#but for one tiny fraction of a second the guard fell and you can see all the emotions on his face

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Ze during the meeting with Macron

[dailytatsu]

Heya! Can I request an Aether/Lumine & reader?

So reader is basically an immortal half-elf who've lived for centuries and a well refined fighter. Well at the beginning even tho they volunteered to tag along on traveler's journey to find their sibling, reader is rather obnoxious and a lazy-dork who only help when actually needed. But as the journey continues, they began to act like traveler's bodyguard after witnessing (archon quest spoiler!) traveler almost getting killed by the Shogun? And maybe random shenanigans happen between them (ft.Paimon). I don't mind if you do either Aether or Lumine if you feel pressured 🙏

Hi! This kind are my favorites! Tysm for requesting! (๑>◡<๑)

I did this with Aether since he is my favorite is who I chose, and I feel more comfortable writing with guys than with girls.

I know they have some different personalities but I can help but see Lumine as the all mighty abyss princess.

Hope you enjoy!

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Aether & Half-elf! Reader

GN! Reader

Inazuma Archon Quest Spoilers!

Request are open; sorry for any mistakes!

Genshin Impact Masterlist

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Aether always thought that immortality brought with it wisdom, beings who live for much longer than an ordinary human tend to gain an understanding of life and changes in the world after years of appreciating the passing of the ages.

But when he met you he couldn't help but feel that all his beliefs were based on fiction and old rumors from other worlds. You were anything but wise, not even his first choice to be the voice of reason.

Even Paimon takes her role as his guide seriously.

But what was so wrong about you that get him on his nerves all the time? And most important, why does is he still dealing with you?

To be fair, maybe he was waiting a little too much from you. After all, he always forget that you still have half of a human’s nature.

“Mmh? What are you doing?” You asked Aether the first time he removed your hair from your ears to see if they were pointy. They were, and Paimon yelled kind of a objection when she realize she had to pay for losing their bet.

Not a human, not a elf, but a hybrid between them.

The first encounter was really something he would never forget. Rumors about treasures and requests from the guild made them follow some clues to find a cave that was marked as lost, impossible to enter and explore.

But “impossible” is a word that doesn’t exist their vocabulary. Yet is common that regretting comes along when you’re that bold and risky.

At the very end of that strange cave there wasn’t a treasure waiting, not even a new clue to keep going with the mystery. Instead, was a humanoid silhouette, they seemed to be meditating, not showing a single interest in their voices neither getting nervous because of Aether and Paimon taking some steps forward to have a better look.

But they were breathing, and both could see the pupils moving slightly under their eyelids. Eyebrows twitching now and then, like they were having a nightmare, one of which they couldn’t wake up.

Paimon encouraged him to get even closer to shake that person's shoulder, while she was hiding behind some rocks, obviously.

Aether summoned his sword and then he approached slowly until touching them with his fingertips, waiting for some kind of jumpscare.

The stranger raised their arm, carefully but also in a robotic way. Their fingers were tense, as much that it was painful just looking at them. Like a quiet call, like a order that couldn’t be heard, from the pile of rocks where Paimon was hiding something emerge, breaking through the stone and letting a rusty polearm to be seen.

Their fingers closed around the weapon, bringing them back to reality.

“Master and weapon, reunited again, rise so the world can meet their end!”

Or at least that's what he would have preferred to find. A servant guarding a lost relic, a soulless body moving by a curse, perhaps even a fate that death could not prevent.

But instead it was something really underwhelming, something that broke the mystical and strange atmosphere. That person opened their eyes, annoyed by the light of the torches and disoriented by the situation.

With their body in pain and numb at the same time, how long have they slept in that position?

The first thing they did after waking up was sneezing.

‘So much dust…’

Never accepting missions for exploring legendary caves ever again. Nope. Negative. He refuse to.

What if they find another (Y/N)? Thanks, but no. One is more than enough.

“So what you mean is that your parents' families exiled you and locked you up in the cave for being an ‘abomination’ to both species?” Paimon confirmed once the three of you were back in the surface again. Her hands moving side to side to explain -in a very expressive way- everything you told them.

“It seems that we found the remains of an ancient race that used to exist in Teyvat.” Aether said, still surprised by the way you roamed to feel the wood of the trees and the grass under your bare feet. Kind of heartbreaking.

“Like the boar we found with Xiangling!”

He wasn’t sure if it was okay to compare both encounters but he could see her point.

“… ‘Wait for us’, they told me, ‘think about your existence and find the answer to why your conception is not the atrocity that everyone says you are. May their words not reach you, because we have long ears to hear the words of the gods and not the ones of those who defile earth’… ” You pronounced after decades of not needing to use the language you were taught, with one hand on your chin and eyes closed to concentrate. All you had left was the few memories you preserved inside your mind and heart.

“With ‘they’ you mean your parents?”

You nodded.

“And what happened next?… ” Asked back the tiny companion of the blond guy that rescued you.

“I got bored and I fell asleep.” You admitted, carefree about it, shrugging your shoulders and sighing.

A total waste of your youth.

“Eh!? Then you didn’t thought about those things? That sounded important!” Paimon seemed disappointed for your answer, while Aether held his forehead, without having a clue of how he was supposed to react.

That was the day you joined their party! New team member, (Y/N) strikes in!

Or something like that,,

“H-Hey! We could use a hand over here!… woah!” The little white girl scold you but from your high sit on the top of a big rock only a exaggerated yawning can be heard. Paimon crossed her arms to almost immediately duck down to dodge a fire bullet from the Fatui. Aether didn’t say anything, he was concentrated fighting.

“Oh, yeah… You’re doing great. Go, Aether, go…”

“Was that supposed to be a cheering?!”

“Hey, calm down” You said “He doesn’t need my help. Just take a look, he’s an adventurer. If I meddle it will be really boring for him.”

“Hmp! Now Paimon believes that you were lying when you said that you were a well refined fighter!” She was floating around you, ignoring the battle of his blond friend. Like a pesky bee, the only thing you did was avoiding her furious gaze. “Don’t ignore Paimon! How can you not hear with those ears!? That’s it! Paimon will give you a ugly nickname!”

“What about ‘extinct deaf elf-der’?”

“Yeah, that’s a good one!” She agreed immediately, then she shook her head, pointing at you like a guilty criminal. “Wait, Paimon doesn’t need your suggestions!”

When the last Fatui was defeated Aether turned back to face both of you, sighing because of the new arguing between you two. His sword disappeared and some steps were took to get closer.

Your eyes met each other, a slight smile in your face after looking him safe and sound. So confident but so unaware of the remain danger hiding. Your expression became a surprised one, then your gaze sharped like a killer sight.

You left Paimon on top of the rock when you jumped down, summoning your own weapon you ran straight to where Aether was. The traveler panicked just a fraction of second before loosing sight of you.

Next thing they know was that a you were behind him, facing at the nothing with a defensive pose, just a second of silence before a impact could be heard. Some dirt and dust was lift as the pair of Fatui Pyro Agents became visible again. They stayed there, defeated in one hit.

“Like I said. It would be pretty boring if I meddle...” Aether and Paimon were shocked, none of them felt their presence, not even the heat of the pyro delusion. Your weapon disappeared in the air, and your hands rested on your waist. “Dear Seven, that was intense.” Looking at your friends you sighed, with the laziness on your body language. “It was my turn to cook dinner, right? What a pain having to eat again… ”

Acting that relaxed after that really made them went Ô_Ô and Ö

A silent speech, where devotion and gratitude are the best topics of conversation. The message that is heard even if there’s no words in between. Just a exchange of gazes. Little signs of affection that are shown when it’s necessary.

Your family was gone. No clues about their whereabouts could’ve found in that cave of where you came. Not even the skeletons of a couple holding their hands and petrified in a sobbing position. Not even ashes.

When you have been thinking about the most unimportant things in the universe for so long you can deal with the lost faster than anyone else. Getting the idea of no remain evidence of your parents and feeling that it wasn’t that heartbreaking.

Maybe because you gained a new family almost immediately.

Still you could empathize with Aether, he still had his precious memories with his sister, still remember her face and her voice. And most important was that he knew that she was still roaming Teyvat, waiting for him.

Even if they leave behind Paimon and you at the end of the trip.

Or even if they just leave you behind.

‘I’m okay with that.’

You thought, stroking Paimon’s hair when her head found a comfortable place to rest in your lap. You thought, moving your shoulder so Aether wouldn’t have neck pain. Both sleeping peacefully and you staying awake night by night.

You’ve slept enough, for so long besides.

Somehow the flames of the campfire are warmer now that you have someone to look how the fire dance in the night.

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“I see, so you were serious when you told me that your companion was a mystical extinct creature, weren’t you?” Albedo’s hand went up to hold his chin, analyzing you from distance.

“They are half of it, actually.” Aether answered back, notice how Sucrose was asking you permission to check your features. The sparkle in her eyes made you accept her petition after feeling with the back against the wall.

“Your ears are like mine! Look, look!” Klee pulled your shirt, then she pointed at the side of her head.

“… Still the shape of both are quite different, the length too.”

Years of isolation really are hitting hard right now. You felt overwhelmed and somehow shy when Sucrose hold your face to have a better look.

You follow the traveler to everywhere, no matter the place, you were there. Like a shadow, sometimes just a spectator, other times like an actual active team member.

“Who would’ve tell that our Honorary Knight also has his own knight watching his back.” Kaeya’s voice has that joke but charming tone, as always.

Day after day, it’s the same, everyone talking you through Aether. Like some kind of translator.

“More like a human shield.” Your hand landed on top of Aether’s head, not agreeing with his explanation.

Bonk.

“I guess everything’s better than being Emergency Food.”

“Hey!”

“Haha! You three are quite a team, aren’t you?”

Of course you were. Mondstadt, Liyue, you name it. You could assure that every place in this two nations have at least one story about the team.

You knew that the most brave and magnificent outlander in Teyvat didn’t need a guardian, he can defend himself (somehow even if he’s still using that dull blade).

Bodyguarding also sounds like such a hassle…

You only provide a last resource help when was needed, sometimes also helping with some puzzles and mysteries.

The long eared people was known to be wise and smart people that searched for the full comprehension of the world. Also such a nerds and fans of knowledge. So, even if you considered yourself dumb, in your blood was the instinct of looking for the truth, and sometimes that impulse could be really annoying.

You were always near enough to reach him. Pulling his scarf from behind to move him away from danger. Countering after he gets hit.

Always in a place where you could reach him.

You just needed to extend your arm and you would catch Aether. It was always like this. Always with you jumping in the middle of the crossfire to shield them if it was necessary.

It’s always like this.

Until the day you three set a foot in Inazuma’s land. And a bad feeling of a imminent catastrophe made your shiver.

A new nation, a new problem to solve. But a war? Boldness and stupidity sometimes looks like the same thing, but no matter how many times you repeat this to Aether, he would still ran into problems.

And you would follow him, until your debt is paid, until his travel is done.

It used to be like this.

But then you failed him after being unable to move because of the fear that paralyzed your body. The day Aether faced Shogun Raiden in the ceremony. The day you heard the broken voice of a god inside the Shogun you also fell apart. It was painful, cruel, a void of anger and sadness.

Jumping into danger, without you behind.

You tried to ran between the goddess and your savior, you tried to get closer to at least be useful one last time as the shield you promised to be.

You tried.

But, for the first time, your hand didn’t reach him.

The void of despair and darkness that could be heard inside the Shogun devoured him.

The tears of panic and fear in Paimon’s eyes. The way the Shogun lifted her sword to end his life. The way you were paralyzed because of her presence, forced to be part of the crowd and presence his execution.

That day your facade of laziness faded away, the real feeling of being a knight burnt along your proud. It was so annoying, it was so unnecessary, but still you couldn’t ignore it.

“Are you… are you sure that you’re okay? We don’t have to find the Sangonomiya resistance today. If you need to rest then-” Your hands were shaking when you placed them in Aether’s shoulders, holding yourself for tearing up.

“We have to keep going. I’ll be fine.”

“Besides, if we stay near Inazuma this night they could find us! Paimon won’t be able to sleep like that!” Your mouth opened to counter their arguments, but not a single word dared to go against Aether’s plans.

They could see it in your face. The worry, the remains of shock and fear, the guilty.

“Don’t try to look strong then. If you get tired, tell us. I can carry you in my back.” Even if you were offering help your voice was serious, so cold but so hurt at the same time that nor Aether or Paimon knew what to said to bring the old you back.

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“… Aren’t you coming?” You could hear how the door was slid to let him saw you. The lighted spots on Aether’s clothes were purple, just as the lighting that almost end him. Your lips made a concerned and stressed grimace.

The young traveler took a seat next to you, outside the structure, sitting on the wooden steps and looking at the starry sky. The wind was cold but still the soldiers of the resistance were talking normally and the slight feeling of discommodity because of the excessive presence of other people was climbing up your back.

“(Y/N), there’s no need of guard us every night. You also need to sleep.”

“I'm not tired, I think I've gotten enough sleep, at least not to need it until the next century.”

Aether’s expressions went into a sarcastic one, asking if you were serious with just his gaze.

“That’s not how it works.” He said, trying to change the mood. “And if it does, then why are you always snoozing during the day in every chance you get?”

You had the answer to that, but you weren’t sure about telling him.

“Because everything supposed to be boring. Nothing really changed a lot and… looking at the familiar places was depressing.” So easy, so simple, but still enjoying the company, still enjoying the sound of theirs laughs and their own shenanigans. “… Lately, I’ve been thinking that I should not had left the cave. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate that you two helped me to be back at the surface, and I really want to help you on your journey, but if you still run into the chaos by own decision I think I could not follow you any longer before being a burden in your adventures.”

Overprotection, an unbreakable shield, frequently avoiding fights, always being pulled back to not be part of the battle. Enemies of the braveness of the traveler.

Worry, panic, an overreaction due to fear of loosing everything again.

‘let me do it’, ‘I got it’, ‘wait here’, ‘don’t get close’.

These day could be described like that.

“So, before I do something worse as an excuse of defend you, please let me find a cave to await. You do what’s is needed and… call me back, or leave me there, anything you think it’s better… ”

You could be pronouncing the words from the very bottom of your heart, but still your face was the same seriousness as the accident almost happened.

And even with that you felt his gloved hand removing the hair that was covering your right ear, revealing how it slightly leaned down, showing sadness unwittingly.

“Hey, cut it out… I’m serious about this… ”

“It doesn’t matter if you think that it’s the best option, you’re still sad about leaving.”

“… That’s cheating.” Removing his hand away from your hair you tried to act indifferent.

“You know the reason why we invited you to came along?”

‘You felt sorry for me.’

“I can’t totally tell the exact reason, but it wasn’t for you to pay us some kind of debt because of saving you.” He crossed his arms, looking at the stars, wondering if his sisters was doing the same. “We don’t need a guardian, we need our friend back. And I know you care about Paimon and me, but still you must enjoy the journey. It’s not fair that you are always aware of every potential danger while we mess around lately.”

An eternal silence, your response is late to appear but somehow Aether can tell that you already have something on your mind.

“Then apologize.”

“… Why?”

“For believing that playing as the hero and jumping to face the Shogun was something you had to do.”

“… but-”

Neither Aether nor you slept that night, the blonde had to listen for hours to all the things that you ever wanted to complain about since you arrived in Inazuma.

You made your position on joining the army of the rebellion very clear, you had no intention of fighting to seek "justice" or "peace". Because after all, that fight did not correspond to you, but if he asked you to, you would protect some soldiers or help to guard the barracks, if he asked you to, you wouldn’t complain about it (at least not that much).

Both had enough of each other’s attitude, but it was okay. Because that was what all of you chose in first place.

[asscandles]

Hey thanks for clarifying before now can I have some friendship(maybe secret crush)headcanons for Fuyuhiko, Peko, and Toko with a friend(reader) thats llike your generic dumbass but they are just like a soft dumbass, they are just too cute to get mad at no matter how stupid they are. So basically a giant cuddly dumbass that just radiate baby energy. Like they(reader)just run up to them saying they want to show them something cool and its just a pretty rock but they look so happy. gender neutral.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏɴɢ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ! ʙᴜᴛ, ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ɪꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ, ɪ’ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ!

ɪ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀᴛ 3:26 ᴀᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇ, ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴋᴀʟꜰꜰᴅᴊᴋꜰᴀʟ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ

Peko Pekoyama

“I--What are you doing?”

You stand on the counter, arms extended straight out at your sides. You continue staring ahead with an expressionless face. “I see no god up here… other than me!”

Peko sighs, and you immediately look down at her with round eyes. “Oh, but you’ll always be my queen, Peko! I want you by my side forever!”

Since Peko is always wielding/cleaning her sword, you carry around pastel-colored bandaids and a small first-aid kit in your backpack.

You’re usually by her side, so your absence is always noticed quickly, if not immediately.

You once fell asleep somewhere you shouldn’t have, leaving Peko to ravage the island, searching every nook and cranny until she finally found you curled up in a corner of the airport. All she could do was sigh and crack a tiny, relieved smile. She transfers her sword to her hands before easing you onto her back. Her heart swells when you mumble something and wrap your arms around her neck. All the way back to your cottage, she chides you quietly.

“It’s not safe to be so vulnerable out here. If you’re going to fall asleep out here, do it while I’m with you. Then, you can sleep as soundly as you want.”

M A T C H I N G  B R A C E L E T S

You excitedly gave Peko a card to celebrate the anniversary of your friendship. Peko snorted upon seeing that all of the drawings inside were either stick figures or poorly colored. But you just looked so happy… she couldn’t even bring herself to tease you about it.

You both refuse to speak of this, but one night, Peko woke up to the flickering of a faint light and feverish whispering. She had switched into attack mode in a fraction of a second, only to stop dead in her tracks. You had been standing in the middle of the room, doing the renegade by the light of your phone. You froze upon her reaction. Both of you sat there, staring at each other for a solid twelve seconds. You then proceeded to finish the dance, looking her dead in the eye. Peko may have be tired, but she’d be damned if she let you do it alone. So, she does it while standing on her bed, but clearly lacking energy and motivation.

Ambushing Peko with affection is not uncommon for you. It happens rather often, you clinging to her waist and pleading with her, “Hey, tell me that story again! You know, the one where Fuyuhiko was being held captive and you swooped in with your sword and saved the day!”

When you found out that Peko loved fluffy things, you were ecstatic. You bundled her into your cottage immediately, showing off a small collection of stuffed animals that you had managed to cram into your backpack before your arrival at the island.

Peko selects a white cat plushie as her favorite. From that point on, it is your child. No arguments.

You tend to get lost, so Peko sarcastically suggested tying a balloon to your wrist so that you would be easier to find. But, you totally caught her off guard when your eyes began to sparkle and you shouted, “Can I pick the color?” When she doesn’t answer immediately, you grab her hands and hold them close to your own chest endearingly. “Pretty please? With marshmallows and cookie crumble and whipped cream and sprinkles on top?” Peko obliges. When the balloon is finally secured around your wrist, you are absolutely fascinated by it.

You often fawn over Peko’s skills; but when you do, you use interjections and sound effects because you aren’t able to convey your excitement with just words.

Okay, but she’s actually worried about you lmao

“You have… a lot of mosquito bites. What happened?”

“What? They’re not bites! They were giving me kisses, silly!”

You’ve tried multiple times to surprise her with tickle attacks, but they never work. The only time it went according to plan, you managed to get your hands on her for exactly 0.7 seconds before she turned the tables on you.

Platonic dates? Platonic dates.

You’ve 100% made her flower crowns whose petals match the color of her eyes. 

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

“So… I saw some sour candy in the supermarket. If you lend me the money, I’ll give you half of the rocks I found.” :)

“Considering the fact that you get an adrenaline rush from successfully flipping a pancake, a single piece would kill you immediately.”

Everyone who discovers you two are friends is immediately suspicious. When I say suspicious, I mean, “(Reader), whatever blackmail he’s holding over your head, you don’t have to be scared. We can take care of this together.”

But after witnessing a few of your interactions, they learn of one irrefutable fact.

The embodiment of rage and vulgarity bottled up in human skin does indeed have a weakness.

And that weakness is you.

It didn’t take long for Fuyuhiko to become aware of your appreciation for stickers and your tender heart. That being said, when you’re upset, he won’t object too severely when you request to smooth stickers all over him. He would prefer to keep this interaction private, but if someone does happen to catch him with giraffe stickers on his cheeks and rainbows on his jacket, then he’s going to wear them proudly, goddamnit.

And if anyone has anything rude to say about it, then I hope they can speak sign language, because all they’ll be seeing is hands.

You’re aware of his insecurities, and you can understand why he feels the way that he does. But that’s where you come in. You always seem to approach him at the right moments. 

