take this customer and then let Lysandra know she was taking the day off.

 Thinking of the jasmine soap and the warm blanket waiting for her upstairs was just enough for her to plaster on a smile.

 "Goodmorning, how can I- you," The last word came out in a hiss. Aelin's smile melted as quickly as it came.

 The asshole was back, and he brought a friend.

 Whoop-dee-freaking-doo.

 To his credit, the friend was equally as beautiful as the Asshole himself. He had dark skin, the color of polished pennies, and long blonde hair that coiled just above the arches of his cheekbones. If his choice of companionship didn't perturb Aelin so much, she might've found him attractive.

 Hell, she found him attractive anyway.

 "Is that how you greet all your customers, sweetheart?" The friend smiled at her, and his perfect teeth were bright enough to signal plains.

 "Do you call every girl sweetheart or only the ones you want to spit in your coffee?" Her tone is sharp enough to cut glass, and the man's eyes widen at the challenge.

 "I don't drink coffee, but I supposed the hot chocolate I was going to order is just as easy to violate," he laughs warmly, and her eyes follow the motion of his adam's apple. "How about I lay off the pet names in exchange for a warm cup of sugar without saliva?" His face was sincere enough that she felt less inclined to spite him for his choice of friends.

 "Your name?" she asks.

 "Fenrys," he offers without a joke, and Aelin writes it on a cup.

"I want a dark roast, black." The asshole reiterated his order from the day before. He had his arms crossed, and his face was set in a grimace. His comment the other day still rang in her ears, and she was certainly not feeling generous. Aelin scowled at him and left them both at the counter without a word.

 It only took a few minutes to make the cocoa. She made every cup from scratch with a recipe she'd been perfecting since childhood. As she prepped the drink, the store bells rang again.

 Turning around with the drink, she spotted her cousin Aedion at the door and smiled.

 She and Aedion had been separated by the system shortly after her parent's death. He was five years older, and their caseworker though Aelin stood a better chance of being adopted by herself. It was a traumatic memory for both of them. They'd found each other about a year ago, and it took little time for them to rekindle their relationship.

 She set the cup on the counter in front of them. "That will be three-fifty." The Asshole raised a pale eyebrow. "My coffee?"

"I have the right to refuse services to anyone I wish. That will be three-fifty." Aelin felt great satisfaction as The Asshole's lips pinched together and his scowl deepened.

 Aedion raised his eyebrow from across the room.

Lysandra chose that moment to walk back in, and when she caught sight of Aelin's expression and saw the seething man in front of her, she hastily made her way over.

"Can I help you?" She asks, looking towards the men. Aelin knew the question was directed at her, though.

 There were a lot of eyes on her. Aedion. Asshole. Handsome Fenrys. Lysandra. Aelin thrived on attention, but there was a difference between attention and being a spectacle. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller and crowded.

 Fenrys placed a hand on the Asshole's shoulder, concerned. "Hey. It's fine. We can get your cup of dirt water somewhere else. It's not a big deal, Rowan."

 Rowan.

 "I am a paying customer," the man, Rowan, gritted through his teeth.

 "You are paying for my coffee and pastries," Aelin snarled. "Your money does not purchase you the right to verbally abuse me.

 Aedion was over in an instant, chest puffed and oozing with male bravado. "Well met, gentleman. I believe my cousin said three-fifty." He edged close enough to bother their personal space. "If it's too difficult for you to figure out, I can help you count your coins and show you the door?"

 At six-two, Aedion was an intimidating figure. He was physically massive—layers of dense muscle from underground fighting and patrolling the streets with his gang, The Bane. An impressive tapestry of ink sprawled across his chest, curling out of his sleeves and collar just enough to let others know it's there. Most people would see him and think twice about approaching him.

 Rowan was taller than Aedion even, and perhaps more muscular as well. They squared up, neither breaking eye contact.

 Fenrys seemed displeased with the turn of events, but when Aedion turned to glare at him, there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. He was next to Rowan in an instant, pushing on his chest. "That's enough of your shit. I'll pay, and we are leaving."

 He fished out five dollars from the pocket of his trousers and tossed it on the counter. "Keep the change. Sorry for disturbing your day, ladies."

 When the shop bells jingled, and the door slammed shut behind them, Aelin sighed and felt herself wilt against the counter. Her breathing was labored, and her heart still thrummed with the excess of adrenalin. She was prepared for a fight. Muscle memory had her tense and ready for the situation to escalate, which of course, it didn't. Old habits died hard, though.

 A steadying hand was gripping her elbow and helping her lean into a solid body. "Hey, Ace. Relax, it's fine."

 Lysandra shook her head, "That was the bastard from yesterday, I am guessing? You should have let me take care of that." She points up the stairs. "Go. You need to take a day off. Upstairs. Make sure she sits down, Aedion."

 "I had it handled," Aelin grumbled, allowing Aedion to tug her towards the stairs in the back of the little kitchen.

 Her cousin snorted, "Oh, I know you can handle yourself. The stress isn't good for Little A, though."

 "You just want to throw your street cred around."

 Aedion laughed, "That too."

 Aelin slumped onto the thread worn couch and tugged at her tennis shoes. She sighed when they finally slipped off, and she could rest her swollen feet on the old coffee table. Their apartment wasn't the luxury she and Lysandra were accustomed to, but it was more of a home than the Mannor had been.

 "You look exhausted," Aedion stated bluntly.

 Aelin closed her eyes and hummed. "Is that the language you use when you talk people into your bed?"

 "Not a lot of talking is required for that," Aedion says with a straight face. "Even if it was, I would be practicing on Lysandra, not you."

 Few words passed between them after that. They weren't necessary. Aelin and Aedion talked and texted all the time, but there were times when they just needed to soak in each other's presence. Years apart starved them of that unspoken bond they'd had as children.

 Being close to Aedion was one of the few things that staved the fear and allowed her to relax. He was like the familiar taste of hot tea and the warmth of a childhood blanket wrapped into one. She had no doubt that Lysandra had called and ordered him to come to see her at some point this morning.

 The Bane typically showed up on Friday nights to play poker at her tables and hang out. Aedion would stay through the weekend, and they would catch up then. An early morning visit on a weekday was out of the ordinary. Occasionally Kyllian or Jerome would pop by and make sure nothing was amiss.

 When Aelin and Lysandra liberated themselves and opened the shop, Aedion had insisted they find a location in The Bane's stomping ground. Arobynn was less likely to stumble across them outside of his territory. She'd seen Tern and Mulligan prowling the streets.

 Arobynn wouldn't let them go so quickly.

 Aelin hadn't wanted Aedion to get involved, but there was no way he would leave them defenseless.

 They compromised.

 Once a month Aelin would donate a small share of The Stag's tips for their protection. It was a pitiful amount. So she also offered her spare bedroom as a hideaway for Aedion's friends who needed a place to lay low. So far, only Ren had utilized it, but it was always ready to go.

 Aelin was by no means someone to screw with. Her other name was just as well known on the streets as The Bane were. It was a good arrangement.

 It's why Rowan had gotten under her skin so badly. She needed those tips to keep The Bane well equipped and for other resources to keep Arobynn out of her hair.

 He didn't know about the baby. Didn't realize the depth of how much Aelin had actually betrayed him. There would be hell to pay if he ever found out.

 Plus, baby shit was expensive.

 "So," Aedion finally broke the silence. "How did you piss off the cops?"

 Wait. "What?" Aelin sat up and leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

 "That was Detective Fenrys. He booked me the last time one of our fights got broken up. Nice guy. Let me out on a technicality." Aedion smiled. "Maybe he just thought I was good looking. He's not wrong. I am assuming the other guy is his partner."

 "They are detectives?" Aelin spat.

 "The best and brightest Orynth has to offer," Aedion ruffled her hair as he stood. "You sure know how to pick your fights, cousin."

 Well shit.

[whitexwingedxdoves]

Scream     part 4

Scream. Part Four: Help Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Platonic Peter Parker x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warning: Swearing, fighting, little fluffy. Summary: Scream pleas with Venom to help her, when he refuses you strike a deal with her. A/N:  Gets a little heated in this one. I’m not sure how many more parts there will be but im excited with what I have planned for this. I barley had time to proof read this one so, sorry if theres any mistakes; Ive been editing my podcast at the same time ha. If you want to be tagged, just ask <3 Master list of chapters

When you finally woke up, you found yourself in what you could only presume was a cell. Though it wasn’t bars and a metal bed, no. It looked comfortable and the walls almost seemed invisible if it wasn’t for the blue hue. What the hell happened.

You stopped panicking long enough to notice Bucky was sat in a chair just outside your cell. You allowed your eyes pan over him for a moment. His body seemed calm but the look on his face screamed worry. “You’re awake” he words were soft and despite your current situation, they made a part of you melt like butter. He pushed himself off the chair taking a few steps closer to your cell. “what-what happened?” you stumbled over your words as they seemed to crack in your throat. You listened to every word that spilt from his lips, explaining how Venom knocked you out, that Venom’s host was called Eddie Brock and despite them both being arseholes, Eddie seemed much more rational. He ended his little speech claiming that they had come up with an agreement, You were to stay with the Avengers, try to control the Symbiote or completely get rid but Tony argued his point of how it had to be your choice and despite Venom’s obvious opposition, Eddie managed to get him on board. You sat with the information you were given for a moment, allowing it to sink in. You clearly had a big choice to make. I want to talk to him.  It sounded like she was crying and instantly broke your heart. “She want’s to talk to him! I want to talk to him” your words seemed a little too stern but you stood your ground. Bucky nodded before leaving the room without another word.

