#blueberry the portal cat

[nights-flying-fox]

[Art by @little-banjo-frog ; Twin-Sync (More Than You Think) by @little-banjo-frog , Sub-Zero by @noxvee6 , Captainx2 @veearrifarrariboom] [@tmntstorycomp]

[Callisto is Twin-Sync Leo, Ganymede is T-S Donnie, Hop is Dimension Hopper Leo, and Null is Sub-Zero Leo]

The portal family had just found each other in the fun chaos that was a competition. They were in a library where the the Twin-Sync twins had ended up imprisoned and eventually broke free with the help of Captains, and where Hop had accidentally opened two portals for different reasons. The first one had ended up flooding the place with comic books. The second one luckily didn’t drop any random items, and yet, he couldn’t understand why they didn’t work properly. There was something weird going on… 

Now Hop had found Callisto and Ganymede, and he saw Null around, so he must be somewhere around here. They were looking for him but luckily before they did find him, he did. 

“Null!” Hop greeted happily. 

“Monkey.” Null greeted back, approaching them. “Callisto, Ganymede.”

“Hey old man.” Callisto waved.

“I found the twins, and they are the reason the alarms are wild.” Hop grinned as he leaned on Null��s arm.

The oldest slider looked at the twins. “Not surprised.”

“Still salty about the bomb situation?” Callisto asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Please for Galileo's sake don’t make this a ‘he threw me off a roof’ situation.” Ganymede groaned.

“But he did.” Hop pointed out.

“And we have every right to be salty about that.” Callisto added.

Null simply nodded.

Ganymede rolled his eyes. “Leos…” Then he noticed something. A colorful blur jumped out of the portal Hop had made near a window. “What the–”

The Leos turned to look at where he was looking. Callisto gasped and Hop’s eyes widened, “Oh!”

Null, however, seemed to simply be confused. He silently watched as the calico cat walked towards him, despite her small steps arriving in no time. She purred loudly, rubbing her head on his leg. Now the big slider was even more confused, “What?” he said out loud. Hop could bet he saw question marks fly around him. Then the kitty made the biggest, cutest kitten eyes.

Hop cooed, clasping his hands together. “Aww!!! Look Null! She chose you!”

Null gently took the cat in his palm. She was so small, tiny enough to fit a hand of his. She looked happy to be held, purring softly. Null looked at her, and then at the others. He looked puzzled.

“Null, the cat chose you. You gotta take care of her now.” Callisto announced.

Hop joined with a big grin. “You have no choice.”

“But– where did she even come from?” Null questioned. This didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t it bad for her to be away from her timeline or universe?

“She jumped out from that portal.” Ganymede pointed. “Do you know where that portal leads, Hop?”

He shook his head, “Nope. All I know is it failed to lead to the right place and won’t close for some reason.” He huffed. “None do!”

Callisto gasped. “Portal cat!”

Hop’s eyes brightened with excitement, “Portal cat!”

The two started cheering, “Portal cat! Portal cat!”

Ganymede sighed, “I’ll check the portal to see where she came from.”

“Wait! We need to name her first.” Callisto exclaimed, Hop nodded beside him. 

“Name her?” Null turned to them, he was cautiously petting the lil kitty.

“We can’t adopt her.” Ganymede said, “As much as I hate to say it, she is from who knows where. It might have side effects for her.”

“Or not.” Callisto responded. “Maybe this is her first time and she will be fine because when we hop we hop cautiously.” He booped the cat’s nose.

Ganymede sighed, he joined in petting the cat too. “Fine.”

Hop scratched her chin, “So what we’re gonna name the lil gal?”

“Oh I know!” Callisto grinned, “How about Blueberry?”

“Blue because her eyes are blue or blue because you all are blue?” Ganymede’s voice was flat, but it was clearly visible he was teasing by the smirk on his face.

“Yes.” Callisto answered.

“I love it!” Hop exclaimed. “Fits her.”

“It’s good.” Null said.

“Then it is set.” Callisto smiled. “Blueberry the portal cat!”

“Can I check the portal now?” Ganymede asked, but he was interrupted. 

“The second bracket theme is going to be… the Woods!” They heard Massy’s voice. 

“Ah. So much for knowing where she came from…” Ganymede gave up as the library changed.

[foodsies4me]

Peak Alec when bridges Magnus comes to bring baby Max + Sorcha back to the orphanage

Magnus: Alec, you’re literally in a clave meeting…

Alec: 😤

(also baby Max/Sorcha breaking outta the Spiral and turning up in Alrc office??? kinda?)

This took an eternity to finish, but I got there! (Why does worldbuilding always have to happen. Why couldn’t I just write a short fic with that scene and that scene alone???) Anyway, here is some more Magnus POV, post Bridges.

Coming home to an empty apartment is nothing new to Magnus. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, these days he’s usually greeted by Alexander, one of the trainees or rookies or his darling blueberry when he returns. Depending on the time of day, though, it still happened that the loft would be as empty as when he was a carefree bachelor. 

Case in point today. With it being three in the afternoon, Alexander is still at work when Magnus portals back from an impromptu three day trip to Siam. The loft is almost bare without the familiar stars of Nephilim magic trailing along its wards. His magic cold with displeasure the way it always is when Alexander isn’t there.

Chairman Meow is the only one to greet him when he drops his suitcase on the ground and flings his coat on the coatrack. He jumps down from his cat tree, taking the long way around to land on the back of the new, black sofa they bought. 

“I’m afraid it’ll be just the two of us for the afternoon,” Magnus says regretfully, gently scratching under Chairman Meow’s chin when he whines a familiar complaint. “Or maybe we’ll have to pick up our Blueberry and Starfish at Agatha’s. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a day off.”

Decision made, Magnus opens a portal inside the wards covering Agatha’s cottage. He steps through without a care, already planning out what activities he could entertain his blueberry when he comes face to face with a scowling Agatha and two disappointed looking faces.

Neither of them is his Blueberry.

Or his darling Sorcha.

Yara and Yan are sitting next to Agatha, a magical leash tied around their waists to keep them within the boundaries of the daycare. They’re both glaring daggers at the coloring books in front of them, cheeks puffed out in angered disappointment and Magnus can deduce what happened with that sight alone. 

“That would make it the third time this week, I presume?”

“Try fifth,” Agatha corrects. Her voice is clipped, wrinkled cheeks pulled tight into pursed frown. She’s staring at the sweater she’s knitting - or rather deconstructing, pulling one row of stitches after the other loose. “I will portal the daycare right into your husband’s institution,” she warns. “I will not even ask. Perhaps that will teach him.”

Magnus smiles, picturing Alexander’s reaction in his mind and the unbridled delight that would follow if Agatha did ever choose to do so. "He’s more likely to stop you from undoing it.”

It’s not even a lie, Alexander’s weak spot for children is well documented. His absolute adoration when it comes to his rookies and his trainees is even more so. The man didn’t strong-arm the Clave into allowing warlock children - his warlock children and Magnus is still tickled pink at how bluntly Alexander had staked his claim - to train in the institute solely out of the goodness of his heart. It had been his delightfully selfish desire to keep his rookies close. 

“Of course he would, the shameless man.”

Magnus smiles, still amused by Agatha’s decision to refer to Alexander as such, but never him. “As if you would have him any other way,” he counters loftily as he sits down next to a still pouting Yara and Yan. 

He doesn’t mention the black yarn she’s using, nor the fact that the half-deconstructed sweater isn’t in any of their or the children’s sizes, but just so happens to fit one particulary broad-shouldered shadowhunter.

Agatha huffs. “Hogwash.”

Instead of saying anything else on the matter, Magnus turns toward disappointed frowns and discarded crayons. “And why are we pouting?”

“Granny Lee said we can’t go see Alec,” Yan grouches. “But Max and Sorcha can and everyone else can and we never see Alec and it’s not fair.” She crossed her arms and purses her lips even more. “I wanna see Alec.”

Magnus disguises a laugh behind a fake cough, pressing his lips together to stop from smiling when Agatha turns to look at them with a bland look. “You saw Alec yesterday and the day before. And on Thursday.”

“Never,” Yan repeats more loudly.

Agatha rolls her eyes - and the way she does it makes it  all too apparent who she picked the habit from. For all her appearance shows her to be three times his age, in moments like these Agatha’s real age always manages to peek through. “I suppose I should go and fetch our two wayward toddlers?”

Agatha puts her half-destroyed sweater down. “Spare yourself the effort,” she tells him. “You are better off taking these two pouting ones with you.”

Yara and Yan immediately brighten up at the suggestion, bouncing to their feet and  looking up at him with wide pleasing puppy-eyes.

“Alright, my little peppers. We’ll go see Alec,” he says. "But first I believe we should be getting some shoes.” They’re both racing off to their rooms, the magical leashes disappearing into thin air as they disappear inside the house.

“The permanent three way portal should be done by next week,” Magnus promises Agatha once they’re out of ear shot. “That should mollify them.”

It should also mollify Alec. His husband has been making increasingly unsubtle remarks about needing more rooms in the loft. Just in case one of the kids wants to spend the night, is the excuse he would stress every time. But, seeing as his blackberry hadn’t slept in the institute even once since they moved out of the Spiral and that the other trainees spent the night more often than they did not, that excuse was losing credibility by the day. 

“About that, you told Alec already?”

He hasn’t. 

“Magnus.”

“The man shadowhunter-adopted five of the children before we even started dating. I doubt he would mind having that adoption be slightly more formal.”

Agatha shakes her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says as she picks her discarded sweater back up and starts the long arduous task of building it back up.

“I do,” he promises. And he does. That’s why he needs to have all his ducks - or as it stands all of his beans and  peppers in a row - before he asks Alexander to let him fix what he messed up the first time around. 

 “All ready to go?” He asks when Yan and Yara come running back, sandals and weighted sneakers tied around their feet. They both nod, running over to give Agatha a hug before taking one hand each. 

To his credit, Clearwater doesn’t blink when he sees Magnus appear. Nor do Underhill, Izzy or Jace. They simply point toward the conference room Alexander uses when he’s meeting with Clave officials, all used to this particular song and dance. All shadowhunters in Alexander’s institute are, if the ongoing bet-wars Izzy told him about are anything to go on.

Still, while Magnus has no qualms disturbing Alexander during his training-hours or even when he’s working in his office, barging into a meeting with Clave officials is another matter. Things might have gotten better, worlds better - Magnus still wakes up barely believing he can breathe without pain again. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to trust any Clave official just yet unless they’ve been personally vetted and cleared by Alexander.

Even then it would be a though sell.

The little thread of magic that ties him to his blueberry on that first day confirms he’s in the room with Alexander, though. And Magnus would recognize Sorcha’s lavender pops everywhere. 

Steeling himself to play nice with what looks seven Clave officials going by his magic, Magnus pushes the door open after ordering Yan and Yara to stay put. He readies himself to waltz his way inside and grab Sorcha and Little Max, only to stop short when Alexander raises his arms to block Magnus from taking either of their kids.

“It’s fine, they can say,” Alexander says, not taking his eyes off of the two Clave officials closest to him. “We’re finishing up anyway.”

“Puzzles!” Sorcha cheers, kicking her feet in excitement. Her enthusiasm is contagious and soon his blueberry is cheering as well. It makes the Clave official on Alec’s left turn even more red and Magnus already feels his magic bristle in anger before they open their mouth. 

“This meeting isn’t over, Lightwood. So if you’re done babysitting those-”

The shadowhunter thankfully stops himself before Magnus finds a reason to do so, sitting back down in his chair and clearing his throat with a fake cough. “The Clave has already made several concessions, Lightwood,” he begins, falling back to (clearly forced) politeness. “To show good will towards-”

“They’re going to make more.” 

Alec doesn’t wait for the Clave envoys to react to that statement and pushes himself to his feet two excited toddlers still wriggling in his arms. “If you want to discuss anything else you’ll have to speak with my secretary. I have other business to attend to.”

Alec doesn’t wait until the door is closed to bend down and give Magnus a kiss. Or to pick Yara and Yan up when they demand to be carried as well.

“But I’m the one who spoils them,” Magnus mutters when Alec refuses - yet again - to hand either his blueberry or his little starfish over to him. “The shadowhunter doth protest too much and is casting stones in glass houses on top of that, I believe.”

“Clara did not need a bioluminescent dress,” Alec protests. “Or a fourth mood ring dress.”

“And the kids don’t need to be carried around everywhere,” Magnus volleys back, using his magic to (finally) get his blueberry back in his arms. “And yet here we are.”