By now, you’ve figured out that he doesn’t always need words to reassure him. It’s enough if you’re just there, ready with open arms and a glass of water. Fuyuhiko doesn’t cry often. But when he does, he ends up dehydrated more often than not.

Let’s be honest. After Fuyuhiko lost his eye, his depth perception was most likely shit. You were always at his side, one hand on his arm as you gently guided him from room to room. You watched over him.

Accidentally knocking over a drink? You were ready to wipe it up. Searching for something he lost? You were there, helping him look. Tripping or bumping into things? You were there with a first aid kit to patch him up.

You try to match his level of sass, but you’re highkey too nervous to swear and you usually stutter the last word of whatever witty comeback you manage to come up with. Fuyuhiko secretly thinks it’s adorable, and he doesn’t want you to lose that part of yourself. That’s why he always defends you when it comes to verbal beatdowns.

You once drew a face on an egg, and when Fuyuhiko questioned you about it, the only thing you could offer was a deadpan “our son.”

“What the hell--that’s an egg.”

“No! His name is Linguini and he’s our child!”

Fuyuhiko is exhausted bro.

You’ve approached him countless times, eyes glowing with awe and insisting that you need to show him something really cool. It’s usually just a rock or a piece of glass, though. He always has the urge to poke fun at you for it, but it fizzles away when he sees how utterly bewitched you are with your find.

One time, he had walked into the room to see you standing on the arms of an office swivel chair, knees bent and arms extended as you fought to maintain your balance. You seemed to be fairly steady.

Still, that didn’t prevent him from nearly falling into cardiac arrest on the spot.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

It had startled you, and the chair rolled out from underneath you. Fuyuhiko rushed to catch you. You both tumbled to the floor in a knot of limbs, lying there in varying degrees of pain. You were laughing. Fuyuhiko was absolutely most fucking not.

“Thanks for breaking my fall!” You had chirped, gesturing to the arm lodged under the small of your back to protect it.

“You little--” Fuyuhiko’s voice had been strained, but his tight-lipped grimace dissolved into a sigh at the sight of your smile. He disentangled himself from you and pressed the pad of his index finger into your forehead. Your lips formed a small “o” shape, your eyes crossing to try to keep track of his finger. “You need to be more careful from now on. I won’t always be here to catch you.”

“But, you’ll still patch me up afterward, right?” You poked his forehead back.

He huffed and pulled away from you. “To the best of my ability. But don’t push it.”

Toko Fukawa

Initially, the only reason that Toko set aside her natural distrust and suspicion of people in order to befriend you was because she thought that you were simply too innocent and simple-minded to ever think badly of a friend.

She thought that having such a sweetheart glued to her side would disperse her dubious reputation and make her seem less suspicious during class trials.

Yep… That’s the only reason she keeps you around...

Not because of the way her heart feels all fuzzy when you embrace her… Or because of how your eyes sparkle whenever she offers to let you read one of her new works… Or because of how relaxed she feels when you weave her hair into intricate braids…

Not at all…

Hahahashutuphahaha…

She often scolds you for being such a pushover when people disrespect you, but she means well. You insist that it doesn’t bother you, but she’s an expert on human emotion. She is a writer, after all. She knows that it haunts your thoughts for a while afterward, and she hates seeing you like that.

You’ve noticed that Toko bites her nails when she’s stressed, so you’ve decided to combat her habit by applying nail polish to her nails. That way, you figure, the taste of the nail polish will deter her from tearing at them with her teeth. She also has the option of picking off the nail polish, which is probably less harmful than chewing on them.

You also kinda sorta... believe that video game cheat codes work in real life, so you’re often moving around and jumping, shouting the combinations as you go.

“Right! Right! Left! Up! Left! Down! Right! X! Y! Now, confess your sins!” You command during a class trial, pointing vaguely toward the accused. Toko just quietly shushes you, dark circles rimming her eyes as she pats your head.

You’ve adopted the habit of narrating the things you do, like whispering “wiggle, wiggle, wiggle” when sliding your feet into your shoes and “shimmy, shimmy, shimmy” when slipping your charm bracelet past your hand onto your wrist. Coincidentally, Toko has also subconsciously started doing the same thing, and she cannot think of anything more irritating.

She once jokingly told you to stop being so dependent on her. You promptly flushed scarlet and snatched the box she had been carrying out of her hands, insisting that you were more than capable of taking it to storage yourself. You had marched indignantly out of the room and headed left, only for Toko to call out, “Uh, storage is the other way.”

You reappeared a moment later, now stomping in the opposite direction. “I knew that!” You huffed.

You’re aware of Genocide Jack, but you aren’t afraid. You whole-heartedly trust that your friendship is enough to outmatch Genocide Jack’s bloodlust, as naive as it may be. Your only response to Toko’s confession of having a split personality is to gift her a cherry-flavored lip balm with a bright smile. At first, Toko is confused. You explain that whenever Genocide Jack makes an appearance, their tongue is always lolling out of their mouth. You’re concerned that their lips will get dried out, and you want to do your best to prevent it.

Did Toko’s heart just burst? Maybe.

Toko shares her romance novels with you, but only the ones without sexual interactions. She believes that you’re far too pure for those. Plus, she would really not rather answer your questions about anything of that nature.

Toko is determined to preserve your purity. She’s very protective whenever someone shows the slightest bit of sexual or romantic interest in you, and has even referred to you as her baby before.

Whenever Toko gets insecure or anxious and covers her face with her hands, you gently remove them from her face with a soft giggle of “Peekaboo!” Toko doesn’t fight you as you carefully pull her into your arms and rest her head against your chest. In fact, she finds herself surprisingly close to tears when you inquire, “Hey, you want to hear a lullaby? I can’t remember who sang it to me first, but it always helps me calm down. So, I want to share it with you!”

There will be times when Toko is too busy writing stories to pay you any attention. But no matter! After a moment of consideration, you have an idea. You gather blankets and pillows and settle onto the floor beside Toko’s seat. Your arms loop themselves around her leg, and your head finds its way onto her thigh. It isn’t long before you doze off, Toko watching you in silent shock, face rosy with bashfulness and eyes wide.

Toko is very adamant about covering up her legs due to both the tally marks scored across her skin and the quote-on-quote “sturdiness” of her thighs. You, however, have an entirely different outlook. You reason, “the bigger your thighs, the more snacks you can hide under them!” 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.1 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  When Red came to Edge and told him he needed to show him something in Alphys's lab, this was not what he had in mind.

Notes: Lots of people seemed to like the idea, so heck, I am expanding on it. Thank you everyone for your interest, it drives my mental writing machine. 😊

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge clutched the little bundle in his arms closer as he slogged through the snowdrifts. A thin, unhappy wail rose from the tightly wrapped blanket, a tiny waft of vapor rising with it. Edge could only hold the baby tighter, vainly trying to silence the child before their cries carried.

Uselessly. He could already hear the guards behind him, a rabble of snarling and incoherent threats mingled with large bodies crashing through the low-lying frostbitten shrubs and branches of Snowdin wood. Edge ducked behind a tree trunk, crouching, already braced for the near-euphoric rush brought by a large increase in EXP. There could be no survivors, none to follow them.

He waited and didn’t bother trying to silence the baby again, let her wavering shrieks lead the way into an attack that he never had to send. Even as the first few came into view, they fell to the ground shrieking, clawing at their very skin. A Check showed KR shearing away their HP, gouging away chunks as their screams overshadowed the child’s wails.

He didn’t wait to watch them dust. From behind him came a familiar voice, weary and ragged, “keep going, bro, we’re almost there.”

Almost there. Edge got back to his feet, stumbling as his knees nearly gave out. He caught himself in time, leaning against the tree trunk to catch his balance. There was no time to waste, none at all, and still he took a moment to tuck the blanket back around the baby where one tiny fist had worked its way loose to flail in the cold.

“Easy, little one,” he crooned, hardly recognizing his own hoarse voice. “We’re almost there. We’ll be safe soon, I promise you.” He didn’t look down into those pale eye lights, distantly afraid that the child would see the lie on his face. He started walking again in the direction of the cave where their machine was hidden away from any prying eyes. His brother started out at his heels, the snow drifts should have given him more trouble simply based on his height, but Red soon outdistanced him, clearing a path for Edge to stumble along even as the child’s cries grew weaker in the cold.

Almost there, to the machine, to the portal, and to Underswap.

Red was already clearing away the carefully placed barricade around the entrance to the cave. It looked as if an avalanche covered it, but there was a certain place where the snow and stones were thin, barely large enough for a broad skeleton and his tall brother to make it through. Edge helped him as best he could with only one free hand, for once carelessly scattering stone and slush, taking no pains to hide their path. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t be coming back here again.

Edge tried not to think of everything they were leaving behind at their house. A tattered old book, a ridiculous pet rock, a sock and its collection of threatening notes. None of that was as important as their lives. As her life.

Red cleared the last of the rubble away and gestured towards the entrance. “g’wan, bro, you first.”

Normally, he would have refused. He was far better equipped to take a dishonorable blow to the back than Red was, and he could tell at a glance that his brother’s magic reserves were running far too low for any of his shortcuts.

But there wasn’t time for an argument. He cradled the child close to his chest as he crawled through the small opening. Inside, the cave opened up and he walked unsteadily towards the blinking colored lights that shone through darkness to the far back, where the machine loomed silently, waiting.

Edge didn’t look at his brother while he set the coordinates, ones that he knew as well as his own callused soul. He didn’t watch Red going through what he’d gleefully dubbed the ‘oh, shit’ protocols when he’d set them up, arming the explosives that were already set. They’d always known it might come to this; it was one of the reasons they’d moved the machine out of their basement to begin with. The only question was which side of the portal they would be on when it happened.

A last tap on the controls and Edge pressed the red button, watching as the black, depthless vortex swirled into sight, shimmering with same mysterious power as it always had. Red dusted off his hands, climbing to his feet with a grunt as he walked over to where Edge was standing. In his arms, the child’s whimpers faded in querulous little sounds as she sucked on her tiny fingers, staring up at him with wide, pale eye lights. As insignificant as her weight was, his arm was beginning to ache from holding her.

Red gave him a nudge in the femur with one elbow, digging painfully into the bone. “let’s go, boss.”

“No,” Edge said decisively even as he strode forward. “Not Boss, not any longer.”

Red only shrugged and followed him. “whatever you say, bro.”

The last thing he heard as he stepped through the portal was the soft click of his brother’s thumb on the detonator.

On the other side, from icy cave into a tidy basement, there was no sign that the explosives had done their work. Not so much as a tremor came through and the portal faded away as it always did. But when Red logged the coordinates to their world into the machine, it came up with the message ‘not found’.

It was enough. It would have to be.

Edge took a moment to catch his breath, closing his sockets and listening to the stillness of the basement, of the little gurgling, pleading cries from the child, of his brother’s sneakers on the cement floor. Then he went up the stairs and braced himself to go back out into the freezing cold after the relatively mild chill of the basement.

The path around the house to the front door was shoveled clear, with no traps or signs warning that trespassers could fuck off, one of Red’s charming additions to their home defenses. No, not home, not any longer, he couldn’t think about that right now. He let his feet carry them to the front porch where he rapped firmly on the door beneath the twinkling lights.

It opened and there wasn’t enough left in Edge for even a fraction of surprise that Stretch answered it for once, his lanky frame all but sprawled against the door jamb as he leaned out. The relief at seeing him left Edge nearly weak; all his reserves had been used up getting them this far and now that salvation was in sight, his will was beginning to waver.

That face, like and unlike his own, the sight of which often left Edge torn between snarling into it and kissing that pretty mouth where so many sly insults were offered with painful accuracy. Edge had done both, sometimes only seconds apart as they rolled around on the bare mattress that Stretch called a bed, and he still couldn’t say which he preferred. When it came to Stretch, there was little in the way of answers as to how Edge felt about him, but there was at least one he knew for certain.

Stretch would never let anyone hurt a child.

Whatever greeting he’d been about to offer- depending on his mood, it could be flirtatious, antagonistic, or perhaps even a truly awful pun— died unspoken as Stretch’s gaze dropped to the baby, who was by now whimpering in his arms. His sockets went incredulously wide, his eye lights narrowing into pinpricks of white, his mouth working soundlessly as he stared.

“is that a fucking baby?” he said finally.

“good guess, dumbass,” Red snorted, stamping the snow off his shoes. “puttin’ that phd of yours to good use.”

“Don’t swear,” Edge said automatically. “Can we please come inside?” Normally, the cold wouldn’t have bothered him so much but with his magic depleted, he was starting to shiver, unconsciously clutching the warm bundle closer until the child babbled a complaint.

Stretch nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get out of their way, yanking the door all the way open. “yeah, yeah, sure, fu—udgcicles, jumped up jiminy gyftmas, yes, get in here!”

On any other day, he would never have considered stepping onto the carpet without removing his boots. Today Edge could only stagger to the sofa, collapsing down on the cushion and staring dully at the footprints of melting snow that he’d left across the carpet.

He could hear Stretch speaking, demanding answers from him and Red as he slammed the door shut, but he was too weary to answer. He settled a hand on the baby’s chest, let her grasp his chilled fingers in her little hands as he let his head wearily drop back on the sofa cushions, soaking in the first beginning trickles of warmth that he’d felt since he’d made his mad dash from Hotland, leaving the smoldering wreck of the lab behind him.

The baby was finding no satisfaction from gnawing on his fingertips and as her cries increased in urgency, Edge could only lay on that ratty old sofa and wonder at what the hell he was going to do now.

tbc

[chokemeanakin]

Okay so I was thinking maybe something along the lines of fluffy Anakin coming home from a long mission and just wanting to be held and loved on by his significant other? I was thinking of stuff like running fingers through hair, forehead kisses, gentle caresses and the like please! Thank you love!

Thank you for the request! I had such a good time writing it 🥰 (also I totally wasn’t scream-crying to Miley Cyrus’s ‘Look at You’ the whole time🥴🤫)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Loving on You - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

You had been waiting for Anakin’s arrival all day, excited to see your secret lover after he had been deployed on a mission for two whole weeks. You were in the middle of volunteering to guard the Jedi archives when he returned, and every second you weren’t running toward the star-fighter hangar was a second more that your patience was stretching thin. Jocasta Nu ended up setting you free early, noting the way you were antsily fidgeting and looking towards the windows.

An hour had passed since he arrived, and you were just leaving the archives. He must be finishing up his report to the Council, so you headed that way. Coincidentally, you ran into his master on your way over, almost smacking straight into him.

“Obi-Wan!” you exclaimed, out of breath. “I saw you and Anakin just got back from your mission. Do you know where he is?”

Something was off. The lines in Obi-Wan’s face looked deeper, eyebags more prominent, and the light wasn’t really reaching his eyes. He tilted his head behind him, gesturing to the dorm rooms.

“Unfortunately, you just missed him,” he sighed, “I believe he went looking for you in your room.”

“Are… are you alright?”

Obi-Wan forced a smile onto his face, although you could tell it took effort. “I’m just fine. Although I don’t think I can say the same for Anakin.”

Your blood immediately ran cold. “What happened? Did he get hurt?”

“No, no, he’s not injured. The mission was just… upsetting for him. I’m sure he’ll want to tell you about it.”

You blew out a breath of relief and then put a comforting hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’ll let you get some rest then. See you tomorrow.”

He bowed his head at you and you went your separate ways. As soon as you turned the corner, you bounded down the hallways to your room. Closing the door behind you, excitement grew in your veins as you saw the soft glow of a light on in the living room. He was home.

You walked into the living room, not seeing anyone except for a metal ball floating a couple inches above the couch. Peering over the back, you saw Anakin lying down, floating the decoration around with a hard look on his face. He was still dressed in all of his Jedi gear, not even bothering to take off his boots.

“Hi,” you hugged the back of the couch, smiling down at Anakin with your chin on your hands.

As always, the feeling of seeing his face after so long sent warmth down your spine. There was always that fear, no matter how many times he assured you otherwise, that one of these days he would not come back from a mission. It kept you up on the nights he was too busy to send you a hologram message letting you know he was okay, and you found you had to throw yourself into miscellaneous projects to keep your mind off of worst-case scenarios while he was gone. Staying busy was your only way to cope with the fear... But oh, how sweet it was to know he was here now.

Anakin’s lips twitched into a tiny smile of acknowledgement before it disappeared. “Hi, my love.”

Your face fell. Yeah… Obi-Wan was right. Anakin was upset, and you were gaging that it was a sad kind of upset this time. You were used to his anger and frustration, but you’d be lying if you said his sorrow scared you the most. He could fall to such extreme lows, it was almost impossible for even you to pull him back. It really didn’t help that you were shit at dealing with emotions either.

You bit your lip, looking at the ball he was floating around in the air. “I heard the mission was tough.”

“We were successful,” Anakin huffed lightly and caught the ball in his hand, placing it on the table beside him. “Or at least, the Council seems to think so.”

“What happened?”

He began to pick at thread from the sleeve of his Jedi robe. “We took back the alliance with Lim’Shor. Drove the Separatists away. Dooku escaped before we could intercept his ship… which is typical.”

“So…” you tilted your head. You still weren’t sure what had him in such a forlorn mood.

Anakin played with his hands in his lap, twisting and pulling at the sleeves of his robe. He was frowning, not the usual boy who was usually so full of life and excitement after completing a mission.

“Lim’Shor is in the outer rims. A lawless planet where slavery is common. Even with this alliance… it’s not under Republic rule.” He paused, jaw clenching. “While we could help keep the Separatist’s oppression at bay, there was nothing we could do to help themselves.”

Oh. Fuck.

Anakin was very senstive toward the topic of slavery-- rightfully so. With his troubled past, and what happened to his mother… you couldn’t even imagine the pain and anger it had caused him, and still plagues him to this day. The nightmares, the grief, the unbridled rage. You had seen it all, those terrible side effects of living through such a horrendous practice. It was no small miracle he had turned out to be the kind, golden-hearted man he was today-- and no wonder why he was so upset right now.

You made your way to the front of the couch, pushing the table away so that you could sit on the floor before Anakin. Although he wouldn’t look at you, the guilt swimming in his eyes broke your heart.

“They’re right. There’s nothing you can do-- not yet, at least,” you offered quietly. “With the war going on, you can see why the Council needed you here. But once it’s all over, we can go back. We can free all the slaves, everywhere, just like you’ve always dreamed of doing.”

Anakin finally turned to look at you. There was a sparkle in his eye, and you were afraid it was a tear, but he was also smiling. It was a tiny, weak smile, but it was there.

“I would love nothing more,” he whispered, caressing your cheek with his finger. “Come here.”

He scoot over on the couch-- which was actually quite big to begin with-- so that you had room to slide on beside him. You were hesitant to touch him, seeing as how you liked your distance when you were hurting, but Anakin was the one that pulled you into him. He ducked his head and buried himself into your neck, breathing you in.

“We’re going to do it, I swear we will,” Anakin mumbled into your skin. “Every slave out there… we’re going to free them all someday.”

You couldn’t help but tighten your arms around his back, crushing him to your body. You wanted to take his past away, all the hurt he’s experienced, all his tormented memories, and the anguish of losing his mother. Your heart ached for the man in your arms, who always pretended to be so strong for others, but who you knew was secretly crumbling inside. He felt too much, too strongly, all the time. If only you could even take a fraction of that pain away…

“We will,” you vowed, rubbing your hand up and down the space between his shoulder blades. You didn’t think you could say anything else without your voice giving away the emotion building up in your eyes, so you settled for kissing his forehead, long and warm and lingering -- a promise.

You counted Anakin’s breaths as you felt them on your collarbone. Each one, you cherished with your whole being. He was here, he was safe, and he was broken but healing. He was in your arms, and you would do everything in your power to make sure he always made it back there.

You’re pretty sure Anakin fell asleep around breath number 102 or 103. Somewhere along the way, your hand had drifted to play with the soft curls at the base of his neck. He had shivered at the feeling, burying his head deeper into you. Now, his breathing was deep and even, and you thanked whatever Maker was out there that you were lucky enough to have this beautiful man, safe and sleeping in your arms.

*******************************************************

You stayed awake for hours, letting Anakin nap in your embrace before he slowly blinked his eyes opened and peered up at you blearily.

“How long have we been here? You must be so uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m perfect,” you ran your hands through his hair, messing up his curls so that they’d stick out at odd angles.

“Still, I should get off of you and take a shower.”

You didn’t want to let him go, but you got off the couch per his request and accepted the kiss he left on your hand before he left to wash up. You immediately felt cold without his body pressed against yours, already missing his presence.

While you waited for him to get out of the shower, you prepared some tea and jelly toast for him, almost certain he had had nothing to eat in the last week but those little nutrient balls he carried in the compact in his belt. You still didn’t understand how he could stand them.