You were only alone for a couple of seconds until a large framed man walked through the sliding doors. You watched the way he carried himself and already you could tell that Bucky was telling the truth, he was an arsehole. He stopped in front of you cell, a smirk etched onto his face which caused your eyes to roll. “She wants to talk to Venom” you demanded, in which he cockily shrugged and instantly morphed into the large Symbiote, it didn’t take long until Scream made her appearance. She was silent for a moment, you could feel your eyes welling up at the emotion she held. “You have to help me” though she stood confidently, her words showed weakness, even more so when he laughed at her. “You have to help me!” she repeated, her words louder now, causing Venom to growl slightly at her. “Help you? Look at you, no amount of help would stop you from being so pathetic” he spat at her, you could feel the anger bubble through your blood as his words cut through you. “You can’t just leave me here like this. We’re suppose to be family!” anyone with ears could hear the pain in her words. “You have to help me understand” she pleaded but you couldn’t take it anymore.

For the first time since she bonded with you, you took control. Forcing yourself to appear, your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at Venom. “Let me talk to Eddie!” you spat at him, your face showing nothing but disgust at the actions of the Klyntar. He laughed before his form shifted back to Eddie. “Can’t you talk to him” you so hoped that he would agree, that he would be the middle man, Scream needed so bad but alas, he just shook his head, a small laugh left his lips. “Look, it’s not my problem, I’ve got better things to do. I can’t babysit yet another Symbiote” he shrugged. Your eyes narrowed at the man as he turned on his heels to leave the room. “You’re both cowards.” You whispered, as he waved you off.

You sat back slight on the bed that was provided in the cell, trying to figure out what to do. You thoughts rushing from one scenario to another. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to let them pull her from you. We can do this together. Despite her silence, you felt her gratitude towards you. If you can promise me, you wont try and kill everyone. I’ll help you, I’ll help you figure it all out! She promised and with that you called to Friday and asked to see Tony.

-

When you told Tony your plan of helping Scream, he was a little unsure but soon came around. You got him to agree to let the part he extracted from you, back into your body so that she could fully bond with you. Once you rested after you felt the rest of Scream find its place in you, you headed towards the gym. You saw Peter go in there not long ago and you figured he would probably be the best bet to help you with these new powers. With each step you could feel Scream getting stronger, it scared you a little, considering how much of a loose cannon she had been but you chose to trust your instinct.

Pushing the door open to the gym, you looked around to spot Peter, sitting on the edge of a boxing ring swinging his legs, listening to Happy drone on about the importance of understanding his strength. The bored expression on the teens face wasn’t lost on you causing you to giggle a little. Both their head snapping towards you before you started taking steps towards them. “Sorry to interrupt the pep talk” you giggled finally reaching them, you hand settled on Happy’s shoulder for a second. “You mind if I steal the kid for a moment?” you questioned he seemed reluctant at first but nodded, realising himself from your touch and throwing a look Peter’s way as if to say their conversation was yet but over.

You waited until the man left the room before turning to boy. Giving him a small smile before propping yourself next to him. “How you feeling?” he questioned, his voice a little shaky. You almost forgot how terrified he looked at you after he first met you. You nodded slowly pressing your lips into a thin line. “Actually, I feel great!” you admitted, placing your palms on your thighs. “I actually came here to ask you a favour!” you’re face scrunched up a little as you awaited his response. “Yeah- yeah sure. What is it?” you allowed a small smile to grace your face as he stumbled over his words. Assuming the boy had been fully informed of the decision you made, you sighed a little. “Well, considering you and Scream seem to share the same sort of... powers, I was hoping you could help me- help her figure them out” your words were slightly unsure of asking him to do such a thing. He took a moment, figuring out his decision before finally nodding, a little too aggressively.

-

You had probably been in the gym with the boy for hours at this point, constantly morphing in and out of your natural form as Peter taught you how to use your powers, the ones he shared with you anyway, despite being completely taken back by the webs that shot from her skin compared to the device he wore to make it happen. You on the other hand experienced scaling the celling for the first time, you couldn’t deny the fear that spread through your entire body, despite not having any control over it. Finally you had completely exhausted yourself but the boy barley broke a sweat, your head snapped at the sound of the door swinging open. Now standing in place of the door was Bucky, laughing slightly at how the two of you contrasted each other. You looked up at him like a saving grace for a moment, thankful to be done with this training experience. You noticed he was holding something in his hand but you couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“I think i’ve taken up too much of your time, Kid!” your words were breathless as you peeled yourself off the canvas you once sat on and patted him on the shoulder. Making your way over to the taller man, with a grateful smile on your face. He greeted you with a sly laugh, slightly mocking the way you obviously couldn’t match Peter’s stamina. Without a word, he held up a DVD case and displayed it on his chest. You’re eyes glossed over it for a moment before returning to his gaze with a rather large smile. “Fight Club?!” mixing you confusion with excitement as he escorted you out of the room. “Yeah, figure you’ve had a long day and you seemed almost offended knowing I haven’t seen it yet” a light chuckle left his lips as you both made your way towards your rooms. You didn’t say much of anything else before you reached your room, you told him you just needed to shower and signalled to the beads of sweat rolling across your body, he nodded and made his way to his room leaving you to do just that.

After you felt sufficiently clean and swapped your clothes for some that laid spare in one of the dressers, you made your way to Bucky’s room, lightly brushing your knuckles over the door. It took a couple of seconds before he answered with that forced smile of his. Though you knew it was genuine you couldn’t help but wonder if after all this time he’d simply forgotten how to smile. He lead you towards the bed before handing you a beer. You took in the sight of his dark room for a second before pressing the bottle on your lips, allowing the cold liquid run down your throat. You watched him fumble around with the DVD case attempting to figure out how his TV even worked. You didn’t offer any help, it was far too entertaining to get involved.

Finally he conquered the TV and sat back on his bed, holding onto the remote. He patted the mattress beside him, signalling you to climb on and you did just that. You allowed your body to curl up as you rested your back on the headrest of the bed, slightly turned in Bucky’s direction, resting the cold bottle on your thigh. When he noticed you had gotten comfortable, he pressed play and relaxed himself. You couldn’t help yourself looking at him every time something good was about to happen, needing to take in his reaction and never being disappointed. Every so often, he’d catch your gaze but instead of commenting on it, he’d ask about the plot line or one of the actor’s. You where taken back a little as he reacted the same way you did when Brad Pitt appeared on screen with nothing on but washing up gloves but it only made you laugh.

-

With your beer’s finished and the room now filled with the sound of Where is my mind by the pixies, you allowed yourself to stretch out a little. “So...” you pestered the older man, nudging him slightly with your knee. He just nodded in response, looking up at you. “Good, hu?” you giggled slightly placing the empty bottle on his night stand. You listened to the song for a moment, unintentionally singing along as you seemed distracted. You snapped back to reality as you felt eyes on you, looking up at Bucky, you couldn’t help but note how incredibly handsome he was in this moment. The way his eyes seemed to soak you up, the smile that got a little more natural every time he allowed one to pass. “Thank you” you whispered softly, slightly taken back by the way he looked at you. You’re eyes now filled with admiration for the man, you admired how he took the time out of his own busy day to make yours a little easier. He just shook his head at your words, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. The air suddenly feeling far to thick for your lungs as he got closer and closer to your face. The heat radiated off your cheeks as you felt his breath blow on you hair gently, each strand slightly tickling your face. Before you could even register what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. You didn’t react at first, taken back by the sudden gesture but as soon as you managed to wrap your head around it, you leaned into his lips kissing him back a little more hungrily than it started. You felt his arm wrap around your waist pushing you on your back gently as he hovered over you. Your hands explored his hair, grasping at it a little as he laid you down so delicately. Your breathing became short and restless as his hands explored the rest of your body, tickling slightly as he allowed his finger tips to tease the hem of your shirt. Oh, that’s hot!

Startled by the voice in your head, you pulled away from a moment only to receive a confused look from Bucky, attempting to ignore it, you pulled him back to your lips, easily falling back into his grasp. I wonder what he does with the metal arm. You groaned slightly at the voice in your head, praying and begging she would just leave, let you have your moment. Of course she didn’t, every so often she would say something to pull you from the moment until you had, had enough. Finally you pushed away from Bucky completely. “Go away!” you shouted, your hands resting on your temples. Bucky seemed a little taken back by your sudden out burst, sitting up right on the bed. “I thought you wanted to –“ he started before you turned your attention to him, a defeated look on your face. “No, I do – I really do but” now turning away from him, you could feel your face getting slightly flushed. “She keeps talking to me” you admitted only to be met with his laugh. You felt the weight of the mattress shift as he made his way closer to you, you felt the strap of your shirt fall onto your forearm before the sensation of the cold kisses he planted in it place, slowly making his way to your ear. “I know how we can shut her up”

tag list :  @sadbutradbarnes @sweetdayme4427​

[halstudandruz]

Always Have, Always Will ~ Part 3

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Sequel to Part 1 & Part 2

Warnings: Swearing

It had been about a month since Will found out. He avoided you and Jay at all costs only talking to you when he absolutely had to at work and you still felt just as guilty as before. Which only caused you to get into your own head. Yeah, you loved Jay but was it just the old Jay you loved? You both were different people now and that scared the hell out of you.

