#but instead to have SYMPATHY for the DEVILS that SAW YOU TO PIECES

[myriad--starlings]

There is no sense that there is a difference of kind between a harsh word and a saw to the limbs; in the sermon, these are only differences of degree. The response to all insult, to all violence, is sympathy for the devil that does it to you. Whether you are struck with hand or stone or club or knife, or carved up with a saw, you must not hate.

But what about the hand that strikes? What about the hands that hold the stone or the club or the knife? What of the hands upon hands needed for the saw? What of the state and the death politics? What of the hierarchies of power that organize and direct this violence? What about the givers of orders, the payers of bills? Is this not an engine of hate, deriving from hate, designed with hate, operating on ancient principles of hate?

The simile is told with a purpose. It teaches the hated to hold still. To not buck under the saw’s teeth.

— Rakesfall, Vajra Chandrasekera

[s-s-s-sideblog]

it’s literally just summer. that’s what it is. what do you mean two years ago i was extremely lonely and had nothing to do and an unstable home life and was filled with self hatred and then reading fanfiction about steve from stranger things getting railed within an inch of his life (among other things) genuinely changed my life. and also now that they’re filming again i’m reminded of the grip this silly little show has on my life which is so!! silly!! and i’m trying not to be embarassed because for the first time ever i have a solid friend group that doesn’t primarily consist of people who regularly engage in fandom culture. i think it’s the paradox of like. now that i’m socially accepted it’s harder to be weird because i actually have something to lose if people think i’m strange and off-putting. and also i have in fact spent nine straight weeks with people i don’t know well so i’m masking like 24/7, either by literally pretending to Be Normal or by putting up with the sensory nightmare that is my current living situation.

also i don’t currently have an ongoing piece of media that i’m extremely interested in and can talk about. like not even in an autistic way i just need something to engage with meaningfully because modern family reruns are no longer cutting it. and books are good but they make me sad and montreal makes me sad because it reminds me of loneliness. it reminds me of scream-crying at my dad in the airport because our flight got delayed and i didn’t know how to handle things like that yet. crying a lot, actually, because i love my dad but he doesn’t get it and no one does and actually i’m going to die alone because i am fundamentally unable to love someone wholly!! oh except for maybe my childhood best friend who i was waiting for to wake up one day and realize she was in love with me too but instead she ditched me for the first man who was nice to her. and now we don’t talk and i see her tumblr posts still and sometimes they’re just batshit insane and make me wonder what kind of person she’s become. and actually i think i’m just isolated because i’ve seen almost no one except my coworkers and the fucking townspeople since may. but also sometimes when my friends say they love me i don’t believe them. and lily told me i was a beautiful soul when she was drunk and i went to bed and cried because i was convinced that if she Knew The Truth she’d change her mind (what even is The Truth??). and that i held my breath and squeezed my other friend’s hand when i saw someone i didn’t want to see and she made and offhand comment about me being scared of him and i’m not, not really, not of him, i just know that we’re not so different and everyone did hate him once they Knew The Truth and even though everyone says i’ve never done something as horrible as he has so i shouldn’t worry i don’t know if that’s true. and christ what does it say about me that i cared for him? (loved him? wanted him to love me? did i even?) that i saw myself in him? that i kinda thought i was being used but i let him do it because i liked the attention? that this fucking mealworm of a man is always in the back of my mind, like a devil on my shoulder, like a snake waiting to strike? what the fuck does it say about me, this borderline psychosexual obsession? i think it says that i’m still secretly convinced that if i hate him enough i will kill the part of myself that is like him. but i don’t hate him, because i don’t really truly hate many people, but also because i don’t hate myself. because i know there’s a world where i didn’t get better and i turned out like him and i would want the world to have sympathy for me so it makes me feel sympathy for him. himhimhimhimhim jesus christ it’s embarassing to think this way about a man i knew for less than a year. but also shaming myself will only make it worse, like when you punch a non-newtonian fluid. there’s no wrong way to feel. there’s no wrong way to feel. i’m not hiding anything. i swear i’m not. sometimes i wonder what i’m hiding without meaning to, though.

[timelostobserver]

A small smirk certainly formed on Hades face. Oohhh.. he loved when he was right. But at the same time, that was simply how the cards fell. Everything went to shit, and it kept going like that. And unless God themselves chose to actually do something instead of watching it like some day-time drama.. Well..

Nothing was going to change.

Demons were hard set on making their afterlife their new life, many Devils were roped along with the idea; aside from some of the 'old guard' like himself. Angels were arrogant, full of themselves and never listened to anyone but their own echo chamber.

And the few who did listen? They were thrown out, to become Fallen, just like himself. Just like the many others who thought they could change the system.

Cynicism would find it's way into many eventually, it already had a firm grasp on Hades. That alone was one of the reasons he even entertained Adam's visits.

"Oh I know. I still remember that day too." Hades chuckled a little.

"The first soul to ever enter that old office, you had an entire entourage waiting to take you to Haven. You'd been straight up pardoned by 'Father'." Almost as if the devil was recalling a fond memory. Indeed, the first soul he ever saw, but not the first one he weighed.. No..

"They ruled that Father's disappointment was a more than fitting punishment. Even there you were so pristine.. yet full of rage. Justified rage, mind you. I felt nothing but sympathy for you. But I was still an angel then, and I've long since lost any sympathy for the dead." Hades had the smallest smile on his face but a brow rose as Adam moved around him.

"Hmm.. I'm listening." He wondered just what Adam was getting at.

"After all, I can always open the way into Hell for you. Who's to say they only need to face you and your angels' wrath once a year? Once is only like trying to put a piece of tape over a crack in a dam." No one would know he let them through, no one ever came here to check any more. Not even his 'Boss'. At this point, he was almost convinced they'd forgotten this place existed, and just thought souls 'showed up' in Hell.

That there hadn't been a process to it.

"In time, Adam.. in time. Until the last soul breathes it's last breath, I have a job to do. Once that's done, if you're still around.. then sure." He shrugged his shoulders as he moved over to a side room within the halls. Just a short walk from his desk. Inside was.. well.. a break room. No real way to explain that much further. A fridge that rarely saw use from how cold the place was, some cabinets, a coffee pot.

Considering only one resident was here, no shock this place saw little use.

"It's not from here. I refuse to drink that shit. A benefit to working so close with the realm of the living, you can get things from Earth instead." Indeed, seemed like he had one of the human coffee brands down there. Though while the other things for sweeter coffee were certainly in the break-room, Hades always drank it straight up.

"May not be as good as what they have topside but.. Beats what ever crap they make down here."

“What can you expect to happen, when someone had the bright idea to offer temptation to the sorry little fucks.” As he folded his arms and turned away for the moment, yep. Bingo, hit right on the head, everything was perfect, until it wasn’t anymore. You get one tempting offer and it is taken and oh, how your creator becomes very, very pissed and spends all his time afterwards letting you know how pissed he is.

Everything changed and a new order came into line, getting to heaven, you had to either be well liked, well like he was, or you had to be perfect, well like he was.

Otherwise you were going down below and there was little to anything you could say or do to change the fate that has been given to you.

Someone had to do it, the same as he has to be the one to trim the fat every single year.

“Whatever you say buddy, whatever you say.” Master, would be more fitting than anything else, where all these little sad fucks not meant to bow down and obey his every single fucking command, if he even did issue out commands anymore.

“Cool it down, you’re getting distracted.” As he waved his arms around to try and settle him down for the moment. “You never weighed my sins.” Nope, no chance, he can remember it, quite well when he died, it was a free ride all the way to the top baby.

“Sounds more like sour grapes.” As he picked at his ear and flicked away some golden fluff. “You see acting like that, just puts the nail on the head, why you are here.” And not up there anymore, hell was more fitting for him anyway, he looked the part.

“That’s what I am saying.” With that he was off the ground quickly as his wings fluttered down to move him around the larger creature. “We should extend our partnership, think about it, who knows where all the little souls run off to and hide, and who can remove those who have crossed you, and nothing can come back to you.” Because for the simple reason, everyone would be dead.

No loose ends, no one to point the finger at anyone, when the slaughter begins, he leaves very little left.

“I told you, they rock there socks off like I did.” Hand up, fingers upwards as he waved it up and down, he taught his children well, he taught them what they needed, not his fault that out of a hundred thousand of them, one would put it all together, that was just how it was.

“That’s what I am saying, angels unlike devils and demons, cannot die. You don’t need to send anyone else to us, I have all the killer babes I need.” No point sending anymore to him, he had everyone in line and he sat at the head of an army that would do anything he said when the time of year rolled around, a good gig, truly it was the best job in the entire world.

To the point he enjoyed it, like a kid of Christmas, it was something every single angel in his ranks.

Really looked forward to it.

“Hey look, if you really wanna die, you got my number.” As he leaned forward and would attempt to write it, spilling everything over his desk and making a mess of his paperwork and getting feathers everywhere as he just rolled off it and stood back up.

“Ugh, coffee .. from .. down here …” He held his nose up, would drinking dirt not be better than eating or drinking anything at all that was here.

“I’ll have it … I guess.”

[aggressive-positivity-network]

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

[bluerosewritings]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns | Overblot!Riddle x Reader

You charged through the rose maze, cursing how loud your footsteps were. You'd heard Heartslabyul students talk about how insanely hard it was to even get halfway through the maze, but you never thought it would be this bad. Why, out of everything you could have done, did you think it would be a good idea to run into here?

Everything had gone so wrong. All you'd wanted was to help Ace and Deuce get out of their punishment - and if solving that with a duel meant helping the other students, great! There's no way it could end up worse than what happened in the Dwarf Mines, right?

You envied your past self's innocence.

In a weird way, you blamed yourself. If you hadn't opened your mouth, Riddle wouldn't have retaliated, so Ace wouldn't have decked his dorm leader in the face, someone wouldn't have thrown that egg at Riddle, Riddle wouldn't have freaked out and started beheading everyone, and he wouldn't have turned into... that. With that... thing hovering behind him like some sort of cruel puppeteer, looking way too familiar to whatever had tried to hurt you and your friends in the Dwarf Mines. Had you always been this unlucky?

Crowley had barely been able to say a thing before Riddle had cast Off With Your Head on the headmaster, then on Trey, Cater, and whatever poor souls that hadn't yet escaped Heartslabyul, tying them up with rose bush roots. Once again, you'd been the only one without a collar - maybe it was because of your lack of magic, maybe it was because you were from another world, you didn't know. You didn't hang around to find out - once Grim's yells at you to hurry up and get out of there snapped you out of your horrified trance, you bolted. Unfortunately, Riddle had noticed your sudden departure and chased after you, screaming your name.

You'd ducked into the Rose Maze hoping to shake him off. You wished you hadn't - all that you'd accomplished was getting yourself lost. Riddle's voiced seemed to be getting closer and closer by the minute, too.

"(y/n)!" Speak of the devil. The sudden shock of his voice nearly made you trip. "Come out this instant! Do you want your punishment to be even more severe!?"

Shaking off his words (or were you literally shaking?), you turned the corner. There seemed to be more and more roses as you went on - maybe a sign you were nearing the exit? Hoping so, you followed the blood-red flowers.

"(y/n)! I'm saying this for your own benefit! Tell me where you are, now! (y/n)!"

The leaves seemed to be disappearing under the red petals. A war between the two pieces of nature, two things that should be living in harmony instead being tainted by greed and ruining their peace. You had to be nearly out.

"(y/n)!!"

There were barely any leaves left now.

One last turn. One last turn and you should be--

Stuck. The roses didn't lead to the end of the maze at all. They led to the center of it.

A statue of the Queen of Hearts, like the one in the school among the other Great Seven, seemed to mock you with her smug expression. Now that you got a good look at her, she looked eerily similar to the specter haunting Riddle. Of course she did.

"So this is where you've been."

You turned so fast you fell over. Your mind couldn't even register the pain from your new cuts as you stared up in terror at the twisted form of Riddle. The boy himself seemed to be conflicted on whether to look at you with sympathy or smirk.

He settled on disappointment. "If you'd have just answered me earlier, you wouldn't be in such a sad state now, would you? Good grief."

Though he approached you at a normal pace, even that was enough to send a shiver down your spine. Desperately you tried to push yourself off the ground. Only it didn't work - you looked down to see yourself literally rooted to the floor. Following the root's path, you saw they were coming from the two rose bushes levitating by Riddle's side. No surprise there.

Out of options, you looked up at this new version of Riddle looming over you. Trying not to let your fear show, you glared at him. The look only caused Riddle's eyebrow to twitch before his emotions exploded forth.

"Don't look at your Queen that way! Change your expression immediately!"

"W-Why should I?"

"You...!" Blood rushed to Riddle's face. "Ever since I met you, everything you've done...! Causing a disturbance at the entrance ceremony, encouraging Ace and Deuce's idiotic behaviour, even managing to turn Cater and Trey against me...! I should despise every single part of you! So why...!?"

Before you could ask what he meant, the rose roots shot their way up your back, repositioning themselves so they pushed you upwards. You had no time to react - not that you could do much, your hands were still restricted, now bound together - as Riddle tangled his fingers in your hair and forced his lips on yours.

It took you a second to process what he was doing. Once you realised, you begun trying to wriggle your way out of his grip. Unfortunately, this only annoyed Riddle further - he tugged at your hair, causing you to yelp. Riddle took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Any cries of protest went ignored.

You weren't sure how long the kiss lasted, but when Riddle finally pulled away you wasted no time gasping for air. There was a metallic taste invading your mouth. Your first thought was that it was blood but you couldn't raise your hand to check.

Riddle kept your foreheads touching, his hand still in your hair to keep you from moving away. You thought you were the only one that was dealing with a lack of air, but it seemed that Riddle's power up couldn't keep him from panting.

"Why...?" Riddle looked you in the eyes. The dark intensity scared you. It was a mix of anger, regret, confusion... and something else that somehow scared you even more.

"Why did I have to fall for someone like you...?"

Love.

Somehow the ferocity of the first kiss hadn't made it click for you. Now, however, the rush of fear gave you the strength to fling your head back and crash it onto Riddle's.

Only your foreheads were connected but it was enough. Riddle yelled in pain and let go of you. You fell on to the floor but were quick to get up as the pain was distracting Riddle from his control spell.

"(y/n)...! HOW DARE YOU!?"

You make it to the other side of the Queen of Hearts statue before roots burst out of the ground and latch on to your ankles. Caught mid-run, the sudden stop causes your to fall face-forward onto the floor. More roots appear to take advantage of the opportunity, latching themselves around you, binding you to the ground.

You couldn't turn your head, but you could feel Riddle approaching, glaring at your back. You weren't sure what was worse; the foreboding sense of darkness from Riddle's stares or the crushing feeling from the roots.

By the time Riddle was standing in front of you, black dots were decorating your vision. Tears were dripping out your eyes as you were unable to stop them. The unknown anxiety from what Riddle would do made breathing even harder. Riddle gritted his teeth, still nursing his head.

"Why do you insist on being so disobedient!?" Riddle growled. "Is it just because it's me!? You have no problem listening to those first-year ruler breakers! Is it them? Did they influence you? It has to be! It's their fault!"