You walked into your room where Anakin was shirtless, sporting nothing but his loose fitting sleep pants that now hung low on his hips. You tried to stop yourself from staring at his v-line as he ran the towel through his hair, drying it messily before throwing the towel in the hamper. He looked surprised when you handed him the food.

“For me?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

Anakin set the plate of toast on the bedside table so he had a free hand to pull you close to him by your waist. He leaned down so he could kiss you, his lips pillowy and soft and heavenly after not feeling them against yours for so long. It was only meant to be a thank you kiss, but, well, you’ll take the blame this time for getting carried away.

You sighed in relief, melting into his figure as you traced the hard planes of his body with your fingertips. His bare skin was warm under your touch, muscles quivering with each pass of your hand. One day, you would spend hours mapping him out with your mouth. For now, you ran your hands down his chest, exploring the crevices between his abs, dipping into his v-line. He shivered at the feeling, setting the mug of tea down as well before sitting back onto the bed and pulling you with him.

You had no qualms about it. Kissing him was something you would never get tired of. When he pulled back so he could breathe, you continued planting kisses all over his face-- his forehead, cheekbones, nose, chin, jaw. He scrunched his face up and laughed, cupping your face between his hands and pushing you back.

“Miss me much?”

“You have no idea,” you weren’t even ashamed, pushing forward to kiss him again. You decided to deepen the kiss, tongue darting out to tease Anakin’s bottom lip, slipping into his mouth and tasting him for the first time in weeks. Oh God, you were in love. The warmth of him, the smell of him, the taste of him-- your head was filled with him, you were drowning in him. Him, him, him.

You traced his jawline with your fingertips as you slotted your lips with his, smoothing his eyebrow down with your thumb. Even the littlest touches had him turn to jelly in your hands.

Jelly…

You pulled back begrudgingly, his panting breaths on your lips testing your self-control by the second. “As much as I’m enjoying this, you need to eat.”

“I’ll be fast,” Anakin promised, and then got to work. He tried to cheat by giving you half a slice of toast, but you pushed it back and gave him a pointed look.

“Okay, all done,” he finished off the tea and tossed the dishes onto the bedside table again. Then he shifted closer to you, tilting your chin up so he could reach your lips. “Now, where were we?”

[ksyescribe]

Visitor (Shouta Aizawa x Reader)

Prompt: A certain Pro-Hero’s taken a liking to you. So much so that he visits you in the dead of night after particularly difficult patrols.

Ship: Shouta Aizawa x Reader

Content: Fluff, That’s it I was feeling soft,

A/N: I had this idea WEEKS back but when I tried to rewrite it from the first draft to now it just didnt work out. Like I don’t know what the hell it was but it wasn’t coming together. BUT today that hurricane rain came in strong as hell and inspiration struck. Does it flow? I think it does. Does the tone stay consistent? Probably not but it’s part of the learning process. And honestly I loved writing it so whatever :’) I hope you guys enjoy it

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Few things in Shouta's life truly brought him peace.

He could list them off on one hand if he needed to: the cat cafe that sat on the outskirts of town, a good cup of coffee, the small cabin he owned in the mountains down south, and of course you.

Standing in the doorway to your kitchen, as you busied yourself with making two cups of coffee, he remembered why.

Things were simple with you. When he watched you like this, it was easy for him to pretend just for a second that the two of you lived an ordinary, domestic life. Together.

It's not that he didn't enjoy his hero work, quite the opposite; in fact, he loved it. But when you were around, it was almost as if he craved to settle down, start a family, and just live a normal life like any other civilian could.

But he knew better.

He wasn't a chart-topper hero like All Might or Endeavour, but he still made enemies for himself as he worked. Which meant no one close to him was safe from them as long as he was active.

Hell, his colleagues didn't even know of your existence. But that was mostly because Shouta only visited you in the late hours of the night. After rough patrols, when he needed to destress, he came to you.

It wasn't often. He didn't want to make it a habit of relying on you in case things went south. But, there were nights where his body ached to be with you, and he just couldn't turn himself away from your cozy apartment.

While he lost himself in thought as he watched you, you smiled to yourself as you whipped up some small snacks to go along with your coffee.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up."

The soft tone of his voice broke him out of his trance. It sent small tremors down his spine as a feeling he can only describe as "comfort" settled in the tired crevices of his body. He raised an eyebrow at your back, "How did you know I was here?"

You press your lips together, preventing a full-blown smile from spreading over your lips. Truthfully, you'd heard the click of your balcony door opening earlier. That, paired with the unknown feeling which had been sitting in the pit of your stomach, had alerted you of the Pro-Heroe's arrival.

Breathy laughter fell from your lips, "Just a feeling."

His eyes narrowed at your back as you put the last finishing touches on the drinks and food items at hand.

"What? Like a sixth 'Shouta instinct' or something?" he snorts.

Now, you let out small giggles, "Yeah, something like that."

And then you turn around, and for Shouta, the world stops.

He really should be used to it by now. Really, he should.

It's not like this is the first time he's seen you. He's seen you plenty of times before, but for some reason, it's almost like every single time is the first time.

His eyes drink in the contours of your face. The way sharp edges contrasted with softer curves. The shape of your nose, the quirk of your lips, the way your eyes light up when your gaze lands on him.

God, he's always overwhelmed when he sees you for the first time. His body screams at him to reach out and hold a hand against your face. He wonders if you'd nuzzle your face into the callouses of his hands or if you'd just simply smile at him, content to have him touching you in some sort of way.

The grip he has on his biceps tightens as he crosses his arms tightly to avoid reaching out to you.

He doesn't have that luxury.

You barely notice, still giving him a full-lipped smile as you move towards him with a full cup of coffee. In his 'special' mug nonetheless.

It's a simple little kitten mug you had picked up in some bookstore you'd been browsing. He'd been caught off guard when you presented it to him the first time, that he couldn't help the full-body laugh he had let out.

"I couldn't get a cat, no pets allowed in the apartment." You had said with a small shrug, avoiding his gaze, "Thought this would be the next best thing."

It had quickly become one of many items deemed as "his" within your apartment.

"Every night I get that feeling, you show up," you say as you elaborate on your previous statement.

You're standing in front of him now, an arm's length away, waiting for his hands to reach out so you can pass the mug to him.

"Every, single, time," you say as you push the mug into his outstretched hands, fingers brushing against his for a mere moment.

He inhales sharply as he feels your fingers brush his for that small second. Just that tiny brush has his skin on fire. His hands felt electric.

You look at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile as you hear him take a deep breath. You mistakenly assume it's to smell the coffee, "It's a new brew! It smells just divine, doesn't it?"

Shouta's not fond of overused cliches, but he can't help but think of the word "sparkle" as he looks into your eyes. The light reflecting off them showcases your intense joy. It felt infectious. He can feel himself soften even more as he takes in your expression. Your face practically radiates happiness as you look up at him expectantly.

"Yes," he breathes out, "Divine."

Your eyes widen a fraction at his reaction, a small trembling breath slipping past your lips. Your eyes drop as you feel your cheeks begin to heat up at the implications of his words. He can't possibly be talking about coffee with that sort of tone, right?

Clearing your throat quietly, you step back, turning around to collect your mug from the counter.

His fingers tighten around the mug as he watches the space between you grow again.

He hates it.

Hates keeping you at arm's length. He wants you with him.

Every second of every day. He wants you at his side.

It's a realization he's come to over the past few months of this arrangement. Coming to your apartment past midnight. You welcoming him with open arms, even going as far as feeding him.

He's fallen for you.

Despite the dangers of his life. Despite what he's done to keep this "relationship," the two of you have as platonic as possible. You've somehow managed to burrow yourself deep into his heart. In all honesty, he's not sure he wants to remove you from there.

It's why he hasn't stepped foot inside your house for the last few weeks. He needed to put some distance between you. Something to reduce the effect you had on him.

But now, standing here in your kitchen again. It seems like the distance only made his feelings stronger.

He's hopelessly in love with you, and he isn't sure what he can even do about it.

His attention is once again captured by you, as you gesture towards the table. Taking the hint, he moves over, seating himself in one of the unoccupied chairs. You across from him in the other, placing down a plate with food in front of him.

Silently, he dips his head in a small bow, thanking you for the food.

"Itadakimasu," you mumble before taking a sip of the dark liquid. Shouta mimics your actions, relishing in the warmth that the coffee provides him.

It's perfect. Sweet with just a tang of bitterness to keep him grounded.

The two of you sit silently. Picking off items from the plate as you continue to sip your drinks.

You're the one who breaks the silence.

"Did" you pause before continuing, "did I do something?"

Shouta pauses for a mere second, his lips centimeters from the rim of the cup as he takes in your stuttering inquiry. Then, he takes a sip before raising an eyebrow at you, "What do you mean?"

You gaze down at the dark liquid, your fingers fidgeting around the mug as you gather up the courage to speak again.

"I just," you let out a small sigh before continuing, "Before tonight, you hadn't passed by in weeks."

He watches as you bite your lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening them once again. Your gaze finding his.

"I just wanted to know if I did anything to offend you..." you trail off hesitantly.

Once again, Shouta's reminded of how beautiful your face is. Even with concerned features, the beauty doesn't leave your face at all.

His head begins to shake, "No. You didn't do anything. Trust me."

Already, the creases of worry begin to disappear from your face.

"Then, what is it?" you ask as you tilt your head at him.

He brings the mug back up to his lips. Taking long sips, he buys some time to think of an excuse. What can he even say to you?

"I..." he trails off, racking his brain for anything. God, he's usually so fast with his kids, but it seems like that's nonexistent with you.

But he doesn't get a chance to respond before you blurt out, "If it's because of me, I promise that you aren't an inconvenience!"

You lean forward on your elbows as you speak quickly but quietly, "I swear! I may be quiet because it's past midnight, not that there's anything wrong with you showing up at this hour, but I promise I really enjoy your presence. I mean, it's nice to have someone to talk to. It gets lonely around here, and I'm always looking forward to your visits. I really like you, you know?"

Shouta manages to keep his expression passive, but he can't help but inhale sharply at your declaration.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you let slip out. That sets you off on another talking spree.

"O-Oh my god I didn't mean to. I just, I mean, you're a wonderful person to be around. You're good company to have around. Not that anyone's saying you're not good company. I just, oh god, I'm so sorry for making this awkward. You don't have to say anything I promise I'll just drink my coffee in silence and you can lea-"

Shouta's hand on your wrist causes you to stop abruptly. He holds your gaze over the rim of his cup as he takes another drink. He's not saying anything, but still, you feel your cheeks burning. God, he probably thinks you're an absolute idiot.

Quietly he places the cup down, raising an eyebrow at you, "So, you like me?"

If possible, the warm sensation on your cheeks gets stronger. He's trying to get a reaction out of you, and it's working.

"I-I..." you stutter out weakly. But he's already shaking his head at you, a sly smile on his face.

"It's okay, kiddo," you scowl at the despised nickname he calls you, "I'm fond of you too."

"I'm only five years younger than you!" you retort back.

"Is that what you decided to focus on?" He strokes long lines along your wrist as he smirks at you, waiting for you to counter.

You're so thrown off that you can't respond. Instead, you open and close your mouth as you try to formulate a response. Your brain's still trying to process his confession.

He tilts his head at you, "So, you want to know why I haven't been coming around these past few weeks?"

Not trusting your voice, you nod slowly at him.

"Well," he clears his throat, his eyes dropping to where his hand is resting on your wrist, "there's no reason for me to beat around the bush, so I'll just come out and say it."

Your eyebrows pull together as you look on curiously, sensing the shift of his tone.

"I stopped coming around because I felt like I was getting too attached to you." His eyes flick back up to yours, watching as you try to decipher what his words mean.

You knew that Shouta was an independent man. Lived alone, worked alone, fought alone. He held everything he needed to survive and fight within himself. So you can understand that distancing himself from something when he became too dependent would be logical. But, you didn't think that applied to people too. Regardless, why would depending on people be such a bad thing?

He watches as you lose yourself deep in thought. You're mouthing inaudible words as you confusingly work your way through the ideas in your head. He figures you'll need a helping hand to make sense of it all.

"What I mean to say is," he watches your eyes meet his, "I started to develop feelings for you. Knowing my track record, with villains and all, I thought it'd be best to put some distance between us."

Immediately you're sitting up straighter, the mood in the room shifting quickly.

"That isn't your decision to make." Your eyes bore into his, all traces of playfulness and nervousness disappearing from your face, "I know what your work entails. I know it's dangerous, but I don't care. I'm the only one who gets to decide if something is too dangerous for me to handle. You don't get to do that for me."

In his grasp, you turn your hand over, as you slide your pal up to meet his. He watches as you interlace your fingers together. Your fingers filling the gaps between his perfectly.

"And I already decided a long time ago that being with you is worth it." You squeeze his hand reassuringly as you finish talking.

His gaze trained on where you're joined together. There's an indescribable emotion unfurling deep within his chest. His eyes flit back up to meet yours, determination shines clearly within them.

"I have enemies. People who want to harm me. They'll come for you too."

"I know," your gaze never wavers, "and I don't care. Let them come for me."

He'll die before he lets any of them come near you.

"I'm constantly working. If it's not school, then I'm patrolling."

"I know, and I don't care. My schedule's changing weekly. It doesn't bother me."

"I can't give you a normal relationship."

"I don't want normal. I want you."

Empty mugs and dinnerware sit between the two of you. Your hands are still joined together in the middle of the table.

You hold each other's gaze, attempting to decipher the emotions that swirl within your eyes. Shouta's hesitation shines brightly within his. He's not sure if he wants to drag him down into this world with him. Your determination doesn't falter, but now there's hope that mixes with it. You're not scared of this. He's a good man, and you'd risk anything to stand at his side.

"It seems like you've thought about this a lot."

You nod at him, "I have."

He nods silently, eyes flickering back to your hands, "Well, since it's your choice, what do you want to do? Now that you have all the facts, that is."

You take a deep breath, a smile finding its way onto your lips, "I want you to go out on a date with me."

He lets out a breath of laughter. You sure don't waste time. "I'm free next Saturday. But let me tell you, I'm not particularly fond of those over the top places."

You snort, waving him off with your free hand, "Luckily for you, I'm not either."

You give his hand a small reassuring squeeze, glancing at him, "Saturday at 8?"

"Saturday at 8."

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Lucky’s Pet Spa - Brody

[First off, holy smokes! That is all. Now for the pet boi. This one is “soft” “whump” but Brody’s life isn’t/hasn’t/won’t always be so nice. Oh no no no no.]

CW: Dehumanization [big, systematic, full dehumanization.], Pet whump (muzzle, restraints, collar mention, implied human trafficking), referenced non-con drugging, touch starved whumpee, fully broken whumpee, lady whumper, 

Word count: ~2,600

[Masterlist]

Samuel was greeted by a young woman when they entered the storefront.

“Hi! Welcome to Lucky’s Pet Spa. What can I help you with today?” He stepped up to the counter, Brody mere steps behind him.

“Hey. A friend recommended this place; do you guys take walk-ins?” She smiled and nodded at him.

“Yeah, I actually have an opening right now. Here, I’ll get you started. If you have the info of the friend who recommended us, you can get a free nail cleaning,” she said as she handed over a clipboard. Samuel grinned and took it.

“Hey Brody, give me your hand.”

The blond pet quickly obeyed, laying his hand on Samuel’s waiting one. Samuel held it up to examine his nails, twisting it around.

“Can I use that on this visit?”  

“Yep!”

Samuel turned his attention to the clipboard, the leash loop sliding down his wrist and jiggling with the movement of his handwriting. The clip made a soft clinking sound as it swung against the pet’s tag and collar. The girl’s eyes shifted over to Brody, and he tried to hide behind Samuel.

“Hey there little guy. I’m Emma. I’ll be the one taking care of you today, Brody. Hmm?” She looked the Pet over more thoroughly.

Hmm, it clearly hasn’t been groomed in a while; maybe never, she thought as she surveyed the sandy blond hair falling over his eyes and around his ears. The muzzle was just the basic one, but the collar was nice; looked like it might have come from one of those boutiques. It was a saddle tan color, and looked well made. She smiled at the name-brand tee shirt and coral shorts Brody’s owner had put him in. “Brody” fits well.

His eyes were wide, and he looked terrified of her, still trying to sneak away from her gaze and hide behind his owner.

“Is this the first time its been to a groomer?” Samuel looked up blankly.

“Uh, I don’t know. It’s still pretty new.” He shrugged and finished up the last of the boxes. There was a sign on the wall with the different styles by length, and he stepped back to look at it.

“That’s okay, I’m pretty good with the new ones. Just a heads up, if we need to sedate it for some reason, there’s an extra charge and a fee.” Samuel reached over and grabbed Brody’s chin tightly, forcing eye contact.

“Brody, Behave. Got it?” The pet nodded frantically; eyes still wide. Samuel dropped his chin and Emma watched as Brody started to wind his hands into the hem of his shirt.

“How long is it going to take?” Samuel asked as he signed at the bottom and handing the clipboard back over. Emma looked it over, double checking everything was complete and which boxes he had checked. Thank god he didn’t want a bath. Those showers are a pain to clean.

“Should be less than an hour. You’re more than welcome to hang out in our waiting area and grab a cup of the free coffee.” Samuel waved his hand.

“Nah, I’ve got errands to run.”

He took the leash from his wrist and handed it over. Brody made a whimpering noise for the first time and looked desperately at Samuel. Emma took the leash and made a soft, comforting sound.

“Shh, Brody. It’s okay,” she said as she crossed around the desk and led the pet through the little white gate. “We’ll give you a call if we need anything.”

Samuel waved and mouthed be good one last time to Brody before he walked out.

Emma led Brody over to her salon chair, his head turned to the door the entire time, and sat him down. She clipped his collar onto the short lead on the headrest, and by the time she had turned around there were tears falling from his eyes and a soft whining sound coming from the back of his throat.

“Aw, Brody,” God it’s so cute. “Shh, it’s okay; he’s coming back. He just needed to run some errands.”

The Pet looked up at her with such big eyes, an expression that just screamed a pitiful, wordless, you promise? Emma awed again and put Brody’s wrists on the armrests so she could secure them. He didn’t fight or move, just let her place his hands however she wanted. She snapped the little plastic cuffs in place and gave him a pat on the leg.

“Good boy, Brody.”

Ugh, Emma thought as she rummaged around in her drawer, I hate this part. She took out her prod and hid it behind her back. She stood in front of him and waved one had off to the side.

“Hey Brody, can you be really still for me?” He nodded; eyes distracted by her fingers moving in the side of his vision. When he was looking at her hand, Emma pulled the prod from behind her back and poked it into his calf.

Brody’s eyes widened and his muscles jolted as he froze, but he didn’t move a fraction of an inch. Emma smiled and put the prod away.

“Good boy! Sorry honey, need to know if you can stay still on your own.” She made sure to keep her words light and her voice toned high; that always helped with the skittish pets. But honestly, it was easy with this one. It just has one of those faces that you have to babytalk to. God, its so cute. No, Emma, you know the deal with Ashley; no pets. No. Pets. But she would love this one.

She reached behind his head and unbuckled the muzzle. He obediently opened his mouth to release the bit when she pulled it away, and she dropped it in the little baggie by the armrest.

“There we go! Now I can see your little face,” she cooed as she rubbed his jaw and wiped away a couple tears. The second she touched his face, Brody melted into her touch and tried to rub his face into her palm. He didn’t get far, his neck secured to the headrest, but he still tried, and Emma couldn’t handle the cuteness.

She squished his cheeks and cooed at him as she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out one of the clear plastic mouth guards. She pulled the adhesive strips off and lined it up with his top lip.

“Keep your mouth closed, sweetheart.” She could hear the little click as he shut his teeth and it made her smile. She pressed the sticky part to the space above his lip and kept it taunt as she stuck the one side under his chin to the base of his neck. She folded the clear plastic sides around his chin and pressed the other sides down until it was stuck around his mouth. He could probably work it off if he tried hard enough, but she knew he wasn’t even going to try.

Brody’s eyes were wide and confused as he let out a tiny whine, the guard keeping his lips sealed. She combed the hair out of his eyes, feeling him relax in her hands.

“Sorry honey. I know you’re not going to bite me, but its an insurance thing.” She kept combing and let out a little laugh as his eyes closed and he let out a little contented huff. This is it. This is how I’m going to lose my job; I’m going to steal a pet. Brody? No, no this is Cody. Emma laughed to herself and pulled out her phone.

“Brody! Brody can you look up at me?” He looked up, and she snapped a quick picture. What was the point of working in a Pet salon if you couldn’t put the cute ones on your insta story? Plus, the owner liked pictures of before and after, and she knew his mop of hair would make a great example.