“Jay, do you want olives?” You yelled from the kitchen pulling the jar out when he came walking.

“No, I hate olives.” He answered coming up to wrap his arms around your waist.

“What?” You asked after a few seconds of silence.

“I hate olives, and so do you. Why do you even have them?” He asked, but you went stiff in his grip.

“Cause you love them, what do you mean you hate olives? You used to eat a jar a day.” You explained grabbing a hold of his wrists to loosen his arms around you.

“I know, that probably wasn’t good for my blood pressure. They got a little old after eating them so much.” He chuckled.

“But..what about the olive theory?” You turned to face him and a confused look came over his face.

“Why do you look like you're about to have a meltdown over olives?” He looked at you concerned taking in your features. Your mind was running rapidly, your chest starting to tighten.

“Because I am!” You exclaimed causing Jay to take a step back to get a good look at you by putting space between the two of you.

“Babe-“ He started going to grab your shoulders but you shrugged him off.

“I just..I need a minute.” You shook your head slipping past him into your room to shut the door. Tears were crowding your eyes and you were starting to breathe harder pacing around the room when Jay quietly earned.

“Babe. [Y/N]. Hey, come here. Talk to me.” He reached for you, setting you down on the bed beside him as you stared down at your shaking hands, “what’s going on?” His hand ran through your hair.

“I’m just scared. Terrified actually.” You admitted glancing at him.

“Of what?” He questioned grabbing a hold of your hands, steadying them.

“It’s just...we’re such different people now. Ya know? I feel like I know nothing about you.” You explained.

“[Y/N]..” Jay sighed.

“No, I’m serious. You’ve gone through things I can’t even begin to fathom. I mean obviously that has to change you, right? We’re not these teenagers who were clueless about the real world anymore. What..what if the people we are today just don’t fit like we used to?” You looked down into your lap, and were surprised to hear a small laugh come from Jay.

“Look here,” he whispered tilting my chin up with a finger, “no, we aren’t the same people we used to be, and yes we have a lot to learn about each other again. A lot of stories to catch up on, but we’re only the people we are today because of those clueless 18 year olds. We may have been through some shit since then, but I know with my whole heart you are still that stubborn, smart, gorgeous girl I fell in love with and that is the part of you I know I’ll always have.” He smirked at you, palm against your cheek.

“What if I can’t save you from everything you’ve gone through?” You worried.

“Baby girl, I don’t expect you to save me from anything. I just need you here that’s it and I know everything will be okay as long as I have that.” He assured you.

“I love you Jay Halstead.” You bit your lip.

“Even if I don’t like olives anymore?” He joked making you giggle.

“Even if you don’t like olives anymore.” You nodded leaning into to kiss him deeply, breaking when his phone began to ring. Sighing moved to dig it out of his pocket,

“I swear I’m gonna get rid of these.” He complained before answering, “What? Yes. Okay see you soon.” You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Ruzek said they’re on their way to Molly’s.” He explained kissing your forehead as you nodded both moving around to change before going to meet with his team.

It was the first time you were actually going to be around them so you were sufficiently nervous walking over to their table Jay’s hands clasped tightly with yours.

“Hey, wait I know you!” Mouse looked at you intently.

“What? You sleep with Greg too?” Erin asked eyes on you.

“I-I uhm no?” You choked out nervously under her intense gaze, only relaxing a little when a smile took over her face.

“I’m kidding, come on sit down.” She patted the seat beside her.

“You’re the girl from the picture.” Mouse continued his thought.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“Mouse.” Jay jumped in giving him a hard stare that seemed to be some kind of warning.

“But it’s her isn’t it?” He defended pointing at you.

“Mouse. Drop it.” Jay scolded. Causing Mouse to put his hands up defensively nodding his head. You knew better than to push with Jay sitting there so you dropped it as well falling into conversation with those around you. Well until Jay went to get drinks and the rest of the team dispersed to mingle, leaving you alone with Greg.

“So, spill.” You rested your head on your hands smirking at Mouse once it was just the two of you.

“Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed Jay could probably break me in two.” Mouse raised an eyebrow at you.

���Maybe, but then I’d yell at him so it wouldn’t really be worth it.” You shrugged sighing loudly Mouse looked over his shoulder to see Adam and Jay still standing at the bar.

“Okay, he just..he had this picture the entire time we were in the army. Never left it alone, always had it in his pocket. You know like most guys do. Have pictures of their family and girlfriends. Anyway he was so attached to it one night we thought it’d be funny to take it and hide it when he was showering. No big deal right? He can just get someone to send him another. But he freaked. Said he couldn’t get another, tore his bed apart. I’m his best friend and anytime I asked he just avoided the conversation. We just figured you died or something.” He explained shrugging.

“Alive and in the flesh.” You joked just as Jay arrived with your drinks,

“What were you talking about?” He questioned looking between you two suspiciously.

“Football.” You both answered at the same time giving each other a surprised look. You were going to like this kid.

An hour or so later you had come out of the bathroom just in time to bump right into Will, who was coming back the hall. Laughing bitterly he shook his head turning to go right back where he came from,

“Wait no! Will just..” You begged, grabbing a hold of his arm which was tense underneath your fingers. He turned to face you, jaw tight, body stiff. “Listen I know you’re mad and you have every right to be. Hate me all you want, but don’t hate Jay, please. He’s your brother.” You pleaded.

“That’s exactly the issue, [Y/N]. He’s my brother and he had no problem stabbing me in the back.” He shot back, anger clear in his tone.

”You know as well as I do that every morning he wakes up it might be his last. He’s really not all that careful.” You admitted blinking down at the floor, voice shaky. Sighing loudly Will ran a hand through his hair,

“I’m still so pissed. At both of you, but Jay’s right I played a part in this too. I should’ve been upfront and honest with both of you and I wasn’t. I knew in the back of my head something like this was going to happen. I’m not stupid [Y/N]. I could clearly see you never felt about me the way you did about him, and you were never going to. It wasn’t fair of me to expect you to, and it wasn’t fair of me to put you in that position that day at the hospital. It was petty of me.” Nodding you reached for his hand,

“I’m really sorry.” You apologized looking at his now relaxed face.

“Me too,” He gave you a small smile.

“You want to grab a drink with us? I’ll buy.” You bit your lip making him laugh,

“Yeah I’m not quite ready for that yet, give me another couple months.” He winked at you, squeezing your hand before turning to walk away. Swallowing hard you closed your eyes to run a hand down your face before feeling strong arms encircle you,

“If you wanted a quickie in the bathroom you could’ve just come and got me.” Jay whispered into your ear making you jump.

“Where’d you come from?” You asked, turning to face him.

“Well I came to find you and saw you talking to Will. So, I kinda avoided that one. Trying to explain black eyes aren’t as fun as it may seem.” He chuckled, “How’d it go?” He asked looking down at you.

“Pretty well actually.” You admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“He still pissed?” Jay questioned

“Well yeah, but I think it’s gonna be okay.” You smiled up at him.

“How couldn’t it be when I have you in my arms?” He grinned tilting your chin up to place a soft kiss on your lips, “Ready to go?” Nodding you grabbed his hand letting him lead you out of the bar after saying goodbyes to his friends. Jay grabbing your hand over the center console as you headed to his place,

“So like Kim and Adam are totally boning right?” You started the conversation.

“What?” Jay looked at you confused.

“Are they not dating?” You questioned.

“They were engaged actually, but then they broke up.” He explained.

“So friends with benefits then?” You negotiated, they were definitely still sleeping with each other, there are few things better than your girl instinct and you very clearly saw the looks they shot each other all night.

“What? No, they’re broken up.” He reiterated.

“Honey, you may be one hell of a detective but you don’t always have the best intuition.” You joked as silence filled the car for a couple minutes before Jay broke it again,

“Oh my god, they’re totally still fucking.” Jay looked over at you wide eyed causing your laugh to fill the truck.

Crawling into bed with Jay that night you wrapped your body comfortably around his listening to his heart beat against your ear, and that’s when you decided to take the leap.

“Do you still have it?” You wondered.

“Have what?” Jay looked down at you skeptical look on his face.

“The picture.” You answered.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Jay sighed moving to grab his phone but you snatched it away from him giving him a look,

“Why didn’t you ever tell him about me?”

“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.” He shrugged, and even in the dimly lit room you could see the pink tint on his cheeks.

“Loving me is embarrassing?” You replied.

“You know that’s not what I mean. It’s just..everyone carries around pictures of their wives and their kids and I just have one of my ex girlfriend. Then I’d have to be the one who admitted I broke up with you. Relive the biggest mistake of my life. Have to listen to all the guys make fun of me and call me an idiot, because I was. I don’t know it was just a conversation I didn’t want to have.” He confessed.

“Well..do you?” You asked again.

“Yes, of course I still have it.” He chuckled.

“Can I see it?” Beg coming out a little, huffing Jay unwrapped himself from your walking to his dresser to retrieve his wallet. Laying back down beside you he opened it pulling out numerous cards before the picture emerged behind them. Handing it to you.

“I completely forgot about this picture.” You admired it, torn edges, little tears along the side, color faded showing the wear it had been through.

“It’s always been my favorite.” He smiled lovingly.

“Why?”

“It’s not posed. It’s not fake. It’s just us and we look so happy. Like nothing in the world could ever stop us. Get in the way of us, but then...I let it.” Jay explained. You remembered the day it was taken very clearly. Seated on Jay’s lap in his backyard as he sang to you the song that was playing on their old radio, Jay’s mom sneaking up on you to capture the moment.