"No...!" You croaked out.

Every word Riddle spoke caused the roots to become tighter. The tears fell even harder as you gasped for air like a fish out of water.

"No? Look at yourself!" Riddle scoffed. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd just followed my rules! I should have approached you from the start... I should've seen what leaving you alone would do. Damn it!"

"Pl...ease...!" You could barely make out Riddle's words. A dull ringing was going off in your ears, making it hard for you to focus.

"You had so much potential, right from the beginning, even if the mirror said you were magic-less, I saw it!" Riddle continued to scold himself, unaware of your desperation. "I should've told Crowley to place you in Heartslabyul, where I could've kept you on the right track... instead you had to become a rule-breaker! Why!?"

"I'm... sorry...!" You cried out.

The words caught Riddle's ears. He finally turned to you, realising what he'd caused. Gears turned in his head before he finally spoke.

"You're sorry, what?" He tried.

"I... I'm sorry, my Queen...! Riddle...!"

Instantly, the pressure was released. The sudden rush of oxygen to your lungs made you choke. Even though the roots were off you, you stayed laying on the ground, not wanting to push Riddle into doing that again.

"(y/n)." You looked up. "Come here."

Riddle stiffly opened his arms, as if embarrassed by the act. You hesitated, unsure if it was a trap. Riddle frowned.

"(y/n). Come here, now."

Out of options, you slowly pushed yourself off the floor. You still hadn't completely recovered, so you more stumbled than walked into Riddle's arms. It didn't seem to matter - the second you hit his chest, his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against him. The similarity to what had happened not long ago earlier caused you to tremble. Riddle didn't seem to notice.

"Thank goodness." Riddle sighed in relief, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "You're not too far gone... you just need to properly learn the rules... that's a relief..."

The smile you felt caused your skin to crawl. Riddle began tracing kisses up your neck, across your jawline then connecting your lips again.

The kiss was softer this time, a chaste one that would've made your heart race if the situation wasn't so, so wrong. Even so, the fear of angering whatever you were kissing made you lightly press back. The monster in Riddle's form pulled back slowly, a child-like smile on its face.

One hand came away from your waist and ghosted against your neck. It sighed before you felt a wisp of magic circling your neck. While you couldn't see it, you felt the new accessory adorning your neck - a black choker with a red heart outlined with gold at the front; with no clasp to take it off.

Riddle hummed in approval, happy at the sight. He wasn't as pleased when he saw the look in your eyes -  a poorly concealed fear at what he'd done. He sighed, giving you a quick kiss before leaning you into his neck now instead. He raked his fingers through your hair in a soothing manner.

"I'm doing this for your benefit." He explained. "It's my fault for letting you hang around bad influences, but it's okay now. I'll make things right for you. You'll be following the rules perfectly in no time."

Riddle placed a kiss on your forehead and leaned next to your ear. He pressed a finger against the heart of your choker.

"You will, or it's off with your head."

[moronic-validity]

The Vincent Sinclair’s Boot x Reader Fic

okay so a few notes! 

1) Reader is a trans guy (like your’s truly) 

2) This is smut for the sake of smut, plain and simple.

3) I finished this at 2:30am and I have to be at work at 8. 

This Contains: dubcon/coerced consent, drugs, bdsm, dom vincent, a boot kink, typos, almost murder, masturbation, and car problems! Everything under the cut is 18+!!!

As the temperature gauge crept higher and higher, [y/n] had to kick himself. He had been told to check his oil periodically through the road trip, but more than that, he had always been told to keep an extra thing of 5-20 in his car. Both pieces of advice went in one ear and out the other.

Which left him here, in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, 30 miles shy of Baton Rouge.

The immediate reaction was to get out of his car and scream. Sure, it was near midnight, but there wasn’t anyone nearby, so what was the worst thing that could happen.  The flash of headlights on him and his car answered his question.

Great. Fantastic. Cool.

“Hey, sorry about the yelling,” he called out in the general direction of the headlights. “Any chance you have some 5-20, I’ll be right out of here if you do!”

No response. [y/n] sighed and sat on the hood of his car and watched the car. It was the middle of the night and it was still hotter than hell and humid to match. Without giving it much thought, he pulled his t shirt over his head and sat it on the hood next to him. What did it matter, he had a binder on anyway. Not like anything was showing.

The mystery driver flashed his brights at [y/n], then threw it in reverse and went back to where he came from.

Well that’s fantastic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and someone knows I’m stranded here. Perfect.

Without giving any more thought to it, he got back into his car and went to sleep, his t shirt thrown over his eyes.

The sun didn’t wake him up, the tapping on his window did.

[y/n] scrambled into an acceptable position and pulled his still damp t shirt on. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see the man standing near his window. The man wasn’t intimidating or anything, but the situation was odd and [y/n] was immediately warry.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn mean to startle ya or nothin,” The man with the green hat said with a small laugh, “it just looked like ya might need some help, most people don like sleepin in their car this time a year.”

[y/n] squinted at the guy. It wasn’t due to the accent or the look of him, the sun just happened to be right in his eyes. The perfect start to another fantastic day.

“Uh yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. Any chance you know where to get a quart or two of oil?” He asked, ending it with a still tired yawn.

“I could give ya a lift into town, ‘m sure Bo will help you out at the station,” The green hatted man offered helpfully.

“Actually, that’d be wonderful, thank you…” [y/n] realized that he just accepted a ride from a man who’s name he didn’t even know. His mother would be so proud.

“Lester, Lester Sinclair,” Lester said with an extended hand.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n]” He took the other’s hand and gave a firm shake. [y/n] was acutely aware of the tacky reddish-brown smudge that was now on his hand.

The ride into town was quite, aside from the rumble of Lester’s truck and the sound of tires throwing rock.

“So where’re you headed?” Lester asked, glancing over at [y/n].

“Ah, no direction, wanted to go up, down, coast to coast. Want to see a little bit of everything, I guess,” [y/n] picked at the skin around his index finger, “I’ve only broken down once, so I figure I’m doing okay.”

“Welcome to Ambrose, I know it probably isn where ya wanted t’ go, but there are worse places.” Lester said cheerfully.

The ride went back to being quiet.

“Oh shit,” Lester whined, more to himself than anything else, as he threw the car in park and jumped out, “ya wouldn’ mind givin me a hand flipping the hubs, would ya?”

What the hell does that even mean? {y/n] thought to himself as he hopped out of the car to help Lester with the task anyway. Help was a bit of a strong word for what [y/n] did, it was more get in the way and offer moral support. Lester appreciated the gesture and the company. Most people jumped out of the car and fled into town by this point.

The two got back into the truck and drove right on into Ambrose and parked in front of the service station.

“Now, you wait here, Bo ‘ll be ‘round soon,” Lester dropped [y/n] off with a wave then drove off to wherever he worked. It occurred to [y/n] that he never thought to ask.

It also occurred to [y/n] that he’d have to walk back to his car or hope that someone in town would be willing to give him a ride. Just one more thing. He sighed and sat with his back against the wall of the station.

At least there’s shade. It’s already starting to feel like the devil’s armpit, but at least there is shade.

Time passed, could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes.

No, it was definitely hours.

Around the point [y/n] was sure that this Bo guy would have to pry him off the cement with a spatula, Bo happened to come down the road and up to the door of the station, near where he was sitting. Bo stood within arm’s distance as [y/n] pushed himself up off the sidewalk.

“I take it you’re Bo? [Y/n] [l/n], Lester said you might have some oil?” [y/n] offered the man he assumed to be Bo his hand. Bo flashed [y/n] a smile that seemed to try to hard to be charming.

“Well, I’d introduce myself but you already know who I am,” Bo chuckled. He was in a suit and tie, didn’t seem like he was dressed for his line of work. “ Let’s see if we can’t get you back on the road, hm?” He hummed to himself as he unlocked the door to let the two men into the store.

There was no AC, and that was the first problem [y/n] had with the station. The second problem was that there appeared to be no oil. Anywhere.

What type of station doesn’t carry oil. Oil. OIL. Walmart carries oil, DG carries oil. Why does this man not have oil.

“Uh….Hey Bo, any chance you have some oil in the garage that you’re willing to part with?” [y/n] asked, while squatting and looking at another shelf devoid of oil.

“I’m sure I could check,” Bo said, his voice drifting further away. [y/n] kept looking.

“So I’ve got some bad news, I don’t have any oil down here;” ,” Bo said as he re-entered the store, wiping his hands down on a grease rag, “Good news though, I got my restock shipment in yesterday and just haven’t gotten around to bringing it down from the house. I’m more than willing to let you wait here while I go up to to get what you need, but you look like you need something to drink.”

[y/n] thought it over. This would mark the second time in less than 24 hours that he went somewhere with a random stranger, but at least this time he knew the guy’s name.

Well, the south is known for its hospitality, so I might as well go and get something to drink.

“I’d really appreciate something to drink and thank you so much for the help,” [y/n] said, suddenly aware that his mouth felt like it was full of glue.

The pair were about halfway to the house, when [y/n] finally felt the need to ask about the suit.

“Okay so, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but why are you wearing a suit? Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Bo stopped moving at [y/n]’s question and seemed to consider a few possible answers before he nodded to himself and kept walking.

“Well, it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity,” he chuckled to himself, “and uh,” he paused to clear his throat, “My mom passed on, was at her service.”

“Bo, I am so sorry. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sure to pay my respects before I leave town,” [y/n] couldn’t help but feel intense sympathy for Bo.

He left his mom’s funeral to help me get some oil so I can get back on the road. Holy shit.

They walked in silence for the rest of the day, [y/n] was unsure how to comfort this stranger, so he just followed the other man’s lead. Silence.

Bo unlocked the door when they got up on the step and lead [y/n] into the house.

“Washroom is down the hall if you need it, the door should be open,” Bo motioned towards the washroom, “Make yourself at home.”  

With that, Bo was in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of sweet tea. [y/n] decided to take Bo up on his offer of a washroom. Once the door was shut, he fought with his binder for a minute, before finally getting it off his chest, letting it hang loosely around his neck. At this point, it just felt good to take a few deep breaths. After a few minutes passed, [y/n] pulled his binder back into place, swore he’d keep it off until he hit the next rest stop, then went back out into the house and met Bo in the kitchen.

Bo handed [y/n] the glass of sweet tea, condensation already beading on the sides. Nice and cold and incredibly sweet, it even tasted southern. And a bit salty. [y/n] had never had homemade sweet tea before, so he assumed that maybe that just happened sometimes with the tea when it cooled.

The room started to sway.

“Hey, [y/n] maybe you should sit down, looks like the heat is getting to you,” Bo said, worry in his voice, but a smile on his lips, “maybe you ought to lay down for a bit.”

Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

That was weird, he tried to say it out loud, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Bo helped [y/n] to sit on the couch and as his vision started to darken, [y/n] swore he saw another person enter the room.

When [y/n] came to, he realized a few things in short order. It was much darker, he was not on the couch, and he was restrained to the metal table he way laying on. Ever the optimist, he was thankful for the fact that he still had his clothes on and also for the fact it was much cooler wherever he was.

A tall man with long dark hair entered his line of sight. [y/n] had a few ideas of things to yell at him, but instead, took a different approach.

“So, either I’ve been asleep for a really long time, or you’re not Bo,” [y/n] said, turning his head to get a better look at the man. The man’s shoulders shook, like he was laughing without the noise.

Okay so he can’t talk. Noted.

The man turned around to face the table and made sure his hands were in clear view as he signed, “Vincent.”

The motions were smooth and [y/n] caught it near immediately.

“Vincent is a nice name,” he mused, giving Vincent a charming smile of his own, “I’m [y/n]. Now, I do have a few questions, mainly, why am I tied up?”

Vincent turned his back on [y/n] and went back to preparing the paralytic, deciding to make it a bit stronger so the man on the table wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it. When he turned around and [y/n] saw the needle, the reality of the situation began to sink in and things snapped into focus.

“Hey Vincent, I don’t know what’s in that needle, but I promise you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re about to do,” [y/n] tried to keep his voice level as he squirmed and fought against the restraints, “I know we don’t know each other, but I swear you don’t need to do this.”

Vincent watched him writhe on the table and considered his options.

“Please, can we talk this out, please,” [y/n] continued to beg, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and bruises already forming at both his wrists and his ankles from the jerking around. Desperation in one hell of a drug, because in no other situation could [y/n] see himself saying, “I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Vincent set the syringe back down and walked up to the head of the table and gripped [y/n]’s jaw and turned his head to make sure he saw when he signed “Are you sure?” he drew it out to emphasize the importance of the question.

Was [y/n] sure? No. No he wasn’t, but he wasn’t in a place that allowed many options. Behind door one? Death! Behind door two? A questionable fate that could very well still end in death!

Yeah, I’ll go with door number two, please.

[y/n] nodded, Vincent’s hand still not leaving his jaw.

Vincent considered the situation for a moment. He considered the number of girls that Bo had brought to him after he had had his way with them at the station. Girls had never really been Vincent’s speed.  There were plenty of attractive guys who had come through, but mostly they were either already dead or just spit curses at him. [y/n] was different. No threats, no insults, he was shockingly calm, all things considered. Vincent stroked up and down the side of [y/n]’s face, bringing his hand into the smaller man’s hair and pulling, eliciting a soft whimper.

“I want you to show me,” Vincent signed before undoing the restraints at [y/n]’s ankles. As for his hands? His hands were going to stay bound, but a change of position was still needed. Vincent kept eye contact with [y/n] as he undid his wrists.

[y/n] sat up on the table, moving slowly as to not startle Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to scare the guy who probably had a half dozen ways to kill him in arms reach. His wrists ached and were bleeding in some places. He rubbed at his sore joints before Vincent snapped his fingers, pointed directly at him, then down at the floor near his boot clad feet.

[y/n] had the opportunity to make a run for it, but instead knelt at Vincent’s feet. Vincent put his hand out and without thinking, [y/n] rested the side of his face against it. Vincent’s face burned beneath his mask, that was not what he needed the man to do. He pulled his hand away and gently slapped at the kneeling man’s face, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to know that that was not the desired action. The kneeling man was a quick learner and when Vincent put his hand out again, he reluctantly placed his wrists in the larger man’s hands.

[y/n] was not thrilled at this situation, but he was also a simple man, and for all the terror in the situation, Vincent was a large man with shockingly soft hands that were big enough to envelop both of his wrists, who had complete control over the situation. Should he be getting wet due to the situation? Absolutely not, but in the one psychology class he took in high school, it was mentioned that fear and arousal were close together in the brain.

Vincent saw the bruising and blood on the smaller man’s wrists and was careful when he rebound them. Sure, he was planning on killing the guy, but his plans had changed. He threaded a rope and carefully suspended his wrists so that his wrists would remain above his head.

[y/n]’s first thought was that Vincent wanted head. Most guys he had met enjoyed getting head, so it did make sense. He carefully pressed his cheek against the man’s crotch and nuzzled against it, then looked up and into Vincent’s eyes for any sign. Instead, Vincent just lifted his knee and pushed [y/n] off of him like he was a disobedient dog.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as to what he wanted, if not a blow job. He was further confused when Vincent lifted his boot clad foot and pressed it into the smaller man’s pelvic bone, hard.