Alec rolls his eyes and victory, Magnus thinks, has never tasted so sweet.

“Bapak, can we fly from the big buildings again?”

“Absolutely not.”

[ts-leonsgossipcorner]

The portal fam got a cat!

@nullnotleo might be her favorite haha!

She is SO SMALL!!! Look at the sweet little thing!!!! Her name is blueberry and I'd die for her

@thehopchronicles @satin-hamato @ts-donniethesmartone

[yunnathearcher]

Last of October, waking up to the sound of barking & sirens in the distance

Environment matters

Sleepy sleepy sleepy

Nearly impossible that it’s not Friday

Still, happy Friday Eve

I see no reason to alter the pattern now

Water & kiwis & blueberry with ginger kombucha

Really great week for music

TBT; AmunRa Circa 2021

You were in my dreams years back too

Just realized posts can be scheduled. Vibes.

Committing, trying new things, opening up to fun

Being very much so human

Somedays are for explaining everything, some days are just about honoring the truth

All days are about recognizing you have nothing to prove

Some of us like it deep. Plutonian coded.

Pay no attention to speculation or nonsense, it’s a simple life.

Save energy and time for what you truly love and feel energized by. It’s a simple life

Take care of yourself and the ones you love. It’s a simple life.

It’s a great time to have a small tight knit inner circle. You really gotta just let the world be the world and mind yours.

That’s why you need not to play with Sags because you can think whatever, whole time we know and embody the truth. But folks would rather play. Okay.

The truth = Our truth

Continuously staying out the way.

Often times suicidal ideations is the psyche innately knowing that a part of the Ego must be purged or killed off in order for the whole Self (+ Ego) to thrive.

Bittersweet but it’s still sweet tho.

🦅

Maybe: Persephone

Great day for the city. Slime free out the cage.

It’s okay to be soft & sensitive my baby.

Somewhere opening portals.

Boop boop.

Maybe: Mars in Scorpio

Sometimes the spark inspires, sometimes it warps. I imagine it depends on my frequency & the frequency of the other at the time of impact.

Maybe: Jupiter

Just intuitive babylove. I don’t even drink tea no more.

Yes. It is I says the cat.

[whirld-of-color]

it’s me, michael!

local sticksona so camera-averse that he put a box on his head and called it a day

i draw animation vs minecraft stuff. big big fan of green and gold and mango and purple and-

my art requests are always open. you have to understand that i fucking love it when people ask me to draw stuff and it will get me to draw stuff infinitely faster than anything else. every day art block tries to kill me

you can also send my ocs asks! or just like, talk to me about stuff. im down with that.

i’m working on @animation-vs-romance, go check that blog out if you want :)

TAGS:

#original posting: art that i’ve made, that i consider “good”

#michael talks: some of my bullshit ramblings

#oc reference: go here if you want the basic info about any of my ocs!

#seaside au: an au about pirates and mermaids and fantasy!

#avm jsab au: a green-centric crossover au!

#debug au: you know those guys in avm 30? what if they were wracked with guilt and also evil corporation

#wishing well au: go resurrect your son from the dead mango im sure you won’t summon any horrors!! masterpost here

#tober prompts: inktober prompts i did!

OC TAGS:

#blueberry tag: local wet cat of a man manages to create an extremely unstable on-off relationship with mango tango

#unfinished tag: not for unfinished works, but for an oc named unfinished who was made by alexcrafter. he’s just some kid who sews!

#eigengrau tag: horror movie monster with big sad eyes who escaped from a lab and is friends with unfinished, a 12 year old child

#fledgling tag: little triangle guy. it is just a little thang

#153 tag: some gayass lawyer or whatever. ace attorney looking… affiliated with @ freeeesticks

#panache tag: anime theif with an extensive criminal record! affiliated with @ clan-obsidian. click on images, they’re transparent!

#match and pair tag: portal oc twins who hate each other in a new and special way <3 they’re soulmates (derogatory)

#etude tag: he has a cute hat and a violin. also he raises the dead with music a la crypt of the necrodancer! he has 3 entire romantic interests!

#byzar tag: an enderman oc- exiled royalty, dead parents, general air of drama, the works!

#sona art: art of my persona, shown above!

for a quicker guide to my ocs, you may also consult this venn diagram!

[blue-character-brawl]

Round 2 Matchups!

Round 2 begins today! After this post goes up, brackets 1 and 2 will be posted, with 3 and 4 coming tomorrow, and 5 and 6 coming on Friday. Here are the matchups:

Bracket 1:

Cam (Rhythm Heaven) VS. Grover (Sesame Street)

Gonzo (The Muppets) VS. Blue (Blue’s Clues)

Bluey Heeler (Bluey) VS. The Tesseract (Marvel)

Blue (Overly Sarcastic Productions) VS. The TARDIS (Doctor Who)

Lancer (Deltarune) VS. Link (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

Navi (Legend of Zelda) VS. Trucy Wright (Ace Attorney)

Megamind (Megamind) VS. MePhone4 (Inanimate Insanity)

Sadness (Inside Out) VS. Blue Album (Weezer)

Bracket 2

Scott Wozniak (Scott the Woz) VS. Watergirl (Fireboy and Watergirl)

Abby (Wii Sports) VS. Kris (Deltarune)

Gatorade VS. Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson)

Gooey (Kirby) VS. Benrey (HLVRAI)

Gus Porter (The Owl House) VS. Gary the Gadget Guy (Club Penguin)

Blue-footed Booby (Real Life) VS. Grumpy Bear (Care Bears)

The ocean (Real Life) VS. Alice (Alice in Wonderland)

Doc Hudson (Cars) VS. Mudkip (Pokémon)

Bracket 3

Lucina (Fire Emblem) VS. Chrom (Fire Emblem)

Donald Duck (Disney) VS. Sonic the Hedgehog (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Sans (Undertale) VS. Dipper Pines (Gravity Falls)

Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb) VS. Squidward Tentacles (SpongeBob Squarepants)

Bubbles (Powerpuff Girls) VS. Patton Sanders (Sanders Sides)

Nya (Ninjago) VS. Tom (Eddsworld)

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender) VS. Sapphire (Steven Universe)

Nightwing (DC Comics) VS. Dorothy Gale (The Wizard of Oz)

Bracket 4

Goombario (Paper Mario) VS. Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

Michael J. Caboose (Red vs Blue) VS. John Egbert (Homestuck)

The Genie (Aladdin) VS. Wheatley (Portal)

Mermista (She-Ra) VS. Blu (Rio)

R2-D2 (Star Wars) VS. Blue Gushers

Pablo (The Backyardigans) VS. Blueberry Muffin (Strawberry Shortcake)

Piplup (Pokémon) VS. Nightcrawler (X-Men)

Sayaka Miki (Puella Magi Madoka Magica) VS. Teruhashi Kokomi (Saiki K.)

Bracket 5

Soundwave (Transformers) VS. Frankie Stein (Monster High)

Stitch (Lilo and Stitch) VS. Hades (Hercules)

Zazu (Lion King) VS. Samus Aran (Metroid)

Spheal (Pokémon) VS. Lucy van Pelt (Peanuts)

Steve (Minecraft) VS. Shiver (Splatoon 3)

Barney Calhoun (Half-Life) VS. Vivi Yukino (Mystery Skulls Animated)

Bloom (Winx Club) VS. Spock (Star Trek)

Rosalina (Super Mario) VS. Mugman (Cuphead)

Bracket 6

Blue M&M (M&M’s) VS. Sailor Mercury (Sailor Moon)

Bibble (Barbie) VS. Dory (Finding Nemo)

Bluestar (Warrior Cats) VS. Rainbow Dash (My Little Pony)

Jester Lavorre (Critical Role) VS. Veronica Sawyer (Heathers)

Idia Shroud (Twisted Wonderland) VS. Korra (Legend of Korra)

Pokotho (Hatchetfield) VS. B.O.B. (Monsters vs Aliens)

Vault Boy (Fallout) VS. Jack Frost (Rise of the Guardians)

Tutter (Bear and the Big Blue House) VS. Baljeet Tjinder (Phineas and Ferb)

[muppeteyes1001]

Jareth could easily tell that the drabbit was mentally putting up some fight as he spoke. He was using the same tactic on Cromwell as he did on Kitt the day he subdued and kidnapped her. Though, in this case, the horned trickster gave the butler a more optimistic tone .. Explaining to him the upsides of getting rid of the felinoid, permanently. The butler's mind may have been a steel trap, but his emotions were still rather easy to assess. Though he could sense the spiciness in his hate towards the cat woman, he also got the bitter sweetness that could only come from jealousy. A flavor that was all too familiar to Jareth.

Nonetheless, as the draconic hare gave his reason for his malice towards Kitt, the trickster gave one last observing glance before huffing in amusement. "Huh! .. So all this over a grudge that she was never apart of? ... My! .. You're quite the ruthless one, aren't you? .. Almost makes me wonder which of us is really the unhinged one here" he comments, lazily gesturing towards both of them.

When Cromwell informed him on how he planned on using the poison vial he was given, Jareth smirked.

"I'd be careful with that concoction, if I were you .. It may carry a benign scent of herbs and blueberries, but a few drops is all it takes to make a person's heart instantly stop beating .. And you could just blame her passing on some .. unforeseen complications .. After all .. magic can't fix everything .. Now can it?"

The trickster looks over at the portal the butler had created. It was similar to a full-sized mirror with a milky-like mist swirling within. Not quite giving a clear view of where it led. Though there was a trace of skepticism on his face, he eventually waved off the thought. He did not quite trust the butler one hundred percent. However, Jareth would still be able to use his own portals in a pinch if need be .. Plus, blackmail was always a good hand to have .. So he didn't flat out refuse Cromwell's offer.

"Fine! If you consider the job done then I've no complaints" Jareth replied as he walked over to the dull, shimmering portal. "Enjoy your fun with your prey there ..... And I won't say that it's been a .. complete pleasure" Jareth nonchalantly states over his shoulder before stepping into the portal and disappearing.

As he crossed over into the fog-like portal, it took mere moments for him to reach the other side of it. However, once he had gone through, the trickster wouldn't see anything that remotely looked like his abode. Instead, it was all just the same forest .. Only now, evening had fallen.

"The hell is this?!" Was all Jareth could say in confusion as he gave a quick glance at his surroundings. By the time he turned back towards the portal, it had quickly shrunk and disappeared into thin air before he could reach for it.

And at that point, the trickster would look up and see the bright, burning crimson eyes of an enraged dragon lord.

"Another way out?! .. You mean like blowing a hole out the side of mountain? .. That's pretty fucking rich, isn't it? ... Besides, I stripped every scrap of metal that she had on her .. Or anything that could even remotely be used as a weapon ... And believe me, I checked quite thoroughly" Jareth shot back at the drabbit's comment. A ghost of a sinister smirk played on his thin lips.

"I only thought it would be quite poetic! .... Imagine her just .. wasting away in her own lover's prison .. Never to be seen or heard from again .. And right under your master's scaly nose to boot! .... Haha .. I bet he'd just think that she up and left his sorry, purple hide ... And then it'd just be the two of you .. once more" Jareth coolly retorted. His focus seemed to lock onto the butler for a moment or two .. Like he was trying to discreetly read something off him.

"You know ... I have a gift of 'tasting' the emotions of those I take interest in ... And she certainly had a very .. very luscious flavor, indeed .. Like a fine and exotic wine ... And as much of a pain in the ass as she was, once I had gotten her egg to crack and get into her mind ... All that despair and insecurities within her were just far too delectable to pass up" he informs, narrowing his eyes towards the drabbit before chuckling a little to himself.

The trickster then raised a brow slightly at Cromwell's sudden insistence on taking over the job himself. He found this a little puzzling to say the least .. Especially after that whole scene above the lava flow .... And now the butler suddenly doesn't mind getting his hands dirty? ... Jareth pondered this decision for a bit before speaking again. A mildly amused expression on his narrow features.

"Boy, I've gotta say .. Even through that response note you sent me back then, it carried such a bitter sweet flavor to it ... The same as you've been giving off now .. Like a bite of dark chocolate ... It's how I was able to figure out who you were without ever seeing your face ... or even knowing your name" the trickster remarked, practically tossing the pillow into Cromwell and shrugging with an indifferent huff.

"Pfft .. Well, fine! If that's what you wish, you can have her! ... But before I go .... Let me give you a little something since you've already paid for my 'humble' services" Jareth replies before using his powers to summon a bubble out of thin air. Floating within the delicate orb was a small, corked vile that contained a deep indigo-tinted liquid. The bubble would float over to the butler only inches from his nose, waiting for the drabbit to simply take it into his paws.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

ii. secret.

read on ao3

Lena Luthor dies a villain.