“Jay.” You sighed, grabbing a hold of his hand to entwine your fingers with his.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry I pushed you away. I just was doing what I thought was best for you regardless of how much it might’ve hurt at the time, but then I never stopped. Every time I thought of you, it just...hurt the exact same as it did the day I left, and I swear god my life flashed before my eyes whenever I watched Will put his arm around you.” He shook his head, jealousy seeping into his voice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was hoping if I faked it then it would somehow become real and I wouldn’t have to miss you anymore.” You admitted.

“I’m just glad you came back to me.” He said brushing a piece of hair beside your ear.

“Why do you still carry it around?” You wondered.

“Regardless if I’m over there or here it’s still the only thing that got me through.” He grinned leaving a gentle kiss on your lips.

“You know I could’ve been married. You could’ve been jacking off to a picture of some other guy's wife.” You teased.

“Haha, you’re so funny.” Jay said sarcastically, rolling his eyes before flipping you underneath him to cover your face and neck in kisses causing you to laugh loudly as the picture fell out of your hand onto the floor. He didn’t really need it anymore. He had the real thing in front of him again to help him through whatever he may face.

All Tag List:

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[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: It's a hanahaki fic, so. Mild body horror, blood, respiratory illness. (Starts at Ch 3 and gets worse from there).

Characters: All

Pairing: Moceit

Additional Notes: This one was supposed to be Darker and Longer, but turns out I'm not in the headspace to write angst atm, so it ends up moving p fast. Swaps between Janus and Patton's POVs. Post-PoF, light angst. Not whump. They both get hanahaki, but there is absolutely no version of Moceit in my mind where Janus isn't the one who falls first. My AO3 username is WizatdGlick.

Summary: The story of how Janus and Patton find each other at rock bottom and fall in love anyway.

A gentle knock on Janus' door drew him out of his thoughts. He donned a mask of triumph as he rose to open it, straightening his hat as he went. It couldn't be Remus; Remus never knocked so softly, which meant that Janus had to perform. He slid into the role with difficulty, struggling to find the edges of this gloating persona when all he felt was numb and tired and lost.

It was Patton at the door, and Janus felt everything slip, and Patton's eyes lit up with recognition, and all of Janus' resolve fell away in the face of that beseeching gaze.

"Come for another debate?" Janus asked in a low voice, making no effort to hide his ironical smile.

Patton smiled too, though he dropped it a moment too soon. Janus got the distinct impression that Patton was also far too wrung-out to put on any kind of act tonight. "Just came to check on you."

It would be as natural as breathing for Janus to draw back, place his fingertips delicately to his chest, widen his eyes. ' Check on me?' he would say, all faux-innocence, ' Please, Patton, I'm not a child. I don't need your pity.'

But he didn't.

Here was Patton, reaching out, and hadn't that been what Janus had wanted all along? That tiny, fervent flame that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge, that smallest ember of hope that someone might just give him what he was convinced he had to take.

The seconds stretched out until the silence verged on awkward, and Janus' pride stood up to do what his cunning would not: "I'm fine." He was fine, strangely. Not happy, as he perhaps should have been, but nothing hurt.

Patton's brow furrowed. "Am I supposed to believe that?" he asked gently.

Something warm and soft and dangerous bloomed in Janus' chest at Patton's look of confusion. He had freckles on his nose, scattered like spilled cinnamon: a trait assigned by Thomas’ subconscious. "Patton," Janus said, flicking his gaze upwards to meet Patton's eyes. "Would you like to come in?"

"To your room ?" Patton asked, eyes widening. He looked past Janus' shoulder and Janus fought not to move and block Patton's gaze with his body. He had just invited Patton in; there was no point getting shy now. "Won't that, y'know, do something to me?"

"It's just a matter of self-control," Janus said, hoping to get a smile out of Patton.

Sure enough, Patton did smile. "What color is my shirt?"

Janus said, "True blue," and stepped backwards to let Patton in.

It was a risk to bring someone into his room like this, but he felt unusually clear-headed tonight, calm and strangely secure despite the fact he had just let a known enemy past his defenses, and despite the exhaustion that made every breath feel heavy.

"Warm in here," Patton remarked, looking around.

Janus motioned him over to a set of armchairs. To be seen was to be judged, and he wasn't sure what he would do if Patton found him lacking again . "I have a question for you, Patton."

In the low light, the tear tracks on Patton's cheeks glimmered when he tilted his head inquisitively. "You do?"

Janus nodded, slow and calculated. He was sure he already knew the answer to the question, and preemptive anger bubbled thick and hot in his veins. "Who," he said, unable to keep from glaring, "came to check on you?"

"Well," said Patton, "Ah… They don't-- Everyone's upset right now--"

"And you're not?" Janus demanded. "And don't you dare tell me that you're fine." His emotions were running too hot; he needed to check himself, but seeing Patton make excuses filled him with a passion he'd only ever felt on Thomas' behalf.

"I am--"

"Don't."

"But I have to be," Patton whispered. "I can't-- I know they told me… They said it was okay for me to be sad, but--"

"If you fall apart, there's no one there to pick up the pieces," Janus guessed. "Sure, you can be sad, as long as it doesn't interfere with your role."

"Don't be mad at them," Patton pleaded, and Janus realized with a jolt that he would get into no one's good graces by slinging around insults.

"It's just hard," Janus said plainly, only half-noticing the words coming out of his mouth. He had just become aware of a keen and sickening new desire, borne on the back of a newfound respect for Patton that he had even lasted this long without having some sort of spectacular breakdown. Janus' whole chest ached with it, that and the equally sickening knowledge that he had just become horrifically vulnerable, that he had fallen under a spell he could never hope to break.

He saw it in his mind's eye: he saw himself stand and lean over, take Patton's jaw in his hands, kiss him long and deep and slow. He saw himself lay his body and soul bare before Patton, getting on his knees to forgive Patton all his perceived flaws. He meant well, after all. He only ever meant well, and it wasn't really his fault that those good intentions were capable of morphing into a cruel and deadly weapon.

But he would plunge that weapon straight into Janus' heart before their lips could ever even meet. Janus could see it now, Patton pulling away in confusion and disgust. His tenuous patience would give out then and there, and Janus would have no hope of acceptance ever again. Same for Remus, probably. They would remain Dark Sides forever, damned to be eternal outcasts. All thanks to Janus' pathetic inability to control himself.

"Why do you care so much about…" Patton hesitated for a moment and gave a shallow sigh. "Well, about me?"

And now Janus found himself walking a chasm’s edge. His instinct was to lean hard into the opposite of the truth and insult Patton so deeply that he left and never came back. Eliminate the threat. But that wasn't an option now of all times. No, he had to maintain a friendship with Patton, somehow. He had to keep himself under control. How fun. "You're a part of Thomas," Janus said. He paused.

"So are the others."

"You've earned my respect."

"Oh," said Patton. "Wow, um. Gosh, that's…" His lower lip trembled. "I should go," he said in a broken voice.

Janus surveyed him in silent agony, teetering on the precipice of a lie. With a monumental effort, he pulled himself away from it and opened his arms. "Come here."

The floodgates opened. Patton fell into Janus' lap, already sobbing. Janus held him, all his muscles stiff and awkward. He was much smaller in the mindscape than he was in Thomas’ eyes and it was difficult to support Patton’s much larger frame. A sharp pain flared in Janus’ collarbone where Patton had buried his forehead and his tears were already starting to seep through Janus' clothes. He cringed at himself and the absurdity of the situation, wishing he had some way to make it better. He should have had words for this, all the right words to soothe away Patton's worries and set him right again. But he was so tired.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Patton said through shuddering sobs that dug his forehead harder into Janus' clavicle.

"It's okay," Janus said, concentrating hard on keeping the effects of his room at bay.

"Are you--" Patton sniffled " --sure you're okay?"

A rush of affection melted Janus' heart and he sighed and held Patton closer despite the shooting pain in his collarbone and the ache in his arms. Even in the midst of a post-breakdown breakdown, Patton was self-sacrificing (self- destructive) enough to check in on him. "You don't have a selfish bone in your body, do you?" Janus sighed, lamenting Patton’s bleeding heart. For some reason, this only made Patton cry harder. Janus cast his mind back to the last time Remus was this upset, found nothing, had to speculate. He and Remus and Virgil were self-sufficient, secretive. When it came to personal crises, they weathered them alone and bore the aftermath in stoicism. "Do you want me to play with your hair?"

"I don't know," Patton sobbed into Janus' chest.

Janus sighed and began to run his fingers through Patton's honey-colored hair, grateful that the thick material of his gloves kept their skin from touching. It was better this way, and a good reminder for Janus. He guarded his heart so closely for a reason.

 

Janus, despite the discomfort from the awkward weight distribution and the clammy feeling of cooled tears on his shirt, was half-asleep in the chair by the time Patton stopped crying.

"Sorry," Patton said, pulling away, and even with snot and tears all over his flushed cheeks, even with his eyes all red and puffy behind his fogged-up glasses and his hair standing up at strange diagonals from Janus' attempts at comfort, he was radiant.

"For having feelings?" Janus asked, gently imaging himself into a new, dry shirt.

"For making them your problem." Patton took his glasses off and began to polish them on the hem of his own shirt.

"Patton, I need you to know this." Janus waited until Patton looked at him before continuing, "I owe you nothing. If I had wanted you to leave, I would have asked you to leave and thought nothing of it."