Oh.

The pressure of it was enough to lift him up just a little bit more and it had him wetter than he thought he could be in a situation like this. He pressed down onto the shoe and began to grind against it, shamelessly chasing the friction it created.

Vincent groaned. His cock twitched as he watched the man’s lewd display. He didn’t want [y/n] to touch him, not yet. There was still the chance that could go horribly wrong, what Vincent wanted was to see exactly how desperate the man was. Vincent began to palm himself, stroking through the fabric of his pants while he watched.

The answer was very. [y/n] was very desperate. [y/n] was desperate not to die and now, now he was also desperate to cum. He pressed himself harder against the toe of Vincent’s boot and rutted against it, groaning loudly when it pressed up against that bundle of nerves. He began to fall into a rhythm that hit every sensitive spot he could reach.

Vincent’s hand was now in his pants as he stroked himself to the same rhythm [y/n] was fucking himself to. God,  Vincent thought to himself, this man was making an absolute whore of himself. It might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Could make work slightly less taxing. Then the bound man made a sound that snapped Vincent out of his thoughts and almost made him cream his pants.

He was getting so close, he had thrown himself so into chasing his high that he almost forgot that the circumstances that brought him to this were less than desirable. He pressed began to rotate his hips so that bundle of nerves caught significantly more pressure and more friction. He let out a loud, needy whine.

“Please Vincent, please tell me I can cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please God, Vincent,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he was babbling and begging for a different release now. Vincent bucked into his own hand, listening to the whines and pleas.

Tears were starting to form in [y/n]’s eyes again, he was trying so hard to be good for Vincent, trying so hard to be his good boy. Sure, less than an hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible, but God, he was so close to cumming and he just needed Vincent to tell him he had been good. Hadn’t he been good enough to deserve release?

Vincent pressed his crotch against [y/n]’s face and continued to jack himself off. He didn’t want the man’s mouth, but he wanted the proximity. He was so close to his own release. So so close, all he needed was-

“Oh GOD, sir please, I’ve been so good for you, please sir. Tell me I’ve been a good boy for you, tell me I’m your good boy, please sir; oh my God, please, please,” [y/n] continued to babble, now crying for release against Vincent’s aching cock.

Yeah, that just about did it for him. Vincent’s orgasm took him hard and left a sizable stain that leaked into the front of his pants and against the begging man’s face. Vincent closed his eyes, lost in his own release. When things snapped back into focus, he realized the other man was still whining pitifully, still having not came.

Vincent had to admit, he was impressed at the man’s willpower, it was oddly attractive to him that the man refused to grant himself pleasure without permission. This could actually work out wonderfully, Vincent thought to himself.

He took the rope in his free hand and yanked on it hard enough to knock the [y/n] off balance. He looked up at Vincent as he tried to regain balance. Vincent let go of the rope and let him drop onto his knees, but his eyes were still locked on his masked face.

Vincent thought about it for a moment before signing “I want you to cum.”

That was all [y/n] needed to hear before going back to rutting against the shoe, quickly going over the edge and coating the toe of the boot in his fluids. He braced himself against Vincent’s leg, mumbling thank yous as he came back down. Vincent allowed this to go on for a short while, before cutting the rope and pressing [y/n]’s face down to the still wet boot.

Vincent used one hand to yank [y/n]’s hair to make the blissed out man look up at him, with the other hand, he calmly signed “Clean it up.”

[ahockeywrites]

Chapter 2 - Edmonton, Alberta

“I cannot believe it’s our first day in Edmonton and we’re already at a hockey game,” Addison laughed. The department Addison and Simone were contracted to work at regularly attended hockey games as a group to encourage socialising outside of the workplace and had invited the girls along to meet their new colleagues.

It just so happened that one of the other girls in the department was good friends with the Oilers roster and was able to get some good seats occasionally, and this happened to be one of those nights. They had seats right next to the ice for the Senators @ Oilers match and seeing as Addison had barely paid attention to the Blues hockey lineup, she had no idea that the brother of the boy she had been ignoring for years was about to take to the ice for warm ups.

A puck hit the glass in front of Addison and she looked up to see who hit it. Standing in front of her was Brady Tkachuk. She shot him a confused look, she had no idea he even played hockey anymore let alone in the NHL. He gave her a quick smile and shouted “gimme a text, number hasn’t changed,” then he skated off.

“Wait, you know Tkachuk?” one of her new colleagues asked? This was not how Addison wanted her first day in Edmonton to go. All she wanted was an easy introduction to her new colleagues not to be bombarded with questions.

“Yeah, grew up in St Louis a few doors down from them,” Addison explained, trying to go into as little detail as possible. There was no way she could let the people she was going to be spending a lot of time with know that she used to be friends with the devil of Calgary. Her co-workers just nodded, trying to understand how she hadn’t shared this information before. To the majority of people, growing up around NHL players was the most amazing thing ever but to Addison it was the most difficult thing. She wished she didn’t block Matthew out that summer, but she knew it was best for her at that time.

The rest of the game went surprisingly well, even if Brady was on the losing end of the game. No one asked Addison anymore questions about the Tkachuk’s, which she was very thankful for but Simone had started putting the pieces together and had pretty much figured out who it was that Addison was avoiding in St Louis.

Addison did text Brady, but she waited until she had settled in to Edmonton first. Naturally, Brady had already let the entire family know who he had seen in the stands as soon as he was able to. Keith and Chantal already knew because of their closeness to Addison’s parents, Taryn was excited to know that Addison had moved and was using her degree to her advantage and Matthew said nothing. He didn’t want to believe that they now lived in the same country, let alone the same province.

Ever since that day in St Louis, Matthew had vowed never to love another woman. He couldn’t, Addison was always the only one for him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find someone else, he always had women falling over him almost anywhere he went, but none of them lived up to Addison. Instead of trying to settle down in Calgary, he had a different woman in his bed most nights to satisfy his desires.

Simone gave it a few days too before asking about the interaction at the Rogers Place. She was almost certain that the man who Addison refused to keep in contact with was the eldest Tkachuk child but she didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t want to reopen old wounds for Addison which could be especially painful. The safest space to bring up the topic was likely to be their shared apartment and she did one night with SportsNet’s NHL coverage in the background.

“Ads,” Simone started, she was unsure of how to approach the topic so decided to stay safe to begin with, “how do you actually know Brady Tkachuk?” Addison sighed, she knew this would eventually come up and was much happier that her best friend asked her rather than any of her other colleagues because it could have made the entire graduate program very awkward.

“I wasn’t lying at the rink, he did grow up a few doors down from me in St Louis,” Addison explained, “but I spent a lot of time at their house with Chantal because mom often worked late nights and dad used to, and still does, travel with the Blues for games. I’m the same age as Matt, so it just worked well.” She hoped that she hadn’t given too much away, it was the truth, just missing a lot of detail.

“But, is there anything else that I should know? You know, you’re probably gonna see the entire family next time you’re home and if I’m with you, the whole story is appreciated?” Simone tried to get as much information out as she could without hinting that she knew who Addison was refusing to mention.

“Matt was my first kiss and then I’ve ignored him ever since,” Addison said at such speed, she wasn’t even sure she took a breath between the words. It was the first time she had admitted it to anyone aside from her parents. “And I don’t think I ever stopped liking him.”

“Babe,” Simone exclaimed, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because he’s a professional hockey hot shot and I’m me! Plus, I was going to MIT and he really doesn’t give me vibes of someone that could do long distance,” Addison said, letting a tear fall. “I thought focussing on my studies would get rid of this silly crush, but seeing him in Calgary has just made things worse.”

Addison was shocked with herself, she had never vocalised her feelings of inadequacy when compared to Matthew before. Everything that she had just said was something she had internalised for years and the only way she knew to respond to the word vomit that had come out of her mouth was to cry. Simone came over to her and just held her. She had seen Addison like this before and knew she just needed to know that someone was there for her.

The room was silent bar the commentator for the Stars v Kings game and the two were thankful that it wasn’t a Flames game. “How about, we order some Chinese food, eat ice cream and watch some terrible movies?” Simone asked, this was how Addison solved all of the boy issues that anyone encountered at college so hoped it would help. The two spent the evening watching crappy rom coms wishing they were the main character in all of them and this was able to take Matthew off of her mind at least for a day.

Work seemed to drag along for the rest of the week and Addison let it. She was spending the majority of her time in her office, which she shared with the other graduates, and kept her head down working on a new project she had been assigned. She was designing a new ball bearing and it was the most tedious thing she had ever done. College could not have prepared her to spend 40 hours a week in front of a computer designing such an essential part of a manufactured product in such detail. All Addison wanted was to finish the design and go out to the bars because it was a Friday night and she needed a beer. Eventually, Simone and Addison were able to head home and get ready for a little night out in Edmonton.

It took a few hours for them to get showered, changed and eat something because they knew that drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea. Addison chose to pair a deep green bodysuit with black jeans and heeled boots whilst Simone chose a flowery jumpsuit with small heels. They both knew they looked good and that gave them the confidence to head out with a smile. The Uber they had called arrived and they quickly threw back a vodka shot each. The night was cold but the bars calling their names were warm as hell.

The number of bars showing Calgary games was low, but apparently not zero because the first one they arrived at showed the Flames thrashing the Bruins and as soon as Addison looked up at the screen, she saw the baby blue eyed, curly haired boy she had been trying to ignore the life of for years.

“He’s everywhere,” Addison complained, “even in a city that supposedly hates him. I can’t seem to get away from him.” Simone shot her a look of sympathy, knowing that everything Addison had done was protect herself from getting hurt by a boy who meant so much to her. “I just want drinks.” And drinks Addison did get.

5 shots and two beers in two hours at the first bar took her to a state she rarely reached, very drunk. Seeing Matthew on tv had done it for her, he was living his life to the best so she was going to do the exact same, even if she was working 9-5, 5 days a week. Simone knew better than to let Addison go anywhere alone and made sure that she had drunk water and got home safely. However, Simone didn’t expect to wake up only an hour after falling asleep to hear Addison talking to someone on the phone.

“BRAAADDDYYYYYYYY!!!!” Addison shouted down the phone with a giggle.

“Heya Addie,” Brady replied, trying to control himself and not laugh too much but it was too hard. Here, well in Edmonton, in front of him was the exact opposite of the girl he had grown up with. Normally Addison was well kept and smartly dressed, today he saw her in a massive Blues t-shirt and hair forming a birds nest. “Has someone been drinking?” he asked playfully.

“Yeaaaaaaaaaa, I saw Matty on tv and decided I didn’t want him being the only one having fun tonight,” she said, trying not to hiccup. The alcohol she had consumed had kicked in suddenly and she had no idea what to do. As Brady was the most recent person she had texted, somehow she had called him.

“You saw a flames game in Edmonton? They must really hate their own team eh?” He laughed.

“I did! I think it’s because they’re coming for a game here next week, ooohhhh, maybe I’ll see Matty, I miss Matty, I was silly,” Addison explained, even if the drinks had gone to her head, she was trying to form coherent sentences.

“Hey, Addie, I know Matt misses you too. But, the best thing you can do is head to bed and get some sleep. It’s gotta be like 5am in Alberta, so go to bed, yeah?” Brady was really trying to help the girl, no matter what happened between Addison and Matthew, Brady didn’t want to lose the potential of a friendship with her again.

“Okaay Brady,” Addison yawned, “I’ve made it to bed, it’s sooooo soft, like Matty’s hair.” Addison couldn’t help but smile as she thought back to the time they had kissed, it was one of the happiest moments of her life along with graduating college.

“I’ll text you when you wake up,” Brady said, “now sleep Addie.” She had fallen asleep before he had even finished speaking and the sound of her softly breathing was the only thing that either Brady or Simone could hear.

prev//next

[omgrachwrites]

Tell a Tale of You and Me - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You knew that making a bet with Sirius Black was like making a deal with the devil but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had never been a heavenly woman.

Warnings: fluff, angst, pining, Sirius being oblivious

Words: 2233

A/N: This is a little bit of a filler chapter, it sheds some light on what happened in fourth year and how Y/N became a badass! I hope you guys enjoy, please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all very much! xxx

Chapter Seven

Three years previously

Wincing, you massaged your aching hand before you moved your quill down your piece of parchment, tapping the point of the eagle owl feather against your chin as you thought what to write next. You were writing an essay for History of Magic which was definitely the most boring subject at Hogwarts and the mention of all the blood always made you feel squeamish.

You jerked your head up when you heard footsteps approaching your desk and you sincerely hoped that it wasn’t the Slytherin girl from the other day. You smiled in relief as you saw that it was Remus. Though, you were still a little nervous around him, obviously you knew him but you didn’t really hang round with him. It was mainly because he hung around with Sirius and every time you spoke to Sirius you stuttered and blood always rushed to your cheeks. You were so hopeless around Sirius but you couldn’t help it, he was just so handsome. But, he barely thought of you as a friend.

Remus was really nice though, “hi Y/N, can I sit down?” he smiled, sitting down when you nodded, “doing homework?” he asked with a teasing grin that made you flush.

“Yeah,” you whispered, you didn’t want to get yelled at by Madam Pince, “it’s for History of Magic so it’s a wonder that I’m not asleep,” you giggled and Remus nodded understandingly.

“Oh yeah, I can imagine, it should be an interesting subject but Professor Binns has an extraordinary talent of making it so boring,” he chuckled and you noticed that he looked tired, he was ill about once every month, “do you mind if I study with you?” he asked kindly as he pulled some parchment out of his bag.

You nodded, “of course I don’t mind but thank you for asking,” you answered meekly.

To tell the truth, you didn’t actually study together, instead you both did your homework in silence, only really talking when it was necessary but you liked being in his company. At one point, you passed him your inkwell because he had run out of ink and he touched your arm ever so gently, his eyebrows knitted together as he saw the bruises that littered your arm.

“What happened Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you shook the sleeves of your robes over your hands, “I bumped into one of the Slytherin prefects and she decided to hex me. I’m not very good at standing up for myself,” you wished that you could be braver but you just couldn’t. You hoped that he wouldn’t laugh at you.

Instead he sighed, his soft hazel eyes full of sympathy, you hated it when people looked at you like that, “Y/N,” he trailed off, frowning as he looked over your shoulder.

You turned around to see what had grabbed his attention. It was Narcissa Black, a beautiful but cold girl; she was also Sirius’ cousin. Her friend Morgana was at her side and she was also very pretty. They were probably two of the most popular girls in your year and they were smirking at you. Well, Narcissa was smirking at you, Morgana looked rather bored.

“Y/L/N,” Narcissa smirked before her cold ice blue eyes flicked over to Remus, “scram Lupin, I need to have a girl talk with Y/N.”

Remus opened his mouth to argue, promptly shutting it when somebody called his name from the doorway, “god Moony, you’re always in the library!” you recognised that loud teasing voice, your heart recognised it. Casually, you looked over at Sirius and froze in place, he was so breathtakingly beautiful, “hi Y/N,” he grinned. It felt like all the air had been stolen from your lungs as he carelessly raked a hand through his messy hair.