Her death took out half the population in the vicinity. A blinding white light piercing through the National City skyline. A deafening boom heard 5 cities over. An explosion so great, even Supergirl was knocked dead.

And so, Lena Luthor dies a villain.

Alone and young. And so, so bitter. An accomplice and ally to Lex Luthor.

Some would even say she was a greater, far more cunning, far more terrifying force than Lex.

There were rumors that the woman had magic at the end of it all. That no one person could be capable of that much destruction without the help of something inhuman.

But well, rumors were all it can be, especially when all possible witnesses perished along with the Luthors.

******

Weeks later, Andrea Rojas holds a memorial event for Lena Luthor; protesters burn the venue to the ground.

Months later, Supergirl returns to the world. More radiant than ever. More alive than ever. Stronger. Better.

Years later, National City recovers fully from the whole catastrophe.

Supergirl is reported to most frequently be seen in the memorial square for the fallen victims. A dozen paparazzi pictures of the caped heroine quietly walking, sometimes whispering under breath.

Praying, somebody on a CatCo article comments. She’s always praying whenever we see her there.

****** The closet doors burst open and out steps Alex Danvers.

A colorful stream of expletives coming right along with her, “Fuckin’ fur coats, goddamn hangers, fucking hitting me in the face—”

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice greets her, “where the hell have you been? And why are you so...dirty? If you track mud on my carpet I swear to God, Alex—”

“I was cleaning your grave, okay?” she snaps, setting down a bucket filled with various cleaning supplies, that Lena’s just now noticing, on said carpet.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex huffs about, crossing her arms, “You don’t have to make a big deal about it. I don’t want to do it again, it’s a bitch for my back pain. I was just pissed about the graffiti. You’d think people would have better manners than defacing the grave of a dead woman. If only they—”

“Thank you, Alex,” she cuts her off, a shy smile gracing her face. She really doesn’t want to hear about the rest of it. And if Alex doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, then no big deal shall be made.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” she says then, and Alex just nods, grabs her bucket of supplies again and turns to leave.

Although not before saying, “Remind me again why you let Kara win? With the portal?”

Lena just shrugs, dark hair escaping out of her messy bun at the movement.

“She said she’s always wanted to go to Narnia.”

Alex shakes her head, rolls her eyes, “Whipped.”

And well, that sounds about right.

******

There’s a documentary on Netflix about the Luthors. Lena’s face in black and white, on the preview banner, a big red X drawn over it.

Kara snaps the remote in half.

Lena reaches over the blanket, grabs her hand, flicks the TV off with only a swish of her fingers and a glitter of sparks.

“C’mere,” she says, tugging gently, till she has a lapful of Krytonian draped over her. Lena traces her fingers over the crinkle between Kara’s brow, smooths them out, thumb dragging across lips till it pulls to a soft smile.

“We know the truth,” she tells her, “and that’s enough.”

“It’s not fair.”

Nothing ever is.

******

“How’re the kids?” She asks, one hand whisking eggs, the other holding the bowl steady.

“Oh, you know, asking me a thousand silly questions a day. Driving Alex crazy. Never letting me sleep. They’re perfect, really,” Kelly says, and Lena hums in response. Before she catches Kelly popping a blueberry in her mouth, a crime punishable by Lena Luthor’s death stare.

“Those are for the muffins.” A foam covered whisk points dangerously to Kelly’s chest.

She raises both arms in surrender, palms opening, dropping the remaining three blueberries onto the counter.

“You know, I’ve seen you do it a thousand times, yet it still doesn’t fail to surprise me.”

Lena concludes she’s talking about the baking tray hovering in the air, a feet away from them, greasing itself. Or maybe it’s the soup at the stove with a ladle stirring itself.

“What can I say,” Lena quips, smirking, “I’m magical like that.”

******

Andrea finds her on a Tuesday.

One minute Lena is reading quietly on her front porch, the next, there is an explosion of sound in her living room. She throws open her door, magical energy sizzling at her fingertips.

The sight that greets her stops her in her tracks. Acrata pinning Supergirl down, their coffee table destroyed. She sighs internally, she loved that coffee table. It was a wedding gift from Nia and Brainy.

“I knew it,” Andrea whispers, her grip slackens around the hero's throat. She stands up slowly, as if afraid that if she moved too fast Lena would disappear. She leaves Supergirl gasping on the floor; materializes in front of Lena in a cloud of black smoke.

“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.” She sobs into Lena’s blouse, arms wrapped tightly around her. Lena embraces her on instinct, her eyes closing briefly, before opening up again to check on Kara dusting herself off.

“Andrea,” Lena croaks, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You can’t tell anyone I’m alive. You can’t tell anyone how I tricked Lex, how I saved Supergirl, how I saved National City.

“Nobody will know,” Andrea promises her.

******

There is a cottage by the woods that nobody else sees, where every Sunday a blonde woman rips apart pieces of wood with her bare hands, where a pale woman with even paler hands grows crops from the barren earth within seconds, where the closet hides cities instead of clothes, where a dead woman and a hero spend their lives in bliss.

******

It has been ten years, her hair is more gray than blonde now, her skin more wrinkled than smooth, her hearing though? Her hearing is still better than ever. And it has been ten years since she’s heard that tell-tale whoosh of a cape, it’s been a decade and still, the sound brings her the same thrill, the same adrenaline.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Supergirl? Or should I say, Superwoman, now?”

And oh-

She did not come alone.

Lena Luthor is set gently down on the balcony.

If Cat Grant wasn’t Cat Grant, she’s sure she would’ve already suffered a heart attack from the mere sight of a woman long dead standing breathing and alive in her home. She would’ve shrieked and demanded answers.

“I need a favor,” Kara tells her, stalking closer, hand on her hip. Cat would’ve laughed at that if this were some other time. No need to play the intimidating game with me, Kiera, she would’ve said.

“What is it?”

“I need you to break a story,” she tells her. “You, Cat. I want you, and nobody else to cover this.”

Cat raises her brow at that, she already has an inkling as to what the story might be about.

“A story hmm? This better be good, if I’m to come out of retirement for it.”

This time it’s Lena Luthor who speaks. Cat has been dying to hear what she has to say.

“It’ll be good," she promises her, "It’ll be better than good."

Kara crowds closer to Lena, then; wraps a protective arm on her waist. Cat watches frozen as Lena's index finger lights in flame. What a sight they make.

"You’ll be telling the entire world the last Luthor’s secret.”

[khaleesiofalicante]

Alec firmly held his son’s hand in his own as they walked towards the subway station. He knew one of these days Rafael was going to grow up and not want to hold his father's hand as they walked - even when they were both glamoured. 

So, Alec held on. He was going to hold on to Rafael as long as he could. 

The boy was walking quietly, his eyes curiously observing the surroundings. Rafael had a fascination with mundane culture. Hence why they were taking the subway instead of simply portalling to the institute. 

Max, on the the hand, preferred to use portals to get from the bedroom to the kitchen. Alec feared the day Max was old enough to make his own portals. He would have to keep a close eye on that one. 

“How are you feeling?” Alec asked. 

It was an important day. Alec had been looking forward to it for a while now. Rafe had received his first rune a couple of months ago - which meant that it was time for him to choose a signature weapon. 

Most shadowhunters had a signature weapon. Not all of them of course. But shadowhunters, despite their herd mentality, liked to be unique when they had the opportunity. 

This was an important moment in a shadowhunter’s life. Your weapon of choice said so much about  who you are and what kind of shadowhunter you wanted to be. 

Of course it wasn’t like there was any magic involved. It wasn't like the weapon chose the shadowhunter or anything, 

But that was the beauty of it. This wasn't magic. This was a conscious choice. A choice to pick a weapon to have your back. It was a decision based on trust and faith and instinct. 

Alec felt goosebumps underneath his sweater. 

“I’m okay,” Rafael said, as he kept looking around. 

He seemed more interested in the walk than the prospect of finding his signature weapon. 

“Are you alright, Rafe?” Alec asked. “Are you feeling nervous?”

Alec remembered the day his parents had taken him to the weapon’s room. It was had been nervous and exhilarating all at once. He had never felt like a real shadowhunter until he had held his bow and arrow in his hands. It had made him feel stronger - more confident. More like the best person he wanted to be when he grew up. 

It had been one of those missing pieces in his life Alec had found and held closely. His bow and arrow. His Jace. His Magnus. His Max and Rafe. 

He couldn’t wait for Rafe to find the perfect weapon that fit his hands and his heart. The one that spoke to the shadowhunter inside him. The one that would protect him every day after today. 

“Not nervous,” Rafe replied, holding out his other hand. 

Alec smiled and reached into his pocket and passed his phone to his son. Rafael took a quick picture of an old woman who was sitting on one of the benches with a cat wearing a rainbow hat. 

Rafe smiled as he gave the phone back to him. Alec assumed he had sent the picture to Magnus.

His son liked to send pictures of random things he found to Magnus. Pictures of     animals on the street. Pictures of the sky. Pictures of people wearing pretty clothes. Pictures of his friends at the institute. 

Rafael had asked for his own phone after he had gotten his first rune. Alec had said no. A phone was not appropriate for a child. He promised to get Rafe one when he was older. 

They reached the subway station and Rafe still looked resigned even though Alec was practically bouncing on his feet.

“Are you sure you are not nervous?” Alec asked again. “You were so brave during your rune ceremony. This is not a test or anything. Aunt Izzy will be there to help you.”

Rafe’s face lit up at that. He had always liked Isabelle a little more than the others. 

“Do you wish Bapa was here?” Alec asked as they waited in the platform. “If you are nervous, I could text him to meet us at the institute.”

“I’m not nervous,” Rafe said again. 

“Then what is it?” Alec asked, feeling worried now. 

“It’s just weird,” Rafe replied.

“What’s weird?” Alec asked, completely confused. 

“This,” Rafe said. “We are going to choose my signature weapon.”

Alec didn’t understand. Any shadowhunter would have been excited by the prospect. 

“Why is that weird?” Alec asked. 

“Cause I’m 11, dad,” Rafe pointed out. 

Alec felt stricken. It wasn’t just what his son had said. It was the way he had said. It was so matter of fact. Like he was stating the date or explaining the weather. 

Suddenly Magnus’ face in the morning had made a whole lot of sense. His husband hadn’t said anything, just quietly kissed them both and waved them goodbye. 

Alec now understood Magnus’ quiet resignation. How he had stood there and watched Alec take their son to the institute so he could equip him with a weapon. Magnus had known there was nothing he could do about it. This was the way of shadowhunters. This was their life. Weapons and demons and hunting. 

Alec looked at Rafael’s hand in his. It was a small hand. A beautiful hand. A hand that was soon going to hold a weapon. 

For a moment, he wanted to laugh out loud. How in the world had that become a normal thing for his people? Why in angels’ name was he excited for his son to find a weapon?

He looked down at Rafe, the boy was still observing the surroundings and was now waving at a dog. 

The train appeared but Alec stood firm. 

“We are not going?” Rafe asked. 

“We are taking another one,” Alec replied. 

They did take another one. They got off at the station and walked towards their destination. 

“This is not the Institute,” Rafael frowned. 

“No,” Alec said, starring at the sign of the ice cream shop. “Clary told me this place has 31 flavours of ice cream.”

“31???” Rafael looked shocked. 

“Let’s forget about weapons for today,” Alec said. “I have a mission for you, Rafe. We are going to find your signature ice cream flavour.”

Rafael squealed so loudly that Alec had to pick him up and twirl him around.

They got through one by one - slowly and steadily. 

“So?” Alec asked. “Who is the winner?”

“Mint chocolate chip,” Rafe said. 

“But that’s the first one you ate!”

“I know,” Rafe grinned. “I just wanted to try all of them. Just to be sure.”

Alec laughed and finished off his butterscotch ice cream. As Rafe went back to the counter and ordered some more for Magnus and Max, Alec watched his son. 

Rafael has just got his first rune. Rafael wasn’t even in the academy yet. They had time.

The excitement could wait. The choice could wait. 

If Alec thought Rafael was not old enough to have a phone, then his son was not old enough to have a weapon of his own either. 

Alec didn’t care how his parents had done it or how other parents did it. He didn't care what Raziel thought or what the Clave would say. 

Rafael was grinning at him from the counter, pointing and giggling at the blueberry ice cream. 