She mussed up his shaggy hair for the last time and scratched as his scalp as she posted the story and saved the pic. When Emma looked up, Brody’s head was circling slowly with the movement of her hand, eyes unfocused and droopy.

“You like that, huh? I think you’ll really like this then.”

She was right. By the time she had wet his hair and shampooed it, she had the sneaking suspicion he had fallen asleep. When she was done with the conditioner and the final rinse, she toweled up his hair up and knew she was right. He was entirely asleep, head rolling freely on his neck. She laughed and grabbed one of the supports they used on the sedated pets. As she placed it around his shoulders, his eyes slowly blinked open.

“Hey there, sleepy boy. Guess you really liked that, huh?” It took him a moment to wake up fully, and a few more for his words to register. He looked up at her blankly.

“You fell asleep for a second there, sweetheart,” she said has she moved behind him and started to dry off his hair. When she reached over for her blow-dryer, she heard a small sniff and glanced up in the mirror. Brody was crying. His face looked defeated; guilt bright in his eyes.

“Aw, honey, do you need permission to fall asleep?” Emma knew some pet owners did controlling stuff like that, although Samuel didn’t seem like the type. Brody nodded miserably and Emma wanted to scoop him up and take him home; angry girlfriend or not. She leaned down until she was in his line of sight and winked conspiratorially.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He looked up at her, eyes still brimming with tears. I won’t tell, but you’re going to the second you get home, aren’t you? She booped him on the nose and grabbed her blow-dryer.  

Emma could tell that he was trying, hard, to keep his head up and neck straight. She didn’t want to make it any harder on him, so she didn’t tempt him with any more scratches or pats, just blow dried his hair and combed it out.

His owner had wanted a style that was much shorter; nearly buzzed on the sides with the top section a bit longer. Made the pet fit the name “Brody” even more than the clothes. She finished and brushed some of the stray strands away before she pulled off the little black cape. Emma scratched on the side of his face, and he leaned into it again.

“Good boy, Brody. You did so good for me! Here, let’s take another picture. We can even show your owner, so he can see how good you were.” Brody perked up and looked up even before she had her phone out. Oh, yeah, the boss is going to love this one.

Brody didn’t seem to like his nails being done as much as he had liked his hair, but he didn’t squirm or disobey. Emma talked to him as she cleaned out his nailbeds and clipped them, telling him about her day and what she and Ashley were planning for dinner.

Soon, she was done, and she opened the plastic restraints around his wrists and unclipped his collar from the lead. Shorter hair looked good on him, opening up his face more. Emma help him stand and clipped the leash back on. She brought him out to the waiting area, but Samuel was nowhere to be seen. Emma heard a little whimper from behind her and turned to see the pet’s fallen expression.

“Brody, it’s okay. We’re just done a little early. Here, you can wait in the play area,” she offered, petting the side of his face lightly. That seemed to help. She led him over to pen A, or as the groomers called it, the “good pen”. It had some cushions on the ground, along with a couple toys and a picture book. There was another pet in there, a girl one, who quickly looked up then away as she led Brody in. She unclipped his leash, and he sat down next to one of the cushions. Emma gave him one last pat before she left to clean up her station.

It’s funny, really, she thought as she looked over her shoulder at the waiting pens, there’s toys and cushions, but none of the pets touch them. I wish the owners would give them permission before they leave. When she was done, she took another glance as she returned to the counter. Brody and the girl pet were snuggled together now, a striking contrast to the pets in the pen next to them that pulled and yanked at the floor anchors, growling through their muzzles.

Emma stood on her tiptoes to sneak another picture through the plexiglass. She would crop it later.

~

Samuel took a swig of his iced coffee and checked his watch. Today had been productive. He took Brody to the groomers, returned that shirt that had been his car for months, stopped by the pet store, and even grabbed a coffee. Nice.

He walked back into the pet spa and saw the same girl at the counter. She waved to him.

“Hey! We’re all done. Lee, can you get the blond from pen A?” she called to another worker. Samuel put down his coffee and pulled out his wallet.

“How’d it do?” he asked as he handed over his debit card. Emma smiled.

“A perfect angel. Seriously, its so sweet!” She swiped the card and handed it back. “Please know, if you take it to another groomer, I will be jealous and cry myself to sleep.” Samuel laughed.

“Duly noted.” Emma handed over the little baggie with Brody’s muzzle and a complementary trial size of pet shampoo.

Brody was led out only a second later, excited eyes and smile pulling at the mouth guard.

“Well, well, well! Look at you. All nice and clean,” Samuel said as he took the leash back. He picked up one of Brody’s hands to examine his freshly cut nails.

“Oh! I almost forgot. We take pictures sometimes and I thought that you’d like to see.” Emma turned the monitor around, a split screen of Brody’s before and after photos. The first where he seemed a little scared and teary eyed, and the second where he looked much more comfortable and alert. Great promotional material.

“I can send them to you, if you want. Also, can we get your permission to use them on our website or promotional material?” Samuel smiled wide.

“Of course! I’ll make sure to tag you guys online and send anyone who asks your way,” he said as she ran his hand through Brody’s much shorter hair. The style was perfect; looked well cared for with no daily maintenance or product. “Say goodbye, Brody.”

Brody lifted one hand shyly before he tried to hide behind Samuel like he had in the beginning. Emma just laughed.

“Bye sweetheart. See you later!”

Samuel walked him over to the waiting room and sat down. Brody kneeled in front of him, laying his chin on Samuel’s knees.

“Here, we’ve got to put your muzzle on before we go outside,” he murmured as he ripped the plastic guard off the Pet’s face. Brody winced and gave a little whimper, but he didn’t pull away. The skin where the adhesive had been was already turning red and irritated. Samuel pulled out his muzzle, and Brody didn’t resist, opening his mouth automatically for the bit. When it was buckled back on, Samuel pulled out something else from his shopping bag.

“Here! I got something for you today.”

He clipped the little bell onto the ring that held Brody’s tag. It jingled softly as it rolled against the boy’s clavicle. Samuel smiled at the noise and flicked it.