Your face flushed as you nodded at him and turned to Remus who had been watching you with worried eyes, “I’ll be fine Remus,” you mumbled, “you can go.” Remus sighed as he gave you a quick hug, glared at the Slytherin girls as he caught up with his friends. You chewed your lip nervously as Narcissa and Morgana sat opposite you.

“Tough break about what happened between you and Rosier’s girlfriend, I was sorry to hear about it,” Narcissa started, though she didn’t look sorry as malice sparkled in her eyes, “I know that you’ve got a crush on my cousin Sirius, it’s revolting the way you look at him. A blind man could see it.”

You sighed, feeling your body go hot at the mention of his name and you knew that there was no point in trying to deny it, “yeah, and so have many other people. Have you had this conversation with all of them?” you asked, your tone was a little snarky and Narcissa obviously heard it because her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Actually, we don’t,” Morgan drawled as she inspected her nails, not even looking up at you, “because Sirius doesn’t fancy them. He fancies you.”

Your mind went blank at Morgana’s words, you didn’t know Sirius all that well but you were sure that you would know if he fancied you. Your heart soared happily for a split second, just a split second before it plummeted down to your gut as you started to question Morgana’s words, “he can get anyone he wants, and he does. He’s not shy about people he fancies either. How would you know if he fancies me anyway? You don’t really talk to him, do you?”

Narcissa sighed as she rolled her eyes, it looked as though she thought of the whole thing as tiresome, “I overheard him telling James, and besides you’re rather pretty,” she shrugged.

“Why would you tip me off about this whole thing?” you muttered, you just didn’t know why two Slytherin girls, who weren’t very nice would tip you off about Sirius.

“Because it’s like I said, its revolting seeing you pine for him so just tell him how you feel already, because he feels the same,” she smirked, “see you, Y/L/N. Good luck,” she almost floated away.

Something just didn’t add up about the fact that Narcissa had been rather pleasant to you, she had something of a reputation but finally, you decided that you didn’t care. You dawdled in the corridor, trying to take as much time as possible, nerves and excitement swarmed in your stomach and mixed together to create the most wonderful feeling. It felt like you could do anything, it felt like you could walk on air. Though, you felt like this was all too good to be true.

100% of the time you would stutter and deny it when you were paid a compliment, but you were very pretty, even if you didn’t think so, everybody else thought so. Everybody who knew you had a crush on Sirius – and mostly everyone knew, you were so obvious – all thought that you deserved better.

With a slightly manic grin on your face, you climbed through the portrait hole, ready to confess your feelings. When you walked into the common room, your stomach filled with anxiety, you wanted those wonderful butterflies back, and you felt sick. Lily looked at you with wide green eyes and Remus chewed his lip, his eyes on the floor. Trying to hold your tears back, you glanced away from your friends, looking at the scene that was unfolding before you.

Sirius was very passionately snogging some random girl, right in the middle of the common room, on your favourite armchair, “Sirius,” you muttered, though you didn’t mean for his name to escape your mouth.

To your horror, the beautiful boy heard you and pulled away from the girl with a horrible sucking sound. Sirius grinned at you while the girl rolled her eyes and shot you a venomous glare, “how are you love?” he asked and you wished that he wasn’t so handsome.

You wished that you could just turn your feelings off but you knew that you weren’t the only girl who had had their heart broken by him. You supposed that he was making fun of you when he had told James that he had feelings for you.

“How  could you?” you whimpered, pretty much running out of the common room, not caring that quite a lot of people saw you. You ignored Alice and Lily’s call of your name. You had never known such pain in all your fourteen years of life, why would he do this?

Because you had just run out of the common room, you obviously couldn’t hear the conversation that was going on inside it, “Merlin, she is so weird,” the girl giggled before leaning in to kiss Sirius again.

His eyes flashed angrily as he backed away from her, “you need to leave. Right now,” the girl scoffed at his demand, “no, I mean it. Y/N is not weird, she’s wonderful, and she’s my friend.”

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Sirius rounded the corner at high speed, ignoring the amused flirtatious glances he was receiving as he ran a hand through his tangled hair; he’d fool around with someone later on. Remus panted as he almost had to jog to keep up with his best friend.

“Merlin, Sirius. Would you slow down? I know that you want to ask Lily about Y/N, but come on!” he grumbled and Sirius shot a smirk at him over his shoulder.

“C’mon on Moons, you’re not getting old on me are you?” finally, Sirius spotted Lily walking down the hallway with Alice, James was walking on the other side of Lily, looking at her adoringly, she looked very bored. Peter was at an extra study session because he was failing Potions, “Evans! Oi, Evans!” the pretty redhead looked up and rolled her eyes.

“What the hell do you want Sirius? Get lost by the way Potter,” she raised an eyebrow while Alice sighed. Sirius chuckled as James winked at him and he walked over to join Sirius and Remus.

“Is Y/N okay? I hardly see her anymore!” they weren’t very good friends but Sirius still missed her.

Lily sighed, “she’s fine, she’s just studying really hard. But I’ll tell her that you were asking after her,” she made to walk off but Sirius stopped her.

“Please, Lily. The only time I ever see her anymore is either in class or at mealtimes and even then she won’t speak to me. And, in the evenings she’s already up in the dormitories,” he gnawed at his lip, feeling guilty. He hoped that he hadn’t done anything to hurt her feelings; Y/N was really sweet.

Lily smirked at him but her green eyes looked angry as they flashed at him, “wow, you’re actually concerned about someone other than yourself, has hell frozen over? Maybe she just doesn’t like you, can’t say that I blame her. Catch you never,” she strode back down the hallway, arm in arm with Alice.

James sighed wistfully as he looked at her retreating back, “she’s so wonderful. How I wish she was mine.”

Sirius scowled at both Lily’s words and his best friends reaction to them, “c’mon Remus, James we have a free period, hopefully she’ll be in the common room,” Sirius climbed the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

“No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, really Sirius. Maybe we should just leave her be,” Remus tried to reason with him and James agreed.

“He’s right Pads, if she’s not talking to you it must be for a reason,” James sighed, hurrying to keep up.

“And, I’m going to find out what that reason is,” he dismissed his friends words; he had to know what was going on with her and apologise if he needed to.

When the three boys entered the common room, they discovered that Y/N was sitting by the fire, engrossed on the book she was reading. Sirius cleared his throat, ruffling his hair nervously as Y/N looked up, politely startled. Her pretty eyes lingered on Sirius for a second before she looked at Remus and James, her face breaking out into a warm smile. There was no trace of the usual nervousness in her smile.

“Hi boys,” her voice was a little louder than usual and as she closed her book and stood up, it seemed like she was standing taller.

“Uh, hi. We just wanted to check in on you, we have hardly seen you in ages, Y/N,” Sirius started.

She shrugged, “I’ve just been studying, I want to have a future after Hogwarts you know,” she smirked.

Sirius was so confused; she wasn’t acting like her usual self, “are you okay? You’re not acting at all like yourself,” Remus sounded just as confused as Sirius felt.

“Oh don’t mind them Y/N,” James smirked, “I like you like this, no offense.”

“None taken James,” she winked at him before looking at Remus again, “I’ve grown up quite quickly in the past couple of months, I hated being meek and obedient, it didn’t feel like me,” she strolled over to Remus and kissed his cheek, “thanks for checking on me though,” she smiled at James, ruffling his hair. She hardly spared a glance at Sirius. Remus’ cheeks flushed as he looked at his best friend.

By the look of it, he didn’t understand what was going on any more than Sirius did. James just looked like he was having a great time.

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@approved-by-dentists​ @thefuturelawyer​ @a-miserable-hufflepunk​ @firelordmillie​ @seriouslysiriuss​ @sleep-i-ness​ @play-morezeppelin​ @pregnant-piggy​ @sleepingalaska​ @smiithys​ @blisfvll​ @rexorangecouny​

[drop-of-infinity]

No one asked for this but I continued my Destiel fic! This part is canon compliant with season 5.

Chapter one is here

<><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 2: Season 5

Sympathy for the Devil

{“I learned that from my friend Cas you son of a bitch.” It feels good to say, both the statement and the insult. It feels like a promise, a promise that Dean will get Cas back because he is his friend. Friends with a literal angel he thinks, and his lips twitch. They’ll get him back.

{“Put these boys back together and go. I won’t ask twice.” Dean feels more relief then he thought he would, the kind that takes the air out of your lungs and makes your knees weak. Cas is here and alive and safe and he just saved them, and maybe things will be okay.

{Cas knows he has a purpose. God him back, and that makes him feel like it’s okay to listen to his heart. God brought him back, so it’s okay to threaten Zacharia. God brought him back, so he’s allowed to save Dean, and he’s allowed to want to save Dean, and to want to keep him safe. God brought him back, so he’s allowed to want. Right?

Good God

{“I rebelled and I did it, all of it, for you.” It’s true, and Cas knows it as he says it. Some part of him thinks maybe he shouldn’t have said it though, because the way Dean is looking at him implies that he didn’t know that.

{All of it for me? Dean rolls the words around in his head, over and over. I did it, all of it, for you. Cas had been angry when he said it, but that doesn’t stop the warmth creeping across Dean’s chest at the thought.

Free to be you and me

{“I need your help because you are the only one who will help me.” Dean can’t say no after that. Cas rebelled for him after all, he’s all the angel’s got. I guess we’re going to capture an archangel.

{“When humans want something really really bad, we lie.” Dean straightens Cas’s tie as he talks, and Cas fights to ignore the lingering warmth from his fingers. They figure out where Raphael is, and Cas can’t help but think that if this is his last night on Earth, at least he gets to spend it with a friend.

{“I’ve never had the occasion!” Cas realizes with horror that his face is warm. Angels do NOT get embarrassed. Dean keeps talking about women and- other things, and Cas glances at his mouth as he talks. He looks away again immediately, heart pounding in his chest. What is wrong with me?

{“There are two things I know. One, Bert and Ernie are gay and two, you’re not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch.” Dean winces slightly. That might not have been the best way to phrase that, but hey. Cas deserves to have fun once in his life, and Dean is going to make sure he does.

{“Come on.” They run out of the building and sit in the Impala. Dean can’t help it, he starts laughing. Cas’s face when that girl had yelled at him- he glances over to see the angel wearing a similarly confused look and laughs harder.

{“It’s been a long time since I laughed this hard.” Cas stares at Dean’s smile, and revels in the fact that he’s the one who put it there.

{“Who cares what some ninja turtle says Cas. What do you believe?”

“I believe he’s out there.”

“Then let’s go find him.” Cas looks at Dean and realizes he’s serious. Dean isn’t giving up. Of course he isn’t. He never does. Despite what just happened, Cas smiles. He’s not alone in this mess.

{“I’ve had more fun with you in the last 24 hours then I’ve had with Sam in years.” Dean isn’t sure that’s fair to say, but he says it all the same. This feels fundamentally different then the fun he has with Sam. This feels almost giddy.

The End

{“What happened to you?”

“Life.” Dean stares at the man in front of him, who is Cas but so obviously not. Cas, but... not my Cas.

{“Good timing.”

“We had an appointment.” This Cas he knows, and the angel’s tiny smile lit with the glow of street signs makes his heart speed up, just a little. Dean doesn’t notice. He’s preoccupied with assuring himself that this is his time, that Sam is alive and Cas is here.

{“Don’t ever change.” Cas is taken aback by this... affection? By this request. He looks into Dean’s eyes -green like the first time I saw grass. I was so amazed that anything like that existed. Heaven is all blue and white- and wonders how he’ll manage that when he has been changed so much already.

Episodes 13-16

{“I’m.. fine.” Cas collapses against Sam and Dean. As he loses consciousness, he wonders why he’ll go against his better judgement in two seconds when Dean asks. A small, hidden part of him -one that is only heard in the brief interval between being awake and dead to the world- whispers that he knows the answer already.

{“He’s tough for a little nerdy dude with wings.” Dean hides the depth of his worry. They have other problems. Cas will be okay, he’s always okay.

{“I’m there now.”

“Yeah I get that.”

“I’m going to hang up now.” Dean’s field of view is completely covered by bright blue eyes. Personal space he thinks distantly. He decides Cas’s sudden appearance is to blame for his heart speeding up. He must have been startled, that’s all.

{“I’m dead.”

“Condolences.” Dean almost laughs. Well, at least he’s not completely alone in this mess.

17-18

{“You should probably just down the whole bottle.” Dean is trying to reassure him. Cas can see it. He’s talking gently and he’s being kind and his eyes and voice are soft. It’s strange that it works. Angels aren’t supposed to feel his mind whispers. I think we’re well past that his heart replies.

{“When I picture myself happy, it’s here. You and the kid.” Lisa stares at Dean. It’s true he thinks. It FELT true to say. Unbidden, an image comes to his mind. Cas, standing under the glow of a neon sign after saving him from Zacharia, a secret smile on his face like it was a joke only they understood. Dean pushes the image away. He has the freaking apocalypse to worry about.

{“Cas not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid.” Dean winks, and Cas has bigger things to worry about, but he wonders why human vessels are so easily flustered.

{“I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?” Cas has that feeling he gets sometimes that means what I just said was true but I maybe shouldn’t have said it. He learned emotions from Sam and Dean for the most part. He wondered where he’d picked up on this one.

Two Minutes to Midnight

{Cas figured out he was human pretty soon after he woke up in a hospital bed. The biggest difference, he found, were the depths of emotions. Angels aren’t supposed to feel, so Cas’s feelings usually seemed like cracks in the pavement. People were commanded by emotions, so his feelings now seemed like tidal waves. He was drowning. He was more scared then he’d ever been, not because of the apocalypse but because he was alone in a strange city. On top of that he... he missed Dean. He missed him with a fierceness, an ache in his chest that made it hard to breathe. When he hears Dean’s voice on the other end of the phone line, something warm blooms in his chest. It’s rather alarming.

{“You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man I believed you to be.” Dean’s relief that Cas is alive allows him to find that statement funny instead of insulting. He’s okay. He’s okay he’s okay.

{When Dean hangs up and Cas is left alone again, he feels his eyes sting. Castiel cries for the first time in his existence not because he is a human, but because he misses one.

Swan Song

{Sam has been taken by Lucifer, and everyone has given up except Dean. Fine he thinks, although he knows it isn’t. I’ll do it by myself, but he knows he can’t. Cas suggesting getting drunk instead of trying to stop the apocalypse takes Dean back-forwards? To 2014. I asked you not to change he thinks bitterly as he drives away.

{“Hey, assbutt!” Cas can’t believe what he’s doing even as he does it, but he knows he would do it a million times to keep Dean safe. And as Lucifer blows him into pieces, he has no regrets.

{“Cas?” Sam is gone, and Lucifer is gone, and Michael is gone, and Cas... is here? Dean tries to process this as Cas gently lays two fingers on his forehead and heals him. Dean leans forward a little bit, too tired to stop himself from chasing the touch.

{“What would you rather have, peace or freedom?”

“You really suck at goodbyes you know that?” Dean knocks on the door and finds Lisa, because he loves her and Sam asked him to. Once again, he ignores the mental picture of Cas with a half smile standing under a street sign. He feels uncomfortably grounded.