Alec had promised himself to do things differently. So, that’s what he was going to do. 

On their walk back home, Alec held Rafael’s hand again. 

Rafael didn’t need a weapon in his hand to protect him. Rafael needed his parents. 

His son would eventually find his signature weapon as most shadowhunters did. 

But until that day, Alec would hold him. Alec would protect him.

LBAF - Days Past: Rafael

[kythed]

an age of miracles

synopsis: why do the most beautiful people always seem to get the short end of the stick? 

tagged: atsumu miya x reader, mentions of illness, mentions of god.  

commitment level: 3,617 words.

hospitals are liminal spaces. transitional, gateways between birth and death and the whole mess in between. (life.) they’re sites of both tragedy and miraculous recovery, and you’re not yet too old to stop praying for the latter. 

+

his name is atsumu. you skim the documents pinned to his door — atsumu miya. age 21. cirrhosis. 

cirrhosis is late stage liver scarring. nasty stuff. evidently, atsumu miya is in his third stage — portal hypertension. abdominal swelling. jaundice. 

for a bedridden guy with a serious illness, he’s not as justifiably depressed as one might assume. 

“hey, doc,” he says when you come in. he’s facing the window, letting the sunlight cast a saintly halo across his cheeks. blonde hair, an angular sort of face that’s been hollowed by illness. in another life, he might’ve been handsome. 

you clear your throat, and he glances back, surprised. “ah. you’re not my doctor.” 

“nope. nursing student.” you sit at the foot of his bed. “i’ll be monitoring you the next month or so as part of my studies.”

“monitoring,” he repeats drily. “you make it sound like i’m a lab specimen in a test tube.”

“means you’re special.” 

“sure. ‘specially fucked up.” he’s younger than you are, but there’s an aged weariness in his gaze. 

“aren’t we all, mr. miya?” 

he cracks a grin. “touche. call me atsumu, though. mr. miya’s my dad.”

“as you wish, mr. miya,” you say, biting back a smile. (there are those who say sarcasm has no place in hospitals. you do not fall into this category.)

+

atsumu likes to play chess. the second day of your clinical, he’s got a travel sized chess board set up on his bedside table. “been dying from boredom the past few hours. think you could take a break from ‘monitoring’ me to play a game?”

you set your clipboard down. “i could. i’d advise against it, though. i’m a pretty good player.”

atsumu grins. “not better than me.” 

he’s right. he beats you three games in a row before you finally snag a checkmate. (and you suspect this is only due to pity.) 

“what’d i tell you, baby?” he crows, and you shake your head, raising your arms in surrender.

“it was an off day. if i’d been on my game i could’ve swept the floor with you.”

“prove it,” atsumu says, leaning forward. he’s pale from a lack of sunshine, but you notice a faint pink glow in his cheeks now. “come back tomorrow.”

tomorrow’s a saturday, and you don’t have clinical. “of course i will.” 

you’re not one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. plus, atsumu is fun. (and kind of cute.) 

+

“hi. brought you something.” you set a tupperware of cubed fruit on atsumu’s lap before pulling up a chair next to the bed. 

“did you make this?” he says, eyes wide. 

“i just chopped up a few apples and stuff,” you say, plucking a blueberry from the container and popping it into your mouth. 

atsumu shakes his head before biting into a chunk of pineapple. “you’d think it’d be hard to mess up fruit salad, but somehow this damn hospital can make a strawberry taste like cough medicine. everything they serve here tastes like cough medicine, actually.” 

“delicious.” 

“disgusting.” atsumu sets up the chess board. “so, like, thanks. for the fruit. can i keep the tupperware?”

you laugh. “why do you wanna keep the tupperware?” 

“it’s a reminder of normality.” atsumu shrugs. “i only ever eat off chipped hospital dishes here.” 

your chest throbs. “oh, atsumu.” 

“don’t you ‘oh, atsumu’ me,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“sorry. yeah, you can keep it.”

(he wins at chess again.)

+

you’re only required to come in to the hospital three times a week, but you get into the habit of visiting atsumu every day. the first time you visit after class, you’re wearing a sweater and jeans. atsumu wolf whistles.

“damn. you look good when you’re not in scrubs.” 

“are you saying i don’t rock scrubs?” you press a hand to your chest in mock offense. 

“nobody looks good in scrubs,” atsumu says. “except for me, probably. i look good in anything.” 

you laugh. “i believe it.” 

“you’d better.” atsumu has a nice smile, you notice, wide and shiny. 

you plop yourself down beside him on the bed. “hey, you wanna see a picture i took on the way here? i found a stray cat near the convenience store.” 

“i’m a dog person,” atsumu says, but he nonetheless leans forward to get a look at your phone. “oh, cute.” 

“isn’t he?” you say, zooming in on the little orange cat. “i think i’m gonna name him after you.” 

“what?” atsumu huffs. “why?”

“because he’s good at chess,” you say. 

atsumu furrows his brow. “you played chess with a cat?”

“no, i just have a feeling,” you hum, and atsumu rolls his eyes with a small smile. 

“you’re stupid.” 

you slip your phone back into your pocket. “in a cute way, though.” 

“if you say so,” atsumu says, and you flick his shoulder. “ouch. way to bully a sick man.” 

“you deserved it,” you laugh, and he joins in.

“yeah, i did.” 

+

the next time you visit, atsumu’s family is there. his parents have kind, tired faces. 

“nice to meet you,” his mom says, grasping your hand warmly. “i’m glad atsumu has a friend here.”

“mom,” complains atsumu. “i have friends.” 

“none as cool as me, though,” you tease, and he smiles.

“you’re right,” he says, and his dad rumples his hair before turning to shake your hand. 

“it’s great to meet you, mr. miya,” you say, returning the shake. 

“the pleasure’s mine,” he says. he looks nearly identical to atsumu, just a little grayer. right next to him, there’s a boy who really does look exactly identical to atsumu, though his hair’s dyed dark and he’s a little more filled out. he has an air of begrudging maturity about him, the telltale sign of a young man who’s been forced to carry burdens that aren’t his. 

“i’m osamu,” he says. he’s sitting on the chair near atsumu’s bed. “this little asshole’s brother.”

“i don’t know why you keep calling me little,” atsumu says, lightly punching osamu’s forearm. “i’m the older twin.” 

“yeah, but you act like a baby.” osamu grins and leans out of reach when atsumu tries to swat at him. you chuckle behind a hand, leaning back against the wall as mr. and mrs. miya question you about your studies and hobbies. 

on your way out of the hospital a half hour later, you run into osamu at the lobby coffee shop. 

“so,” he says, sipping from a steaming cup. “you’re a nursing student?”

“mm,” you say, handing a fiver to the cashier to pay for your sandwich. “i’m in my fourth year at hyogo university. are you in college, too?”

“nah,” says osamu. “i play volleyball. professionally, i mean.”

“oh!” you notice the lettering on his sports jacket for the first time. msby black jackals. “that’s really cool.”

osamu shrugs. “sometimes it is. tsumu’s wanted to be a pro player since we were kids — but he won’t ever be able to do that now, of course. so that’s why i play. better to have one miya in the pro circuit than none at all.” 

your heart sinks. “you’re a great brother, osamu.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m really not. it should’ve been me in that hospital bed.”

“osamu…” you trail off as osamu just shakes his head, giving you a sad smile. 

“it was nice meeting you,” he says before tossing his cup and heading back towards the elevators. 

+

“no,” atsumu says staunchly, crossing his arms. “definitely not. i don’t read.” 

“come on,” you wheedle, dangling the book in front of his face. “it’s one of my favorites, and i thought it might stave off some of that stifling boredom you always complain about.”

“i’m bored, but not that bored,” atsumu says, squinting at the book. “what is that about, anyways? the little prince? sounds lame.”

“it’s not lame,” you promise, bouncing slightly on the bed. atsumu sniffs. “okay, what if i read it to you? you don’t have to do anything but listen.”

“i’m not a child.” 

“you’re acting like one.”

atsumu throws his hands up in defeat. “alright, fine. you win. we can read the little prince.”

“excellent.” you beam. “scoot over?”

“what?” atsumu says, but he scoots to the side of his bed as you kick your shoes off and curl up next to him. you feel his breath hitch as he lightly lets his arm curve around your waist. 

you sigh, content, and flip to read the first page. “once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book…”

+

it takes three visits to finish the entire story. atsumu sniffles when you read the last line, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“did he die?”

you trace a light circle on atsumu’s palm, smiling slightly. “i don’t know. i think it’s up to the reader to decide. he left his body, but is that really death? or is it just… moving on?” 

“i think he just moved on,” insists atsumu. “he moved on and returned to the stars. he was just a kid. he was too young to have died.” 

“look at you,” you tease, and atsumu flushes. “waxing on poetic.”

“it was good,” atsumu says gruffly. “thank you.” 

“you’re welcome,” you breathe, and when atsumu buries his face in your neck, you realize he’s crying. 

+

he kisses you for the first time a week later. it’s late in the afternoon, and both your faces are tinged with gold. he slips a hand beneath your jaw, and you let him slowly guide your lips to meet his. they’re soft, hesitant, and sweet, pressing against yours with an uncharacteristic shyness. 

you sigh happily when he pulls you forward to straddle his lap, slipping your hands into his thick blonde hair, letting him press light kisses down the length of your neck. 

“hey, beautiful,” he breathes into your collarbone, and you laugh. 

“hey, pretty boy. nice to see you today.” 

+

atsumu’s discovered a newfound love for reading ever since you read the little prince outloud to him. you’ve been bringing him secondhand books from the thrift store near your house, and now there’s a sizeable stack of novels out on the table. 

“i think i’ve read more in the past couple months than i ever read in high school,” he admits, running a finger down the spine of treasure island. “you’ve turned me into a nerd.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, straightening his collar.

“it’s kind of nice, though,” he says thoughtfully, tossing the book back on the table. “to read about all these different people, all the things they do. all the stories i’m never gonna get to experience.”

“you’re getting to experience them through reading,” you correct. “that’s the beauty of fiction.”

atsumu laughs. “you’re such a sap.” 

“it’s true,” you insist. “god knows life is too short to live through everything we’d like to. that’s why he gave us imagination.”

“do you believe in god?” atsumu asks softly. his stare grows distant.

you think for a moment. “sometimes i do. do you?”

“same. sometimes.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “sometimes i wonder, though… like, if there’s a god, why does he hate me?” 

you chew on your cheek. “why do you feel hated?” 

atsumu laughs a laugh tinged with slight bitterness. “sweetheart… i’m not going to live past twenty-five, if even that.” 

you swallow the knot in your throat, letting it sink deep into your stomach where it sits like a lump of copper. “well… the little prince is less than a hundred pages. sometimes the shortest books are the best reads.” 

atsumu nods silently. he’s not convinced. you’re not sure if you are, either. 

+

atsumu sleeps a lot these days. you spend as much time with him as you can, but more often than not, he’s in a half conscious daze, curled up beneath the white hospital comforter. during these times, you just set your backpack by the door the slip into bed next to him, wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your palms to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. it’s faint, but it’s steady and rhythmic. ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump. 

sometimes, atsumu’s his usual, lively self, cracking bad jokes and poking fun at you. his smiling face has come to be your favorite picture. on these days, you bring him a hot chocolate from the coffee shop and split it with him, kissing off the whipped cream that finds its way onto his lips. he still likes to play chess, and, though he won’t admit it, you’ve been getting better. one day, you beat him, two games to one. 

there are solemn, quiet times, and there are bright, cheerful times, but you savor all of them. every moment spent with atsumu is valuable in your book. occasionally, you’ll go with him out into the hospital garden, into the warmth of the sun. every so often he’ll stop, lean on you to catch his breath, but he never complains. 

“look,” he’ll say instead, pointing at a vine of jasmine, or a single daisy swaying in the breeze. “almost as pretty as you.” 

+

one day, as you’re leaving atsumu’s room, you run into his doctor in the hall. 

“keep your chin up,” she says, straightening her glasses. “it’s possible he could still recover. strong young men often do.” 

you nod slowly. “is he going to need a transplant?”

“well,” says the doctor, clicking on her pen absentmindedly. “if it gets any worse, yes. but i’m going to be honest with you — it’s unlikely we’ll find a donation with both a matching blood type and in good condition.”

“ah.”

“so just hope for the best.” she slips into his room before you can say another word, leaving you to lean heavily against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. miracles happen every day, you remind yourself. there’s no reason atsumu shouldn’t be the recipient of one. 