“Let’s go home.”

~~~

ALL THE NAMES. @poisonedbymagic @sola-whumping @haro-whumps @deluxewhump @whumpzone @castielamigos-whump-side-blog  @simplygrimly @whumpsy-daisies @whumptywhumpdump @crys-whump-sideblog @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @pineapple-heartache @whumpiestofthemall @much-ado-about-whumping

[echo-bleu]

straight through the smoke (3)

Summary: After Magnus breaks up with Alec and chooses to align with the  Seelie Queen, pulling the Downworld Cabinet with him, Alec is arrested  by the Clave for high treason. Will Magnus find out in time to save him  from a death sentence?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

On AO3

Ten minutes left.

Alec stumbles when his guards push him roughly toward the center of the courtyard, struggling to regain his balance with his hands still cuffed in front of him. One of the guards swipes his stele along the cuffs to remove them, and Alec flexes his wrists to help the blood flow back into his hands. He takes a pause to steady himself, then raises his head high and walks the rest of the way.

The large rune carved in the stone of the courtyard hasn’t been used in a long time. There hasn’t been an execution in the New York Institute in over a century. Alec has to fight himself not to look down as he steps in the middle of the rune, instead holding Imogen’s gaze until she looks away.

Beyond the no-man’s-land created by the rune and its safety circle, the courtyard is crowded. They’re all familiar faces, people Alec has led for most of the last decade. There is no hunger, no blood-thirst in their eyes. In fact, the atmosphere of the courtyard is muted and heavy. Disapproving.

Imogen is in front of the crowd, holding an adamas staff. Behind her, the Institute’s core stone of adamas has been set on a small platform, waiting to power the staff. The staff would normally be handled by a Silent Brother, Alec knows, but there must not have been any within the warlocks’ wards. Imogen is taking it upon herself to do the deed, just like she almost did with Valentine – or the man she thought was Valentine. Alec is looking at his executioner.

The anger has settled in him, and then evaporated. There is no time left for bitterness, not when he has mere minutes to live. Imogen doesn’t matter.

He tears his eyes away from her to survey the crowd. Even the youngest Shadowhunters of the Institute are here, some of them barely turned thirteen, and Alec is immensely grateful that his parents took Max back to Alicante as soon as he was stable. He couldn’t stand to look at his little brother today.

He wonders if Imogen has deemed it necessary to inform his parents, if they’re raising hell to save him from this, powerless, in Alicante, or if they secretly think he deserves no less. He’ll never know.

Despite being crammed around the safety circle, his people are standing apart from Imogen’s goons, like they’re showing their disapproval by isolating the Clave’s envoys into a group of their own. The Institute’s Shadowhunters are all standing at attention, in their formal uniforms, the Institute’s insignia on display on their chests. Alec chokes up. Every one of them seems to be wearing the—his Institute’s symbol instead of the more conventional Clave insignia for such an occasion – it’s a deliberate show of support to him, one that Imogen can’t take away from them.

Alec locks eyes with his second-in-command Jens, his mentor, who looks back at him with his gaze full of rage and sorrow. He breaks his stance to place his hand over his insignia, just above his heart. Alec nods at him, trying to make his gratitude apparent in his expression. Jens will handle the Institute until Imogen or the Consul appoints someone else – maybe Jace again, unless his association with Alec has tainted him irremediably.

Alec tries to meet everyone’s eyes, even briefly, in the time Imogen gives him. Sixteen-year-old Kara Svec, a recent transfer from Prague, who Alec has been taking under his wing. She’s crying silently, her head held high, and Alec gives her a tiny smile. Sandra, his favorite IT specialist and Alec’s de facto secretary, since the Clave has yet to assign him a real one. They won’t need to anymore. Andrej, the weapons instructor who replaced Hodge, and his herd of teenage Shadowhunters. Underhill, his brand new Head of Security. Even Lindsay Wayglide and Carson Strongmill, who grumble at each of Alec’s new briefings, are wearing their Institute insignia.

Jace and Izzy are standing at the front, their expressions a mix of horror and trepidation that even their best attempt can’t hide. They’re holding hands tightly, not bothering to stand at attention. It’s clear that they’re still hoping that something will stop the execution, but it’s too late for that now. Alec wishes that he could hug them one last time.

Magnus isn’t there. Alec wonders if he hallucinated his presence yesterday, or if Magnus is out there somewhere, trying to stop Valentine. He has his people to think about. Alec berates himself for hoping that he’d be able to look into his lover’s eyes as he died.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you have been declared guilty of high treason, and sentenced to death by immolation,” Imogen declares, her tone emotionless. “Do you have any last words?”

Alec, turns away from Imogen, clasping his hands behind his back in one last show of respect in the direction of his people. He looks down at the rune on the floor and tries to put his thoughts together, swallowing.

“I was lucky,” he says quietly. The silence in the courtyard seems to grow deeper, expectant. “I was lucky to fall in love with a man as wonderful as Magnus Bane. A man who is a warlock, a Downworlder. Someone that my entire upbringing had conditioned me to despise, and yet the man I met and fell in love with was nothing like what I had been told.”

Alec blinks back the tears coming to his eyes, letting his memories of Magnus wash over him. He can barely remember, now, why their breakup felt so important, why he didn’t run to Magnus and apologize, to spend one more day, one more minute with him. Wasted chances, all of them.

“Nephilim, Downworlders, Mundanes,” he continues, this time raising his head high to meet the eyes boring into him. “We’re all people. When it comes down to it, we’re all the same, with the same faults and the same hopes. I love a Downworlder, and if the Clave is going to execute me for that, then so be it. I am not ashamed, and the only regret I have is that it took me too much time to understand how deeply we Shadowhunters are failing at fulfilling our duty.” Alec turns to look at Imogen, letting his hands fall to his sides. He refuses to show her any more deference. “Our prejudices deform our understanding of the world until it is unrecognizable, and that is how ideas like those of the Circle are born.”

Imogen opens her mouth, but Alec turns away from her again. “The coming times may bring war and grief to our doorstep,” he meets Jens’ gaze. “I am sorry that I will not be there to meet them at your side. But when there comes a time when you have to take a stand, I urge you to think. Is caring for other people a crime that should be punished, just because those people are different from us?

“I love a warlock, and I will not apologize for treating him and his kind like people.”

Alec lowers his head to signify the end of his speech. He traces the rune under his feet with his eyes, once more, then catches Izzy and Jace’s eyes. I love you, he mouths, opening the parabatai bond wide to push through all of his love. They’re the ones who will have to stay behind, and keep fighting.

Jace pushes back fearstrengthlove and Alec nods at him just a fraction. Izzy has tears running down her cheeks. Alec takes all the courage he can get from their gazes and tries to send some back, before he turns back to Imogen. He will not let his siblings see his face as he burns.

Imogen doesn’t look at him as she raises the staff and touches it to the core stone. The entire courtyard seems to hold its breath, watching the tip light up like a stele, ready to activate the fire rune on the floor.

“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” Imogen declares. Her posture tightens when the only ones who repeat it are her Clave soldiers, but she turns her staff to the rune without stalling.

Alec closes his eyes.

This is how his story ends. Burnt to death in the courtyard of his own Institute, under the eyes of his siblings and his people. This is how he dies.

*

Twelve hours left.

“He wasn’t supposed to plead guilty! We were supposed to have more time!”

Isabelle is pacing the length of the small bedroom, while Jace sits immobile on the bed, staring at nothing. He looks in shock, incapable of processing. Clary looks at Magnus with pleading eyes as Jace fails to react to her pats on his arm.

Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose. “The Clave called off the search for Valentine,” he says. “He got through the wards around the city. He’s on his way to Lake Lyn as we speak, and the Consul is going to welcome him with open arms.”

The three Shadowhunters stare at him in shock. “The Consul is part of the Circle?” Isabelle asks with wide eyes.

“Alec said it was the only explanation. I told him during the trial.” Magnus closes his eyes. “Maybe that was a mistake. He pleaded guilty to speed up the trial, so we could get there faster.”

“Fuck!” Jace mutters through his teeth. He rams his fist into the mattress in desperate rage.

“That sounds like Alec,” Isabelle sighs.

“What do we do?” Clary asks, wringing her hands. “We have to stop Valentine, but we can’t let Alec get executed!”

Magnus feels himself flinch at the word once more. Executed. If they don’t find a solution fast, Alec will be burned to death by his own people, for the crime of loving him. Of being a good person, in spite of everything he’s been taught.

Clenching his fists, Magnus forces down the magical outburst he can feel coming and instead conjures a timer. “We have twelve hours,” he says, starting the magical clock with a wave of his hand.

“If Valentine is already in Idris, he’ll be at Lake Lyn long before that,” Isabelle says. Her face distorts before her next sentence. “Stopping him has to be our priority. We can’t let him succeed.”

Magnus shakes his head. “I agree that he’s the priority, but we can’t leave things as they are. This isn’t just about Alec. Even if we succeed in stopping Valentine, if Alec is executed tomorrow and word gets out about why, we’re looking at an all-out war.” He takes a gasping breath, the guilt eating him alive. How much of all this is his fault? He knows, he’s known for centuries that the Seelie Queen can’t be trusted. He chose her side over Alec. And if the war that’s brewing happens, he’ll have doomed his own people as well as Alec.

He leans against the wall, struggling to breathe through the panic. “Magnus?” Isabelle asks, squeezing his arm.

Magnus shakes himself. He can’t give in to the fear. Not yet. “The Seelie Queen betrayed us all. And your Clave is about to execute one of its own Heads for associating with the Downworld. This is a fuse that will blow it up to massive proportions.”

“But what can we do?” Clary asks.

“We need to split up,” Jace breathes, meeting Magnus’ eyes as he understands his intent. “Some of us need to stay behind. To organize.”

“Yes,” Magnus confirms.

They all look at each other for a moment. It’s not an easy decision. “Magnus,” Isabelle says softly. “You’re the best equipped to fight Valentine, especially since Jonathan might be with him.”

Magnus sighs. As loathe as he is to leave Alec, he knows she’s right. “I’ll go. I’ve already spoken to Luke and Raphael, they know where I stand. You can coordinate with them.”

“What about the warlocks?” Clary asks. “There’s still the wards over the city.”

“That’s also why I need to go,” Magnus says. “I’m the only one here who can go through them. I can take one of you with me. The warlocks won’t get involved beyond lowering the wards when I tell them to, unless war is officially declared.”

“The wards are useless now, though,” Isabelle remarks.

“Maybe not,” Jace says. “If you take them down, we expose ourselves to the Clave, and we know we can’t trust them. Right now every Shadowhunter in New York is in the Institute. That could work to our advantage.”

“An insurrection?” Magnus asks curiously.

“Maybe not that far, but Imogen is a minority right now. Our people are loyal to Alec. We may be able to use that to stall, if nothing else.”

Magnus nods. “Buy us more time.” He eyes the timer. “We could use that.”

“Clary, you go with Magnus,” Jace says.

Clary frowns. “You’re a better fighter than I am.”

Jace shakes his head. “You have your runes. And I’m needed here. My name and Izzy’s contacts will go a long way.”

Jace doesn’t add that if Alec is executed, it will incapacitate him and make him useless in a fight, but Magnus can see it on his face.

Clary nods and stands up, checking her pocket for her stele. “Magnus, do you think you could summon me a blade from the armory?” she asks. “I don’t know if we’re still on house arrest, but I’m sure we’ll be watched the second we step out of this room.”

“Of course.” Magnus visualizes the armory the best he can and pulls. The blade he finds in his hand isn’t Clary’s usual one, but Clary doesn’t seem to be bothered as she grabs it and clips it to her belt.

“Alright, Biscuit,” Magnus takes her shoulder. “We can’t waste any more time.”

He watches her hug Jace tightly, then Izzy, and the steel band around his chest tightens a little more at the thought of Alec, alone in a cell, waiting for his execution. He doesn’t let himself wish that they could have had more time, that they could have talked. They will.

“Isabelle,” he says. Isabelle turns to him and hugs him a well, but Magnus can’t quite return the gesture. He’s too tense. “If we don’t make it back in time—”

“We’ll do everything in our power,” Isabelle promises. She doesn’t say what, specifically. She can’t promise more.

Neither can Magnus. “If Valentine succeeds,” he starts instead, swallowing. “Tell Alec that I love him, and I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Magnus,” Isabelle murmurs. “You’ll get to tell him yourself. Have faith.”

Magnus nods. “I love you, too. Alec is my family now, and that means that so are you.”

“Go kill Valentine for me, then,” Jace says, punching his arm. In another context, it could have seemed callous, even rejecting. But the look on his face says everything, and Magnus suddenly remembers that Valentine raised him. That Valentine is his abuser.

“For all of us,” he chokes out. “Brother.”

They’re brothers in battle now, not just in their connection to Alec. They strive toward the same goal. Jace nods, pursuing his lips in the way he does when he’s trying to hide his emotions.

Magnus opens a portal, layering it with a shield meant to pierce wards, both those of the Institute and the ones around the city. Clary takes his hand, and in a second, they’re gone.

*

Eight hours left.

They’ve set up in the training room. It’s something Alec once started, Izzy remembers, in the first year he took over the Institute. He was sixteen, not even an adult in Nephilim eyes. She remembers that he had to get Jens to sign every single report before he could even send them to their parents because his own signature held no weight, even though he was effectively running an entire Institute.

Their parents still came back for a few days every month back then, and after dressing Alec down for some minor mistake, they’d kicked him out of the Head’s office like his work meant nothing. So Alec had swallowed his pride, changed into workout clothes, and held every single one of his planned meetings in the training room, under the guise of fighting hand-to-hand.

He kept doing that as long as their parents still held some pretense of running the Institute whenever they were in New York. The practice came in handy when first Lydia, then Aldertree and later Imogen took over the Institute and Izzy watched Alec more than once discreetly listen to his people’s complaints and needs while kicking their ass on the training room floor, or letting them pretend to watch him fight Jace or Izzy herself.

Today it’s Izzy and Jace on the mats, sparring without conviction. It’s past midnight, and the benches are full. They’ve had to wait until Imogen retired for the night, leaving only one of her henchmen to watch over the ops center while the Institute works are reduced capacity. They can’t leave the bounds of the city, when they would usually handle calls as far out as New Jersey, and half of the regular patrols have been canceled because of the events of the day. Anything involving Downworlders has been put on indefinite hold.

Izzy straightens with a silent nod to Jace, untangling herself from his grip, and heads back toward the nearest bench to grab her towel. Jens hands her a bottle of water, casually standing up next to her, just outside of the line of sight of the Clave guard in the other room.

“Clary’s training all night,” Izzy says. “I need someone to cover for her. It’s her final exam.”

Jens nods gravely. “Is she on her own?”

“No,” Izzy shakes her head. “She’s getting some help.” She makes a small hand gesture low at her side, imitating Magnus’ style the best she can.

“Good,” Jens nods. “I hope it will be enough.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Izzy sees Jace gesture to her. It looks like he’s got Lindsay to distract the Clave guard, and he has his back to them now. Jace runs his hand across his throat. The sound of the surveillance system has been taken down. The guard won’t notice as long as he’s not looking. They have a few minutes.

She signals the Shadowhunters around her to come closer. They gather around her just as Jace joins them, still looking like an accidental grouping but close enough to listen.

“I think you all know that the crimes Alec is accused of are unfair and that he’s innocent. It looks like the Clave is corrupt far beyond what we thought. I’m reaching out to people we trust to try to overturn this decision, but I need you to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” one of the Shadowhunters asks.

It’s Kara Svec, Alec’s little protegee. She’s at the bottom of the Institute hierarchy, still a trainee, and she’s speaking out of turn, but Izzy doesn’t point it out. She knows it, Izzy can see it on her face. She loves Alec and she’s terrified.

Alec was her age when he took over the Institute, Izzy realizes. She didn’t understand how young that was at the time. They were teenagers, ready to take on the world, and she and Jace must have caused Alec so much trouble with their unruliness. Izzy can barely handle the thought of leading the Institute now, let alone when she was sixteen.

Izzy puts an arm around Kara’s shoulders to comfort her, though the young Shadowhunter is taller than her. “We’re going to do everything we can to get Alec out of this,” she says. It’s looking less and less like they’ll succeed while staying within the bonds of Clave law. Izzy and Jace have tried everything they could already, from calling their parents – they didn’t answer, and Izzy has a feeling that Imogen is purposefully keeping them away – to Jace directly trying to convince Imogen to change her mind. Izzy has been through all of her contacts in Alicante, and the only thing she got was a promise from Aline that she’d call back as soon as she got hold of her mother.

“If we have to, we’ll stop the execution and break Alec out,” Jace says, his voice deep and more confident than he is. “We won’t ask any of you to put yourself in a position to go against the Clave, but we need to know that you won’t stop us.”

Jens steps up at that. “Alec is our Head, and what’s happening is wrong. I am loyal to him before the Clave.” Izzy nods at him. The older Shadowhunter is Alec’s mentor in many ways, the one who taught him how to run the Institute when their parents left. Alec broke traditions when he made Jens his official second-in-command, despite him not being a fieldworker.

“He’s the best commander I’ve ever had,” Underhill declares. “I stand with him. We’ll help in any way we can.”

Kara nods emphatically at that, tears in her eyes, and she’s followed by all of the others. Everyone here has a reason to be thankful to Alec, and that’s exactly why Izzy chose them.

“We’ll do things by the book for as long as possible,” Izzy says. “But be ready. Pass the word to anyone you know you can trust.”

“Time’s up,” Jace signals.

They break ranks immediately, going back to the benches as Jace drags Underhill out to the center of the room. Izzy sits down next to Jens, making a show of unwrapping her hands.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” she murmurs. “Thank you. For your support, for all these years. Alec wouldn’t have made it without you. None of us would have.”

Jens lowers his head. “I wish I could have protected him more. He took on so much more than he should have had to, and now they’re punishing him for it.”

“Imogen hates Downworlders. Hell, the Clave hates them. Alec knew that when he made his choices, Jens. None of this is your fault.”

“Be careful tomorrow,” Jens whispers. “We’re on the brink of war. If you free Alec and side with the Downworld, you’ll be hunted by every Institute.”

“I hope it won’t come to that, but it’s better than Alec being executed,” Izzy murmurs. She looks around her and spots Kara with her face in her hands, trembling slightly. “Jens, tonight, will you watch over Kara? I’m worried about her. She’s really attached to Alec.” Izzy doesn’t know all the details of the abusive situation she escaped in her previous Institute, run by her father, but she knows enough to know that Alec saved her life by pulling her out. The fear of losing him could pull her right back to the traumatized state she was in when she first got to New York.

“I know,” Jens says sadly. “I’ll take care of her. What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

Jens is one of the few people in the Institute who knows about Izzy still being in recovery, and how stressful the last few months have been.

“I’ll hang on until morning,” Izzy smiles weakly, touched by his concern. “I have Jace. And I have a mission. I’ll be fine.”

*

Two hours left.

“For the last time, the Inquisitor is not allowing any visitors,” the Clave guard growls, his hand ostensibly on the hilt of his seraph blade.

Izzy fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Come on,” she pleads. “He’s my brother. He’s gonna die tomorrow.” She almost chokes on the last sentence, and it’s far less of an act than she’s willing to admit.

No. Alec isn’t going to die. They’re going to get him out of there.

“I have orders,” the guard says. “I’m not letting you through.”

Izzy sighs. She’s been trying to get to Alec for a while, coming back here every hour, but it’s not happening. She turns on her heels and walks back to the elevator. Jace joins her just as she gets out on the third floor and comes with her to her room. “Any luck?” he asks.

“No.”

“Me neither. Still nothing from our parents, and Clary and Magnus aren’t answering their phones.”

“Fuck,” Izzy swears through her teeth. She throws herself on her bed. It puts her face to face with Magnus’ timer, which now read 2:03. They’ve got two hours and three minutes left to save Alec, and they haven’t made any progress. What are they going to do?

The only positive point so far is that Luke and Raphael are still alive, answering their texts, so Valentine hasn’t succeeded in making the Wish. Yet. Clary and Magnus have been out of contact since they portalled to Idris, so there’s no way to know if they’re even alive.

Izzy’s phone buzzes in her hand, and she brings it up to see the text, only now realizing how tightly she’s gripping it. Jace sits down beside her to look over her shoulder.

It’s Aline.

Mom has got the Council together in an emergency meeting. The Consul is out of reach, so she’s calling the shots. What do you need?

Izzy breathes out. Finally, something is moving. Just as she moves to answer, her phone starts ringing.

“It’s Clary,” she breathes. Jace immediately straightens. Izzy taps the screen to answer the video call.

“Clary?”

“Izzy!” Clary’s face appears on the screen, bathes in sunlight. It’s almost midday in Idris. Magnus comes into the frame beside her, and Izzy lets out a breath she didn’t know she held all this time. They both look okay, if a little out of breath.

“We did it,” Clary says. “We got Valentine. He’s dead.”

Izzy closes her eyes in relief – or maybe just exhaustion. Jace says something under his breath and squeezes her against him tightly.

“He raised the Angel, but I got to him before he could make a wish,” Clary continues.

“Thank the Angel,” Izzy sighs. A part of her registers that the Angel she’s thanking is the one who would have annihilated the Downworld on Valentine’s command. “I mean, thank you, in this case. You’re certain he’s dead?”

“Yes,” Clary answers. “Magnus killed him while I talked to the Angel.”

Izzy chokes on her breath at Clary’s nearly casual tone. “You talked to Raziel?”

“Yeah,” Clary laughs. She sounds more shell-shocked than happy. She’s had a long night. They all have, but Clary and Magnus perhaps more than anyone else. “Not my first rodeo with an angel, remember? I told him that we didn’t want to make the Wish today, and he left. The Wish is safe.”

Izzy takes a moment to breathe and process that. It’s too much at the same time, she doesn’t know where to even start, but she has to keep it together. For Alec. Alec needs her to figure out their next step, and the next. He needs her to get him out of this.

The news of Valentine’s death should feel more earth-shattering than it does, but they still have work to do. Izzy puts that aside for now. They can celebrate and think of what almost happened later.

“What about the Consul?” she asks.

“We ran into him while walking to the lake,” Magnus answers. “We had the element of surprise, since he didn’t know we knew he was a traitor. We had to fight off his goons, but I think we got them all. The Consul is dead.”

“Good. Do you have conclusive proof that they were with the Circle?” Jace asks.

“Is this enough?” Clary asks, switching to her phone’s second camera. It moves for a moment before it stops on what is unmistakably Malachi Dieudonné’s face, the Circle rune prominent on his neck. “I think he had a glamour on it that fell when he died.”

“Definitely enough,” Izzy says, taking a screenshot. She thinks for a moment, as Clary brings the camera back on herself and Magnus. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get in touch with the Council.” She pauses as Magnus nods. “We need to make sure that you’re untouchable, especially Magnus, in case there are other Circle members in the Council. You record a video of you two explaining exactly what happened tonight. Jace authorized Magnus’ portal as Head of Field Ops and Magnus will get paid for his services, so we’re in the clear on that front. Make sure the video shows Malachi and the Circle rune clearly, and that you don’t implicate yourselves. Then send it to the Institute’s servers. It will make several backups just in case.”

“Okay,” Clary accepts. “We’ll do that. Can we come back now?”

Izzy sighs. “No. I’m sorry, but if you aren’t there when the Council sends a team to the scene, this will all have been for nothing.”

“Alec only has two hours left,” Magnus says, anguish in voice.

“I know, Magnus. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he’s still alive when you get back, okay? But you can’t leave Idris, or you’ll get thrown in jail too, and it will all have been for nothing.”

Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose, but nods.

“Magnus, can you get the warlocks to bring down the wards? We’ll need you and whoever they send from the Consul to be able to come through.”

“Okay,” Magnus says. “I’ll be there the second they let me go.”

“Me too,” Clary affirms. “Guys. We’re gonna make it through. Valentine’s dead. We’re gonna save Alec. Okay? Just hold it together.”

Izzy takes a breath and gives her a small smile, feeling Jace do something similar at her side. “Thanks, Clary.”

They’re all inches away from crumbling, but they need to hold on for a bit longer. One hour and forty-eight minutes left, according to the timer.

It’s a terrifyingly short amount of time that somehow feels like an eternity. Izzy sends the screenshot of Malachi’s Circle rune to Aline, along with a quick summary of what happened, and transmits Clary and Magnus’ video to the Council as soon as she gets it. Jace paces the length of the bedroom, fists clenched. After a while, Izzy takes his hand and pulls him down to the floor, where they sit cross-legged, across from each other.