{As Cas goes back to heaven, he wonders why his emotions aren’t as muted as they were before. Maybe being human changed him somehow. As he flies back towards being a good little soldier, he can’t help glancing longingly down.

But there are other things to worry about, and neither of them have time to yearn for things just out of reach.

[realllllfangirllllll]

Beyond Lovers || Chp.20

{More Than Friends Sequel}

Chairman!Jaehyun AU x CEO!Reader AU

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with the former CEO after overcoming your fear of love. Although there were rough patches, both of you are now stronger than ever. However, you realize that maintaining a relationship and a company at the same time can be very difficult, especially if someone is out to destroy the both of you.

Masterlist

{Previous / Next }

“I don’t have any patience with you anymore. Jung Yoonoh you better spill everything you’re holding back today or you won't ever see me again.”

Jaehyun’s anger quickly dissipated, his eyes turning to look at you. With your arms on your hips, you waited impatiently. You were beyond infuriated. First, Jaehyun beats Yuta up with his company as an audience. Then, he almost hits you for convincing him that Yuta is a guy he can trust. And now, he almost hit Yuta again. You’ll never understand his reckless behaviors and quite frankly, you had about 5 seconds left before you plan to give up on your boyfriend entirely. 

Just when you were about to leave, he spoke up, “Yuta. He’s the problem, y/n…”

Frustrated, you threw your hands up in the air, “Again?!? Really Yoonoh?!”

Jaehyun sighed out, knowing you didn’t believe him. Running his hand through his messy hair, he slowly got up. You saw him wincing slightly from the pain in his rib, but you fought against dashing to his service. Your eyes followed him as he reached for his phone on the bookshelf.

Sighing, you asked him, “What are you doing now, Yoonoh?”

He walked closer to you now and assured you in a soft voice, “Please, just trust me on this ok?”

You were confused by his words but proceeded to look at what Jaehyun was trying to show you on his phone.

“He’s literally the blood relative of a scheming devil and I don’t want you near him, let alone have our company involved with him. I understand that I got too angry at you but what I just don’t understand is why you insist on sticking to that devil’s brother. I’ve cut ties with that family already why do you hav-”

Jaehyun cut his explanation off early as his eyes diverted to what you were doing. You scrolled up his texts with Emily and when he saw he quickly took the phone from your hands. “We’re you even listening to me?”

Running your hands through your hair, you tried to piece everything together. Your mind was a wild mess as you took in the information you saw on your boyfriend’s phone. You settled to sit on the corner of his bed to get a better hold on yourself. You palmed the side of your head and sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier Jae…”

You felt a dip on the bed beside you and you turned to face him. He held your hand gently, “I tried telling you baby…”

“No Jaehyun. That’s not what I meant.” You attempted to calm yourself down by rubbing the temples on the side of your head. “First of all, babe. Why didn’t you tell me Emily has been threatening you??”

His eyes widened and then he diverted his gaze to the bedsheets, “You saw…”

“Yes, Jaehyun. While you were too busy rambling on about Yuta I scrolled through and read the rest of the texts. Humor me Jaehyun. Just why in the world would you let such an ignorant person hold you accountable like that?”

You saw a fire ignite in his eyes as he gazes into your questioning eyes. “She’s not just ignorant! She’s a devil! She’s a person who would use the people I love to toy with me. Don’t you get it? I thought you would understand once you saw the Taeyong situation but you’re still just as oblivious.”

“Taeyong? What’s he got to do with any of this?” 

He scratched the back of his neck in confusion, “Huh? Didn’t you read my other texts with her?”

You squinted your eyes at him, looking just as confused as he did. You saw him shake his head and reach for his phone. “Here. This is why you shouldn’t trust people carrying the Ahn blood in their system. They’re despicable liars.”

“Remember when I had to leave before you made your speech at the grand opening? Well it wasn’t a business errand. I got a call from an unknown caller and a warped voice told me to go to this place if I wanted Taeyong to survive. I was confused but Taeyong is a successful figure and I couldn’t risk having my best friend be in any danger. So I went there, but I ended up in an empty warehouse and you ended up on the media decorated with red paint and beat up tomatoes. Once I saw that there was no question who had done it. She even found out that Taeyong has been helping out with our company finances.” You stared at him, speechless. “So baby,” he took the phone from your hand and filled the empty void with his hand, “Tell me why you let Yuta take advantage of you like that? We don’t need him. NCT can do just fine without their dirty help. After all, you have me and the rest of our friends.”

You gave him a tight smile and lightly squeezed his hand, “Jaehyun… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know you went through all this… But I also didn’t know you thought of Yuta like that.”

Before you could say anything else, you heard him sigh. He attempted to turn his head away from you, getting ready to leave the room as soon as you brought up Yuta in a good light. Quickly, you reached for the side of his face, turning him to face you, “Babe, he’s one of us. No family. No friends.” Jaehyun looked at you with confusion written on his face. “He’s not Emily’s brother, she’s lying to you. He’s her cousin, or so you would call it, but he was adopted. As soon as he turned 16, his step-father sent him back to Japan because Emily’s father insisted on having her inherit the company when he retires.” 

You saw Jaehyun thinking through what you had just told him. You were about to continue with the story before you heard Yuta’s voice. “I know what you’re thinking. It must suck huh? Having to live with a bunch of rich snobs.” He scoffed, “But don’t fucking pity me. I see it written all over your face Jung.” 

Leaning onto the wall with the dented hole, he spoke with ridicule, “Life was actually great. I didn’t have to live with this drunkard in Gangwon. Instead, I just had to deal with a stuck up princess. As a bonus, Emily’s father even said my blood would taint the honorable Ahn family so he sent me to manage a company in Japan.” He laughed, “But hey, more freedom to me and I’m at my birthplace. So much better than rich people drama.”

Jaehyun glared at him, but eventually, he gave in. “Look man, I didn’t know. All I ever heard was Emily’s bullshit and rumors from the media. And I just wanted to protect-”

You saw Yuta’s infamous smirk. “Yeah yeah you wanna protect your girl. I get it soft guy. Now let’s get straight to the point and stop moping over your little romance issues.” 

Almost immediately, Jaehyun’s sympathy dissipated. “Oh yeah? You think you’re so tough Japan boy?” He was about to get up and teach him yet another lesson but you knew better. Rolling your eyes at the two man-child you had to deal with, you spoke with a loud voice that rang across the room, “Alright you both. Stop trying to prove your dumb masculinity and listen to me.” Both Jaehyun and Yuta shifted their attention to you as you shook your head at them in utter disappointment, “I need the both of you to set aside personal feelings and fix the problem at hand.”

They gave you an ‘I’m listening’ expression and you continued, “Right now, NCT isn’t doing well and is about to be taken over by Emily’s schemes. Also, SM is about to lose its current CEO aka you.” You pointed to Yuta and the smirk was wiped off his face. “So I need you both to work together, and with me, to solve this. Strictly speaking, Emily wouldn’t have had a company to get revenge on if Jaehyun hadn’t built SM as well as he did.” You turned to Yuta, “Just stating facts, not to brag.”

Jaehyun cut in, “Oh no we’re definitely bragging. I’ve got to get the credit somehow, “He turned to glare at Yuta and you rolled your eyes, muttering, “I once thought you were a cool and humble CEO…”

You heard Soojin’s voice as she knocked on your bedroom door and you smiled. “Anyways, let’s start our plan by remembering who holds the most power in the industry. With that said,” You called out to the door, “Come in.”

The door swung open slowly and Taeyong walked in along with Soojin. He smiled brightly and casually greeted the two men. Soojin gave you a small smile and told you before she left the room, “I really am sorry babe. I won’t ever hurt my best friend like that.” You got up and gave her a hug, softly rubbing her back, “All is forgiven Soo, as long as I know you’re still by my side to help me. Now go tell the others.” Suddenly pausing you remembered someone missing in your plan. “Soojin, where’s-” You saw the man appear by the door with his warm smile and you immediately relaxed. “Have fun,” Soojin smiled and quickly left the house to go prepare.

You gave the man a tight hug. “Thank you so much for coming Nana.” 

Turning back to the three men, you clapped your hands together, “Alright boys now let’s bring down a bitch.” They turned their attention towards you and you smiled proudly, “My most trusted partner have devised a solution to fix this mess.” You gestured toward Jaemin and Jaehyun’s face quickly darkened. 

“What the fuck.”

———

• I’m back after my holiday break! • 

[songandashadow]

Fics I read this month. Please don’t forget to leave kudos on these amazing fics! :) 

other recs of mine: my August Fic Rec | my favorites | friends to lovers rec | canon compliant fic rec | ace! larry fic rec

***PLEASE ALWAYS READ THE TAGS FOR POSSIBLE TRIGGERS***

In Circles of You and Me by theweightofmywords | 21k 

college/uni au | friends with benefits | miscommunication | angst and fluff

Louis pulls Harry closer by the belt loops. Harry could feel his breath warm against his neck as he brushes his lips against his skin. “You know... I don’t care if you kiss other people.”

Harry smiles as he feels Louis’ stubble scratch against his neck. “I know you don’t, but-”

He stifles a moan as Louis bites down gently on the soft surface of his skin. “You can kiss other people too-”

Louis pauses to look at him pointedly. “I know I can.”

“Well, have you?” Harry asks, his brows furrowed.

“What’s it to you?” Louis retorts with a smirk. “You’re the one I’m kissing now.”

--

Or, Louis and Harry keep running into each other at parties. It doesn't mean anything, until it does.

the whole world, it is sleeping (but my world is you) by orphan_account  | 22k

x factor era | blind! harry | friends to lovers | smut | angst

Louis knows who this boy is. He saw him at the audition, on the chair in line getting interviewed. He’s called Harry, and he's got the most brilliant voice and the biggest sob story that Louis has ever heard, and what Louis knows is that he doesn't want it to be a sob story at all. His eyes are a wide, glossy sea glass green, and he can’t see a thing."

Louis never really knew commitment, never really knew love, until Harry.

The Section by bananaheathen | 11k

college/uni au | fluff and smut | banter | mutual pining | TA louis

In which Louis is a TA for an Intro to Cinema course, and Harry is an undergrad with a bit of a crush.

Or, the one with "Name: Harry Styles, Date: me please"

As usual, it’s the Irish one he hears first.

“Keep up, Styles. It’s YOUR boyfriend we’re off to see.” “He’ll have heard that, Niall, you arse. Thank you so much.”

Louis just has time to text Zayn: fuck.

The Thinker of Tender Thoughts by SpeakingWithInk | 13k

angst and fluff | asexual! louis | coming out 

Louis sits on his hands to stop them from shaking as he adds, ‘and I’m ace.’ If only he had glitter, he thinks. Coming out deserves a bit of sparkle.

Nothing But You On My Mind by nonsensedarling | 83k

royalty au | enemies to lovers | angst 

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

Heartbeats in Time by forreveries | 6k

friends to lovers | fluff | high school au | first kiss | feelings and stuff

Based on the prompt: Harry and Louis are stuck inside on a rainy day and it’s all cuddles and snuggles and then one of them kisses the other for the first time and they admit their feelings.

Baby, I think we might be too cold to float by forreveries | 81k

murder mystery | journalist! harry | exes to lovers | new zealand

They couldn’t come back together after six years apart and tell themselves that this was love that they were making. Not with all that radio silence. Harry tried to keep it all down, lodged under the lump in his throat. He needed something to focus on, something to keep him out of his thoughts, so that he could go along with this because he didn’t want Louis to take his hands off him. He didn’t want that to happen. But. But he needed it to. “Wait,” Harry coughed out, his voice trembling, “Stop.” Louis looked up at him with wide eyes. “I— I need to stop,” Harry confessed, trying desperately to keep his voice straight. “What is it?” Louis asked, full of concern. “I can’t do this. I— I can’t play along. You left me and I need answers, Louis.” His voice caught on the end of his name.

AKA: Harry is a journalist that goes to Lake Tekapo, New Zealand, to look into a girl’s disappearance after a year of no movement from police. What he finds instead is his ex boyfriend Louis, who, six years earlier, ghosted him after five months of dating in university. A story of trauma, secrets, and the power of finally letting people in.

bambi legs by disgruntledkittenface | 11k

girl direction | first date | asexual character | fluff | no smut | coming out

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, rolling her eyes and standing up. “You do know what this means, right?”

“Yes?” Harry tries, looking up pathetically and hoping Zayn will take pity on her.

“This means she doesn’t even need the fabric she buys from you every other week,” Zayn says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “She doesn’t come here for the fabric. She comes here for you.”

Harry works at her family’s fabric store sometimes and always sells the most interesting fabrics to Louis. Louis is the wannabe fashion designer who keeps buying fabric she doesn’t necessarily need just to find a way to talk to Harry.

You Got That Somethin' by styleandsin | 5k

famous/non famous au | musician harry | strangers to lovers | no smut

How are you? Having a good time? Got a couple of beers in? What are those?” Louis hears him ask in quick succession, the loudness of the microphone making him jump even though the screams around him have yet to cease.

“It’s vodka,” Louis says, slightly unsure.

“Vodka! Oh, straight?” Harry asks, louder this time and with a growing smile.

Phoebe and Daisy have turned around to face him, huge smiles on their faces.

Fuck, this man is really going to be the death of Louis. He can physically feel his brain struggling to make his body cooperate and answer the question. He is so gay.

“No, gay!” He shouts, immediately getting an elbow to the side by his sister.

Or, the one where Louis attends a Harry Styles concert and makes an absolute fool of himself.

between chaos and control by stylinsoncity | 19k

companion piece to the wonderlands written from Louis’ POV

give me love by falsegoodnight, soldouthaz | 41k

a/b/o | slow burn | alpha harry/omega louis | fluff and smut | unsafe sex

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

-

Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

Indestructible by whoknows | 24k

car accident | amnesia | angst | ptsd

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, and Louis hiccups out a sob.

“Hi,” he manages, still clutching onto Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s fingers drift across Louis’ cheeks, and there’s something off about Harry’s expression, but Louis can’t figure out what it is.

“I’m okay,” Harry says, and Louis is going to say something to that, even if he doesn’t know what, except Harry’s kissing him.

Louis freezes.

maybe by momentofclarity | 2k

first meetings | falling in love | age difference (L is like 30 and H is even older)

I cannot not see you again. I cannot.

breathe into your well by turnyourankle | 4k

a/b/o | omega harry | smut

A rut bar. A place where omegas who are so inclined can link up with Alphas in rut. It's not a place Louis ever pictured himself visiting but in the hopes of having a memorable rut, it's where he finds himself tonight.

Sympathy For The Devil by taggiecb | 5k

fantasy au | santa harry | satan louis 

Louis keeps stealing some of Harry’s mail, which would be annoying for anyone, but it’s especially troubling when you consider that Harry is Santa Claus. Harry will have to go through hell to get Louis to stop. Literally.

Or the one with Santa Harry and Satan Louis and a series of misspelled letters to Santa.

We Met on Lex: A Socially Distanced Romance by homosociallyyours  | 4k

girl direction | online dating | blm protests | social distancing

Tipsy on the best bottle of wine she's had in a minute, Harry decides to join Lex-- a dating app for LGBTQ+ people that doesn't rely on pictures for first impressions --and write an ad for herself. Maybe she would've forgotten about it if the first response she received hadn't been so good, but as it is she's curious to know more about this Tommo person.