+

“hey,” atsumu says. he whispers your name with an unusual tenderness. “i have to talk to you.”

it’s been five months since you first met atsumu on a clinical, and it’s been three months since he began to call you his girlfriend. you lace your fingers between his, giving his hand a light squeeze. “yeah, ‘tsumu?”

he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i don’t think i’m going to… be here much longer.” 

“no,” you say, chest tightening. “don’t say that. you’re gonna be fine.” 

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low. he takes your chin and firmly turns your head to look at him. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i just… i’m sick. it’s hard to think straight sometimes, so i just wanted to tell you before i can’t anymore.”

“tell me what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“tell you that i love you.” 

“atsumu,” you breathe. a frustrated tear finds its way down your cheek. “i… i love you, too. but please… just hang on. they’ll find a donor. they have to.”

“they might not,” he says, and he smiles, pulling you close. you knot your hands in the front of his t-shirt, pressing your face to his chest. “don’t cry. i’m just going to go live in the stars, right? like the little prince.” 

there’s so many things you want to say, like, you nerd, can’t believe you’re making literary allusions or shut up, asshole, or i’ll miss you if you do, but you say nothing, because if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll just sob. 

“don’t cry,” he says again, but he’s crying, and you lift your face to see the tears streaming. “i love you.” 

your throat is too thick to say it back, but he sees it in your eyes. i love you, too. 

+

you spend the rest of the night with him before leaving at a little past 2am, and the next morning, you get a text from osamu. 

he’s gone. 

you don’t cry at the funeral. it’s small, just his family, a group of close friends, and you. you don’t look in the casket, either, because you want to remember his smile, and empty bodies don’t. you sip on a paper cup of water and lean against a wall, where osamu finds you. 

“hey,” he says, and you nod in return. “he left this for you.” 

you take the letter from him, and after he gives your shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his parents, you tear it open. 

hey, you. i’m writing this two months after you first came into my room in that god-awful set of scrubs. right now, you’re napping in the chair near my bed. you look cute. we had our first kiss last week, and i’m still walking on air. fuck, that sounds dorky. oh, well. guess i’m a dork. only for you, though. 

anyways, if you’re reading this, it’s because i’ve died. whoop-dee-doo. i’ve moved on to the great beyond. i’ve fallen past the veil. whatever it is you nerds like to say. there are probably things i’m going to say to you in the next few months that are a little more… intimate, i guess? but i wanted to tell you this while it’s still fresh in my mind: you’ve honest-to-goodness saved my life. i mean, it might not go on for much longer, sure, but you really have, in a way. being sick is weird. it makes you a lot more sensitive to miracles. 

you start. you don’t remember ever talking to atsumu about miracles.

someone from the outside might look at me and call me unlucky, but i feel pretty damn lucky right now. meeting you was without a doubt a miracle, and if i never got sick, it never would’ve happened. take that as you will, i guess. all i know is i’m not angry at god, even though maybe i should be. i mean, i’m still not sure he’s even out there. but there’s gotta be something, or someone, because how the fuck else could i have possibly recieved something so… great? i sure as hell never did something to deserve it. (god, i sound stupid. but it’s just hard to chalk up to coincidence.) 

anyways, i love you. not sure i’ll ever get the guts to say that out loud, so i’m saying it here. i love you, and i hope you love me, too. 

- atsumu

“i do,” you whisper. “i do.” 

+

on your way home, you stop at the convenience store for a bottled water, and the little orange cat comes out and winds itself around your leg, purring. 

“hey, ‘tsumu,” you say, squatting down to scratch its head. “fancy a game of chess?”

it meows back. 

“yeah?” your eyes grow wet, and you wipe them on the sleeve of your sweater. “wanna come home with me?”

it meows again, and this time, you break out into full scale crying. you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can see a tear in the cat’s eye, too. 

he follows you home, and the next day, you purchase a water dish, a big bag of cat food, and a blue collar. (blue was atsumu’s favorite color.)

+

three years later. 

“honey?” 

“yeah?”

your husband comes out from the hall, buttoning up his shirt. “you almost ready to go?” 

“almost, ‘samu,” you say, slipping on a bracelet. your hands are shaking, and he notices it, too. today’s the third anniversary of atsumu’s death, and it’s also the date of osamu’s first big press conference. “he’d be so proud of you, you know.” 

osamu smiles. “he would. he’d be proud of you, too.”

you laugh. “what for? for marrying his little brother?”

“no, he’d probably be kind of pissed at me,” osamu jokes, before coming to stand behind you. he wraps his hands around your waist. “he’d be proud of you for finding happiness, i think.” 

“i am happy,” you say, tilting your head as osamu presses a kiss to your temples. there’s a beat of silence. “but i miss him.”

“i do, too.” osamu rests his chin on your head. “he probably misses us.”

“mm,” you say. “i think he might be having too much fun for that, actually.” 

“maybe,” says osamu, and he leans forward to grab the keys from the counter. “i’m gonna go heat up the car, okay?” 

“sounds good,” you say, as the cat dashes into the room with a meow. a nameplate that reads ‘tsumu’ dangles from his collar. “oh, hey kitty. i forgot to feed you. i’ll be out in a minute!” 

after you fill the cat’s dish and pull on a cardigan over your dress, you slip outside, shivering in the night air. the sky is clear and full of stars, and as you walk to the car, you crane your neck up to see. 

“hope you’re doing well, ‘tsumu,” you whisper to the gleaming constellations. 

you still have things you want to say to him, even after all these years. you want to ask him how the weather in the cosmos is, and if the fruit salad is better up there. you want to ask if he’s read any good books lately, or if he’s seen how great osamu’s serve has gotten recently. you want to laugh with him. 

most of all, though, you want to let him know that he was your miracle, too.

[starryasmo]

Cottagecore MC x The Undateables (Pt. II)

The demon brothers weren’t the only people who had become attached to you during your stay in the Devildom.

The first person besides the brothers who had taken a liking to you was none other than Lord Diavolo himself. Upon seeing you in all of your timid and soft glory, with the scent of light perfume and tea leaves trailing after you and the illusion of roses blooming under your skin from how pink your cute cheeks were, he’d immediately decided that he liked you, chuckling and commenting on how there couldn’t possibly a human cuter than you upon your arrival to the Devildom. You had flushed at this, ducking your head down, doll lashes obscuring your sweet eyes, panicked and flustered and unsure how to respond.

However, after your initial awkwardness around Diavolo, you realized that he was absolutely marvelous as a companion and a friend.

Diavolo was a kindred spirit to you, in a sense — the woodland animals (if you could call them that) of the Devildom seemed to flock to him like he was a cartoon princess, and he was as sweet, gentle, and caring as an angel would be. However, you had noticed that he wasn’t very in touch with nature; seldom did he ever go outside for any reason other than getting from place to place, and the only person besides you who ventured into the castle gardens was Barbatos, the stoic butler. He had felt no need to explore nature, and that did confuse you a bit and make it harder for you to communicate with him, but you dismissed it, as you did with everyone who didn’t really like to be in touch with nature as much as you did.

But one day, when you were spending time lounging in the gardens with a good book and a warm cup of lavender tea, you were pleasantly surprised to see him walk through the ornate door. He’d walked over to you, his nervous demeanor and fidgety fingers an accursed opposition to his status as the future ruler of the Devildom. However, you had sat up, dusted the crumbs of your strawberry thumbprint cookies off of your flowy skirt, and invited him to sit with you, your gentle and sweet smile an invitation that he simply couldn’t refuse. When you had asked him why he was in the gardens, he confessed with an air of nervousness that he’d been looking for you, simply because your demeanor and your aura was one that he felt immense comfort and relaxation in. You had felt flattered at this, of course, but you laughed lightly at his wording. You explained to him that the soothing feeling he had around you was one that came when one was especially connected to nature. Nature was something that served as a bridge between man and the world, and your extraordinary connection to it had enchanted your energies and made you somewhat of a docile force of nature. In order to feel this more often, even when you weren’t around, you explained calmly as you offered him a few of your cookies, he should form a deeper connection with nature.

You had taken his hand in your smaller one to take him up to your cottage in the human world, the calluses on his hands reminding you of the sun baked river pebbles you had collected and stored in a mason jar on your shelf, and he’d been glancing around like an excited puppy upon your arrival into the forest, pointing out the moss climbing up the tall trunks of your friends, the trees, and the vibrant color of your sisters, the wildflowers. He’d been generous in talking about how beautiful your brothers and sisters, the mushrooms and the flowers, were, and you could feel them all blushing under his immense praise. You yourself couldn’t stop your smile as you took him to your cottage. After spending some time in the sunlit kitchen, you baking while he talked about how lovely the forest was, you two left the cottage and made your way down a winding cobblestone path that you seemed to know like the back of your hand, making way to a stretching meadow covered in wildflowers and lush grass. Trees arched overhead, filtering a crystal blue sky. You two chewed on the huge warm croissants you’d made not five minutes ago, hands intertwined as you strolled through the meadow. The bumblebees and ladybugs seemed to notice your presence and buzzed over to you, and he had let out a small exclamation of delight when one landed on your nose briefly, as if giving you a small kiss. He’d leaned over and given you a kiss where the ladybug had landed, right on the tip of your nose, and said that he’d read that ladybugs granted good luck, so maybe he could enhance that. You had flushed a pale pink and laughed lightly, amused. You two had strolled together for a while, basking in each other’s presence and just being in the moment, before he was summoned back for an urgent last minute student council meeting. He, albeit reluctantly, had finished the last of his croissant and beckoned you to follow him into the portal that Barbatos had summoned, promising to do this again with you sometime. You, with your saccharine smile and understanding eyes, had nodded and told him that you would hold him to it. Nowadays, you would leave a few croissants at his doorstep in a hand woven wicker basket with a purple ribbon on the handle, a letter attached to the basket with a thin string, and he would always write you a thank you letter, accompanied by a gift that he saw you eyeing in the store windows at the human world market that you frequented. He remembered that you much preferred letters to texting, much to your silent but sweet delight, and he was more than willing to write to you whenever the mood struck.

Barbatos had found himself rather amused at your delicate presence, your enchanting yet gentle aura reminding him of a fragile fairy flitting about, sleeping among the grasses and lounging in seashells, combing your hair. However, one day, you had managed to startle him slightly when you asked him if he wanted to accompany you to the human world. You explained that before you had been sent down to the Devildom, there was a tea garden that you would visit often, hidden away from most and becoming a haven for any traveler lucky enough to stumble upon it. Sometimes, the nymphs hailing from the twisting stream a few strides away from your cottage would walk in, all giggles and breezy laughs as they snacked on biscuits and rosepetal honey, their silky gowns dripping water across the floor. Other days, you would walk in to find the ram-horned general that guarded the fairy queen’s throne chewing on cute heart shaped jam cookies, dressed in his full suit of armor, or the white hare with five leverets around her, always dressed in a lacy blouse and two blue bows, chewing on her macarons with a wistful grace as she spoke gently about her children. Sometimes, you would start a conversation with the stern old man with skin like the bark of a tree who ordered a glass of wine and lemon bars every time, or the butterfly winged flower dwellers would pull you over to share gossip. You enjoyed the company you found there, and you wanted to share the joy and domesticity you felt with Barbatos, who seemed too cold and pent up to truly feel known, seen, loved. So when you walked with him through the portal and down the silver path only revealed under the luminous moonlight, you found your fingers intertwining with his as you walked, talking idly about your experience in the Devildom. He didn’t react much to the small action, but the white cat with piercing blue eyes who you fed a handful of blueberries one time whispers to you from a tree branch above, saying that Barbatos is enjoying himself. You smile at the feline’s words and squeeze Barbatos’ hand as you make your way into the tea garden. You take a seat by the window, pulling out his seat for him as you smile softly. The owner, a witch with feathers in her hair and a strange likeness to the portrait of a grand dame from the 1700s that nobody really questions and a necklace that dangles with a family jewel that she doesn’t speak of, approaches your table with her kind smile and her wooden tray already holding your usual order; a slice of strawberry rose cake enchanted with the sweet sugary dust that the pixies left behind as their wings shedded, and a glass of a light sparkling drink that shimmered a faint purple and tasted like springtime. One look at Barbatos, and she seemed to know exactly what he wanted. She soon arrived back to your table with a matcha latte in a dark cyan mug with a pawprint pattern and a slice of her signature cinnamon pie. He had thanked her politely, and she had huffed and told him to relax a bit more with a motherly smile before turning to serve others, long black robes floating off the ground slightly as she walked. After you two had finished your food and left, he admitted that he’d enjoyed spending time with you, and that he’d take you here again soon, if only to both see your gentle smile and to honor the promise he’d made to the small frog that held a tiny guitar and sat on the windowsill who he’d become acquainted with.