Patton nodded and went back to polishing his glasses. They were silent for a long moment, during which Janus found himself unable to suppress a series of yawns. It must have been around 4:00 in the morning by this point. They had to have been the only ones awake.

"Hey, Janus," Patton said, finally putting his glasses back on. "You know The Breakfast Club?"

"Yes," Janus said distractedly, trying to figure out where Patton was going with this.

"This wasn't our version of that, was it?"

"What do you mean?"

"When tomorrow comes and we're back to, to some sort of normal… You'll still be my friend, right?"

Now here was a situation Janus had never once envisioned for himself. He had pictured winning over Roman, had pictured gaining Thomas' support. Never once had he expected real friendship with any of them, let alone Patton. "Yes," he said, feeling sick at the irony of it. He had been comfortable as Patton's enemy, was now yearning for his kiss… How could he be friends with Patton when he burned like this for Patton's wholehearted affection? Was he really just supposed to endure it?

Patton smiled, so sweet and earnest that Janus had to bite down on his tongue. "Good," he said. "Speaking of, do you wanna have breakfast with me?"

"Not right now, I hope," Janus teased.

"No, no, not right now." Patton muffled a yawn into his sleeve. "I guess I'd better go."

Janus nodded. "See you in the morning?"

"Um," said Patton, who didn't appear to have been listening. "Thank you, Janus. You didn't have to-- Well, thank you."

He sank out without another word.

Janus imagined himself into his pajamas, imagined the lights off and threw himself onto his bed. "Fuck."

 

--

 

Frigid air seeped from the hallway seeped under the crack where Janus' door stopped just short of the carpet. He didn't allow himself to notice, and continued to put his outfit on piece by agonizing piece. The cold air made his joints slow and achy, and he struggled to get the clasps done up. It was just as well that he hadn't put on his gloves yet. He had become quite adept at handling things while wearing them, but for this task, the bulky fabric would only get in the way. After all, just like his singular snake fang, his gloves were for aesthetics, not function.

Finally, he donned his hat and faced the door, forced to confront that fatal truth: He could never have what he wanted. The moment he had achieved his goal of Thomas’ acceptance, the triumph had slipped away in his hands to be replaced with a truly unattainable goal.

Memories from last night, the phantom sensation of Patton in his arms, teased him until he had to sneer at himself. Pathetic. He was acting pathetic. Falling for Patton was strategically inadvisable, even if he couldn’t help it, but actively pursuing him was out of the question. It was all-risk, no reward. Still, his treacherous heart fluttered, teasing him with the thought of Patton’s lips on his own, Patton’s hands on his body, sharing heat, deepening the kiss--

“All risk,” Janus said out loud to himself, “no reward.” A mantra to see him through. He opened his door, his gloved hand slipping a little on the polished brass of his doorknob, and nearly walked straight into Remus as he passed by with an armful of dismembered dolls.

“Well,” said Janus, tilting his head to better examine the pile of plastic limbs and bodies in Remus’ arms, “I won’t ask what you’re up to.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand, visualizing a piping hot cup of coffee. A shudder wrecked his concentration and he frowned. “Are you the reason it’s so cold in here?”

Remus ignored the question, his feverish eyes darting from Janus’ mouth to his hand to his face. “I knew you were up late last night. That’s why I came this way.” He gave a crooked but strangely boyish grin. “I wanted to know where you’d gotten off to. Or who you’d gotten off with. ”

Janus, to his horror, blushed. Fragmented images flashed through his head-- What if he had kissed Patton? And Patton had kissed back? Mask, mask, mask! “I was spreading the Gospel.”

“You were spreading something , though, weren’t you?” Remus shifted the dolls in his arms and held up a masculine torso. “I know I heard Big Daddy’s voice. Play a little game of Patton- Snake , did you?”

Janus swore he could hear porcelain cracking as his heart began to race. “In all seriousness, Remus, we did reach an agreement.”

“Sounds like you reached more than that.” Remus waggled his tongue.

God, he was relentless when he was on the scent of something. Janus hid his face behind his hands, realizing a moment too late that this display of shame would only add fuel to the fire. So he took the only option left and muttered, “Boundaries,” into his palms.

“Oh,” said Remus, leaning back on his heels. “ Oh. Janus, you didn’t .”

“Of course we didn't!” Janus hissed, dropping his hands.

"But you wanted to?"

“How much did you hear yesterday, anyway?”

“Oh, I heard the whole debacle, including that heartwarming little moment at the end,” Remus said, rocking forward onto his toes. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me, by the way.”

They fell into an awkward silence as Janus once again reached for words that simply weren’t there. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, cursing himself.

“No?” said Remus. “Not even a teeny tiny little bit?” He poked Janus in the chest with the plastic torso, still clenched in his left hand. “Right here?”

“You,” said Janus, “are just as evil as I am.”

Remus backed off with a grin, leaving Janus in doubt that he had ever even been angry in the first place. “So where are you off to now? Roman’s got this place awfully cold; gonna go warm Patton’s snake?”

“You already made a ‘Patton snake’ joke,” Janus said, slamming another mask onto his face to hide his blush. “But to answer your question, he asked me to join him for breakfast.”

“Aww.” Remus wiped fake tears from his cheeks. “You better not start spending too much time with him or I’m going to get jealous.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Baxia and NHS.

Author’s note: this fic ended up having virtually no NHS, sorry

-

“This isn’t right,” Wei Wuxian said. “This isn’t how it should go – you’re not even supposed to be here!”

Nie Mingjue huffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes only because he needed them pinned on the murderous battlefield the Lotus Pier had become. “No one can predict the future,” he said shortly, and stepped out into the hallway, Baxia lifted high, and another four Wen soldiers’ lives came to an end. “To think that you can is arrogance.”

“You don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian insisted, and honestly, if he hadn’t made himself extremely useful both as guide and back-up, Nie Mingjue would have sent him away long ago to spare himself the headache. “It’s not – you might die here.”

He sounded upset about that. It was flattering, given that they’d never spent any time together before now; he must be basing his impression entirely on Nie Mingjue’s reputation.

Flattered or not, Nie Mingjue still wasn’t very impressed right now. “That’s a risk you take when you fight, yes. Don’t blame yourself – there was no way to predict when the Wens were going to attack, or where; they could have just as easily have come to Qinghe.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to get close,” Wei Wuxian muttered, and that was flattering, too. “It’s just – it’s too early. We should have had another few months!”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t aware the Jiang sect had been taking the threat of Wen aggression so seriously that they’d been making estimates, but it was all for the best. 

Maybe it would help them in the war to come.

“Anyone who says they can see the future is being lied to,” he said. “Man plans and the Heavens overturn; that is the way of things. Anyway, you’re not wrong: it probably would have been later, should have been later, but they were robbed of their victory at the Cloud Recesses. There’s no satisfaction in burning empty buildings with all the treasures and people gone, no victory in it – it’s no wonder they accelerated.”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken by the thought.

“Cheer up,” Nie Mingjue said. “The Jiang sect will survive. That will be bad news for the Wens.”

Jiang Fengmian might be mild-mannered to the point of weakness, but he was an excellent cultivator, and of course Madame Yu’s fearsome reputation had been well earned. After this, they would have no choice but to be on the front lines.

“But you might not,” Wei Wuxian said again.

“A worthwhile trade,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian gawked at him. “Haven’t you noticed that they’re following us? Dozens if not hundreds of Jiang sect cultivators that might otherwise have been put to the sword will be able to escape, and between all those lives and one, even my own, which one do you think will be more useful in winning the war?”

“You,” Wei Wuxian said. “You and your Nie sect, holding down Heijan like an iron wall for the Wen sect to waste its strength against.”

Was Wei Wuxian a fan?

Bizarre.

“I appreciate your confidence in my necessity,” he said, and ducked into another small nook when a group of Wen soldiers too large to easily handle ran by. The momentary rest was welcome. “And if it makes you feel better, they’re not aiming to kill me.”

“They’re not?” Wei Wuxian asked, appearing like a ghost in front of one of the sentries to slit his throat. He was surprisingly adept in the arts of warring in confined spaces, the ambush and the merciless kill; it almost made one wonder what purpose the Jiang sect had for him.

“With these numbers, if they wanted us dead, we’d be dead,” Nie Mingjue said. They’d lasted a good while longer than he’d expected, actually, a tribute to Wei Wuxian knowing how to get through the Lotus Pier in a thousand unexpected ways and their united strength, but even that was flagging: he had cuts and bruises in a hundred places, some more critical than others, and Wei Wuxian for all his pointless complaining wasn’t doing that great either. Perhaps his nattering was his way of distracting himself from their imminent fate. “I’ve humiliated Wen Xu before. Wen Chao wouldn’t be able to resist the thought of capturing me – and when he does, it’ll be the Core-Melting Hand.”

A sharp intake of air.

“Are you sure? I can understanding wanting to take you prisoner, but…”

“If he doesn’t think of it himself, I’ll make sure he does,” Nie Mingjue said, and ignored how Baxia grew warm with rage in his hand. He flipped back his sleeve and dipping his fingers into the blood seeping out of wound in his chest – an arrow that had come too close – and began drawing on his right hand with his left. “There are worse fates out there.”