If only she could stop thinking about the girl who sold her that fateful bottle of wine yesterday...

Every Story Has Its Scars, Ours Is a Brand New Start by Rearviewdreamer | 62k

WARNING: domestic violence | graphic descriptions of violence

strangers to lovers | hurt/comfort | kid fic | angst and fluff | photographer! harry

Life as a devoted husband and an amazing father turned out to be a little different than Louis had expected. Everyone tells him it doesn't have to be that way; that he's worth more and that he's so much stronger than any one person trying to keep him down. It's all just words though until he meets the one person who makes him truly believe it.

[dreamerwithapen1]

may we know some more about tisiphone? 🤲

why of course you can ☺️

ok so fair warning, i got quite carried away with talking about her, and this is much much longer than i anticipated... sorry 😅

background: let’s start with her family! tisiphone was born on december 13, 1926, to hector and cassandra carrow. her mother died during child birth, and her father passed from cancer when tiss was four. so from then on, she lived with her aunt, asteria carrow, and her twin cousins, helios and selene, who were the same age as her. since a young age, tiss was always a bit timid and shy, something that selene mocked her about relentlessly. selene was definitely the most cruel and cold hearted of the family and viewed tiss as a waste of space and a useless member of the family. tiss hates the way that selene treats her but never has the courage to stand up to her, and their ‘relationship’ remains that way forever. helios is a different story. while he does share his sister’s views on muggles and muggleborns, he’s not as much as a fanatic about it as selene; nor is he as vocal about it. where selene is loud and brash and always speaks her mind, helios is quiet, observant, and always thinks carefully before speaking; however, he’s no pushover. he’ll put his sister and anyone else in their place without hesitation. which is a good thing, because the biggest cause of tension between the siblings is helios and tiss’ relationship, which can seem a bit odd to outsiders. to others, it appears as if the two are rather indifferent to each other, when really, they’re each other’s best friends. when tiss arrived at her aunt’s home, helios was the one that took her under his wing and showed her kindness. they share the same calm attitude toward things, the same dry understated sense of humor, and a natural affinity for magic, something that selene struggles with. that friendship carries on throughout all their years at hogwarts. and speaking of hogwarts...

school years: tiss, along with helios and selene, received their hogwarts’ letters and were all sorted into slytherin, the same year that tom riddle was as well. over the years, the twins and tiss became part of riddle’s “friend group”, though tiss was never impressed with riddle. because of her shyness and general lack of social interactions, tiss became very good at observing people, and from the beginning, she felt that there was something very wrong with riddle. she could see the emptiness in him, the lack of any genuine emotions other than a hunger for power, and she saw how easily he manipulated everyone around him- and it terrified her. especially when she started to get on his radar, and not in a good way. throughout the years, she rarely made her opinions known in the group, but the few times she did, it was with a timid show of sympathy for those with muggle blood and the thought that all humans- magical or not- were equal. most people just brushed her off, but not riddle. he noted all of those moments and started to become wary of her, because that unassuming and cowardly exterior of hers hid an incredibly smart mind and an exceptional talent for magic, particularly for creating her own spells. at the start of their seventh year, riddle branded his “friends” with the dark mark. and though tiss had never fully committed to his cause, she knew that she had no choice in the matter and received the mark as well. however, riddle still was not satisfied with her. she was far too friendly to the students with muggle blood, but more than that, he knew that she didn’t trust him as well. he saw the way her quiet, intelligent eyes would watch him, and while he would never admit it, he felt a very slight sliver of fear whenever her eyes were on him. and so, he decided that he needed to get rid of her- permanently. but he couldn’t do it himself, for dumbledore was keeping a very close watch on him during this time. instead, he turned to her own cousins for the job. at this point, selene was like the original bellatrix. utterly in love and obsessed with riddle and willing to do anything for him. helios was also lured in by riddle’s charms and agreed with him on his view of muggles and the sort. when riddle told the twins that they needed to be rid of tiss, that she was a threat to their cause, selene jumped right on board, while helios... did not. you see, the thing with helios is that he is definitely not a good person. like he has no qualms about the murder of muggles and mudbloods, thinks that those with pure blood are superior, and has already committed many little crimes for riddle. but, he is good to tiss. she’s his best friend. he truly does love and care about her more than he does his own sister. and in another life, maybe he wouldn’t have been a death eater, maybe tiss could have talked him out of it, could have made him see that his thinking was wrong... but she didn’t because she wasn’t strong enough in her own beliefs to convince him otherwise. and so helios tried to warn her. tried to give her hints of what riddle was planning, tried to push her away, tried to make riddle forget about her, but he didn’t. and tiss, for all of her intelligence, missed the signs. because she thought that she was safe. she thought that with dumbledore around, riddle wouldn’t dare do anything... and that was her mistake. on the night of may 2, 1945, only a few weeks away from graduating, riddle opened the chamber of secrets, and helios and selene convinced tiss to meet them there. and only shortly after arriving, selene went on a rampage about tiss’ muggle sympathies and how she was a disgrace to the family, and raised her wand to her. now at this point, tiss finally understood what was happening and should have defended herself; however, helios was there. and tiss was so sure that he would stop selene. that he would keep her safe, just as he always had. but she underestimated his devotion to riddle. and he did absolutely nothing, except look away, as selene cast the killing curse. and for tiss, the fact that he did nothing hurt far worse than if he had cast the curse himself. that was a betrayal that will stick with her forever.

after death: now, this is when things get a bit tricky (and i still need to flesh out all the details, so i only know the bare minimum at this point, but i’ll explain what i can). as i said earlier, tiss was a very strong witch and was gifted in the art of creating spells. it’s also important to note that her wand has the tendency to act on its own accord at times, is protective and loyal to its owner, and excels at defensive spells. the basic gist is that when selene cast the killing curse, tiss’ wand, which was on her person at the time, took it upon itself to protect its master; however, there is no spell that can stop the killing curse. so while it could not keep her alive, it chose to protect her soul/spirit, and created a spell so unique and complicated that tiss would not understand the full extent of it until decades later, and even then, she doesn’t understand how her wand possibly created something so complex. anyway, after her death, her body is hid in the chamber and never found. riddle and the twins get away with it scot-free and it’s assumed that she simply ran away. and from that day, tisiphone carrow is never seen again. meanwhile, tiss is living as a ghost, stuck on hogwarts’ grounds. and no one can see her. not people, not animals, not other ghosts. and she exists like this for thirty-one years, all alone, her murder going unknown and unsolved, and all the while, her fear of riddle is replaced by hatred. after all, when one has been killed, what is there to fear? so when we see her again during the marauders’ era, her personality is a bit different. she’s still very much introverted and sucks at social interactions even more so since she hasn’t talked to anyone for decades, but she’s no longer the scared, timid girl she once was. she’s more bold, fearless, and, most of all, vengeful. and that is how our dear fifth year sirius black finds her. a bitter looking girl in her slytherin robes sitting in the room where he’s supposed to serve detention. of course, he can’t help himself and makes some snide remark to her and becomes quite irritated when she ignores him. meanwhile, she doesn’t even look his way, knowing that he’s not talking to her. so imagine her terrible surprise when he steps in front of her, locks eyes with her, and demands her attention. she, rightfully, freaks the eff out and runs out of the room while having a panic attack because holy shit someone just SAW her. sirius, of course, is left incredibly confused, slightly put off (because since when does a girl, even if she’s a slytherin, run from him?)  and a bit curious. he spends the next few days keeping an eye out for her, but she keeps her distance and watches him instead, trying to figure what makes this kid different. eventually, they start having actual conversations with him having no clue that she’s, you know, dead. they start to enjoy each other’s company, tiss loving his devil may care attitude, the surprisingly sweet side that he hides, and the fact that he stood up to his family and chose the right side (something that she wishes she had had the courage to do). and sirius loves her surprisingly quick witted humor, her deep kindness (something he never expected from a pureblooded slytherin), and how wickedly smart she is. this goes on for a few weeks before the truth starts to come out. james happens upon, what looks like to him, sirius talking to himself in an empty room. and sirius doesn’t understand how james can’t see tiss sitting right across from him, and it isn’t until tiss vanishes through a wall that sirius puts the pieces together and realizes she’s a ghost. long story short, sirius does some digging and comes to find out the whole truth about tiss’ past. they spend the next couple years at hogwarts becoming even closer, and all the while, tiss begins to learn some new ‘abilities’ and restrictions in this form. eventually, there will come a time when tiss is no longer tethered to hogwarts but to sirius, so when he graduates, she’ll be able to leave the school and go with him, and she’ll help him with ootp business as best as she’s able. (i’m still debating if i want her to able to perform magic in this form or not)

anywho... i think that’s a good overview of her and her story lol i honestly could go on forever, but i think i should stop it here. however if you have any more questions about her, i’d be more than happy to answer them!

~dreamer

[normal-thoughts-official]

Words that you bury

A retelling of the most meaningful moments between Raphael and Magnus, when Raphael was staying at Magnus' home.

Or: 6 times Raphael and Magnus said "te quiero" to each other, and one time they said something else

Relationships: Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago

Rating: M

Category: gen

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Past Abuse, Found Family, magnus is raphael's dad fight me on this, blink and you'll miss it Trans Magnus Bane, camille belcourt is an abuser, lots of crying ngl

Read it on Ao3

“I’m sorry,” Raphael says. Again and again and again, “Dios, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Magnus says. His hand hovers over Raphael’s shoulder, debating whether or not to touch it with the air. Every time it moves, Raphael lets out another sob, and Magnus recoils like an animal being attacked. Which is absurd. If anything, Raphael should be the scared animal in this situation. But there Magnus is, scared of a little touch, unable to help him.

“It’s so disgusting,” Raphael continues, and Magnus takes it for the yes, there is that he knows it is. His chest feels like it’s closing in on itself. Magnus tries not to fold in half under the force of it. “Why can’t I stop?”

“You’ve gone over a month without eating,” he tries to reason. “You can’t help being hungry, my boy.”

“This is not- it’s not hunger. Look around you! Look what I did!”

“It’s just a kitchen.”

“It’s- it’s all red.”

“From donated blood,” Magnus repeats. “I told you that, dear, no one was hurt for these. It’s okay.”

He had arrived home to find the kitchen essentially covered in his blood stock, which he had been keeping for Raphael ever since he first rescued him, over a month ago. It was the first time Raphael had used it.

The fact that it was splattered everywhere, and that Raphael had been at the middle, sobbing and bloody, told him that he might not have made that choice, though.

“I lost control,” Raphael continued, like Magnus hadn’t said anything. “I lost control, I just launched at it, now it’s everywhere, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Magnus says, “you were hungry. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not hungry. When I’m hungry I eat frijoles, I eat arroz de choclo, tortillas, enfrijoladas, un chicharrón que sea. This is blood."

"Donated blood. From mundanes with the Sight who want to help people like you. You didn't hurt anyone, Raphael."

"It doesn't matter! I don't want this. I want to be normal. I want to see Rosita. She was having such a hard time adapting here, she needs me-"

It pains Magnus to have to hold Raphael down, but he has no idea what Raphael might do in this state, with his super speed and strength. There's still sunlight outside and he could burn himself. And he worries Raphael would also hurt himself in… non-accidental ways.

"You need to be well first, dear. You're still weak. And still hungry," he says, trying to make his voice as comforting as he can. Raphael still recoils like he's been punched, though.

"No, I'm not gonna- I'm not. She's my sister! I wouldn't- no!"

"I know you wouldn’t. But seeing her like this will make you feel worse. You can barely stand up, dear." He doesn’t say that he’s seen it happen. Way too many times. Desperate vampires, wanting so bad to be normal, thinking if only they can stay away from eating long enough, everything you go back to normal. Then they see mundanes, and they snap, and it makes them feel worse. Magnus doesn’t want that to happen to Raphael. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to take it.

And Magnus doesn’t want to see any more suffering in this world.

“I-” Raphael says. Then he drops down back on the ground, cross legged, hugging his knees. “I know.” He looks at Magnus with his big, brown eyes, and they’re so full of pain it makes Magnus feel like his guts are bursting, ugly and everywhere. It reminds him too much of himself. “I can never see them again, can I?”

It’s a question, but doesn’t sound like one.

Magnus still hesitates to answer it.

“Maybe you can still say goodbye,” he says, because he knows the silence will just hurt Raphael more. “I know some people who did. You just need to be- well, first.”

“How can I,” Raphael says, his eyes puffy and red and angry, “ever be well?”

Magnus stops.

He could be cheery. He could be bubbly. He could tell Raphael that everything’s gonna be okay, that he’s okay, that he’s gonna be rich and happy and find a family. He could keep up with the detached, perfect persona he’s been playing since way before Raphael arrived, but particularly after that.

Instead, he says, “my mom killed herself.”

Raphael’s whole face transforms, from anger to a mix of confusion, understanding, sympathy, and something else Magnus can’t quite put his finger on. Something that looks that an older brother taking his sister to school. Something like- caring.

Magnus looks away.

“She- my eyes,” he continues. “She was so scared. My stepfather kept telling her about the devil, and then- then she saw it in me.”

A beat.

“My stepfather tried to kill me. I- I killed him first. It made me feel like the devil my mom feared I’d become.”

He turns to Raphael again, and that- undecipherable look is stronger than before. It takes up his whole features.

“It’s not- well. These kinds of things don’t- go away. I didn’t just lose my family then, I lost my city, my culture, my people. Myself.

“It’s not okay,” he continues, “but I am. Or- as much as I can. You find out that life goes on. That there’s more to it than the pain, even if it’s still there. I have more people now. I have another family. And you,” he gives him a sad smile, “you have me, at the very least.”

Raphael’s lip starts trembling, so he adds, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Raphael breaks down.

It’s ugly, loud tears, sobs that rip him in half, burning all the way up. It’s hands gripping onto nothing so hard that his nails are about the break the skin. He shakes in a silent yell, already hoarse without a single word; raw and trapped in his pain.

And Magnus holds him. He slowly takes Raphael’s hands and put them around him, so he can grip Magnus’ shirt instead. He doesn’t want Raphael to hurt himself.

“It’s okay,” he says when Raphael visibly strains not to grip him, “it won’t hurt me, I’m a warlock. Let it out.”

It’s a lie, because Raphael has super strength and the way he grips Magnus digs his fingers into his skin and burns him in pain. But he doesn’t let a single sound out, knowing that soon the grip will make the skin numb. Raphael needs it, and he doesn’t mind.

“Mi hermanita,” Raphael cries, “está tan sola, tan…” he sobs, “me muero.”

Magnus struggles to remember the little spanish he had learnt when he went to Peru. He knows it’s something about his little sister, and- dying?

“Lo siento,” he says, because that’s something he remembers. I’m sorry.

“Me muero,” Raphael repeats.

“You’re not dying,” Magnus shakes his head. “You’re alive, okay? You’re a person. You’re a human. Estás vivo.”