Spending time with those living in Purgatory Hall turned out to be quite an experience. They had naturally been drawn in by your gentle angel-like appearance, but when they found out you had a sweet personality and a shimmering smile to match, they were quick to show you welcome and adoration.

Solomon was fond of you, mostly because of the magic you harbored within you. You were a mysterious entity, a being whose magical abilities seemed far too powerful for someone as docile and innocent as you, but his little theory was quickly disproven once he voiced it to you and you spoke angrily to him about how you were not some tame little porcelain doll before you dumped your basket of baguettes on his head out of anger and stomped away with a huff, fingers holding up the flowy skirts of your favorite sundress with a vice grip. You later apologized for your actions, and he dismissed it with an air of nonchalance, although the crumbs in his hair and the wrinkles on your skirt were proof that he shouldn’t call you innocent or docile, even if he still harbored those thoughts somewhere in his head. After the incident, you two had proven to be rather good friends, showing off magic to each other during free periods. He would show you runes and spells that he could perform, and you would watch in awe as he covered a room in sparkling lights or turned someone’s figure into a marigold orange or a baby pink. You seemed to like the sparkly and showy spells more, but anytime he performed his spells outdoors, you would let out a yelp and quickly check on the plants and soil nearby to see if they were harmed by the magical properties of his spells. He would always assure you that no, his spells couldn’t harm the nature of any of the three realms unless he willed it to, but you were still anxious about it, always fretting over the fallen leaves and the grassy fields that he demonstrated on. In return, you showed him how to enchant your baked goods and items that you collected. You had been given a jar of honey and a porcelain teacup as an inheritance from the last fairy queen, who tragically passed on “under strange circumstances”, and a lone wizard no older than you who had drank by himself in the corner during the wake of the fairy queen’s funeral showed you how to enchant it, as well as a few other spells. When you had asked him why, he said that he was going to pass soon of an unknown heretic condition, and that he might as well give up his knowledge to another person who seemed so gentle and beautiful. After speaking with him some more, you had made yourself tea after the funeral and added the rich wildflower-infused honey to it, and when you had drank from the gold-rimmed teacup decorated with birds and blossoms, your singing had become sweet and enchanting, able to cause beasts to fall into deep slumbers and flowers to bloom all around you, the tides rising and falling at your command. When you had sang for him one time, it was in the forest while you two were looking for herbs with magical properties — he was looking for the bark of a blackthorn tree and shining willow for a potion he hadn’t tried yet while you searched for juniper berries and ginseng roots to enchant your pastries. He was enamored with your voice, and although the magical properties that had graced your chords had no effect on him, he was still charmed by your song and softly asked for an encore, which you did with flushed cheeks. All in all, you were lovely company to him, and he liked being around you, if only to hear your gentle voice again.

Simeon enjoyed the moments he got to spend with you. Like you, he was more in touch with nature than technology, but you often found yourself showing him how to fix the simpler functions on his D.D.D, such as the caps lock or the brightness or the volume. You two would often travel to the human world to frolic in the golden fields near your cottage, or you would spend time on the roof of said cottage with him, writing flowery poetry to read to the moon from the cottage window. You both were good at writing, but you could hone in on the littlest details about a person or a setting, while he tended to focus more on prose and plot. Solomon had joked that you and him should write a book together someday and that it would sell for eons across the three realms, unaware of the fact that you two absolutely loved writing together under the speckling moonlight. While he could whisper his words to his delicate gold-trim paper and charm it to write whatever he said in fine print, you preferred writing on your worn parchment with a fluffy white quill pen. He would take the opportunity of his free hands to place one atop your hand that wasn’t writing, and you would halt your writing briefly before continuing with flushed cheeks that were clear as day under the moon’s sweet smile. He would always chuckle at you before turning his face back to admiring the radiant celestial being in the sky, but whenever you paused to glance up at him, enthralled by his otherworldly beauty, he would turn back to you as if he could see you without looking at you, and he would give you a little wink. Often, the night would end in you two quietly reading to each other and the moon, voices soft and gentle as you curled up in his arms, skin brushing against each other every now and then, causing a slight shiver to run up your spine and arms, to which he would chuckle lightly. Sometimes, if you two arrived early, you would spend the time picking berries and fruits with him in the forest, and you would snack on them while you wrote. The juices of the sweet foods would stain the parchment most of the time, and they would imprint a sweet scent into the papers. Other times, if you were lucky enough to get to the human realm even earlier, you would take the berries and fruits that had been collected, and you would bake biscuits and tarts with him, sharing them with him and having him feed pieces of them to you on the cozy porch of your cottage while you wrote. Your voice was a heavenly idyllic thing that he treasured, wanted to pluck a piece of and keep in a little glass box, just to have a small piece of you wherever he went. You were someone he adored dearly, and he wanted to be the cause of that innocuous twinkle in your eye, wanted to be the catalyst of that gentle smile you wore like a second skin, always brightening the world around you, natural and beautiful and serene as could be. Or perhaps you wore it as a cloak, a mask to conceal your inner turmoils and sufferings, your deepest pains and fears. Oh, how it pained him to see your broken expression when people mercilessly killed off acres and acres of the forests for their own selfish gain, or when someone pushed you away in disgust and told you that you were nothing more than a horrid blot on the imperfect world. You looked so broken when you cried, and it was a heart wrenching sight that only fueled his want, his desperate need to take your cherubic cheeks in his slender hands, to kiss your eyelids and the crown of your head and hold you gently, sweetly to his chest, to whisper soft reassurances to you and be your pillar of support. No amount of eloquently woven words could express how much you meant to him, and he was willing to wipe away all of your tears and kiss your eyelids and the crown of your head until his lips went numb if it meant that he saw that broken expression one moment less.

Luke absolutely adored you. You were so cute and sweet, and you smelled like sunshine and flowers, and not only did you never call him ‘Fido’ or ‘chihuahua’, but you actually stood up to the brothers and told them (albeit rather gently) to stop when they compared him to a dog or they barked at him in that stupid condescending tone! He was one hundred percent certain that you were an angel of some sort, and he would do anything to keep your sweet and pure presence around him. He would latch onto your side possessively when you two walked together between classes, holding your index and middle finger with his hand while he sent out the most intimidating glare he could muster to any demon who dared to so much as look at you funny, as opposed to the sweet smile you would offer to anyone who locked eyes with you for more than a second. You supposed that, given his appearance, his “most intimidating glare” wasn’t very intimidating — the demons he narrowed his eyes at probably saw his glare and his refusal to leave your side as him hiding behind you, glancing and staring warily at the demons in fear. You were too nice and sweet to be hanging around “those scummy, horrifying, lowest of the low demons”, according to him, and he was dead set on keeping you from being “corrupted and brought down to be tormented more by those selfish creatures”. You would simply laugh your kind and airy laugh before squeezing his hand gently as best you could and reassuring him that you could protect yourself, but you would always fall back on a powerful angel like Luke, to which he preened at the praise and declared that he would always protect you. He was always in awe of you, from your ethereal deity-like appearance of gentle smiles and long flowy dresses and the scent of honey and perfection, to your connection to nature and the way the rocks and the spindly trees seemed to be your brothers, the moon your mother and the wildflowers and rushing stream your sisters, no matter the realm. You were like an otherworldly spirit of the woods, and your grandiose stories and elegant tales of the fairy queen with huge pearlescent wings and her beautiful kingdom always made him visualize you as the sweet and loving fairy queen. One thing he would always put away time for was baking with you. Once he learned that you could bake since you were a child, he was quick to drag you to Purgatory Hall, pulling you into the kitchen and begging you to bake something with him. You had laughed, light and breezy, and calmed him down with a few reassuring head pats before looking through the kitchen cabinets to see if you could find any ingredients that you were familiar with. You found the necessities after a while and nodded for him to join you, his arms full of Celestial Realm ingredients that Simeon had brought down for him. You two baked together, chattering amongst yourselves animatedly as you filled the kitchen with a sweet scent that you’d never smelled before. You were more than happy to talk to him about anything his little heart desired to ramble on about, from his duties as an angel to his favorite treats to bake. You had ended up making your famous ‘night sky’ blueberry and lemon pie that animals from all over the forest would flock to your cottage to have a piece of, as well as glazed lavender honey cookies, complete with a small mason jar of your favorite jam when you were a child, the strawberry and lemon ‘Aphrodite’s Love Jam’. He, in turn, had made what was called Moon Rabbit Cookies in the Celestial Realm, which were dolloped with a shimmery cream and dusted with a pearlescent sugar-like substance that seemed to glow under the lighting of the kitchen lamps, along with the Selcouth Cakes that he’d perfected only recently. They seemed to shift from peachy orange to baby pink to a myriad of other colors, and he explained that the flavors were unknown and depended solely on the consumer’s energies and ethereal aura. When you had tried the small mug-sized cakes, the taste of mint and steeped mountain snow had cooled your tongue and relieved you of the drops

of perspiration that had formed on your forehead during the baking session. Another bite had the taste of strawberries and brown buttercream melting in your mouth and causing you to let out a soft him of nostalgia. He’d tried your cookies with a small spoon of jam and had exclaimed in delight, mouth still full, and immediately swallowed his bite and yelled for Simeon and Solomon to get into the kitchen and try your baking. They’d all joined you, and you all had had fun spending time together and snacking on baked goods, but only you caught the small beaming smile that Luke shot you, and only he saw the sweet and gentle smile that you had returned it with, the faintest trace of pomegranate juice on the corner of his mouth. That moment was when he’d sworn to be your one and only Guardian Angel, here and thus.

You had somehow managed to worm your way into the hearts of not only seven of some of the most powerful demons in the Devildom, but you had also managed to befriend the future ruler of hell, his butler, two angels, and an all powerful sorcerer king with over seventy two demons at his beck and call. You enjoyed their company, naive and sweet and oblivious to the way they would glare harshly at anybody who looked at you wrong or tried to touch you in any way that seemed unfriendly. No, you would go on about your day with a sweet idyllic smile, unaware of the trails of blood your protectors left behind you.

It was almost ironic — the most destructive catalyst in the Devildom wore a long flowy summerdress and a kind smile wherever they went.

You truly were something else.

[tsuki-chibi]

Ladrien June Day 3 - Squall: Trust Fall

This story is a sequel to my Marinette March, Adrinette April, and Marichat May stories; I highly recommend reading those first.

You can also read this story on AO3: Squall

---

Adrien walked slowly up to the spot where the Dupain-Cheng bakery would be, gratified to see that it was, in fact, a bakery. He paused for a moment in front of the window to look inside. There was a bunch of customers clustered around the cash register and the display shelves. He could make out a few people working behind the counter, but he was too far away to be able to see who it was.

“Mm… that looks yummy,” Trixx whispered.

“Huh?” Adrien refocused, realizing that Trixx was looking covetously at the beautiful cake in the window. It was a wedding cake, lovingly decorated with a cascading spray of blue flowers on both sides. The little groom on top had either fallen over or had been posed in the middle of doing a trust fall, since the groom was leaning precariously against the bride figurine.

“I bet it tastes like blueberries,” Trixx said dreamily.

“Umm… maybe. You’re supposed to be hiding.” Adrien gently pushed the kwami back down and moved towards the door of the shop. A little bell jingled as he entered.

No one looked his way, which was exactly the way he liked it. One nice thing about an alternate universe was that he wasn’t a minor celebrity here in either his civilian form or in his transformed form. That kind of anonymity at least made it a lot easier to get around.

He inhaled deeply, taking in a frankly delicious array of cookies, cakes, and pastries. His stomach growled. Though he and Marinette had had a snack right before traveling through the portal, he hadn’t eaten too much, and he realized that he was hungry. That made him wonder just how much money he had on him. He’d stuffed a lot of things into his bag when leaving the Agreste mansion, but thankfully had his wallet in his pants.

He quickly stepped over to the side and pulled out his wallet, doing a quick count. There wasn’t a ton of money, but he had enough to be able to feed himself and Trixx for a couple of days. That was a relief. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if all he’d had were his cards, because it wasn’t like he had a bank account in this universe for said cards to be connected to.

“Try to figure out what you can afford?”