“I think Alec could use some calm right now,” Izzy gestures to Jace’s parabatai rune, swallowing her tears. It’s almost seven. Outside, the sun is rising, coming through the stained glass windows.

Jace lets out a near-sob. They still don’t have an answer from the Council, and Clary and Magnus aren’t responding to Izzy’s texts. With no official backup coming, all their plans are crumbling one by one until they’re only left with the last resort.

“Breathe with me, brother,” Izzy murmurs, holding out her hands. “Send him strength. And love.”

Jace links hands with her and closes his eyes.

They don’t move until Jens knocks on the door, fifteen minutes before the end of the timer. “It’s time,” he says when Izzy opens the door. “They’re prepping him.”

Clary and Magnus haven’t made it back.

They’ve run out of time.

[kingreywrites]

I’ll breathe again - Chapter 1

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2451

Summary: Rapunzel fell. She cried out and felt her wrist crack painfully under her weight. But it didn't matter - nothing did, not when the attacker collided roughly with Eugene right as she raised her head back up. Eugene didn't allow himself to fall, only taking a single step backwards, but Rapunzel saw how his face contorted excessively with pain.

Warning: Stabbing, blood, and general angst but with an happy ending.

Note: I’ll post the second chapter tomorrow :) This takes place post-series and yes, Eugene meets a dagger again!

Read on ao3

Rapunzel first noticed that something was wrong when she saw Eugene chatting with Stan at the edge of the ballroom. Well, what appeared to be chatting - but Rapunzel knew her husband and Captain of the Guard well enough to be sure that he wouldn't distract one of his men during an important event if something wasn't wrong. Even now, all dressed up in his beautiful royal suit, she could see his calculating gaze taking in the numerous guests, as he kept smiling while talking to Stan.

This was Captain Fitzherbert talking.

And if it was worrying enough that he would go to one of his men in the middle of a party in which he wasn't supposed to act as a Captain, it meant trouble. Eugene said one last thing to Stan, who nearly saluted before he thought better of it, and disappeared to go inform the others. Then, Eugene slowly made his way back to the centre of the ballroom, unnoticed by most - and, as the husband of the Queen, that was no easy feat.

"Is everything okay?" Rapunzel asked, her tone even as she went to his side, hoping to keep the casual facade.

"Ah, a little security problem," Eugene smirked, extending his arm to her, "it should be solved soon. Can I offer you a dance, your majesty?"

"If it is so nicely asked, how could I say no," Rapunzel laughed, revelling in the warmth of his arm around her waist. "By the way, Johanna is actually quite nice once you get to know her!"

"Jo- you mean ma'am the duchess of Bitterness land?" Eugene sputtered dramatically, ignoring her playful glare. "That woman managed to make eating cake sad, who does that?"

Rapunzel laughed again, and started explaining how she had found that the duchess had a secret passion for hourglasses, and that by catering to it, she had managed to secure a trade deal quite easily. The ballroom was packed with important guests, and she would soon have to try and mingle again, but having Eugene near her felt like a breath of fresh air. Though, she could see he was still worried. He smiled and nodded at the right times, but his mind was elsewhere, and his eyes strayed behind her once or twice.

"So?" she asked to get his attention back on her. "What's this little security problem?"

Eugene grimaced, looking behind her again. "One of the people here doesn't fit the guest list. I'd know, I've reviewed it enough to know it by heart. I told Stan to evacuate him, but I don't know, I've got a bad feeling," he finished, his eyes finding hers this time, worry evident in them.

"I'll be careful," she answered before he even asked it of her. She got on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth quickly, wishing for a moment they could be alone in their bedroom. "I promise."

His eyes softened, and he squeezed her hands in his for a moment, before smiling. Someone called her from behind him - a representative of a little principality, she remembered - and she was already missing Eugene, even though she hadn't left him yet.

"Duty calls," she said.

"Duty calls," he repeated softly.

She should have stayed a little more. At the time, she had wanted to - had wanted to gaze into those eyes she loved so much a moment more, had wanted to hold him a little longer, had wanted to kiss him deeply until all his worries dissipated and all he could think about was her. She had wanted all of that but, since she became Queen, she knew to put her responsibilities before her wishes. She wanted to stay, but she didn't indulge in her desires, sure that she would have the occasion later on.

She should have waited. But she didn't.

Rapunzel went around Eugene to greet the representative. Her back turned to his, she didn't see the sudden movement in the crowd. She heard it when someone cried out from being pushed, but she tensed a fraction of second after Eugene - just a fraction of second, nothing more, but it was enough to change everything.

Eugene was the first to see the shadow running through the crowd; he was the first to understand that the attacker was going straight toward Rapunzel; he was the first to react. Right as she was turning back toward the noise (too late, too slowly), he pushed her harshly to the ground with his shoulder.

Rapunzel fell. She cried out and felt her wrist crack painfully under her weight. But it didn't matter - nothing did, not when the attacker collided roughly with Eugene right as she raised her head back up. Eugene didn't allow himself to fall, only taking a single step backwards, but Rapunzel saw how his face contorted excessively with pain.

Time froze.

The attacker scrambled back, falling on his butt before getting back up to get away, but Rapunzel didn't see him. She didn't see anything, but the dagger in his hand, the dagger that had been extended in front of him, and that was now covered in blood - a splash of red into this man's hand. The blood could only have come from one person, she knew, but her heart refused to accept it, beating loudly in protest and drowning out every other sound. Eugene was still standing, his back to her, but she felt slowed down, nearly frozen on the spot. Time resumed its course.

Eugene crumbled.

He fell backwards, one of his hand on his stomach, and collided harshly with the ground, a breathless yell escaping his lips. The ballroom exploded into a flurry of activity, the noise nearly deafening, but Rapunzel didn't care. She crawled to Eugene in mere seconds, but it was too long, far too long, and his blood was already soaking the ground and her pretty dress.

She felt her heart beating in her throat and choking her as she took in his pale and pained expression, his eyes tightly closed as his muscles tensed against the pain. That was when she saw the wound on his stomach, Eugene's blood slowly seeping through his clenched fingers.

"Eugene," she gasped, terrified. Her memories of medical training kicked in and she immediately put pressure on the wound with both hands, drawing a shaky moan from him as he relaxed unnaturally, too limp now. Her own wrist was pulsating with pain, probably broken, but she didn't care. "I'm sorry," she whispered frantically, "I'm sorry, please Eugene, stay with me."

Her pleading made him open his eyes, and she could have sobbed right here and there at the familiar expression if she wasn't worried her tears would blur her vision too much. She had seen him like this once already - wasn't it enough? She could see the brown of his eyes shining through the tiny slits, unfocused and glossy, but always seeking her out.

Biting her lips, she pushed harder on the wound and one of his hands reflexively tried to knock her off him with a moan, but the movement was uncoordinated and weak. The hand landed on her sleeve, making the purple fabric darker, before it feebly fell to his side again.

"Ra-Rapunzel," he croaked out, breathless. "You… you 'k?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, swallowing harshly against her emotions, "I'm perfectly fine, I promise."

He coughed, pushing against her arm again without force, and she stopped his movement easily. Too easily. He wasn't supposed to be like this. Eugene was strong and- and confident, and the best Captain of the Guard there was and- he shouldn't be this limp, this weak, this pale, bleeding out under her hands without even being able to talk.

"Eugene," Rapunzel pleaded, her right hand going to cup his cheek gently, trying to get him to look at her. She ignored the blood she was herself smearing on his chalky skin, ignored  the way his eyes were dulling, ignored his shallow breathing or the slick warmth under her other hand. "Eugene, please, I know it hurts but you have to stop moving."

"Captain!" It was Stan who had yelled that, but Rapunzel realised with a start that she was surrounded by multiple nervous guards, all staring blankly at their fallen Captain. Stan slide to his knees on Eugene's other side, his hands joining her.

Eugene cried out again, a tear escaping him, and she had to bit back a sob again. She brushed the tear off, but left blood in its place, again. She thought she might be sick.

"Pete," she said harshly, making everyone jump at her unfamiliar tone, "go fetch the physician. Half of you, go take the guests to safety. The other half, go arrest the attacker that should never have been here in the first place!"

The end of the sentence was a yell, and she would have felt guilty if she wasn't feeling Eugene's irregular breathing under her hands.

"Your Captain needs you," Stan added, "don't just stand around!"

They were met by a chorus if ayes as each guard scrambled to his assigned position - though Pete had been gone as soon as she asked him for a doctor. The entire scene seemed surreal. Rapunzel felt like years, centuries even had went on since Eugene danced with her - how long had she been standing here, stained by his blood?

Not even two minutes, at most.

Eugene whimpered under her, his face grey as chalk and contrasting sharply with the blood she had left behind. She could feel her eyes burning, could feel the panic burning inside her, but she had to try to comfort him, had to be there for him. She would break down later - for now, he needed her.

"Rapunzel," he coughed again, her name always on his lips when he was worried for her safety. Even when he was the one he should be worried about.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered, leaning down toward him, feeling how her dress was clinging unnaturally to her because of the blood. "I am not letting you die again."

"Ah," Eugene laughed, but she could see how damp his eyes were. He was scared - and she was too. "Is- Is-"

"Everything is under control, Captain," Stan said when it was evident that Eugene wouldn't be able to finish his sentence. "No one was hurt beside... beside you."

"Good," Eugene croaked, seemingly more aware for a moment, his eyes focused on Rapunzel's.

For that moment, the chaos around them didn't matter anymore - his eyes held the universe inside of them, a tenderness that almost choked Rapunzel with emotion. She whispered his name again and he smiled, a soft, resigned smile, that tried to tell her that everything would be okay.

"Good," he said again, "because I- I think I'm gonna pass out."

"Cap-"

"Eugene!" Rapunzel exclaimed at the same time his eyes rolled back and his head lolled to the side. She shook him as gently as she could, vision blurred by the tears she couldn't keep at bay anymore. "Eugene, wake up!"

"Your majesty…" Stan tried, but she ignored him. She ignored everything, but Eugene's slack face and the terrifying realization that it was happening again, she had seen him like this before and she couldn't do anything-

She shook her head and pushed harder against the wound, wishing she could put the blood back where it belonged. Eugene twitched, nothing much, but it meant that he was still feeling something and Rapunzel would take it.

To her right, the physician finally arrived, Pete following him awkwardly as he carried alone a stretcher. Rapunzel dried out her tears with her shoulder, telling herself harshly that her husband wasn't dead yet, and that she would wallow later. She put her hand on his neck to feel his pulse, remembering these medical courses she had insisted in attending, and despite his clammy skin and too quick rhythm, the fact of the matter was that Eugene was still alive.

Eugene was alive. And she would do anything to keep it that way.

She had to get her hands off his wound to let the physician do his job, but she helped load Eugene onto the stretcher, finding a modicum of comfort in the warmth he was still emitting. Eugene was still alive, she repeated herself, and he'll get better and then they'll dance and kiss and be with each other again. She couldn't accept any other scenario.

"Your Majesty," a guard said hesitantly as others raised the stretcher, "we- uh, captured the attacker."

Rapunzel sucked a breath through her teeth, looking away from Eugene for the first time since he went down. She didn't want to leave him, but she still turned toward the man that did it all, heart beating fast as fury coursed through her veins. He wasn't as big and as shadowy as he had seemed before. He was even pretty banal, and was now vaguely resisting arrest, surrounded by two guards. When he saw that she was looking at him, he spat on the ground.

"Hope he dies painfully," he sneered, and the anger that flooded Rapunzel was searing hot, tearing through her self-control easily.

In one swift movement, and before anyone could even think to stop her, she stole a nearby guard's sword and went to point it directly at this guy's neck, pressing until she drew blood. Her breathing was heavy, her head buzzing by the sheer hatred she was feeling, but her hands were steady.

"You better hope he survives," she growled, pushing the sword harder, "or else, you won't like what I'll do to you, I promise you that."

He didn't even dare swallow, and the rush of satisfaction Rapunzel felt was exhilarating. She liked to see the fear in his eyes, liked to know that he felt what must not even be a tiny fraction of the terror that inhabited her. She tightened her grip and the pain that climbed up her arm was like a bucket of freezing water above her head - a reminder that Eugene was still… Rapunzel lowered her eyes, toward that hand that was pulsing painfully with her heart, bruised and bloodied, from her fall and from Eugene. Her dress was still darkened by the blood that was dripping from it and Rapunzel couldn't help but feel unbearably cold. She let the sword clatter to the ground and stepped back unsteadily, before straightening herself and ordering the guards to put him in a cell.

Her hands were shaking now. She hoped nobody saw them.

She took another step back, then raised her dress ungracefully and ran after her husband.

He was the one that needed her right now.

[bubmyg]

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: college!au + part of my college “best friend” drabble series (linked as “p.s. i love you” on my masterlist), fluff, like...so much fluff, jimin and jeongguk are little shits this time

word count: 1,642

summary: yoongi is sick and you’re called to take care of him that’s it that’s the blurb (also based on this request)

“Password.”

“Jeongguk is an idiot.”

“Oh, close, but not quite.”

You sighed, “Jeongguk is amazing.”

The fluffy haired man grinned, pulling back the front door of the house so it revealed his entire stature, matching blue pajama set and all rather than just his nose that had been prodded through the tiny sliver of doorway he allowed. 

“I’ll take it for tonight.” Yet, he didn’t budge, broad stature still sanctioned in the threshold with one hand gripping the side of the door. 

You shuffled in, enough to press your forearm against his torso while you peeled your boots from your heels. Halfway through stepping out of the second one and you were trailing off, “...so are you going to let me inside or is there more to the riddle?”

“No, I’ll let you in,” Jeongguk stepped back then, barely, just enough so you weren’t touching him anymore, but continued to regard you semi-seriously from beneath shower messy fringe, “Just guarding the bridge troll like a good roommate. Are you sure you want to see him? Or rather, you know...deal with him?”

“He’s sick, Guk.”

“Is he?” Jeongguk wriggled his eyebrows, “Or is this some elaborate scheme to keep us out of his bedroom while you’re over—”

Your lips parted to scold the younger man until a soft shuffling could be heard over the creaks of the staircase, a bundled up figure descending and then ascending in your direction. Fever stained cheeks poked out from the fuzzy hem of a grey blanket, hoodie strings tied in a neat bow just underneath a dimpled chin, honey colored fringe sticking out in one single prong from the multilayered fabric curled around facial features. One, fabric coated arm jutted out, pushing weakly to the crumpled buttons haphazardly strewn over Jeongguk’s chest. 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call me a troll,” Yoongi rasped, hoarse, and even the slightly raised infliction caused a cough to rack his shoulders, leaving him to hunch over for a half second. 

“To be fair, you kind of look like one—”

You cupped Yoongi’s shoulder, shooting Jeongguk a wide eyed glare paired with a curt, negating nod. “Thanks for letting me in,” You offered as dismissal and he took the bait this time, hopping away into the dimly lit house with a train of soft giggles. 

Yoongi was staring at you by the time you assured that Jeongguk had disappeared into his room, red trimming every edge of white eyes and cocoa irises, eyelids swollen, nose pink, lips a raw red. You cooed quietly, moving your hand from his shoulder to swipe the edge of your thumb nail to the bit of involuntary liquid that had escaped from his eyelids. A grumble escaped his pouted lips at the affection, capturing you between the open lapels of his blanket cape to bring you into a tight hug.

“Princess is here to take care of the sickly bridge troll,” You soothed against his shoulder, gradual arms working their way around his middle. 

“Not you, too,” His voice resembled that of dumping finely shredded gravel into a running garbage disposal but it lifted on the end into something high pitched, a whine, one that he buried against the crook of your neck as he hoarded you closer. 

“Sorry, bubs, had to,” You scraped your nails between his shoulder blades, a gentle glide back and forth until he relaxed in your embrace, huffing still but relaxed nonetheless. Another moment, and you reprimanded, “Why are you out of bed? I told you I was coming over to make you soup.”

“You were taking too long,” Yoongi nuzzled into your skin and you couldn’t tell if the source of heat on his cheeks was from embarrassment or sickness. Or some combination of both, “...then heard Jeongguk pestering you. Had to come save you—” He pulled back to pout at you under lidded eyes, “—want my soup.”

You ducked to kiss his cheek just to see his features scrunch, hands on his waist gently directing him back toward the staircase. “Okay, you big baby. Go get back in bed, I’ll bring it to you.”

You were halfway to the kitchen, Yoongi halfway up the first flight of stairs when you called his name, you paused with your chin over your shoulder fondly assessing the discontented grunt Yoongi let out to eye you. 

“Do you need anything else?”

There was a clear hesitation, hand peeling off the railing to propel him up another step as if he were simply going to shake his head no and leave it at that. But then he settled, firm in his statement. 

“Just you,” Yoongi’s eyes darted away from your softening gaze for a moment, before murmuring a half fraction softer, “Please hurry.”

The gentle slopes of glistening, blush painted cheeks were the only thing visible when you nudged your way through his door, duvet curled just underneath the button tip of his nose. The blanket now laid in a forgotten heap at the foot of his bed, hood cast sideways so that messy tendrils splayed in every direction over the crumpled mess of his pillow. He didn’t hear you at first, soft snores muffled in the fabric until you made space for the steaming styrofoam bowl on his bedside table, effectively knocking his phone into his lamp. 

Yoongi’s eyes opened just long enough to confirm it was you before he hummed, turning over to face you as you crouched next to the bed. You were gentle in tugging the duvet from his grasp despite the high pitched noises that scratched out of his throat. 

“You need to eat this while it’s warm,” You reasoned, peeling back his source of warmth until it rested on his waist. He didn’t budge, curling within himself, shoving the sleeves of his hoodie over his knuckles to pull both arms against his chest and something like a defiant I’ll eat later rasped through his barely parted lips. 

He let you take one of his hands, searching fingers popping over the sleeve of his hoodie to happily lace between your own and the tiniest of geometric shapes framed the dimples in his cheeks even as his eyes continued to stay defiant and shut. You settled on the floor, tucking your legs underneath you as you brought his knuckles to your lips, gentle in framing your lips over each one before pressing one lingering kiss to the center of all of them. 

The intricate red laced through his eyes seemed to disappear when you found him looking at you again, one eyebrow barely quirked upwards, the tiniest sliver of teeth appearing as he gently tugged on your intertwined fingers. 

“Come here, angel.”

Incredulously endeared, you found yourself obliging, knees creaking as you rose from the awkward position on the floor onto to knock your elbow into his bedside table, effectively sloshing a fraction of the still warm soup to where it curled around the exposed part of your ankle between your sweatpants and fuzzy socks. 

Yoongi sat up, reaching for you when you groaned in pain, only to pause with wide eyes and two hands scrunched into the material at your hips when his door was shut from the outside and shrieking giggles could be heard descending the staircase. 

“Knew it! You two are liars!” Jeongguk’s voice fell away into an echo, overlapped by what could only be Jimin’s squeaky laughter. 

“I’m fine,” You spoke to Yoongi, pressing the heel of your palm to the center of his burning forehead when he moved to duck around you to go after them. “Lay down.”

“Only if you’re coming with me,” He grumbled, still glaring at the rattle of his doorknob. 

“I am, relax,” You sunk a knee into the mattress, pushing on his head again until he settled rigidly back against his pillows. 

You tucked yourself into his side, suffering the fate of the intense warmth that radiated off his skin paired with the drape of sheets and duvets that came after. It was peaceful for the moment he settled, all aside from the beads of sweat curling into your hairline but you ignored it, just like you tried to ignore the subconscious sponge of his lips first against your forehead, then to your cheek, then to your jaw when his entire stature wriggled lower. 

“Stop it,” You pinched his neck where you’d curled one arm around his head, “Don’t actually make us liars.”

“I’m probably good for like four kisses before I become contagious,” You craned your neck to glare at him, only to find him grinning, gums and all, “Maybe five, if we want to push our luck.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I want kisses.”

“To be fair, you’ve probably already infected me, so—” You sighed, relaxing your cheek into his pillow and dramatically pursing your lips, “—do your worst. Will give me a reason to skip class Monday.”

Yoongi beamed, triumphant, clammy palm curling across your cheek to oblige you in your rant when there was another touch of knuckles against his door, freezing the brush of his mouth against the seam of your lips as giggles outside traded for something of mock sincerity. 

“You know, this wouldn’t be that big of a deal if the two of you would just admit that you’re dating.”

He bypassed your lips for your cheek, hugging you against him in a fashion reminiscent to cuddling a plush toy as he called, “Hey, Jimin? Have you ever tried camping when it’s snowing outside?”

“...no?”

“Do you want to find out? You can take Jeongguk with you as a source of warmth. I’ll hold both your house keys, you know. Just for tonight.”

“...you know what, we were just kidding. Have a nice night, guys. Let us know if you, uh, need more soup or something. Bye!”

[rune-writes]

As Long As You’re Safe

@ffseven #zackweek » Day 3: Family

The Price of Freedom Part 3

Word Count: 1552

Rating: G

Summary: After their first trip to the Nibelheim reactor, Zack accompanies Cloud to visit his mother.

Note: This was inspired by the mails Zack received in Nibelheim, in which Cloud asked Zack to come with him to visit his mother. (It was tempting to write Zerith, but the Family prompt won me :3)

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Cloud still lay on the bed when Zack returned to their room at the inn that afternoon. His friend had his head turned toward the window, watching the sky ablaze in deep red and orange, the last stretches of sunlight before it set beyond the peaks of Mount Nibel. Wisps of cloud drifted past, silhouettes of birds gliding among them. There was a sort of longing in the way Cloud gazed at the sky—a sort of deflated sigh as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Or maybe it wasn’t the sky he was looking at? Zack followed Cloud’s line of sight and found himself looking at the village water tower just visible beyond the windows.

He had heard it was a famous dating spot.

Do you know Tifa? Zack had asked him.

Sort of.

Talked to her?

No.

When he learned that Cloud would be going with him to Nibelheim, Zack had thought the guy would be ecstatic. Even Sephiroth had permitted him to visit family and friends. But then Cloud had stayed at the inn, standing guard with the other infantryman, never showing any signs of taking his helmet off. Not that it had been any of Zack’s business, but when he noticed his friend becoming mute every time a villager drew near, he couldn’t help but think it…odd. Because if he were in Cloud’s shoes and he was back in Gongaga…

Zack cast his eyes down, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms across his chest. If he were back in Gongaga, he’d go to his parents’ house first thing and he’d announce, “Mom! Dad! I made it!”

“Zack?”

The abrupt call broke through his reverie and he looked to see Cloud staring at him. The exhaustion was gone. He’d protected Tifa back at the reactor and the latter had helped him get down the mountain. Now both of them were worried about the other. Zack wanted to chuckle at this cute little observation.  

“So,” Zack began. “When are you gonna go to your Mom’s?”

Cloud blinked several times before he recalled the invitation he had offered Zack—to come over to his house and try his Mom’s cooking. Zack had recognized the face of someone who hadn’t been home for years and hadn’t sent any word.

“It’s as good a time as any,” he went on. “Sephiroth’s locked himself in the mansion and I’ve got nothing else to do.” His gaze fell on Cloud, a tiny teasing grin creeping across his face. “And you haven’t gone to see your Mom, right?”

***

Cloud’s house was the small cottage at the edge of the village, on the opposite side of the inn, beyond the water tower. It was easily recognizable from the little flower garden at the front. Beside it was a two-story building that looked like a house, at which Zack noticed Cloud steering clear of, even going as far as ducking his helmeted head every time someone passed them or called for another.

“You nervous?” Zack asked.

“Yeah.” Cloud’s voice was small and quiet, his shoulders drawn as if he wanted to disappear.

“You’d stand out more if you walked like that,” he whispered. “Stand tall, and proud.”

“But…” Cloud’s feet dragged across the barren, sandy ground. “I failed.”

“They don’t know that.”

“My mom will.”

Zack glanced at his young, dejected friend. “Is your mom the type who holds you in high expectations?”

“No.”

“Then everything’s alright, right?”

Cloud pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything else.

Each step drew them nearer toward the door until their feet finally stopped and Cloud drew a shuddering breath. He looked up at Zack, who gave him an encouraging nod, before lifting his hand and knocked three times. They heard the call almost immediately. Zack gave Cloud’s shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, drawing back his hand when the door swung open.