Raphael keeps crying, albeit more silently. Magnus tries his hardest to think of something comforting to say to him, with his limited vocabulary. He knows that sometimes hearing Malay is all he needs to feel grounded, comforted, home. Aku cinta kamu, his mother would say to him before he went to bed. Her native tongue was Javanese, but since his stepfather didn’t speak it and she mostly had to speak Malay in the docks, that’s the language he was raised in. He never learnt Javanese, which makes him feel like a piece of him is missing sometimes.

“Te quiero,” Magnus says, suddenly inspired. It’s all right to say te quiero, right? Raphael has been living with him for a month after all. “Te quiero bién,” he adds on second thought. I want you well. Or at least he hopes that’s what he’s saying.

Raphael nods, still a little lost in his tragedy stupor. Magnus lets him, and keeps stroking his hair and repeating softly, te quiero, te quiero, estarás bién. Until Raphael finally stills, head still hiding in Magnus’ shoulder, but no longer shaking with sobs. Magnus idly realizes that his legs hurt from kneeling besides Raphael for so long, but he doesn’t care.

They stay like this, lost in stillness, until he feels Raphael’s hands letting go of his back. The blood flow returns to the abused areas, and Magnus has to hold back a hiss at the sudden mix of pain and relief. Then Raphael looks up at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I made a mess.”

Magnus looks around, at the bloody state of his kitchen. “Oh, this?” he asks, deliberately light, and then flicks his wrist in an also deliberate flourish. Suddenly the kitchen is sparkling clean. “Pay it no mind, dear.” The wet stains in both his and Raphael’s clothes have disappeared, and he also took away the pain in Raphael’s eyes for crying so much.

It takes Raphael a second to recoil. “Warlocks got all the fun parts out of this whole ‘devil blood’ thing, huh,” he says. It borders on bitter, but there’s some humor in it, too.

“Demon blood,” Magnus corrects, because he knows the weight the word devil carries. “And I think we could do with super strength or speed, but that’s my personal opinion.”

Raphael barks out a laugh, which clearly surprises him more than anyone.

Magnus smiles at him. “Come on, there’s more where those came from. Are you still hungry?”

Raphael’s wide-eyed nod tugs at Magnus’ heartstrings, but at least he’s not disgusted by it anymore. Magnus’ smile widens in encouragement. “Okay. Sit down, let’s give you a more proper meal.”

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t say anything. Magnus knows that, if mexicans are anything like javanese people, the concept of a meal probably involves several dishes, a lot of people, and at least two hours.

The look in Raphael’s face indicates that mexicans are exactly like the javanese. With a flourish of his hands - more ostentatious than necessary, so Raphael isn’t surprised by the sudden apparition - he conjures up a new bag of blood, except the bag is a dark blue instead of transparent, with a few jasmines along with the plate.

“Flowers?” Raphael says, amused, “What is this?”

“Well, you were clearly disdainful of my meal offer, so I thought I’d step up my game. Can’t have a warlock leaving people unimpressed, my dear.”

Raphael lets out a full, smooth laugh this time, one that doesn’t feel punched out of him. “Thank you,” he says, then looks between him and the plate, hesitating.

Magnus takes that as his cue. “Right,” he says swiftly, “I should probably go check the inventory of my apothecary. If you’ll excuse me.” and turns around to leave in long, fast strides.

“Magnus,” Raphael calls for him right as he’s about to reach the door.

He turns back to him almost sharply. “Yes?” he asks, with a small tilt of his head and raise of his eyebrows.

“Te quiero también” Raphael says.

I love you too.

“Oh.”

Raphael gives him a small smile, and when Magnus turns to leave again, his steps are a little less elegant, but a lot lighter.

*

“Magnus, what the fuck?” Raphael asks.

Magnus pauses, stick still halfway on hitting the dummy. He turns to Raphael quickly, but in a small movement; stopping with legs close together, feet touching, arms down, head slightly tilted to the right. He makes sure his shoulders are relaxed so his stance doesn’t seem guarded, but holds still so it doesn’t seem threatening, either. Glamor up, stick gone, breathing silent. He widens his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

The vampire is suddenly behind him, and Magnus resists the urge to jump. He knows the boy would not attack him, particularly not in this weakened state. He doesn’t want to act frightened and make him feel worse. He takes a deep breath and does not move.

The boy’s hands touch his back where it’s exposed under his tank top. His touch is so gentle it’s barely there, and Magnus thinks his hand might be only hovering close. He remains still and tries not to invade Raphael’s space.

Raphael takes in a sharp breath. “You’re bruised up.”

Magnus frowns. “I was only practicing. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“No,” Raphael says, almost angry. “This is not- This is-”

Magnus turns again. Slowly, small movements, hands raised but close to his torso, feet touching again by the time he’s done. Raphael is pursing his lips repeatedly, head shaking slightly like its thoughts are scrambling up its balance. Magnus stays still.

Finally, Raphael speaks, tone so icy it burns. “I did this.”

“My bo-,” Magnus shakes his head. Condescendance won’t help. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even know it was-”

“Perfect shape of my fist. It was- You fucker, you said it wouldn’t hurt you.”

Ah. “It didn’t.”

“It’s purple, Magnus.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. Come on, sit,” he says, pointing at Magnus’ own couch. Magnus drags it towards himself, silently showing Raphael that he’s fine. Raphael snorts, but there’s no humor in it.

Magnus sits down.

“Dónde está….. Que coño,” Raphael mutters to himself. “Don’t you have some sort of balm to treat these wounds?” he speaks up. He’s pacing around Magnus’ apothecary so fast Magnus feels dizzy. Fledgelings are like kittens, way too energetic and way too unaware of that. “An apothecary as big as this, and you only-”

Magnus doesn’t keep a lot of balms. He doesn’t need them himself, and when he needs one for someone else, he simply brews it. He thinks over a way to help Raphael calm down.

“I can magick it away,” he offers.

“No,” Raphael answers, turning his head towards Magnus sharply. “I did this, I have to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Magnus protests.

“I gripped you so tight it bruised, Magnus.”

“I told you, it doesn’t hurt. It’s, uh, a warlock thing.”

“Then why does it bruise?,” Raphael hisses. Then he takes a quick step back, like he’s been spooked. “Please don’t lie to me,” he says, voice small, head down.

Magnus’ heart aches. “It really didn’t hurt,” he tries.

“I know warlocks feel pain. I’ve seen Ragnor stub his toe, remember?”

Despite himself, Magnus snorts. “The old man is just dramatic.”

“I’m not about to dispute that,” Raphael mutters, “but I know that you don’t have a higher pain tolerance. And if you had, it would make no sense for the body to bruise. That’s a reaction to hurt.”

“Fine, it didn’t hurt a lot, then. I knew I could take it. I’m used to it.”

Raphael’s face turns even sadder, and Magnus scrambles his brain to find what he did wrong.

“I shouldn’t hurt you at all, Magnus.”

“Nonsense, it’s fine-”

“No mames, cabrón” Raphael mutters to himself. Magnus doesn’t know what that means, but with the way it stings with barely concealed anger, he doesn’t have to. “Just tell me where the balm is. Or whatever you use to treat this kind of wound.”

Magnus sighs, deciding not to argue over this anymore. Raphael is having a hard time, after all. “Third drawer to your left,” he says, silently magicking a little pot there. It’s not as good as his hand brewn one, of course, but it’s a little thing that will certainly lessen the purpleing. Raphael is by his side within a second, balm in hand. Magnus does jump this time, then curses himself for losing control like that.

“Sorry,” Raphael says.

“It’s alright,” Magnus says, “superspeed does that.”

“No,” Raphael clarifies, “well, yes, but I also meant- I’m just sorry.”

Magnus softens like a balloon deflates; so quick it’s scary. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says, turning to Raphael on instinct.

“I hurt you. You are already letting me stay here-”

“Don’t.”

Raphael scoffs. “It’s true.”

“No. I brought you here. I invited you to stay. I told you it was okay-”

“Right, and now I can’t believe you, can I, because clearly you would tell me that it was alright, and let me take and take, and get hurt!”

Magnus’ vision feels foggy. For a second, he doesn’t know why. “I-” he begins, but finds himself with no sentence to form.

Raphael’s tone is a lot quieter now. It still rings on Magnus ears, clear as water over the deafening silence that Raphael’s scream left behind. It’s like his shout itself created stillness.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, biting his lip, “I don’t want to, I- I’m scared of hurting anyone.”

Magnus’ tear falls, but his vision only clears for a second before the fogginess returns. “I’m sorry,” he says, feeling like a kid who just got scolded.

Raphael shakes his head, but there are no tears for him to wipe. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” he says, and it would sound like a laugh if it wasn’t so bitter. Magnus shrinks into himself again. “But don’t do that again. Don’t hurt to make me feel better. Te quiero, ¿sí? Y te quiero bién,” he says, so smoothly even Magnus feels calmed by the words, despite them being nowhere as familiar to him as they are to Raphael. “So your hurt won’t do me any good.”

“Okay,” Magnus says simply. He vaguely has the presence of spirit to admire Raphael for using Magnus’ own words against him like that. This boy is way smarter than he gives himself credit for. “Okay.”

Raphael’s lips quirk up, pursed and sad. “All right then. Let’s treat these bruises. Can you take off your shirt so I can see them better?”

Magnus nods. “Of course, my boy.”

*

Raphael crashes home like lightning on a sunny day; so sudden and loud you’re not even sure it happened.

He slumps against the door, shaking slightly, eyes shut like he’s trying to lock them away.

Magnus’ magic reaches out to him before he even thinks about it. “Raphael,” he says, getting up. There’s no sign of injuries. But he can barely stand straight.

Magnus doesn’t have the time to ask. He draws in a sharp breath, shaky and pained like a dying animal’s. “I went to see my sister.”

“Oh,” is all Magnus can say. Did he try to tell her? He knows Raphael’s family is very religious; maybe she didn’t want to accept him. His heart aches, filled with worst-case scenarios: did she try to kill him? Was he hurt? Did she cry? Did she scream at him to leave, terrified-

“I said goodbye,” Raphael finishes, words leaving his throat like a final breath. He shuts his eyes again, fists tightly against the door like they’re supporting him more than his legs are.

“Okay,” Magnus says, “okay.” He takes a deep breath so his voice sounds smooth and quiet, “let’s take you to the couch, yeah? Let’s rest a little.”

Raphael nods, slowly like he needs to think hard to remember how to do it. Magnus doesn’t let it deter him. “I’m going to put your arm over my shoulders, is that alright?” Raphael nods again. It’s a short walk to the couch, and he doesn’t need to support the entirety of Raphael’s weight, Raphael being more shaky than weak. But it feels like a run on the desert, feverishly painful.

He makes no move to go away once Raphael is settled (maybe he should have, he doesn’t know if he wants company, doesn’t know if he’s intruding, this is about his family, after all, what does Magnus understand-), but Raphael still grabs his arm once he lets him go. “It’s alright,” Magnus says, squeezing his knee slightly. “I’m here.”

Raphael nods again.

They stay in silence.

Magnus doesn’t know how long. Feels like years, his heart beating anxiously in his chest as Raphael cries, terrifyingly still. He shakes is an almost defiant way, his body held tight and tense, the few tears that manage to break free quickly wiped away. Magnus doesn’t know what to make of it, so he settles for caressing Raphael’s hair and repeating estarás bien every once in a while.

You’ll be alright. He’s not sure how effective it is, but every time he says it, Raphael nods, so he thinks that at the very least, it’s helping ground him a little.

Eventually, Raphael opens his eyes.

It’s only then that Magnus realizes he had been holding his breath, too.

His body is still tense, but he doesn’t relax, not yet.

His heart beats anxiously, and Raphael stays still.

“I said goodbye. It’s done,” is the first thing he says, tone boiling with finality. “I told her I couldn’t see her again.”

“Did you say why?” Magnus asks.

Raphael shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t.” He finally turns to look at Magnus, searching him like he expects to see judgement there. Magnus can’t judge him. Not one bit. Raphael turns away again, “It was dangerous enough to go see her, but- I knew how to not hurt her, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t not-”

He stops abruptly, taking another deep breath.

“She started crying as soon as she saw me. Hugged me so tight- if I was still a person she’d have broken my bones.”

“A mundane,” Magnus corrects; heart clenching and unable to let it go unchallenged.

“That’s what I meant.”

They look at each other.

Magnus caves. “So what did you tell her?”

“I told her that I’m okay. That she doesn’t need to worry. But that she won’t see me again. I used- that encanto thing, so she would think I told her before disappearing. I didn’t want her thinking I disappeared for almost four months only to-”

He puts his hand over Raphael’s. He’s gripping his own arm so tight Magnus is almost scared he’ll tear it off.

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he says, “she begged me to stay.”

Magnus’ heart goes out for the boy, and a part of him tangs with ugly, bitter jealousy. Rosa didn’t care what Raphael was. Didn’t care what happened. She still wanted to be with him.

He bites the inside of his mouth, trying to get rid of these thoughts. Raphael is suffering, he’s in pain, he’s lost the person he loves the most and yet here Magnus is, selfish as always-

Raphael finally turns to look at him, eyes puffy and shining with caged tears, and all of Magnus’ thoughts silence before the pain that he feels for him. “I’m so scared of leaving her alone, Magnus.”

“My boy.” Magnus is unable to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Raphael into a hug. The boy is shorter than him, and smaller, and he buries his face in Magnus’ chest as he doesn’t shake, doesn’t sob, doesn’t wrap his arms around Magnus too tight. It burns in a thousand different ways, this not-closeness, this cage of fear Raphael put himself in.

They’re both trapped within themselves, desperately afraid to step out, but still weakly trying to reach for each other.

“She told me we’d find a way. That I didn’t have to tell her what was happening, didn’t have to explain, that she would help me anyway. She kept- she kept trying, Magnus, and there was nothing I could do-” he laughs wetly. “I’ve always hated saying no to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says, because he is, and there’s nothing else he can say. Raphael can’t stay with her; that never goes well with anyone. Besides, the clave has been particularly adamant on keeping downworlders and mundanes strictly separated lately; Rosa’s life is not the only one at risk if Raphael stayed with her.

She might even accept him, but it’s worthless. All that means is that he has to be the one to leave.

It’s a completely different kind of tragedy, not at all like what happened to Magnus’ family all those centuries ago; yet it feels exactly the same.

“Lo siento,” he repeats, hoping the familiar sounds of Raphael’s language bring him comfort instead of pain. All he does in response is nod, so Magnus can’t be too sure, but he’s shaking a little less, seeming to ease a bit into the hug and the way Magnus strokes his hair.

“When we moved here,” Raphael starts. The sound of his voice startles Magnus a little bit, and he chides himself for getting distracted by the touch; he’s not the one who needs comfort, “Rosa was four. It was all- pretty fast. One day we were helping my mom sell enchiladas on the street, the other we went on a days-long trip. And suddenly, we didn’t know anything. Even the way we sat would get us weird looks. We couldn’t understand anyone. No one could understand us. She was terrified.”

Magnus swallows down the lump on his throat. He understands this way too well, having seen his mom’s language suddenly become forbidden in her own house. It’s scary, being locked away from the world like this.

“She stopped talking,” he continues. “At all. Even in spanish, at home, to our mom- she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t cry out when she was distressed, or in pain. She wouldn’t yelp in surprise. It was like she was mute.”