Adrien startled at the sudden voice, which was spoken right over his shoulder, and came within a hair of elbowing the girl right behind him in the face. He stopped himself just in time, while the girl stepped back with a shocked expression that instantly made him feel bad.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Adrien said quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously.” She stared at him for a moment. Adrien took the chance to look her over too. She had dark hair just like Marinette, but it was much longer – almost to her waist and pulled back in a low ponytail. Her eyes were brown, and she had at least two inches of height on him.

Unless Marinette looked extremely different, this wasn’t her.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

“My -?” Honestly, until that moment, Adrien had forgotten about his split lip and black eye. He touched his cheek and went for the obvious lie. “I do Fencing. Some days I’m a lot better at it than others.”

“Oh.” She smiled then. “That sucks. Did you come to the Dupain bakery to eat your pain away?”

The Dupain bakery?

Not Dupain-Cheng?

Adrien looked around instinctively and spotted some detailing on the nearest display case. In fine white lettering were the words ‘Dupain Bakery’.

He started to get the feeling that he wasn’t going to find Marinette.

“I’m Alice. Feel free to take a look around. When you figure out what you want, just let me know.” Alice smiled again and walked away towards another customer. Adrien unconsciously followed her, realizing that she was wearing a cute pink apron over a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Maybe Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng weren’t even married in this universe.

That was a depressing thought.

He didn’t like the idea of being in a world where that was no Marinette.

But it wasn’t like he had a choice right now. There was no way to change universes until Marinette returned for him – and she wouldn’t be doing that until she had the Ladybug miraculous. Adrien didn’t want to disappoint her; he wanted to have the Black Cat miraculous in hand before that happened. So there was no point in quibbling over what universe he was temporarily in.

Trixx shifted restlessly in his pocket and Adrien nodded to himself. First stop: some food.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 29

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is back on Earth, summoned by a strange child.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It was cold.

Bucky was frozen, the air like a flash freeze over his skin. The warmth he’d been used to vanished as the portal closed behind him. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think. There were so many scents, overwhelming after the dry, dead air of the demon realm.

The noises pressed on his sensitive hearing: air conditions, cars driving in the distance, electric appliances and fixtures. He bent his head and covered his ears, whining, but it didn’t help.

He was accustomed to bright, endless daylight. That wasn’t the reason he squeezed his eyes shut. There’d only been one color in the world he’d escaped.

Now he was surrounded in greens and tans and blues and whites. He couldn’t see the sky; he was indoors, in a house. He couldn’t breathe. He scrambled for safety, the first spot of darkness he could find, under a twin bed. Bucky laid still, curled into a ball with his tail and wings shielding him as he trembled.

In contrast to the assault on his other senses, his sense of touch was cushioned by the carpet, so much softer than the stone floor of his cave. There wasn’t much left to his tac pants and vest, so he experienced the full effect against his skin.

Bucky nearly stretched out on it, marveling at the soft texture, but he went still. There was a second presence in the room. A pair of eyes staring at him hiding under the bed.

A human child. A girl. Couldn’t be more than ten years old.

Bucky curled himself inwards further, terrified, of what he didn’t know. Just that everything was too much and he couldn’t stop fucking shaking.

“Don’t be scared,” the little voice said. “I won’t hurt you.”

Bucky would have laughed if his abdominal muscles weren’t clenched like a vice. It was funny. Horrifying. Why wasn’t she running? Bucky hadn’t used his guise in a long time and he couldn’t summon it now, too overwhelmed to control his tenuous-grasp of magic. His wings and horns and claws were partially obscured by the shadows, but if anything, that should have made him appear more fearsome, not less.

“What’s your name?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

Bucky tried to speak but all that emerged was a choked whimper. He couldn’t even look at her he was trembling so badly. It was like a horrible withdrawal, or an adrenaline rush that wouldn’t stop. He half-wondered if he was dying, or maybe, this is what it felt like to come back to life.

“Here.”

He uncurled enough to look upwards. The girl was holding something out to him from where she knelt, peeking under the bed.

“Mr. Squiggles helps me when I’m scared,” she said with the bright confidence only a child could have. “Go on. Take him.”

Bucky stared at the stuffed animal. Its grey fur was worn, its dark eyes dull. Clearly well-loved and treasured.

He’d had a toy like that, once. A teddy bear with button eyes. He’d loved it so much, but then he and Becca had gotten sick. His parents had burned the toy, along with most of their clothing.

Even now, he could remember how upset he’d been, and how much a child’s toy meant. And this child, who’d just had a demon dropped into her bedroom, was offering it to him because he was scared.

Something surged in his chest. Gratefulness. Sorrow. A fierce protectiveness for this stupidly brave kid.

Bucky reached out to take the toy, claws shaking as he carefully wrapped his fingers around the tabby cat’s leg.

A strange sensation jolted up his arm, following by intense warmth at his shoulder, directly over his mark. And then it was gone.

“You must be hungry,” the girl whispered conspiratorially as Bucky tucked the toy against his chest. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed a thing. “I’ll get you something to eat! Stay here!”

She dashed from the room without waiting for an answer. Bucky planned to stay put, to come up with what he should do next, but at the words you must be hungry, a vast, devastating hunger hit him directly in the gut.

It wasn’t for food.

I need… I need to get out of here. His movements were panicked, clumsy as he crawled out from under the bed. I need to…

Before he could look for an escape the kid returned to the room, nearly smacking right into Bucky. He recoiled backwards away from her, putting space between them, but she only looked up in him in confusion. Then she smiled and held out the plate she carried, a sandwich perched on top. Peanut butter and blueberry jelly.

Saliva flooded his mouth as his stomach rumbled, but he dared not move any closer to her. The demon side of him had no interest in the kid, thank Christ for that, but he was still terrified of hurting her. He was designed to be a living weapon, after all. Not exactly child-friendly.

He just wished the kid would get the memo.

“Go on,” she said, smiling brightly. “Take it. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of him. It was like a baby kitten trying to soothe and comfort a lion. Bucky towered over her, his wings and horns still on full display, but she just stared up at him with wonder and awe. No sense of self-preservation at all.

Figuring he would at least address one of his hungers, he took the plate from her as if it was a live grenade. Satisfied, she beamed up at him and then went to close her bedroom door.

“I don’t think my friends are coming back, they all ran away when that blue portal appeared. That’s what that was, right? And you’re a demon?”

Bucky choked on the first bite of sandwich he took.

“That’s what I thought.” She nodded sagely, the ribbons of her ridiculous pigtails flapping with the movement. “I told them I could do magic, but they didn’t believe me. Bet they will now!”

Her face fell a little as she looked past Bucky, and she mumbled, “Mom is definitely going to ground me.”

Bucky followed her gaze to the open closet doors. Extinguished black candles were scattered on the carpet surrounding what appeared to be a charred spirit board. But what really drew Bucky’s eye was the state of the closet door and the back of the closet itself: charred as if there had recently been a fire. He could still smell the stench of sulfur, and he shivered. He would not miss that place, that was for sure.

Quickly scarfing down the food—when had Bucky last had a good, ol’ fashioned PB&J?—he eyed the kid warily. She kept talking about magic and how her mother always blamed her for things catching on fire around the house, but it wasn’t her fault. On and on she went, as if she was talking to another human being and not a six-foot tall demon. She was way too damn calm for being face-to-face with the occult, but then again, she seemed like a weird kid to begin with.

He kept waiting for the voice to chime in with its opinion, but it had been silent since Bucky came through the portal. He frowned. It had promised it would be here, so where was it?

Bucky sighed and turned his attention back to the small chatterbox.

“What’s your name, kid?”

She told him, proudly and without hesitation. Definitely too trustworthy. What would have happened if it was one of those other demons that had gotten through?

He frowned further, troubled as he looked around her room. He couldn’t see anything suspicious, but the stink of other demons was still pungent to Bucky’s sensitive nose.

“Did you see anything else come through besides me?” he asked.

The kid finally lost some of her spunk as she looked down at the carpet, gripping her denim overalls tightly in her hands.

“Hey,” Bucky said, voice softer. “You’re not in trouble.”

It was strange, the more he talked to her the less anxious he was. Already he had stopped trembling and shaking, though his senses were still reeling from the influx of earthy smells and loudness of civilization.

She nodded slowly and looked past Bucky. He turned to see what she was looking at now, and this time it was her open window. They were on the second story, and it was dark outside.

“Lot of things, but they ran away. They weren’t like you.” She swallowed and gripped her clothes tighter. “They were scary.”

So, she wasn’t as unaffected as Bucky thought. Her voice was unsteady, and the smell of fear was unmistakable. Kids weren’t supposed to see things like this. Like Bucky.  She seemed fine now, but what about when she tried to sleep tonight? What about years from now when people told her she was crazy and she couldn’t trust her own memories?

Didn’t seem right. Not for a kid, and especially not one that had saved his life. Bucky didn’t know how she’d done it, but he was proof positive that magic, or something like it, was real.

Bucky turned back to look at her, sadness weighing heavily on him like a physical thing. He didn’t want her to be afraid, or worse, harmed by what had happened. Would the demons come back to this place or would they prey on other unsuspecting targets? Either way, he swore he would hunt them down. It was a small price to pay to come back to life.

But first, there was the matter of the girl. He couldn’t leave her like this, with such dangerous knowledge in her head.

As Bucky moved to give her back the plate, something deep and instinctual within him rose to the surface. The girl extended her hand and he dropped the plate, grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open, but Bucky’s other hand cradled her cheek as he pressed his thumb directly between her brows.

A jolt went up his arm and through his hand, straight down his thumb and into her thoughts, her memories. Surprise mixed with horror when he sensed the memories she had just created, of him and the demons and the portal, were obliterated from her mind. Just as the Chair had done to him.

Bucky released her, shocked by what he’d just done, and then was forced to rush forward as the girl started to collapse. Fearing the worst, Bucky felt along her head and neck, but she was breathing, slowly and deeply as if she’d just fallen asleep. Her face was smooth and untroubled, too innocent for what she’d experienced.

Holding her carefully, Bucky carried her and laid her down on the bed. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the covers over her, hoping if her family came in and found her they would think she was simply asleep. She was asleep, Bucky was coming to realize. Whatever power he’d wielded had done this, and perhaps it was a small mercy she wasn’t conscious for it, but it still made him sick down to his bones.

When she woke up, she wouldn’t remember any of it, including Bucky. Perhaps… that was for the best.

With one last lingering look, Bucky strode across the room to the open window. Under the cover of darkness, he leapt from the ledge and opened his wings, catching the air and flapping as hard as he could to gain altitude.

It wasn’t until he was high in the air with the lights glittering below him that he realized his claws were still wrapped around the stuffed cat. He’d have to return it at some point, but for now, he had other, more pressing problems.

One, Bucky was starving. He was so hungry he could barely think, as if all his years of being dormant were catching up to him. The pain of it was consuming, racking his body and making him shudder midair.

And two… he had yet to hear the voice again. It filled him with emptiness, his pleas going unanswered, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Maybe he’d gone crazy in that place. Most men would have. He was just disappointed to have been proven right, and the voice hadn’t been real after all.

He couldn’t think about any of that right how. First things first: Bucky had to feed.

Next Chapter

[famedexclusive]

Taeyong has made his solo comeback with the release of his fifth full-length album Blacklight and the music video for its promoted single “Instagram”.

Taeyong last promoted as a soloist over a year ago with the release of his fourth album Lovesick in 2020. Last year, he released a handful of Portal singles, including three that are included in the track list of Blacklight. Last week, the album’s pre-release “Paranoia” was released, following up on the dark visuals of “So Beautiful”, “Nerves”, and “Scaredy Cat��� released previously. “Instagram”, the promoted single off of Blacklight, meanwhile, strips back the instrumental and visuals for an ode to modern loneliness in social media.

Taeyong will be promoting “Instagram” for a week. His comeback stage will be held later this week.

Track List:

1. Instagram 2. Digital 3. Paranoia 4. MITO 5. So Beautiful 6. Dope Lovers 7. No Blueberries ft. Jace & Minjung 8. Nerves 9. Scaredy Cat 10. Welcome to the Show 11. No Silhouette

Notable Credits:

Instagram Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

Digital Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

Paranoia Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

MITO Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

So Beautiful Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

Dope Lovers Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

No Blueberries ft. Jace & Minjung Lyrics: Taeyong & Minjung Melody: Taeyong & Minjung Arrangement: Taeyong

Nerves Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

Scaredy Cat Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

Welcome to the Show Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

No Silhouette Lyrics: Taeyong Melody: Taeyong Arrangement: Taeyong

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Whumptober Day 8

A Man They Loved

(Note: not for the weak hearted... I think. Now you can't say I didn't warn you, jazz)

He was standing under the streetlight, dressed in a long brown overcoat, and was looking up forlornly at the dark apartment windows. Rafael stepped closer to him, flexing his shoulder still sore from training, and said, “Is he still in there?”