A woman stood there, dressed in a brown shirt and white apron, her blond hair tied to a ponytail. She looked like an older, female version of Cloud. For a fraction of a second, Zack could imagine what Cloud would look like in his early thirties.

“Can I help you?” the woman said when none of them said anything.

“Ah! Yes, hello, I’m—” Zack spared Cloud a glance. His friend had turned to stone. “—with the company that arrived here the other day.”

“Oh, the SOLDIERs checking on the reactor?” Cloud’s mother pushed the door wider, wiping her hands on her apron and straightening her back. A bright smile graced her lips. “What can I do for you?”

Zack relaxed at her welcome. He told her his name and asked if she was Mrs. Strife. She blinked. Even the surprised gesture looked similar. Zack refrained himself from smiling.

But as she tilted her head to the side, her eyes suddenly widened around the edges and horror filled her face. “Cloud? Is it something about Cloud? Do you know my Cloud?”

Her sudden outburst took him by surprise. Zack hadn’t expected the notion of Cloud would send his mother on a frenzy panic.

“He’s not hurt, is he?” she went on. “I haven’t heard from him for years! I thought he’d come when I heard SOLDIERs would be coming, but apparently he didn’t, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking the worst—”

Zack didn’t quite know what to do or what to say. Who was he to say anything about it? He hadn’t gone home for longer than Cloud had been away and the only word he’d sent his parents was a letter a few months back. Zack moved—to do what he didn’t quite know—console her? Pat her back? Assure her that no, her son was fine and healthy, and in fact, he was right there in front of her, too embarrassed to show his own face.

But Cloud got to her first when he called her “Mom”, his voice quiet but firm. Mrs. Strife looked up at the infantryman beside him. Zack could hear the smile on Cloud’s voice when his friend said, “Mom, I’m home.”

Mrs. Strife knitted her brows. She might be about to say, “What?” from the way her mouth opened, but then she narrowed her sky-blue eyes, and she stepped closer to scrutinize the grunt’s face. Zack witnessed the moment she gasped, tears welling in her eyes, as she said, “Cloud?” Cloud didn’t get the chance to answer before she threw her arms around him in a bone-crunching hug.

***

She ushered them inside and Zack introduced himself as a SOLDIER 1st Class who accompanied Sephiroth on this mission to check on the reactor. Mrs. Strife knew about Sephiroth. Of course, she did. Her son had idolized the hero for years before deciding to go to Midgar two years prior. Look at you, all grown up, she said. Cloud brushed her off saying it had only been two years, to which his mother countered that it had been two years.

Zack stood a ways away, watching this teasing banter between mother and son. Mrs. Strife noted the clothes Cloud wore, different from the ones Zack and Sephiroth donned. The same one as the guard who stood on his post in front of the inn. Cloud gave her a bitter smile and said, his voice quiet, “I didn’t make it.” There was a pause that stretched for one second longer, but then Mrs. Strife smiled a soft understanding smile and told her son that as long as he was safe, that was all she had ever hoped for.

As long as he was safe…

The words made him pause. Zack had never thought about that. Maybe that was how mothers were. No matter how long their sons had been away, they’d still wait, hoping to receive good news that their sons were alive and healthy. Would his parents say the same if he were to appear on their doorstep unannounced—bigger, older, much more different from the thirteen-year-old boy who had left Gongaga five years ago? His voice had changed. His appearance more so. Would they even recognize him?

“Good thing I made stew today,” Mrs. Strife said. Her bright smile was back. Then her eyes fell on Zack. “I planned to give some to you and the others at the inn, but well, since you’re here now, that can wait for another time.” She turned around on her heels and headed for the kitchen where a steaming pot lay over the stove. “How exciting! A welcome-back party for Cloud!”

“Mom, you don’t have to—”

“Oh, nonsense! Let a mother spoil her son.” She looked over her shoulder, her grin radiant. “Take a seat, Zack. I hope you’ll love it.”

A few feet away, Cloud, who had taken off his helmet, grunted, his face red with mortification. He looked at Zack and gave him an embarrassed chuckle.

“Sorry, Mom can be a bit…”

And Zack couldn’t help but laugh. Because despite Cloud’s reservations and nervousness at the prospect of meeting his mother, meeting any of the townspeople, Zack could still feel his excitement at having been back at his hometown. A luxury he couldn’t say he ever had. See, he wanted to say, everything’s alright. Zack grinned at the blush coloring Cloud’s cheeks.

“Let’s eat, Cloud.”

~ END ~

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Force

It is day 4 of #GOC2020 themes! Happy Good omens Anniversary month!

Summary: Aziraphale discovers he may have a little PTSD from the events of the apocalypse. Crowley helps him put himself back together.  

Want to read all of them in one place? Go visit me on AO3!

_________________________

 It was a perfectly ordinary summer’s evening. They were at a public concert at St. James Park – lounging on their blanket on the grass and listening to a military brass band play Sousa marches. Aziraphale loved Sousa marches; they were thrilling, he thought, and always roused in him a feeling of vigor and pride, like he should hop up and guard something.

Perhaps, in retrospect, that was why it happened.

They were just lying there, minding their own business, while other humans and their families and loved ones did the same. Crowley was just rummaging through the picnic basket in search of a corkscrew when a number of unruly children came caterwauling across the corner of their blanket and all but fell into his lap.

Crowley blinked at the two youngsters who were essentially tangled up in his legs. “Careful there,” he said, reaching out a hand to one. The kid took it and pulled himself upright, freeing the smaller child who was trapped under him. They looked like they were possibly seven or eight, both boys. 

“Thanks mister,” the smaller one said. The older one, showing no such good manners, smirked at him, stuck out his tongue, and leapt away. And then they were off like a flash, rejoining a group of probably six other children who were dashing around throwing things and, in Aziraphale’s mind, being rather a nuisance. He watched them for a moment as they tackled each other in the spaces between concert-goers, then returned his attention to the music.

“Are you all right, love?” the angel asked.

“Of course. Just a couple of kids.”  

“Little hellions,” Aziraphale sniffed, taking another sip of the lovely chilled Riesling they had brought. “Where are their parents?”

The music ended after another half hour, and many of their fellow enthusiasts packed up and left right away. Crowley and Aziraphale stayed to finish the last little bit of their wine and enjoy the warm air. On their way out, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by the same group of children – this time with their parents nearby. They all looked rather worse for the wear, Aziraphale thought, in the way of children who are up past their bedtimes and have had too much sugar and sunshine. All except the one who had stuck his tongue out before, who still seemed like he had a strange glint in his eye.  

“Well hello there, you,” Crowley said, leaning down to eye level to face the two children who had stumbled over them earlier. “Did you have a good time?”

The little rugrat responded by pulling a water gun out from behind her back and pointing it at Crowley’s face. And in the moment when the child’s finger began to pull back on the trigger and Crowley instinctively began to rear back --  

Time stopped around them. A blazing light shot out from what seemed like all directions at once and the humans quivered to an instant stop.

Crowley looked up to find that the angel in full battle glory, wings and eyes aglitter with a blinding intensity, had inserted himself between Crowley and the child, from whose water gun a small stream of liquid now hung motionless in the air like so many drops of misshapen diamonds. He flung a hand backwards at Crowley, pushing him further behind him, and rounded on the child.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted. He knew how hard it was to get the angel’s attention when his blood was thrumming for battle.  He took a step forward and tugged on the angel’s arm. “Angel! ANGEL!”

Aziraphale turned to look at him and faltered.

“What are you doing, angel?” Crowley asked frantically. “Stop. It’s just a child.”

“Water,” Aziraphale intoned, his voice a combination of musical notes and vibrations that would have struck terror into the heart of any being who wasn’t used to it. “Could be holy. A trick. A plot.”

“You’re not going to smite a little boy, Aziraphale,” Crowley said reasonably, praying to whoever might be listening that it was true. “I know you. You’re not. That’s way more force than this situation requires. You know that.”

Aziraphale dropped to a crouch beside the child and put a glowing finger into the droplets, then took a quick taste.

“It’s just water,” he said, shaking his head. “What am I doing?”

Crowley pulled him back up to his feet by the shoulders and into a tight hug. It hurt, a bit, hugging the angel when he was leaking this much avenging heavenly energy, but some things couldn’t be helped. Aziraphale allowed himself to be hugged but did not move to wrap his arms around his friend in return.

The demon concentrated, sending as much calmness and warmth through the link between them as he could. It’s okay, he tried to say with his touch. I’m safe. I’m right here.

After a few moments, the angel visibly relaxed a tad or two, and pulled his wings and extra eyes that were part of his fighting form back into his physical shell, extinguishing most of the light flowing out of him.  

“I suppose we should undo this mess,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Since when can you stop time, anyways?” Crowley asked. “I thought that was my thing.”

“Oh, I didn’t really,” Aziraphale said, pointing to the figures near them. “I just slowed them way down. See? Still moving.”

Crowley bent in for a closer look and did notice that the stream of water was moving infinitesimally slowly.

He stood back and took a closer look at the angel, noting his intense embarrassment and unease. “How about a magic trick?” he said quietly. “We’ll just pop ourselves home a second before you restore the normal flow of time.”

“That will be quite shocking to the family, Crowley,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly.

“Eh, look at them – the only one that’s even looking is the kid. It will give him quite a story!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It might be best,” he said. “I don’t know how to explain any of this anyways.”

Crowley held Aziraphale’s elbow in his left hand and raised his right to snapping position. “Ready?” he said.

“Ready,” Aziraphale said.

A fraction of a second later, they materialized in the bookshop. In the park, a very surprised eight-year-old boy watched as the man in front of him vanished into thin air and the water from his gun hit the grass without impediment.

“Mom! Mom!” he shouted. “Did you see that man disappear? I swear, he was just right here!”

 --

Crowley took a while getting Aziraphale settled. He was a bit subdued. Nearly smiting a child for no reason would do that to anyone, Crowley thought. He needed to get some tea into him, and he needed to get him talking.

Tea was the more immediate issue, so he tackled that first. And just as he thought, once tea was applied directly to the issue at hand, the words were not far behind.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered in anguish. “Why did I do that? I nearly hurt a child.”

“A child who surprised us both with a water gun that we didn’t know he had,” Crowley said.

“A water gun is a perfectly normal thing for a child to be playing with in the summer at the park!” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t even think, I just saw that water coming at you and thought of – and thought of –”

“The bathtub,” Crowley said quietly. “And the last time we were caught unawares in a park.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, slumping against the couch in a posture most unlike him.

Crowley felt his heart swell at the sight of the angel’s dejection.

“Angel,” he said gently. “We’ve been through a lot. Heaven and Hell trying to kill us, Satan showing up to smack us both down, God herself missing in action, averting a war with hardly any help from anyone. You’re allowed to have a little – what do they call it? Post traumatic stress.”

Aziraphale perked up a little. “Oh, I’ve heard of that. Shell shock, they called it in the Great War. Of course you were asleep then. But I did try to help rather a large number of lovely young fellows through that after the trenches. Most of them eventually recovered.”

“And so will you,” Crowley said. “And we have each other, to keep an eye on things and make sure noting bad happens.”

“Our side,” Aziraphale said.

“That’s right.”

The angel took a deep breath and Crowley felt the stress seeping out of him.

“Thank you, though,” the demon said lightly, “for keeping me dry. Water would’ve destroyed this jacket. The cleaning bill would’ve been murder.”

The angel cracked a tiny grin. “You are going to go on about this, aren’t you?”

“Might,” Crowley affirmed, “from time to time. It’s just too good to pass up.”

[kazbrkker]

Chapter 1: Fog of War

Chapter summary: When the transported gas is stolen by insurgents, codename “Saint” is sent to assist Alex. (2325 words)

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, mild torture. 

24 OCTOBER 2019. 0630 "Alex" CIA with Marine Raiders Verdansk, Kastovia

Pain.

That was the first thing Alex registered. The throbbing pain held his body paralysed with every breath he drew. Black started to seep in the corner of his eyes, he clamped down on his teeth, struggling to stay conscious.

A god damn RPG. He'd be lucky if he didn't break anything.

The ringing in his ears smothered the pulses of enemy fire over his head. He watched helplessly on the ground as more enemy trucks infiltrated the compound.

"Watcher to 3-1. How copy?! Alex, do you read- over!"

Hitman 7-5 ran over and grasped his hand, intending to get him to safety while 7-4 provided them with cover. "I got you- I got you, 3-1!"

Alex felt himself being dragged away from his burning armoured truck, only strong enough to watch his legs dig in the gravel. In a blink, a bullet lodged itself in 7-1 and his supporter collapsed onto the ground.

God damn.

Badly wounded, 7-1 struggled to get up. "Who the fuck is this!"

Behind him, a masked insurgent walked from the gas truck and fired, killing Hitman 7-1. Alex only felt 7-1's blood splatter across his bare arm.

The insurgent kicked 7-1's body, confirming the kill. Alex cursed through gritted teeth, his gas mask muffling the angry curse words. The insurgent paid no mind, briefly inspected the dead corpse, eyes wide when the Marines uniform came into view. Panicking, he quickly called for his leader.

The insurgents took the truck filled with chemical weapons and boarded it. "Move out- Go, go, go!" The truck drove away with the chemical weapons.

Bilingual... decent English skills.

Alex ripped off his gas mask, breathing heavily from his wounds. They were so close. "Shit."

The CIA agent swept around, he was the only survivor from the attack. "Echo 3-1 to Watcher."

"Alex! What happened?"

"Terrorist attack- Multiple Marines KIA- Gas stolen- We need EVAC, now!"

"Roger– Tracking multiple Russian forces headed your way. Sit tight. We're pushing to you for fast exfil. Watcher out."

He was in no shape to fight properly, but if he stayed on the ground, he's dead meat. Groaning, he pushed himself off the ground with every ounce of strength left in his systems, wincing.

"3-1 be advised, Hammer 2-1 is circling back to you for exfil. ETA 10 mikes."

Busy putting pressure on his wounds, Alex blindly sprayed his M4A1, getting a few good kills. "Roger that."

"Command is sending Saint, she will meet you back at base for debrief."

"Shouldn't she be in Paris?"

"She's redesignated. Command wants the Aces on this. Watcher out."

Alex sighed, feeling irritated for her. The assignment in Paris was personal to her, and knowing her, Alex could count on one hand how many things could affect her like that. But that's how it is in the agency, you never get to choose.

━━━━ SAME DAY. 0600. CIA with Rangers Unknown CIA Site, "Hostel", Paris

Leaning against the cold concrete wall, she crossed her arm and drummed her fingers in equal parts anticipation and boredom. Her dark hazel eyes were solely glued onto the restrained target sitting in the centre of the room. After three gruelling months, she finally caught him.

Fedir Boucher, a dirty bomb maker.

The CIA agent nonchalantly popped a piece of mint in her mouth as Ruddiger delivered another punch to Boucher's face, another spray of blood dribbling messily.

She crouched, levelling with Boucher. "Give me a name, Fedir, and I'll make it stop."

"Go... to hell," Boucher meekly lets out, a bloodied grin on display. "боягуз (Coward). A weak girl like you couldn't even hurt me if you tried."

Smirking, she dusted her hands and threw a cloth to Ruddiger to clean the blood off his knuckles. Meanwhile, the agent started to strip off her weapons. "Your lucky day."

She took her sweet time detaching the rest of her gear, leaving her weaponless. Her best way of working. "My friend here from the Army, he has protocols to follow so we avoid any international incidents. But I'm... different. I have no rules. I actually don't exist."

In a flash, she swivelled and snapped Boucher's right wrist into half. The screams that followed were raw, each one piercing to their ears.

"If there's anything you're holding back... Now would be a good time to confess." Her voice was calm and accentuated. She wasn't fucking around and this should make Boucher well aware of that.

"You- You need me alive! I am no use to you dead!"

Or maybe he doesn't. She mentally sighed, reaching for her revolver laid on the table.

She loaded a single round in her revolver and spun the cylinder. "You're useless if you don't give me a name in the next 10 seconds."

The agent only held a cold expression on her face. "I know all about the games you play with your victims, tricking vulnerable women and children." She took aim between his eyes, eyes cold.

"What you are doing is illegal!" Boucher hissed, heavily breathing.

She huffed, that's rich.

Ruddiger stared at the scene, eyes slightly widening. He was surprised that this line of interrogation came quicker than expected. Just as the CIA agent placed the muzzle against Boucher's head, he interrupted. "Agent."

Pausing, she lowered the revolver. Eyes still trained on her target, she spoke in a solemn tone, "You should leave the room now."

The absence of a metal door closing made her avert her gaze in surprise. Ruddiger stood rooted in the same spot, hands crossed authoritatively, "Sergeant, if you choose to stay here, whatever happens next must be excluded from your debrief. Can you do that?"

"No, ma'am. I took an oath, I cannot break it."

"Can you take one then?" She watched as his eyes flickered to the HVT on the chair, a cold-blooded killer who denotes bombs for his sole entertainment and now, whoring out for profits.

A decisive nod from Ruddiger sealed the deal. "Let's end this."

"Roger that", she took the lead and slammed the armed revolver against Boucher's temple. Fat beads of perspiration rolled down his temples.

Click, the sound echoed throughout the tiny interrogation room. Boucher squeezed his eyes shut, a shaky breath escaped.

"A name."

Boucher shook his head violently, "I don't know anything!"

Stressing her brows in annoyance, she pulled the trigger again. Click. "You're a very lucky man, Boucher. Statistically, you have a 66.7% chance of living. Are you game?"

She eyed the man, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, all signs pointing that he was about to break, "I never made contact with Valhalla!"

Sneering, she tightened a hand around his neck. "Lies! How did Valhalla get the package then?"

"I left it beside a poubelle at Bois de Boulogne! I never saw Valhalla or any of his men! I swear- I swear!" Satisfied with the steel proof sound of conviction in his voice, she forcefully released his face. Glaring, the agent shifted the revolver an inch shy of his right ear and fired twice.

Boucher flinched with every echo. Staring him dead in his eyes, she raised the barrel one last time, expressionless.

Her eyes flickered to Ruddiger, who didn't look bothered by her actions. She fired one last shot, this time, a loud bang escaped from the revolver.

Boucher fell sideways with the chair, thrashing. The absence of blood pooling around his body, or the fact that he remained alive startled the man. He groggily peeled his eyes open, the blinding white light left the woman standing over him to his imaginations.

"I..." He echoed incoherently about the afterworld.

She reached down to him, grabbing his chin. "Blanks. You're not dead, Boucher, fat wish. You're going to rot in a cell for the rest of your god damn life." Her revolver tumbled right beside his face, making him recoil, "But this? Consider this a fraction of the payback for the women and children who died in your hands."

The CIA agent exited the room with Ruddiger. They were met with two other Rangers standing guard at the door. "Did he break?"

"They always do." She smiled, "Said he dropped off the package for Valhalla beside a bin in Bois de Boulogne."

Blaze 0-3 nodded, "I'll call it in."

"I'll do it, I have something else to report. For goodness sake, go get some shut eye. I'll get some trustworthy agents to stand guard." The group grinned at her.

She tapped her wristwatch communicator, "Saint to Actual, Valhalla picked up his package in Bois de Boulogne. We're pulling up street cams for verification, over."

"Copy that, Saint, job well done. I've just received word that your Command has reassigned you. You are to leave immediately for Urzikstan."

"Sir? I retrieved the intel, I can catch Valhalla." She gritted her teeth, careful with her words.

"There's no doubt you will, Saint. This order came from Langley, my hands are tied. You are heading to Urzikstan, agent."

The CIA agent released her tightened fist. She should be used to this at this point, but this assignment... She wanted- needed to see this through. The group of Rangers passed her a solemn look, hearing it through the comms. "What about this mission, sir?"

"The CIA will assign another agent." She pinched her nose bridge and took a deep, controlled breath.

"Request permission to appoint handover, sir."

"Let's hear it, Saint."

Her hazel eyes went in search for Ruddiger, immediately spotting the 6"2 Marine. "Sergeant Ruddiger should takeover, he has been vital in this op."

A deep sigh came from the receiving end, "Copy that. I'll relay it as if it were my own, Saint. Whiskey 5 is en route to Hostel, get ready for egress. Charlie out."

She exhaled deeply, appreciating the Colonel's kindness. It made her reminisce about her times in the Army.

Urzikstan. That was Alex's assignment. She was hardly assigned to missions in such a hostile environment, it was Alex's speciality. They must really need her on this.

Ruddiger approached her, his tall figure towering over her 5"7 one. "Thank you, you didn't have to do that."

She scoffed, fidgeting with her fingers. "Nah. A new agent would take days to acclimate, that's precious time we can't lose. Plus, you've got heart, no better reason than why I recommended you. For what's worth."

Ruddiger noticed the way her last sentence lightly trailed off but didn't press on it. It wasn't his first day here, agents like her don't exactly have a choice. "I'm sorry about this."

"Me too." She mumbled softly, aimlessly fidgeting with her gear. "Just catch Valhalla. You'll be doing us all a favour, 5-1."

"Oorah." He passed a sincere smile.

"It was nice working with you for the past three months, Ruddiger. Appreciate it for... back there." She nodded towards the interrogation room. "I'll be sure to write up an excellent debrief for ya."

Ruddiger casually shook his head, smiling, "Just doing what I gotta do, Saint. But I gotta say, that name suits you well... Ma'am."

He mentally cursed, worried that he was trespassing. Some call signs were extremely sensitive. And based on what he has heard, so was hers. But could you blame him? He was still a little high off the adrenaline from the interrogation. Plus, a part of him would be lying if he wasn't curious though.

The agent merely cocked an eyebrow, interested. Standing before her, he was obviously nervous but didn't reveal much.

Huh, she noted, he'd make a good agent if he wanted to.

"What have I told you, screw the formalities." She said honestly, waving it off and Ruddiger visibly relaxed. "Go on."

Ruddiger scratched at the nape of his neck absentmindedly, sort of a sheepish look on his face. "Well, by the time you were done with Boucher, he was yelling something about saviours when we left the room. He must have thought you were there to save him.."

"Est mon sauveur. My saviour."

"Fitting." He hummed.

The agent only gave a smile that doesn't seem to reach her eyes, "Unfortunately."

━━━━ 24 OCTOBER 2019, 1500 CIA BASE, Urzikstan.

The CIA agent stepped off the jet, hands holding her go-bag. First thing she noticed? The atrocious weather.

Dressed in simple jeans and a loose black tee, her chestnut brown hair was neatly tied in a bun. Yet, she could already feel the stickiness on her body. Fun, she couldn't wait to be in full gear.

Amidst the blazing sun, Kate Laswell stood a few feet away from the landing strip, waiting for her. The agent took off her sunglasses and passed a knowing smile to Laswell.

"Station chief Laswell, it's good to see you again." the agent greeted with a professional smile, walking alongside Laswell.

"Wish it were under better circumstances, Saint."

She glanced around the base, noticing several tinted tentages everywhere. "When is it ever? I read the brief on my way over. To say we've got a big problem is understating it."

"Still not a sleeper, I see?"

She grinned, shutting the door behind her. "I never do on jets, Kate, you know me."

"It's military grade, Saint. It never crashes."

"I beg to differ." She grimaced, a distant reminder that made her skin crawl. "Anyhow. Where's Alex? Didn't the bastard know I was coming? I was half expecting a confetti ceremony the moment I stepped off the heli."

"I sure hope you weren't referring to me. Cause I got you something better." The door swung open and Alex came into view, his middle finger teasingly on display. Upon seeing Laswell, the other CIA agent swiftly retracted it, cleared his throat and pretended nothing happened.

She passed a rueful grin at Alex, rolling her eyes at his idiocy.

Alex was all smiles, spreading his arms wide. He sure was not holding back how happy he was to see his best friend.

"Alexis."

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. masterlist here. want to be tagged? let me know!

[thewhumperinwhite]

✂ — a vivid memory

TW for: eye trauma, gore, implied unhealthy relationship dynamics, minor character death/murder

@whumpitywhumpwhump

----

Here’s a fun fact for free: turns out having your eye cut out is something you don’t forget, ever.

This was... what, five years ago now? Six? Pax was nineteen at the very oldest; no one makes them keep track of their birthdays so they generally Don’t, and age is one of those things you start to forget when nobody asks about it anymore.

They wish Losing Your Eye was also one of those things, but that one remains as clear as the day it happened. They dream about the sensations maybe once a week. More if they’re stressed, and these days they’re stressed more often than they’re not.

The dream starts three seconds before the action. They’re losing the fight already. They’re five years scrawnier and five years dumber than they will be when the world ends; the lab has “private security” and the guy they’re fighting now has a knife. The guy’s face is long gone from Pax’s memory, but they can picture that knife any time they close their eyes; if only because it looked so much like nothing, a little wink of dull silver they see in his hand about two seconds before he brings up his fist for what looks like an uppercut, and Pax moves back a second too late, and the knife tears up through their cheek and half of their world goes red.