“But –”

“Normal people die faster,” Nie Mingjue said, choosing the least traumatic of the possible reasons. Wei Wuxian was young; he didn’t need to know the worst of Wen Ruohan’s wretchedness. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation was too high and too compatible with Wen Ruohan’s own: his fate, if he were to go to the Nightless City intact, would not be so easy as death. He was counting on Wen Chao not knowing anything about his father’s most vile preferences, or possibly just being too stupid to think about them. “That’ll be an advantage. But more importantly, losing my cultivation renders me immediately ineligible to be Sect Leader, and my value as a hostage will be significantly reduced.”

Wei Wuxian looked shaken by Nie Mingjue’s practicality. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and then focused again, this time on the bloody array making its way up Nie Mingjue’s arm to the elbow and down to the backs of his fingers. “What are you doing?”

“A legacy,” Nie Mingjue said, even as Baxia screamed in his mind like metal scraping against stone. “For my brother. He’ll need all the help he can get…speaking of which, it’s time for you to go.”

“What?”

“The Wen sect isn’t looking for you, however much you irritated Wen Chao,” Nie Mingjue said. “It’s always been my plan to ensure you got away clearly before I was captured – and it’s nearly time, now. No man can fight an army alone.”

His body burned, exhausted and worn out from the hours of fighting; he’d done as much as he could, and everything else left in him was for Huaisang, who deserved better than to be made Sect Leader too young the way Nie Mingjue had. He had hoped to spare him that, but if he couldn’t do that much – he could at least do this one thing.

This one terrible thing, forbidden by his ancestors, abominable anathema – but there was little Nie Mingjue would not do for his brother, and he had faith even if he had no hope.  

Baxia was fighting him over it, resistant and rebellious in a way she hadn’t been since the first time he’d mastered her – the first time he imposed his will on hers, making the inexorable bend before him. They had been partners after that, and that was how he preferred it; but in the end he was the master, as it had to be, and she could not stop him.

“You should go,” he said again to Wei Wuxian. “If you get caught, what’s the point?”

Wei Wuxian’s hands were shaking, but he nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if he were responsible for this somehow. “Thank you.”

And then he was gone.

What a ridiculous young man.

Baxia was biting him, causing his palm to bleed, trying to mess up his design – urging him to fight instead, to fight kill slaughter a way out, any way out.

“I’ll try,” he yielded enough to promise her. He needed to stay on her good side, after all; the array wouldn’t work without her. “I’ll give it a try, with all my strength.”

He did.

It wasn’t enough.

No man can fight an army.

In the end, he’s forced down on his knees, as he’d expected, Wen Chao standing in front of him at a more-than-sufficient distance as if he was afraid Nie Mingjue would leap up and stab him even with four people and suppression array fierce enough to bring down a ghost general holding him down.

He was probably right.

“You’re a coward,” he told him, and Wen Chao laughed nervously. “A coward, and a fool.”

“Well, he caught you, didn’t he?” Wang Lingjiao snapped, her voice shrill with nervousness, and a single glare was enough to have her cowering backwards. “He did! Wen-er-gongzi, you’re a hero!”

No one believed her, not even Wen Chao, but with an effort he puffed himself up anyway. “You shouldn’t have stood against my Wen sect,” he said, aiming for lofty and mostly coming off as cheap. “This is a just punishment.”

The Wen sect would paint the ground blue and the sky green if it got them what they wanted, and Nie Mingjue snorted in disgust, closing his eyes for a moment to find the trigger for the array painted onto his saber arm.

It burned.

Baxia, kicked across the room to get her away from him, seethed. Still not assuaged, still unhappy, still rebellious – but he did try to escape. It wasn’t his fault that he was only human.

It burned.

“Wen Zhuliu,” Wen Chao ordered, as Nie Mingjue knew that he would. “Let’s see how the esteemed Sect Leader Nie likes it when there’s nothing left of his oh-so-great cultivation. When he’s nothing.”

It burned.

Nie Mingjue smiled through the pain, baring his teeth at the cautious approach of Wen Zhuliu. “No matter what I am,” he said, “I am enough to terrify your nightmares.”

“Not for long,” Wen Chao shouted, which was admission enough. “Wen Zhuliu! Do it!”

Nie Mingjue’s cultivation was usually like a mighty river, rushing through his veins – to feel it spill out of order, pouring out of his body and into the array in his arm, was painful to the extreme, like bleeding out but worse. But it had been long enough, he had distracted them long enough.

Nie Mingjue hoped that it would be enough. 

By the time Wen Zhuliu put his hand on his shoulder, reaching down for his dantian, the river had become little more than a trickle.

Wen Zhuliu’s stone face cracked in two.

“What? What is it?” Wen Chao demanded, realizing something was wrong from the look on his retainer’s face. “What did the bastard do?!”

“I don’t know,” Wen Zhuliu said slowly. “But – his cultivation. There’s almost nothing left of it, and his meridians are all burned and twisted…his golden core is faint enough to be almost hollow.”

“That’s impossible,” Wen Chao scoffed. “Everyone knows how powerful Sect Leader Nie is! Even my father…what did he do? How did he – why did he –?”

He stopped, shook his head.

“It’s a trick,” he decided. “Do it anyway. I want to make sure there’s nothing left of him –”

There was a scream.

It sounded like metal against stone, harsh and ringing and shrill; it sounded like rage.

It sounded like hope.

Nie Mingjue smiled, a real smile his time, and shut his eyes.

Everyone else in the room turned to look.

It was the last mistake they made.

Nie Mingjue only opened his eyes again when a hand landed on his shoulder and fiercely shook him as if he were a disobedient kitten, and when he opened his eyes there was a woman glaring death down at him. She was tall, her features more fierce than beautiful, and she was dressed only in blood and guts.

“I knew you’d be lovely,” he said.

She smacked him in the face, hard enough that his head was ringing, and snarled wordlessly at him. There was nothing but rage in her face, in her eyes; the array he had used to give her every ounce of the cultivation he had built up for years, and most of his life-force besides, was forbidden for a reason – it would unleash something terrible into the world.

Something that knew no restraint, no mercy, only the desire to kill –

Well, in theory.

A small smack on the head was very much the least that Baxia could do.

“You’ll take care of Huaisang, won’t you?” he asked her, the remnants of his qi lurching unsteadily within him; he would have a qi deviation sooner rather than later as his body attempted to cultivate at its usual rate with virtually none of the spiritual energy required to do so, and his family did not have a good track record of surviving those – though he’ll be the first of his line to die from exhaustion rather than rage. “He’ll need someone strong by his side, to do for him what needs to be done…to tell him what evil is, in case he can’t figure it out on his own.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem Nie Huaisang has, actually; you’d be surprised,” said Wei Wuxian, who Nie Mingjue had entirely forgotten about, the sound of his voice a sudden shock of surprise.

He jumping down from some rafter where he’d been hiding – planning some sort of insane rescue, perhaps, or maybe just trying to bear witness. He had a flute clutched in his hands, of all things; Nie Mingjue hadn’t even known that he cultivated with music as well as the sword.

“Also,” he added conversationally, “what the fuck was that.”

Baxia hissed at him, a sound like the slow slide of a saber out of its sheath.

Wei Wuxian wisely took several large steps back.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, voice suddenly much more polite. “Forgive me my surprise, but – your saber just cultivated into a guai.”

“I wasn’t expecting her to get there this quickly,” Nie Mingjue said, nodding. “I’d been counting on them taking her back to the Nightless City…”

“Where she’d be able to use the resentful energy to cultivate into a guai, and therefore act as a weapon against the Wen from the inside,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. He was really very clever, figuring out that Nie sect sabers could use resentful energy like that, in a way humans could not. Or, well, should not. “Except she really, really wanted to kill everyone here before they hurt you, so she did it faster.”

Baxia hissed again.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said, lifting up his flute defensively. “Am I wrong?”

She jabbed a finger at Nie Mingjue, who swayed a bit from the sheer force of it even though she hadn’t put any spiritual energy into it. So much saber qi…! Guai were truly different from humans.

“I don’t know what you want – fuck. You look terrible, Chifeng-zun.”

“That would be the blood loss,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Possibly the impending qi deviation. Hard to tell, really…what?” he asked, seeing the expression on Wei Wuxian’s face. “You didn’t think this type of array is something you’re supposed to survive, did you?”

“But you’re not angry!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, already reaching out to start transferring spiritual energy into him. It wouldn’t be enough. “You’re not – you’re empty.”

Nie Mingjue nodded.

“You gave her everything you had…no wonder she was able to cultivate into humanity,” Wei Wuxian said, and there it was again, that ridiculous admiration. “Mistress Saber, is the only thing wrong with him the lack of qi?”

Baxia jerked her head. If Nie Mingjue lived as something other than a comatose vegetable, he’d have to teach her to properly talk, assuming that guai were capable of that. They weren’t like yao, which had once been animals or plants and familiar with the generalities of things such as eating or breathing; guai were formed from the non-living, and had never known such simple things as mere words.

He missed their connection.

If he had any qi left, he would be able to figure out what she was thinking behind that flat expressionless face that had not yet figured out how to convey anything other than rage.

If he wasn’t going to die, he’d get to see the terrible, wonderful things she would do at his little brother’s side – he’d have to be sect leader now, yes, but he wouldn’t need to change himself, contort himself into something he wasn’t, to have the strength to hold it.

He would have liked to have seen it.

“Chifeng-zun? I know something that might help stop the bleed of your qi. But it’s…unorthodox.”

Nie Mingjue waved a hand, consenting; the alternative was death, so why not?