Max nodded. “He hasn’t stepped out since… since that afternoon.”

Rafael bit his lip and nodded, joining his brother’s side and staring up at the windows with worry etched into his features. The last time he had seen his father was about a week ago, in Idris in funeral white. After the last rites were over, he’d told the two of them that he wanted to be alone for a while, and portalled away. The loft had been locked up ever since, and for several nights there had been no sign of anyone living there. The lights were turned off at all times, no one ever went in or out. Magnus wasn’t answering his phone at all, and for a while Rafael had wondered whether he had decided to move away to another country, but all fracking runes and spells led them here. Rafael was currently residing at the institute, and Max had a place of his own, so while they didn’t have to worry about sleeping arrangements, they both were extremely worried about their father.

“I tried calling him,” Max said in a low voice. He was all grown up now, so different from the chubby little boy he used to be. “He didn’t pick up. Not once.”

“Any word from uncle Ragnor and aunt Catarina?” Rafael asked. From an outside perspective, it might have looked weird - Rafael referring to them as aunt and uncle when they looked about the same age as him, if not younger - but it had been a habit from childhood.

Max shook his head, his gaze falling to the ground. “No. They’ve tried contacting him, but nothing.”

Rafael nodded. “I wish he’d just open the door.”

“He loved him,” Max said softly. “That- that couldn’t have been easy. He probably just needs some time.”

Rafael’s throat suddenly felt tight. “We loved him, too.”

“We did,” Max said, and his voice shook. “Rafe-“

Rafael said no more. He turned and pulled his brother into a hug, and Max hugged back hard, burying his hiccuping sobs into Rafael’s chest. Rafael held him tight, a hard ball of grief burning painfully within his chest.

They stayed there for a long time. Neither noticed the flicker of curtains behind the window, the flash of a cat-like eye.

“Magic?” Rafael echoed, staring at Ragnor in front of him. “What king of magic?”

They stood in the vast entryway of the Institute, Rafael still dressed in his training clothes, utterly unprepared for the visit from his uncle.

Ragnor cleared his throat. “There’s nothing too dangerous, but there’s a lot of magic being cast in that house. I’m afraid Magnus could be up to something.”

“You don’t think-“ Rafael didn’t have to voice the rest of his question.

“Magnus would never perform necromancy,” Ragnor said, shaking his head. “There’s no trace of dark magic, just… a lot of it. I can’t tell what kind it is, though. But I’m worried about Magnus. This isn’t the first time he’s faced something like this, of course, but he’s taking it very hard.”

Rafael nodded. “He is. What do you think the magic is all about?”

“I have no idea,” Ragnor confessed. “But it is certainly worrying. I suggest you and Max pay him a visit immediately.”

“We’ve tried,” Rafael said. “He didn’t open the door. It’s almost as if he’s not inside the house anymore.”

“But he is,” Ragnor said. “And the faster you go to meet him, the better.”

Ragnor clapped Rafael on the shoulder, and shrugged on his coat. “I’ll get going now. Take care.”

Max and Rafael stood in front of the large wooden door. They’d knocked several times, banged on the wood until it nearly splintered, and called out for Magnus, but there was nary a sound from within. Now they stood in silence, waiting for something.

Rafael drew a rune on his arm, meant to enhance his hearing, and pressed his ear to the wood. After a few seconds, he could hear voices from within, faint murmurs from the direction of his fathers’ bedroom.

“I can hear voices,” Rafael whispered, his heart rate.

“Voices plural?” Max asked. “Is there someone else in there with bapak?”

“I don’t know,” Rafael said, stepping away from the door. “We’ve never seen anyone else enter, right?”

“No,” Max confirmed. Rafael nodded, braced himself, and then rammed his shoulder into the door.

“What are you doing?!”

“Breaking in,” Rafael said through gritted teeth. “We don’t really have a choice, do we? Opening runes don’t work on his door.”

Max made a faint noise of protest, but Rafael ignored him and rammed in a second time. On the third try, the door broke open. Rafael moved it aside and stepped in, and froze.

The house was clean - perhaps a little too clean, the floors scrubbed and free of any litter. The heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, blocking any light from entering into the house. Rafael and Max stepped further into the house, taking in the immaculate collection of couches and armchairs that littered the living room. The voices were slightly louder now, and they were definitely coming from the bedroom, somewhat muffled by the closed door.

Rafael went over to the room and threw the door open, Max right on his heels.

They froze.

Inside the room, Magnus and the other person, both sitting on the bed, paused and turned to look at them at the same time. From beside him, Rafael heard Max take in a sharp breath.

“Dad?” he said.

It was Alec, staring at them with wide eyes set in an ageless face. The unruly black hair, the curve of his nose, the cheekbones… it was all him.

The last time he had seen him, his eyes were bound by white silk.

“Bapak,” Rafael said, turning to Magnus, his heart beating fast as he remembered Ragnor’s words. “What have you-“

Max gripped his arm, cutting him off.

“It’s not real,” Max muttered. Rafael looked at him, and then at Alec, whose expression was mildly bewildered, as if he didn’t recognise either of them.

Magnus looked between the two of them with a subdued face. He had the face of someone who had just been broken out of a daze, and leaned in to kiss Alec on the cheek. Alec’s face broke out into a small, soft smile, and he turned to look at Magnus, but his form shimmered and, like the foam of a wave that had broken on the shore, faded away.

Magnus’s eyes softened for a moment while he watched his husband disappear, and then turned to Rafael and Max.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked in a low voice. “I told you, I needed to be alone.”

“We were worried about you,” Max said, stepping forward. “You were locked up in here, and you wouldn't step out or answer any of calls, so-"

Magnus sighed, slumping back into the pillows. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "Well, can't say I'm surprised. I haven't been able to keep you from raiding the candy stash when you were younger. I shouldn't be surprised to see you in here right now."

"Bapak-"

"How bad is the damage?" Magnus asked, directing his pointed gaze to Rafael. "How did you get in? A door? A window? A bulldozer through the wall?"

"The door," Rafael said, then shook his head. "But that's not the point. What was that?!" Rafael pointed to the spot where the illusion of Alec had been a few moments ago. "What were you doing?!"

Magnus stared at them a long moment. "Isn't it obvious? I miss him."

They were silent.

"I miss his smile," Magnus went on, his eyes dropping down to the empty spot next to him on the bed. "I miss his laughter, his voice, his love, his- Everything."

Magnus sighed, and almost inconspicuously, his arm moved to the right, caressing the spot where Alec used to sleep. "I miss him so, so much."

"We miss him too, bapak," Max said in a low voice. "We all do."

Magnus let out a dry chuckle. "Of course you do. I-"

He broke off, staring into the distance, his eyes blank. It almost scared Rafael to see his father like this. All his life, Magnus had been the cool, collected one. It was unnerving, to say the least, to see him like this now.

"I didn't mean to ignore you both, I just-" Magnus closed his eyes, composing himself. "How have you been? Max, Rafe?"

Rafael let out a sigh of a breath, and he and Max moved in at once, clambering into their bapak's outstretched arms. Magnus was dressed in a plain robe, the silky material cool against Rafael's cheek as he held on. Magnus's arms were tight around them, and for a moment they were just a father and his two sons, mourning the death of a loved one.

"I just need some time, my sweethearts," Magnus said, his voice broken. "I'll come back to you, I promise."

"We're here, bapak," Max said in a strangled voice, his arms tight around Magnus. "We're here for you. Don't forget about us, please."

"I won't, blueberry," Magnus promised, kissing them both on the top of their heads. "I won't."

They stared there for a long time, holding on to each other, mourning a man they all once loved, and loved still, a man who had changed all their lives for the better.

[antisocial-af]

Day 16: Ragnor/Catarina

Title: Winding Down

25 Days of Pairings: Day 16 Ragnor/Catarina

Promo:

If you are interested in Rare Pairs, think about joining Shadowhunters Rare Pair Gift Exchange.  I’ve already sent in my form! Sign-ups End on December 19th so don’t miss your chance and don’t be afraid to be as specific as you want on the forms!

Rating: G

Wordcount: 800

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Domestic Fluff, Reminiscing.

Summary:

Ragnor and Catarina both return home from the Lightwood-Bane Holiday Party.

Click Here to Read on Ao3

Story:

Ragnor passed through the portal, straight into their shared cottage first followed closely by Catarina. 

“I can’t believe we stayed till 2 am,” Ragnor grumbled as he started to pull off his thick scarf. “I thought I only agreed to go for a few hours.” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy yourself,” Catarina playfully chided after him. She maneuvered further into their home, flicking her magic towards the fireplace to warm the place. “If I remember correctly, you finally got over your silly fear of Lightwoods and had a few drinks with Alec and his sister.” 

“The current generation of Lightwoods are tamed compared to the previous feral lot,” Ragnor responded, hanging up his coat. He made his way to the warming couch and finally relaxed. “Still need to watch that, Max, though.” 

“Blueberry? His magic sparks won’t harm anyone yet,” Catarina waved her boyfriend’s silly thoughts away and joined him on the couch. “Don’t tell me you are afraid of a baby now, Ragnor?” 

“No, not Bane’s cute spawn. I’m talking about the younger brother,” Ragnor curled his arms around Catarina, pulling her close. “I saw him around the party and almost thought I was back in my teaching days in the Academy.” 

“I heard from Magnus that he got in trouble once for mixing up the nourishment and fire runes,” Catarina teased him. She knew all of the stories from Ragnor’s ‘traumatic’ days with Christopher Lightwood. “You might be onto something there, babe.” 

Ragnor narrowed his eyes at his lover and huffed before he spoke, “Keep it up, and you will be explaining to your dear old friend why I can’t attend any more of his parties, Cat.” 

Catarina laughed and looked back to the small green pout forming on Rangor’s lips. 

“What about the Herondales? I would say they’ve changed a bit, but truthfully I hope they never do,” Catarina stated as she leaned back to reach Ragnor’s cheek and laid a soft kiss. “But must you really challenge every Herondale to a series of increasingly dangerous bets? I swear you were giving poor Alec a heart attack with the things you and Jace were betting.”

“You can hardly take my fun away,” Ragnor replied, finding a spot on Catarina’s shoulder to rest his head. “I simply make a bet I can’t be blamed that they never say no to them or have no self-control.” 

Ragnor wrinkled his nose when Cat kissed it and returned the gesture by kissing her cheek lightly.

“Face it, you think Magnus’ lot of Shadowhunters are nice,” Catarina tiredly mumbled. The edges of her glamour were slightly flickering, revealing glimpses of white hair. “ and you enjoy their company.” 

Ragnor caught the stutter in Catarina’s glamour on her hair and shook his head with a smile before replying, “Perhaps what they say is true and time has made me wise, or possibly I’ve become far too emotionally scarred by their lot to be off-put by them.”

Catarina felt Ragnor’s soft tugs at her hair and lightly chuckled as she released the glamour over it. Caterina had almost forgotten she had entertained Max and Rafe with some simple glamour spells while Alec and Magnus set up. 

“How many times now have I told you not to overuse your magic?” Ragnor sighed as he continued to play with the now long white locks. “You could’ve just summoned them toys instead, you know.”

Catarina rolled her eyes as she turned within Ragnor’s hold to face him, her back warmed by the fireplace as they held each other close. 

“That would be the 165th time this year, I believe, and there is no harm in showing them some magic; they seemed delighted by it,” she smiled knowing how this conversation went.” you can’t expect me to say no to them.” 

“I’m unsure if I’m endeared or insulted by you keeping count, and still you do not listen” Ragnor shook his head, swiftly standing up and sweeping Cat from her feet and into his arms. He watched her blue skin flickering in the shadows from the fireplace. “Are you ever going to heed my warnings?” 

“Let me down!” Catarina shouted, startled. She wrapped her arms around Ragnor’s neck to stable herself in his arms. “I am not a child, Ragnor!” 

“No,” Ragnor simply replied as he smirked down at his love. “I have no intentions of placing you down since you don’t find it fit to listen to me.” Ragnor turned to the fireplace and placed a protective ward over it to ensure the fireplace would not spread in their absence. 

Catarina sighed and smiled, curling in against Ragnor's chest as she rested in his arms, “you are insufferable sometimes, but I love you Ragnor” 

“Let’s head to bed, my dear,” Ragnor stated, beginning to carry off Catarina.