Pax remembers stumbling back, and screaming, half-collapsing against the wall; they remember the second knife-in-fist punch, between their ribs this time, which they can hardly feel because their face has been sliced open, is gushing already between their shocked fingers, hot and wet and terrible, the sharpest sickest pain they’ve ever felt; they feel themself go to their knees, holding themself up off the floor with one hand while they try to hold their eye in with the other. 

Then the fist swings in front of their face again, glint of metal still between the fingers, and they throw themself backward, scrambling on the floor for the gun they dropped when they fell, and swing it up into the security guard’s face, and fire three times out of pure panic, so in fairness the guy who fucked their eye got fucked back even worse.

That is a thought that comes later, obviously. At the time their brain is empty except for screaming. It’s more and worse than pain—they can feel the edges of the wound, feel the back of their eye in a way they know is wrong wrong wrong, and the second the security guard hits the ground they lean over and throw up, their hand still jammed over-and-half-in their eye and their other arm barely holding them up. Then they scoot back away from the corpse they just made— they’re not used to making corpses yet— and collapse against the wall, pressing on the wound as best they can and too locked up with panic to do anything else.

They have no idea how long they spend there, and they don’t know whether they faint or if they’ve just lost a few minutes of memory there; in the dream it seems like they sit there breathing too hard for an eternity, pressing harder and harder on their socket to try to stop the bleeding and panicking even more at the pain and the worse terrible wetness against their hand, hearing nothing but their heart pounding in their ears.

They don’t remember seeing Vic arrive. They do remember his voice when he sees them, distressed, maybe disgusted. In retrospect, not very sympathetic.

“You fucking said you could handle this,” Vic says, sounding harried, not far from panic himself. Now Pax can see him, remembers looking up at him desperately, the way they still saw him back then: here’s an adult. Here’s someone who loves me.

“Vic,” Pax says. They try to push themselves upright against the wall, fall back into what they now realize is a spreading puddle of blood. “Vic, God, please, help me.”

“Fucking shit,” Vic says. He runs his hand through his hair. This is the messiest Pax has ever seen it in public. And it might actually be the first times Pax has heard him swear. “You idiot. I fucking knew you weren’t ready. Shit.”

Vic is holding a briefcase under his arm. Which means he found what he came for. He looks at Pax without stepping any closer. Then he reaches for the waistband of his trousers and he pulls out a gun.

Pax stares at him. Four hours ago Vic kissed their neck and told them he was grateful they’d come with him. Now he looks nothing more than embarrassed and the gun is pointed at their forehead. 

“This is my fucking life’s work,” Vic says. “You idiot.” Pax stares at him; presses their hand harder against their ruined eye. They can hear alarms going off, more than one, far away but getting nearer. “You idiot,” Vic says, and his voice breaks; he actually does sound sorry, now. “You fucking know I can’t let you ruin this for me.”

Pax will realize later that Vic means he can’t leave them there to talk to the cops. At the time Pax doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about; because they’re trying to hold their eye in and their boss—boyfriend—sugar daddy, whatever, is pointing a gun at their head. They blink at him, their remaining eye very wide, and they say in a tiny voice, “I don’t— Vic, I don’t know—” and they can’t even finish the sentence.

Vic looks at them, and then his face creases with something—more than irritation, but miles less than grief, and says, “Sorry, Pax,” and lowers the gun a fraction before he pulls the trigger.

That, generally, is where the dream ends. Fair enough, Pax figures; they don’t need endless repeats of the hour they spent crawling between cabinets with paper towels stuffed into the gunshot wound Vic put in their chest. And they’re always embarrassed about the hour or so they spent in the woods behind the lab, sobbing and trying to convince themself that maybe he missed their heart on purpose, maybe he meant to give them one last chance.

By the time they make it to a payphone and then into an ambulance, that embarrassing bit of wishful thinking is looking pretty threadbare. They pass out in the ambulance with the beginnings of what will become familiar rage in their heart, and their last thought is, I think I’m going to kill him.

[astheravensighs]

[Double Dark and Darker]

Gray meets Dazai for the first time, and things go as well as you would expect.

"Um," Gray almost whispered, tugging on Chuuya's sleeve gently. "Who is that..?"

Chuuya followed her gaze to the benches along the sides of the abandoned stadium, spotting a familiar pair of eyes watching them both like a mischievous hawk. Legs crossed and body bent forward in rapt fascination of the new addition to their equation.

"Ah. That's Dazai. He's…" Chuuya paused thoughtfully, if not slightly bitterly. "Well, let's use the word friend." He glanced back over at her and saw the same confusion as before she asked. "Just- he's not gonna hurt you. He's just watching. You can… trust him." He felt his throat sting, briefly thankful he was out of earshot. Gray kept her eyes on the distant figure. "He doesn't seem safe," she stated, retreating farther into the too-big coat he'd lent her. Chuuya choked down the embarrassment of showing his least favorite person his soft side and leaned down to her height.

"Hey," He said softly, waiting until her eyes met his own. "I've never once given you a reason not to trust me, right?" She hesitated, but slowly nodded. "Right. I promised I would keep you safe. I know for a fact he's not a threat," He stood back up to his full height and puffed out his chest a little bit. "But even if he was, I'd kill him before he ever got near you." "K-kill him?" "Or, uh- I'd knock him out, y'know," His posture deflated as he tried to backpedal his accidentally fearsome persona.

Watching curiously, elbow on his knee and chin resting on the back of his hand, Dazai couldn't help but grin a little bit. Chuuya was going soft. As funny as it was, he felt a certain responsibility to stop the odd change clearly taking place in his psyche. His rival should be his equal. Seeing him distracted, giving in to his overwhelming protective instinct, was irritating. Unfortunately, he found himself being affected too.

This little girl was barely shoulder height to his tiny ex-partner and probably jumped every time he coughed. Her eyes were colorless, no blue or green or brown at all. Just gray. He wondered briefly if Chuuya had given her the uncreative name based on  her eyes. The clothes she was wearing he recognized- they were Chuuya's. They fit him when he was maybe 17 (and honestly, probably still did) but they completely enveloped her, and he recognized the way she retreated into it as if it was a bulletproof shield.

He could read her like a picture book. Everything about her, from the way she held her arms to her chest as she walked to the way her eyes darted around to assess every threat, screamed out to him one word- pitiful. And as much as he was a monster, and as much as he hated to admit it, Dazai had some human left in him, and that humanity was screaming for him to protect her too.

"A-anyway, y'know why we're here, right? I'd like to teach you some self defense stuff." Gray gave Chuuya a look that was equal parts fear for her own safety, and fear for his. He gave her a reassuring smile and took a few steps back. "Just outta curiosity, to see what I'm working with," He spread his arms out, completely opening up his abdomen, unguarded. "Try just a punch or something. Right here," He gestured to his stomach.

Gray looked down at her hand, clenching and unclenching her fist for a few seconds, before meeting his eyes again, eyebrows pushed together with worry. "But what if I… hurt you?"

An absolute guffaw from the sidelines startled her, drawing both participants' gazes. Dazai was attempting to stifle the giggles spilling out of him, eliciting a sigh from his 'friend'.

"Ignore him."

Gray gave him one last look before turning her eyes back to her protector, trying to ignore the redness she felt burning her ears.

"Just a punch. I promise you won't hurt me. You really, really won't," He insisted.

A few moments of silence and stillness as Gray takes a breath, calming her nerves, rattled by this simple task. She clenches her fist again, and forces it forwards, shutting her eyes and hoping for the best.

As the backs of her fingers make contact with the threads of Chuuya's vest, they all but rolled off, only creating a soft 'thud', and throwing her off balance. "Oh, woah-" Chuuya sputtered, not sure what he was expecting, but knowing it wasn't… that. He steadied her before she fell, withdrawing his hands quickly, remembering how she'd flinched at his touch the day before. He could almost feel the heat emanating from her cheeks in shame.

"…Okay, let's try again."

She turned to face him again, head tilted, still uncomfortable voicing her questions, but knowing he knew what she was asking.

"No, you didn't hurt me. I swear," He reassured, adding only in his own thoughts, 'You almost hurt yourself'.

He gave her the most encouraging smile he could, approaching her slowly. "Let me show you how to do it," He offered, reaching out to guide her before stopping- "Can I touch your hands?" She nodded and braced her skittish instincts as his gloved fingers barely brushed her own. Ignoring the alarms in her head as they began to scream at her to run, she watched carefully as he gently pushed her fingers into a proper fist.

"Chuuya, I think she's more of a visual learner, you know?" a singsong voice from behind them earned a small yelp from the already wary girl, as Chuuya whipped around to face it.

"Oi, you're supposed to stay back-" "I know, I know," Dazai interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I know how to demonstrate much better." "Dazai!" Chuuya watched him as he circled around him, holding out a protective arm to shield the now very uncomfortable girl behind him. "I told you-" He began, but was interrupted as Dazai pulled his own fist back, meeting the scared, colorless eyes peeking out at him. "Watch this carefully!"

Dazai knew Chuuya's guard was focused entirely on protecting his little fosterling, and not on his own safety. So as his fist struck the smaller man's abdomen, there was a look of disbelief on his face that Dazai reveled in as he followed through, putting all of his force behind the motion of his arm, sending Chuuya's body directly into the wall behind him with a disturbing 'crack'.

A moment passes completely silent as Chuuya's back slid the few feet down the wall to impact the rough dirt. Taking a second the shake off the shock, he gaped at the blood now dripping from his forehead, off his chin, staining his clothes. Steeling his glare, he moved to get up, to retaliate, to- Shit, he needed to get /her/ away first- But as he looked back up, the fire in his eyes faded.

Dazai had already seen what he was only just now seeing, already turning to face it. A shadowy mass of tendrils and dark smoke was taking over the spot Gray had just been. A low growl, rising in tone and intensity, echoed through the stadium, but was directed right at Dazai, who just couldn't help his own shit-eating grin. He saw the attachment between them. He knew there was potential hidden beneath that timid exterior. He knew she wasn't created in a lab, researched and studied and hidden away for years, just to turn out useless. He KNEW there was something to her, and he knew how to find out what. And as she stared him down with smoke and shadow where her eyes used to be, he felt no fear. He had no reason to. His ability was a nullifying get-out-of-jail free card, so to speak. And the satisfaction he felt from a successful plan almost outweighed the rumbling in his chest as the growling got louder.

"You know," he turned to fully face her. "You're cute when you're mad."

The growl turned into a roar as the mass of shadows lurched backwards, rearing up like an angry stallion, before careening back towards him. He lazily outstretched his hand, letting his ability activate, but it was for nothing.

The enraged, shadowy creature that was once a girl charged into him, almost through him, and out of the dark  mist emerged a hand, black as night, balled into a fist so tight the claw-like nails dug into a bleeding palm. The limb was barely visible as it rocketed directly into Dazai's outstretched palm.

For just a moment, time seemed to slow down for the two men as they simultaneously understood what was happening, what was about to happen. Chuuya's face was pure, unfiltered shock and awe. Mouth open, eyes wide, mind reeling- but Dazai's face was something that he'd later come to treasure. He'd relive this moment in his mind a hundred times, seeing the image of Dazai's cocky smirk suddenly shifting to shock, the corners of his mouth dropping, his eyes refocusing- this isn't right… My ability..!- and then contorting to fear, his teeth gritting and eyebrows high. This beautiful scene only lasted a fraction of a second before the fist against his hand ignored the blue glow of his nullification ability and continued its destructive path directly into his chest, sounding a loud "CRACK" as his ribs buckled from the force, body suddenly being wrenched into the same trajectory as the leading arm, rocketing hard into the wall right next to the wide eyed man he'd dropped just seconds before.

A hush fell over all three of them as the dark smoke began to fade from the outstretched limb, revealing the shoulders, the neck, then the face of a very scared, very small girl. There were tears in her eyes and her every limb was shaking like a scared puppy. As soon as her mouth was visible she was talking, almost chanting, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" The rest of her body came into view as the darkness evaporated into the air like a lifting fog and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing and apologizing to Dazai, to Chuuya, to herself.

Chuuya pushed down the shock- maybe even fear- trying to keep him frozen and wrenched himself off the ground, ignoring the equally astonished body leaning next to him. With some effort he lifted his own limbs to scramble over to the sobbing mess on the ground, unsure of what entirely to do.

"Hey, hey, hey-- Are you okay? Are you- Look at me, please?" She couldn't stop the shame that escaped from her throat and turned into wails but she did meet his eyes with hers. She could see the surprise in his face, but she could also see concern- for her. Before she could look down again he caught her chin with his fingers- gently- and tried to think of what to say.

"Hey… I'm proud of you."

The four words overtook her thoughts like a wildfire. How long had she waited to hear that? Longer than she'd been alive. Proud of her. He was proud… of her. She did something good. Even though her whole body ached, her mind was reeling, and her wrist felt broken, she couldn't help the confused, blissful smile that crept up to her face. Then her head fell forward again, and her body slumped, unconscious, into Chuuya's arms.

(thank u for reading <3)

[infiniteshawn]

Stuck On You

a/n: 2.3k, a fluffy oneshot inspired by an ask i got earlier. hope this brightens up your thursday :)

A writer in the making? A dreamer with no set path? You pondered what you were really doing as your fingertips tapped the side of your laptop, tired eyes fixed on the flashing cursor that seemed to be taunting you.

It wasn’t easy trying to get noticed, let alone actually writing something in the chaotic environment that was your apartment.

With two roommates and a dog, it grew tough to take a few moments for yourself. Getting work done at home was out of the question during the winter, and that’s why you thanked your lucky stars and whatever gods may be looking down at you as the weather warmed up and your balcony became once again useable.

Lost in thought, your mind had grown used to filtering out city bustle, noisy neighbours, and those obnoxious, god-awful Canada geese. And that’s why when a new sound was thrown into the mix—a much more pleasant one, for that matter—you took notice.

The soft strumming of a guitar floated into earshot, the solemn chords carrying over to your balcony and getting lost somewhere in the great beyond. It caught you off guard but somehow filled you with a warm, fuzzy feeling, and you couldn’t quite describe it. So, you listened.

Story long-forgotten, your laptop faded to a dark screen as your eyes fell shut, the gentle plucking of an acoustic retracting any progress you had planned on making.

And as quickly as it started, you were left surrounded by silence. A door shut, a light flicked off, and the sounds of the city streets brought you back to reality.

____________________

He’d noticed you before. Using his balcony for some down-time only to be disrupted by frantic keyboard clicks that frustrated him at first.

But he soon grew used to it.

Shawn found comfort in the sound of her fingers typing away and he wondered what she could possibly have been writing about.

Eventually noticing a pattern in when she’d be outside, he made a point of sitting outside, too.

He’d caught glimpses of her in the hall before. Locking up her apartment, stepping out of the elevator, even through the tiny crack in the glass barrier when she’d slip back into the house. It was never creepy. He was just curious.

And the more he wondered, the more he wanted to know.

One night, he made a point of bringing his guitar out with him. He didn’t know where he was going with it--if anywhere--but he felt like it was right.

Shawn wasn’t sure if he needed to be heard or just wanted her to hear him.

So he played, soon finding a tune that eventually made her stop typing. Shawn smiled to himself when she didn’t go back in the house.

____________________

A few moons and barely any chapters later, you found yourself in the same position, writing the same story, listening to the same gentle chords. The mystery musician was back at it, except this time he’d added in a few hums.

The sound of his voice had you shutting your laptop in an instant, not a care in the world if your work had saved or not. It was gorgeous. Fucking angelic, and thoughts were racing through your mind at a thousand miles a minute.

What did he look like? Did he have any other songs? Was he, too, escaping roommates that just couldn’t seem to shut the fuck up?

You needed to know.

The chords got repetitive and quick with a warm, chipper air to them. You audibly gasped when his soft hums transitioned into words.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said,

It’d be a lie to say I’m not stuck on you”

You had to sit on your stupid hands to keep from breaking into a full-blown applause.

He’d stopped playing. A large sigh escaping his lips could be heard over the black glass wall, and you wondered who hurt him. Or what was bothering him. Or both.

A loud noise caused you to jump a little, soon realizing with the muffled “fuck” coming from the next balcony over that he’d knocked over what you assumed was a glass. That was it for his strumming that night.

____________________

Two weeks. Two weeks straight of these little dates passed—and by “dates” you were referring to your neighbour writing a song and you consistently invading his privacy by eavesdropping—and the tune was finally finished.

Gentle notes floated into your ears as you took a deep breath, unwinding from the long day you’d had. What you didn’t expect was for Shawn—you’d learned his name a few days prior when one of his roommates popped his head outside to ask him if he wanted another beer—to say something. To you.

“I’ve noticed you, y’know,” he spoke softly over the strings, hoping he was speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry over the barrier but quietly enough not to freak you out.

It still freaked you out.

At first you didn’t respond. Figured you could assume he wasn’t talking to you. Maybe he was on the phone. Or talking to himself. Fuck.

“Hey,” he reiterated, “I know you’re over there.”

Fuckfuckfuck.

“Oh,” you started, “me?”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

He chuckled.

“Yes,” you heard some rustling as the strumming stopped. Shawn had put his guitar down and tossed his blanket out of his lap, scrambling to his feet, “you.”

His head of curls popped up over the opaque glass, and you met his curious eyes. Finally, you could match a face to his voice.

“Hi!” he grinned, reaching to stick a very long arm over the barrier, “I’m Shawn.”

“Hello,” you spoke quietly with a cheeky grin, embarrassed to have been caught but too invested in this guy to deny your curiosity. You stood and reached up—pretty high, considering you weren’t very tall—and met his rough hand with a shake.

He held on for a second too long and you cleared your throat in slight discomfort, arm growing a bit sore from holding it above your head.

“Sorry,” he giggled, gripping the top of the glass with each of his hands, “you’re a writer.”

“So are you,” you grinned, shoving your hands into the kangaroo pocket of your double-extra-large hoodie that your small frame was swimming in.

“Ah,” he pursed his lips, still smiling, “what do you think?”

“You’re really good,” you nodded.

“You have to say that,” he replied, “but thank you.”

He stumbled a little, the fluffy mess of chocolate curls disappearing for a brief moment before coming back into your view.

“You okay over there?” you giggled.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “just standing on this stool-box-thing, it’s a little wobbly.”

“Oh,” you nodded, pondering inviting him over. He beat you to it.

“Do you wanna, maybe,” he searched for the right wording, “come over? Sit over here, instead?”

Your stomach twirled as you considered the idea, wondering if it was a wise thing to do. You found yourself nodding involuntarily.

“Okay,” he grinned nervously, tugging his lower lip between his teeth for a fraction of a second, “do you need directions?”

You laughed, “I think I can figure it out.”

____________________

You knocked on the door of unit 1013, nerves building as you heard footsteps on the other side of the wood. It swung open, revealing a very tall, very muscular young man that you recognized as Shawn. Same awry curls. Same curious eyes.

“Howdy, neighbour,” he smiled, rejecting your outstretched hand to opt for a hug instead, “sorry,” he chuckled, “just feels like I know you.”

He led you through the kitchen and past the living room, where two large young men shot you a wave as you walked by. Before you knew it, the crisp evening air was tickling your nose as you looked out over the balcony you knew all too well—well, imagined. 

“So,” you broke the silence as he fluffed up a cushion for you, beckoning to you to join him on the outdoor love seat, “two weeks to write one song. Must be a special one.”

Shawn sighed but the smile didn’t leave his lips. Looking out over the skyline, he spoke, “yeah, it was super real for me for a while, there,” he paused, tilting his head against the back of the furniture, “but once I realized someone was listening, I needed it to be better, you know?”

“Sorry,” you frowned, “didn’t mean to make you self-conscious or anything. I just liked to listen,” you reassured him, looking at the railing as you felt his gaze on you.

“No, I’m glad you did,” he said quietly, “I remember coming outside one night to clear my head, and I could just make out the sound of you typing away on your keyboard. It was nice,” he paused, “being with someone, without really having to do anything. Or acknowledge it. We just existed.”

“It’s a nice escape,” you nodded, feeling a bit better about listening-in on his intimate writing sessions.

“So,” he began, “what is it that you write?”

“M’working on a novel,” you mumbled, cheeks turning rosy as you failed to mention it was a romance about a character with a certain musical neighbour. Your story’s description of him didn’t do his face justice, though.  

“I see,” he hummed, “maybe I can give it a read sometime.”

“I don’t know about that,” you giggled, holding in a soft gasp when you felt his knee brush up against yours.

“Why?” he asked, “You’ve heard my song.”

“You didn’t have to sing it out loud, Shawn,” you teased, “that was your choice, completely.”

He chuckled, “I guess you’re right. Maybe sometime I’ll catch you proofreading into the void.”

You talked for hours. The sun dipped below the horizon behind your building and left the two of you laughing in the darkness, having scooted a little closer together as the night grew chilly.

Somewhere along the way he’d grabbed your hand and was still holding onto it.

“Play me something,” you spoke, butterflies taking flight in your stomach as his caramel eyes flickered down to meet yours.

“What do you wanna hear?” he asked, barely a whisper. It sent a chill down your spine.

“Something that’s yours,” you hummed, “something that’s so unapologetically yours that if you don’t sing it to me right now, you might explode.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you, so fucking over-the-moon in the moment that he might have, in fact, exploded.

“Comin’ right up,” he spoke, voice like butter as he reached for his guitar, settling the instrument in his lap.

You pressed your back against the armrest, prodding his thigh gently with your fuzzy-socked toes under the blanket you’d been sharing. You watched his fingers pluck at the strings, searching for the right tune when it hit him. Cheeks rosy with a shit-eating grin, he began to sing.

“I know a girl,

She’s like a curse,

We want each other,

No one will break first,”

And it kept going. He sang so softly and so beautifully, and you were sure he meant every lyric. You thanked your lucky stars to be there with him, listening to his voice plead with the guitar as if he was asking it why.

The gears started turning in your head when he wrapped it up, making sure his captivating gaze met yours as he sang the last lyric: “you.”

You squinted your eyes a little, wondering if he meant that or if it was just a natural instinct.

There wasn’t much time to think, though, because he was already placing the guitar on the ground and leaning forward, only a few inches from your face.

“Shawn-“

“Kiss me,” he whispered, and he didn’t need to tell you twice.

You met him halfway, crashing your full lips against his as he tugged you into his lap, hands tangling themselves in your hair as your mouths remained pressed together. It was sweet and gentle, and everything you expected kissing him would be like.

Shawn opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted, leaning in for more and he obliged. His soft lips worked against you, pulling a moan from your throat as his hands took purchase on your thighs.

You came up for air, detaching your mouths and resting your forehead against his own. The blush creeping up his cheeks was radiating heat and you giggled, threading your fingers through his curls. They were far softer than you’d imagined.

“I should get home,” you whispered with a grin as Shawn littered a few soft kisses on the skin of your neck, “Hey?”

“Mm,” he responded, snapping his head up to meet your eyes. He couldn’t keep a smile from stretching across his lips.

“Gotta go,” you hummed lazily, patting his firm chest as he sighed, shivering a bit as your warm body climbed off of his.

“Maybe we can do this again?” he asked with a smirk, “Your balcony next time?”

“Only if you promise to sing me another song,” you grinned, disappearing into his apartment to let yourself out.

Shawn was smiling up at the sky, mind running over the events of the last two hours when you popped up over your balcony wall, standing on a chair you’d brought outside from the kitchen.

“Oh, and Shawn?”

His head snapped up toward you and he was at the barrier, climbing onto the wobbly stool once again. He raised an eyebrow, his face only a few inches from yours.

“You’re welcome to read my novel,” you spoke softly, closing your eyes as he leaned forward for one more kiss.