Wei Wuxian lifted his flute to his lips and began to play.

-

Much later, Nie Mingjue wakes up in the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang at his side and Baxia having apparently learned to properly scowl, and – yes.

No matter any of Wei Wuxian’s complaints, it was a worthwhile trade.

[mascwhump]

Chapter 3: She Burns Like Heroin

This came out a bit quicker than the last one, eh? Hope you enjoy! Oh and by the way, I’m still getting use to tagging TWs. Please let me know if I missed anything that might be triggering so I can edit the list :)

TW: Noncon drugging, drugs (mentioned), kinda creepy whumper, needles

Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow

-

Charlie was moved into a larger room. The one before might as well have been a closet. This new room had white tile floors, white painted walls, and was sufficiently lit. The door was metal, leaving no hope of breaking it down. The only other way out of the room was through an air vent on the ceiling, but the ceilings were at least 10 feet high. Not that Charlie would fit into it, anyway. In the corner of the room was a little bathroom. It had a sink, toilet, and bathtub inside, with a curtain instead of a door.

Charlie was attached to the wall by chains on his wrists. They were about 5 feet long, which allowed a little movement. Small hooks stuck out of the walls in multiple places, along with some in the ceiling. Mallory had come in a few hours ago to show Charlie that the team had indeed been released.

Strangely, he wasn't as afraid as he could've been. He knew the team would be looking for him. He didn't think about whatever Mallory had planned on doing with him. It didn't matter. He'd be home soon.

Sleep came often. It was the fastest way to heal. When he wasn’t sleeping, he’d passed the time by daydreaming or counting to high numbers in his head.  He was at 2,452 when someone entered the room. It was a small blond man carrying a tray.

"Hello, my name is Basil. I've brought a sandwich and some water for you," he said.

"Thanks, I guess,” Charlie replied.

Basil set the tray in front of Charlie and sat cross-legged a few feet away.

"I'm supposed to make sure you don't choke to death," he said.

Charlie laughed as he took a bite of the ham and cheese sandwich. He didn't like being watched while he ate, but he too hungry to care. He finished the sandwich quickly and downed the glass of water.

"Do you need to use the facilities?" Basil asked.

"'Facilities'? Yeah, I guess so," Charlie replied.

"Alright. Before I remove the restraints, do you promise not to attack me?" Basil asked.

"Yeah, I promise," Charlie said.

He was amused. The soft spoken tone and interesting word choices intrigued him. Basil definitely was out of place.

He used the restroom and was put back into the chains. Basil picked up the tray and left the room. He was almost robotic. It was like he was brainwashed into being some sort of orderly.

Charlie fell asleep soon after he left, counting to 300.

-

Days went by. It was the same routine every day. Basil would come three times a day to feed Charlie and take him to the restroom. The only other person he saw was a doctor. The doctor would check on his wound and change the bandages as needed. She never said a word to Charlie, aside from commands telling him what to do with his arm.

He was beginning to go a bit stir crazy. One could only count so much before all the numbers became a jumbled mess. He started a small exercise routine, mainly consisting of things he could do with his limited movement.

On the fifth day, things were a different. A few hours after Basil had given him breakfast, Mallory entered the room.

"Miss me?" He asked, walking in with a briefcase.

Charlie didn't reply. Mallory approached him, taking in his appearance.

"You look better than when I last saw you," he said.

"What's in the case?" Charlie asked, ignoring his comment.

"Remember how I told you that you're going to help change the world? Well, that starts today."

"I thought you said that would be after I healed."

Mallory opened the briefcase and pulled out a syringe. Inside of it was a dark blue liquid. It appeared to have a gold shine to it when the light hit just right.

"What the fuck is that?" Charlie questioned, pushing himself closer the wall.

"You're right, I did say it would be after you healed. And this here is what is going to heal you," Mallory explained.

He removed the cap of the needle and flicked the glass before commanding Charlie to put out his arm.

"No!" Charlie cried out, the sight of the needle making him dizzy.

He pulled his legs up to his chest and shielded his arms between them. He tucked his head down, effectively curling into a ball.

"Come on, Charlie," Mallory cooed, "don't you want to feel better?"

"Fuck you! This wasn't part of the deal!" Charlie yelled into himself.

He was shaking. Needles had always been a fear of his, and not knowing exactly what was inside of the syringe didn't help.

"I fulfilled my end of the deal. You fulfilled yours. Now, this isn't a deal. This is part of the real reason I kept you," Mallory explained, "I already knew everything you told me. I don't care about your team; they're useless to me. But you, Charlie..."

Charlie looked up. Mallory was kneeling in front of him now.

"When I had my surgeons fix up your shoulder, I also had them draw some blood. We did some tests. Charlie, you're perfect for this. You're just what-"

"Fuck. You," Charlie spat.

Mallory sighed. Something changed in his eyes. Charlie began to react when Mallory lunged forward and jammed the needle into his neck.

Charlie sat frozen as it began to feel like ice was flowing through his veins. Mallory pulled out the needle and tossed it to the side, watching as Charlie's pupils dilated. The ice quickly turned to fire, but the burn was almost pleasant. Charlie put his hands on Mallory's shoulders to hold himself steady as overwhelming euphoria took over his body. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood up, and he let out shaky, shallow breaths.

"Talk to me," Mallory whispered, "how does it feel?"

Charlie couldn't get a word out. The pain in his shoulder suddenly subsided, and he couldn't help but giggle, as if he was on laughing gas. His arms went limp and he began to tip over, so Mallory took hold of him to keep him upright. After a few minutes, the effects began to decay.

Once he could hold himself up again, Mallory let go to begin unwrapping the bandage from Charlie's shoulder. Once off, it was revealed that the wound had completely healed, only leaving a small scar.

"It worked," Mallory said, almost in disbelief.

Charlie moved his shoulder around. Before, it would've been agonizing, but now, it was like he had never been shot.

"That's... how did you do that?" He breathed, still recovering from the intense sensation.

"That's one of the serums we've been working on," Mallory said, "the lab is calling it Q-179 for now."

"It's like some sort of healing potion," Charlie said, "I can't believe it."

"What did it feel like? I lost you for a minute there," Mallory laughed.

"Like nitrous oxide met heroin, or at least what I'm told heroin feels like," Charlie explained, "I've never felt anything like that before in my life."

Mallory retrieved the needle from where he had thrown it and put it back in the briefcase.

"So, it worked. Am I free to go now?" Charlie asked.

"No," Mallory said, "that was just the first test."

"What else do you need to test?" Charlie questioned, standing up.

"Its effectiveness on other types of wounds," Mallory replied, leaving the room before Charlie could respond.

Charlie sat back down. Other types of wounds? He was completely healed now, so that meant...

He pushed the thought away by thinking about what he just experienced. What kind of concoction could do something like that? What could make him feel like that?

After an hour, there were no signs of any hangover symptoms. If this got out, it would surely be a success, just for the recreational aspect. Charlie had never done drugs before, besides the one time he accidentally ate an edible, and he drank and smoked occasionally. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how good it felt.

Basil came in to feed him, and the routine went back to normal. He didn’t see Mallory again for three days.

[prince-toffee]

Villains

Part Two

The room was empty and bare. The room was very plain, no paintings or pictures hung or framed, no personalised items, no trinkets or mementos. The space was devoid of any personality or warmth. This partially due to the fact that everything personal was moved out of the room, and also the fact that the person whom once occupied these living quarters wasn’t one for forming close personal attachments. Shadow Weaver sat on a beautiful ornate wooden chair at the centre of the sterile room. She watched the blank dark green wall as she took a long sip from her glass of red wine.

That room was once hers. When she officially aligned with The Horde, she was given her own bed chamber as she had to live in The Fright Zone as an unspoken rule. Where else would have she been accepted? She had no where else to go. She was pleased with what she was given, the room was quite large, she had a queen sized bed, her own side bathroom, with a toilet, shower, sink, and bath all included. The bath in particular became a favourite location, useful in relaxation after a long day of dealing with cadets that made her blood boil and her blood pressure rise. Over time she did personalise the room, add various scented shampoos and what not, some artistic and yet horrifying paintings, and a study with all her work - reports, cadet exams, notices, and request forms over which she lost her mind too many times.

Her quiet pleasant contemplation was cut short as Force-Captain Cobalt’s voice invaded the room through the data-pad which leaned against one of the wooden legs of the chair she sat on. The blue porcupine man cleared his throat, “Umm, Sha- uh, Lord Shadow Weaver.”

“Speak.”

“All your personal belongings have been moved to Lor- to Hordak’s old Sanctum. But there’s another emergence that requires your attention.” Weaver sighed, she responded by saying she would be there in a few minutes. She downed the glass of wine in seconds, it was a good year, shame she couldn’t have savoured the taste, she had saved that bottle for a victorious occasion. And she couldn’t have thought of a better occasion.

The witch just discarded the glass by simply throwing it away, it shattered on impact, of course. But the brand new leader didn’t care. Not anymore. She was in charge, no consequences, it felt so freeing. The scarred woman shifted her mask over her grey face and moved out. She did not admit to another soul the fact that she was ashamed of her physical appearance, she never betrayed a weakness, she was distant therefore safe. There was logic and reason to her outfit - a frightening mask to deflect any questions about her face, a high collar to hide her neck, and then a layered robe to allow no part of her scarred, wounded, burned body to be seen. She implemented the opposite tactic to Hordak, he choose to show some flesh, some key areas of his body that were healthy and strong to deflect any suspicion or conspiracy of him being otherwise. Anyone who saw Hordak, as rare as it was, they all thought the dark Lord was a modern Adonis. Nobody suspected he was in fact a sick frail man who was slowly falling apart.

Shadow Weaver knew about Hordak’s ‘sickness’, and vis versa. There was a deal between them, both knew each other’s weakness, and so they formed a partnership to support one another. Hordak had the Black Garnet in his possession after acquiring the Scorpion Hill Kingdom, and so he handed the magical artefact to Shadow Weaver, he knew the Garnet was useless in his hands, he had no knowledge therefore no ability to utilise the Garnet. But Shadow Weaver could. She was brought in as his Minister of Magicks to advice the Horde in the magical ways, how to defend against magic, and how to weaponise magic in offense.

The rune stone gave her sufficient life force for her to leech off of, never again was she hungry. And she wielded the awesome power of the elemental mineral. In return Shadow Weaver took the spotlight off of Hordak, the duty of truly commanding the Horde’s forces, leaving Hordak free to do... whatever he did. Weaver never knew what Hordak did in his ‘Sanctum’, all she ever managed to get out of him was the fact he was working on a secret ‘experiment’, and she knew that much was a slip up. It didn’t matter now anyhow, all of Hordak’s secrets were going to be hers and if not, then they don’t matter anyway.

She waltzed through the corridors and hallways of red and green metal, pipes, and cables, at a leisurely pace. Unlike Hordak, who’s heavy metallic footsteps always alerted the soldiers ahead of time in the corridor, Shadow Weaver made no sound, didn’t allow any trooper to get ready, they had no idea she was coming. She scared the hellfire out of everyone she passed. They always jumped in shock, straightened themselves out and stiffened. Weaver liked that.

The noise of double doors sliding open marked her entrance into the throne room, her throne room. Her commanders turned to her and bowed. She liked that too. “Speak.”

“Lord Weaver, while we were breaching Hordak’s Sanctum, which was harder than we thought it would be, a lot of booby traps, we got around a dozen treating wounds in the infirmary. But anyway when we got in we acquired all of his personal belongings mostly just tech. One of his personal data-pads gave off a ping, some sort of automatic notification. It was a signal sent from an outpost in the Northern Reach in the frozen wastes, apparently the computers there have detected some new First Ones tech.”

“Ah perfect! That’s exactly what we need!” Shadow Weaver heard the vent being kicked open, only then when she lifted her head up to the high ceiling did she see the short purple woman descend to her to the floor. This. of course, was Entrapta the Princess of Dryl. Shadow Weaver didn’t like her much, she was the one to whom Hordak was going to give the Black Garnet. They didn’t see, but her face soured as her arms folded. “Have you briefed her about the power grid?”

Cobalt sighed, “I was about to.” It seemed that the Princess had interjected herself into Horde matters and into the command structure. She swung around like she owned the place. And Hordak would’ve probably let her walk all over him too.

“Well, since I’m here already I’ll explain. The Fright Zone’s power grid, a surprising intricate system that transfers power all around The Fright Zone keeping everything running, over heated. Meaning it’s stopped working, coolant systems have failed and ruptured expelling scolding steam through the corridors, a powerful and dangerous feedback surge has been created leading to the destruction through explosion of the main power-generators. Multiple floors are on fire. In Layman’s terms: It’s bad.”

“We are not imbeciles, Princess, do not treat us as such. You are not in command here, so I would watch your tone with me! You are only here, but I permit it.” Weaver pointed her finger at the hovering woman.

Entrapta looked down at the grey finger of the sorceress and then turned around, “Mmm, no, I am here because I want to be.” She began to stride across the throne room using her hair. Shadow Weaver still didn’t know if the purple tentacle hair was a magical ability or a technological aspect. Either way she followed the Princess. With a simple wave of her hand she dismissed her Force-Captains, its not like they wanted to stay around her so Cobalt, Grizzlor, and Octavia left without any further convincing. The witch kept up with the Princess. She made no sound when she walked, but the purple woman somehow knew she was close enough behind her to hear her, “As I was saying, the power grid can’t hold the amount of power it transmits, so we need a strong conductor, maybe a regulator too. That’s why the signal from the Northern Reach is a mighty convenient occasion. First Ones tech is ideal for the job. My recommendation: Send an excursion to the outpost, excavate the tech, transport it back here and install it in, solving the issue.”

“I didn’t ask for your ‘recommendation’... but that is a decent solution.” They passed the throne and moved forward through a thin hallway of pipes, as they reached its end a door slide open. Past it they entered a sort of  a corridor round-about, another door in front of them. The corridor curved around to multiple doors, opposite the doors were windows of one way glass looking over the landscape of The Fright Zone.

Shadow Weaver noted the burn marks and metallic plating torn and shredded, signs of damage caused by an explosion. The booby traps the Force-Captains spoke of. All disarmed, she hoped. The Sanctum doors opened, Entrapta entered first, Shadow Weaver followed close behind. Hordak’s Sanctum was a dimly lit tall box, computers all around it with data Entrapta couldn’t wait to get into. Various tech scattered around. To contrast all that were Shadow Weaver’s own belongings moved from her old room to her new one. “I like the paintings, good taste. I’ve got paintings too, back at home. But I prefer little cute big eyed kitties, rather than abstract horrific rorschach-like depictions of inner turmoil of anxieties. Hm, perhaps representing repressed and or traumatic memories. Interesting.”

Weaver raised a brow as she narrowed her eyes, “Uh huh. Thank you.” She was spot on. Her eyes could barely keep up with the Princess. She seemed very excited. She finally stopped dashing across the room madly and stood still at the centre of the room. Her pigtails split into multiple ends each tendril plugging into a different computer or any other data-holding devices, her hair fuzzed and the ends of each tendril lit up in a bright purple, on the boarder of being pink. The light moved inward towards her head in pulse-like motion. Weaver guessed, correctly, that Entrapta was downloading the information into herself.

“Oh, that’s fascinating.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Before Shadow Weaver could ask any follow up questions from the corner of her eye she noticed a grey blur dashed across a higher scaffolding, accompanied by sounds of small footsteps scuttling about. She looked up to see a pair of small yellow luminous eyes.

It was Hordak’s tiny bat creature, Hordak seemed to have been close and appreciative of the creature. Whether it was a pet to him or like a child she did not know. All she knew was it was an annoying tattletale - spying, recording, and telling on people, completely loyal to Hordak in the way a child tells their parent on a sibling in return for candy, or chin scratches in this instance. The creature hissed. It clearly did not like Shadow Weaver, she did get rid of its creator.

“Cute.”

“What?”

“The hybrid, I think it’s named Imp. Fascinating little miracle of science.”

“Ugh, it’s as useful as a rodent. And twice as infuriating.” She said that like Imp wasn’t there in the room with them, he heard that and launched at the sorceress, biting her in her finger. The dark magician yelped and shook her hand in a cartoony comedic manner, a few seconds of the motion and Imp’s grip loosened and he flew through the air and landed in Entrapta’s hair where she brought him closer to her and gave him some soft scratches under his chin. He softened in her arms and pressed his cheeks against her shoulder. He stock his tongue out, and mouth farted at Shadow Weaver. Weaver growled and sighed.

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me.”

“What inclination makes you say that?”

“Oh just about anything and everything you do.” Entrapta unplugged from the tech and finally turned to face Shadow Weaver. She gave her a genuine smile, warm and well-meaning, “How about a dinner?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re clearly not a fan of mine, and this might be a beneficial social experiment to let us know each other better, since we’ll be working closely together for the foreseeable future.”

“Heh, what makes you think we’ll be ‘working closely together’?”

“You do want to know what this Hordak had been working on, don’t you? Do you know anyone else who can comprehend this sort of stuff?”

“I... I suppose not.” It was true, she didn’t, so Entrapta was important. But she wouldn’t admit that, and she would certainly not go to a dinner with a Princess. Before she could scoff any further, she heard a shy voice clear its throat. Weaver turned around to face it. It was Scorpia. Princess Scorpia.

“Umm, Ms Weaver, the uh, the excursion transport is ready. What are our next orders, ma’am, sir, m’Lord, Lady, Shadow Weaver... sir.” The Scorpion Princess awkwardly informed, her large red claw raised up to her temple, saluting. Two or three drips of sweat rolled down her face. For being so huge and muscular walking-rectangle she was very shy and small.

“What transport?!”

“Oh I was the one who requested it.” Entrapta replied. Entrapta moved through the room past the new Lord and moved to Scorpia. She handed the bat baby to the Scorpion Force-Captain, the hybrid boy kept attempting to chomp on Entrapta’s hair. Scorpia cradled the batling, whom now moved onto biting the hard claws. “We should solve the problem as soon as possible, so I gave a go-ahead.”

Shadow Weaver’s hand instinctly went up to her face, her muscle memory told her to rub her nose in exhausted irritation, but of course her mask blocked her hand. “Fine. Go. Fix my fortress.” She waved her hand to dismiss them, Scorpia and Imp moved out swiftly, only once she moved out of frame did Weaver notice that Catra stood behind her. The cat was sweating, clearly very nervous, she didn’t say anything, and followed Scorpia out. Entrapta hanged behind.

“Dinner. When I get back. We’ll talk. Takes around four hours to get to the outpost, four back, and a day in-between for excavation. So in three days, at 7, The Fright Zone cafeteria. I’ll cook.”