“She must have been scared,” Magnus says, trying to sound sympathetic, and not like he had no idea what to say.

“It was scary. I think- if she wasn’t there, I might have done the same thing.”

Magnus keeps stroking his hair.

“But I couldn’t, because I had to take care of her. Our mom couldn’t. There was so much on her plate. I was so worried for Rosa. She was so bright, and funny, and smart, way more than me. Still is. I wish you could have met her,” he sighs. Magnus knows he’s grieving over that, too, all the things he didn’t do. “Seeing her so quiet, I couldn’t take it. I talked to our neighbors, they taught me English, so I could speak for her, and explain things to her. We made our own kind of sign language, so I could understand what she meant- and one day she started talking to me.

“Not anyone else, just me,” Raphael continues, “I would go with her everywhere. She would talk to me, and make jokes, and laugh - and then someone else would say something around us, and she would draw back again. It was terrible, seeing her so scared, kept away from the world. But I could be her bridge, and with that, she got to learn at her own pace. I didn’t, so I know that that’s a big deal.”

“It’s terrible,” Magnus agrees, “walking blindly trying to find straws to grasp, knowing you can’t afford to make mistakes.”

Raphael hums. “Did you have to leave after- your stepfather, too?”

“Well, no. I was found by my father soon after. But after I ran away from him - I was in a completely different country, in a completely different time, and I didn’t know anyone.”

Raphael nods again, in a way Magnus knows means he’s paying attention to what he says. His fingers start tracing little circles on Magnus’ belly, and he looks serious, like he’s trying to commit this information to memory.

He doesn’t ask anything, though, and Magnus is glad for that.

“You went through it so she didn’t have to,” he states. “That was pretty brave.” He knows Raphael isn’t a lot older than Rosa. From what he’s told Magnus, two or three years, tops. He can’t imagine it, being only six and having to figure out your own on the world, with the responsibility of someone else on your shoulders.

“I don’t regret it. I kept trying to teach her English, even if she wouldn’t say anything when I did. I knew she was listening. Eventually she started talking again. First with my mom and the neighbors, in Spanish, then a little English then and there. She can speak perfectly now.”

Magnus nods. “She’s strong, too.”

“She is.” Raphael’s smile is unbearably sad, barely a tug, his eyes too still. “But to me- I still see that little girl who was too scared to stand up for herself. She’s so- great, and happy, and I was supposed to be there, to take the blows for her, to make sure she keeps- she doesn’t-”

Raphael shakes his head. “I know she can do without me,” he continues, “but I don’t want her to have to. And I- I don’t want to do without her.”

There’s a sob at the end of the sentence, and then a few more. It’s way more quiet than the breakdown he had when Magnus first found him, or that fateful day when he finally caved and tried to eat the blood on Magnus’ stock; he’s not crying with abandon. He holds himself tight, and hides his face on Magnus’ chest, and doesn’t make too much noise.

That makes it even more heartbreaking.

“I had to run away,” Raphael says. “When she started crying, telling me to stay. I had to run away so she wouldn’t see me break down. I turned my back on her. I’m so sorry. God, Dios, I’m so sorry-”

“You’re protecting her,” Magnus tries to reassure him. He knows it’s pointless, but he tries anyway. At the very least, he doesn’t want Raphael to feel guilty for doing the right thing. “You didn’t turn your back. She knows this. She knows you wouldn’t turn her back on her, Raphael. She knows.”

“I couldn’t even hug her,” is all Raphael answers, muffled by the tears.

Magnus holds him tighter, purely on instinct. He feels a little silly; he’s nowhere near the comfort Raphael wants. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and Magnus is nothing but the reminder that his life is all upside down.

A crazy, lonely warlock who can barely handle his own baggage. That’s all he has to offer to Raphael.

But he’ll still offer it.

“Lo siento,” he repeats again, “cry away, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Lo siento.” Then, because he feels like Raphael doesn’t know it, and he needs to, “you’re a good man, Raphael. You’re so good to your sister. She won’t forget that.”

It makes Raphael sob harder, but he keeps it up, knows he needs to know it, and needs to let it out too. “You did good,” “you’re a good brother,” “you’re so strong,” “I’m proud of you.” He barely notices it when the first “te quiero” slips; probably wouldn’t have had at all, if Raphael hadn’t immediately answered.

“Te quiero también,” he says. It’s the first thing he’s said since Magnus started talking.

Magnus takes that as a win, and continues to comfort him, letting Raphael cry himself to sleep.

Once he does, instead of pulling away, Magnus simply lies down on the couch, and sleeps right there with him, hand still tangled in Raphael’s hair.

It’s as much for his sake as it is for Raphael’s.

*

When Magnus gets home, back from a day of shopping for potion ingredients and getting some more blood to replenish his supply, the sun is about to set. He’s pleasantly tired, ready to waste the rest of his evening away with Raphael, who must be waking up.

He closes the door behind him, and there’s a blur in his peripheral vision. Fast and noisy and going straight in Magnus’ direction, too fast for him to even process anything but the threat.

The worst part is, his first instinct is to freeze. The flinch is all but imperceptible, the move to cover his face and not really defend himself; he doesn’t move, doesn’t jump, his magic doesn’t react in time. Pliant. Helpless.

He registers that, bitterly and with just the narrow - sharp - edge of fear, before he registers that it’s just Raphael.

Who’s looking miserable. And also has a bag in hand.

“Sorry,” Magnus says, at the same time, and his tone just as small, as Raphael. He almost laughs to himself at the ridiculous pair they make, before he’s distracted by his double take. Raphael has a bag in hand.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Magnus says, his body looking as if it’s waiting for the bell to ring so he can move. Undecided on his next step. “What’s going on?”

“I think I should leave,” Raphael answers, and even if it’s a direct answer to his question, it still feels abrupt. “I was just getting my things and waiting for the sun to set. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Oh.

He- wasn’t expecting that, somehow. Raphael had been doing well lately, but he hadn’t really found a clan. Magnus wasn’t even aware that he was getting close to other vampires. “Okay,” he says, like he hadn’t been planning on watching a movie with Raphael that night, or teaching him how to make potions next week - Raphael had mentioned that he liked cooking, but it was too painful to do that just yet when he knew he couldn’t eat, so Magnus was thinking of teaching him how to make some potions that didn’t require magic, have him reconnect, somehow, with his hobby. Then again, it’s not like he told Raphael about any of these plans. He just- assumed. “Where are you going?” is the first thing he asks, stomach churning at the idea that it’s the New York Clan. He doesn’t want Raphael with- her. Then again, it’s not any of his business.

Raphael looks, if possible, even more miserable. “I’m not sure. For now I was just going to look for the nearest one. Then I’d see where would be best.” Then, mumbling to himself, almost like some sort of reassurance, “New York is big, there must be plenty of clans.”

Actually, there is only one, because Camille has been systematically dismantling and destroying other clans for decades now, and Magnus stops and frowns. Raphael doesn’t even know about the clan situation in New York. Why is he in such a rush to move?

Magnus sits down on the couch opposite from him, slowly. Like he’s afraid of scaring Raphael away. Once he’s settled down, legs crossed, arms relaxed, he speaks, “wouldn’t you rather know the clan before you move there? It’s a pretty big commitment,” as softly as he can. Maybe Raphael needs a change, he reasons with himself. Or maybe he just wants to get away from here. “If the problem is the loft, I can always redecorate it. Or I can find an hotel for you to stay,” he offers. Raphael shakes his head vehemently, like Magnus’ words are attacking him.

“No. I don’t want to take even more from you.”

Understanding downs on Magnus like the descending of an elevator, and suddenly he feels silly. Of course. He should have known. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, “you not wanting to impose?”

“I think we can both agree that I overextended my stay here.”

“You must have really good persuasion skills, then,” Magnus answers, raising an eyebrow. Raphael always speaks - clearly, for lack of a better word, almost technically, his terms precise and specific. But when he talks like that, like the lines were taken from a textbook, Magnus knows that he’s speaking from rationality, not from heart. He can’t say he likes it.

Raphael just looks at him for a moment, brow just slightly furrowed. Like even he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the end, he replies like Magnus hadn’t said anything, “I’ve been here for months. Just staying and- crying.” He says it like he’s tripping, and there it is. That little lapse of truth. Magnus tries to grab it with all his might. Subtly.

“If I recall correctly, you also tended to my bruises right on the first month,” he says, “and showed me some really good music the other night.”

Raphael grimaces like Magnus is being difficult. “You know what I mean. You’ve been way too kind to me. I can’t keep taking advantage,” he says, sincerely.

“You’re not taking advantage. It doesn’t bother me.”

Raphael chuckles, like the idea is a joke. “You don’t mind a stranger staying at your house, feeding off your supply, needing your help at every turn for three months?”

“It’s hardly a stranger if they’ve been living with me for three months.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, sighing, like he’s drained, like he’s trying to get every ounce of air to have the energy to keep going. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s because I appreciate it that I can’t keep doing this. I’m pulling you down, taking your space. I have to go and figure this out on my own.”

“I don’t think you’re underappreciating me,” Magnus answers sincerely, and for a second, it feels like his own offer of vulnerability to Raphael, “I think you’re underappreciating yourself.”

“It’s not about me,” Raphael says after a second of silence. “It’s just. I’ve been taking too much from you. And I know you’ll just keep letting me. Don’t tell me it isn’t true,” he adds when Magnus makes just the smallest of moves, “It’s not fair. You’re giving me a house, things to- feed, emotional support. You were there for me after Rosa, you-” Raphael falters, and that’s new. He hardly ever leaves a sentence unfinished, unless he’s having a breakdown. “It’s too much,” he finishes softly, painfully.

“It’s not,” Magnus says, just as softly. He sees Raphael shake his head, like he’s ready to say that Magnus is lying, so he takes a split second decision. “Having you here far outweights it.”

It’s his own display of vulnerability, but it’s not incidental, this time. It’s not an offer for Raphael to take, either; it’s a promise of honesty he makes to the both of them. He doesn’t want this conversation to be over before it even starts.

So he continues. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Raphael looks positively shocked, the force of it taking up all of his features, like he hadn’t even considered that option. He looks more shocked than he did when he first saw Magnus using magic. Magnus tries not to let that sting too much, not to think, did I do something wrong? Does he really not know?. Tries not to wonder if he’s so closed off he’s forgotten how to love. If he’s denying that boy the affection he so clearly needs, even as he feels it. If he’s becoming Camille, or his father.

“Having you here… It’s been doing me good. You have no idea how much,” he confesses, a little scared of how scared he is of saying it. “You’ve been giving way more than you think,” he finishes, nowhere near satisfied with what he’s managed to express, but still not knowing how he could continue.

“I don’t understand,” Raphael says, and the sincerity of it cuts Magnus.

“I-,” Magnus doesn’t look at him. He can’t. There’s something grabbing at his throat, a mix of fear and pride, the kind that’s heavy, that pulls you down. “I’ve been lonely,” he manages.

Raphael still looks lost, almost afraid, like a lone sailor who sees a storm approaching. So out of his depth it’s terrifying.

Magnus sighs and pauses, trying to gather himself, because he feels the same way. He's never even talked about this with anyone who wasn't there when it happened - and even then, Ragnor, Cat, and Dot had gotten a version with more furtive silences than words. Because they were there, and they knew how to fill the gaps.

Talking about his mum had been easier. Hell, even his father.

Camille was different. And he battled within himself, simultaneously sure that he was just telling this to Raphael to force him to stay, and that telling him would drive him away for good. And that's just typical, with Camille - all paths are equally painful, and all lead to the same place, no matter how wildly different and even conflicting.

So, in a fit of stubbornness, and defiance, he does the opposite of what he's convinced he should do. He tells Raphael.

"I had an ex. A vampire. Over a century ago," he begins, and has it been this long? It definitely doesn't feel like it, the wound fresh and rotting like it was carved only yesterday, like it was being carved right now, "she drove me away from almost everyone." He admits quietly, and feels, strangely, like what Raphael had described a confession to be like. "Even Ragnor, and Catarina. I-" deep breath, "I haven't been able to bounce back."

"What did she do?" Raphael asks, and his voice is quiet, soothing, as if it's holding Magnus' hand. But there's a strain underneath, too, something that sounds like the fire that burns in his eyes, that rightful fury that reminded him of hell. A fire Magnus had only really seen in the eyes of those who believe in it.

"Honestly? I don't know," Magnus says, truthfully, despairingly, like he hates the words. "It was just exhausting. Terrifying. Every time I looked, it seemed I was more cornered than before, and I was so scared of being alone, scared enough that I'd just… Let her do what she wanted," he admits, the shame burning hot in his throat, scratching him raw, leaving him defenseless and burning and weak like before. But he pushes through, a miracle in and of itself, "and she convinced me that she was the only one who could ever love, or even like, me."

Raphael looks at him, that fiery gaze even more intense than before, and Magnus can't face it, because if he does, it'll take him over, and he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve its protectiveness. It'll burn him, because he's unworthy, and he's weak, and heavenly fire is poison to people like him.

His hands are clenched so tight they're shaking, and he focuses on them, on the grounding pain, on the movements of his fingers as he rubs them together. "When I freezed, today," he says, his voice sounding shaky, and small, and pathetic, "it was instinct. Something I learnt from her. When she was mad, she would come to me running, just like you did," so fast he just heard the noise of the disgruntled air being cut by her body, sharp and loud and destructive, "sometimes she'd shove me, sometimes she wouldn't. But I never knew, so sometimes I flinched, and that would - really hurt her. So I learnt not to flinch, just freeze and brace myself to keep from hitting my head."

Raphael hisses, and Magnus jolts, seeing his fangs are drawn out. He covers his mouth with his hands quickly, looking a little sorry, but still burning, rage, anger, fury. He's getting better at controlling himself, though, because he manages to draw them back, and say "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, that's - probably the last thing you want to hear now is a vampire hissing."

Magnus chuckles, humorless, "it's ok, my boy. You don't scare me, just- like I said, it was instinct."

"Still, I don't want to force you to remember that. If I had known what I was doing to you-"

"No!" Magnus says, with that kind of strength and conviction that jolts his whole body, his brain only processing that he said it after he already had. "No, no, Raphael, I'm sorry, that's not what I was trying to say at all, my boy, I'm sorry-"

"I just never expected to be hurting you on top of-"

"You don't! That's what I was trying to say-"

"Please, Magnus, what can I do to-"

"No, my boy, no," he says, this time calm, but firm, and Raphael silences. Briefly, he notices that he got up at some point.

Raphael looks at him, and his eyes are big and wild and expectant, like he's waiting to follow Magnus' lead, and it's heartwarming and confusing and helps him keep talking.

"It's not about that. You hadn't even done anything that reminded me of her before this, today," he says softly, softer than he's ever heard himself talk. "And it was just a split second. Believe me."

"I believe you," Raphael answers, nodding. Magnus smiles.

"What I am trying to say," he continues, making a show of sitting back down on the couch, all relaxed body and certain movements, and he can see Raphael visibly relax on his own couch, "is that after her, I was afraid that everyone would hurt me. I was afraid that I'd let them, like I had let her. I put up walls, and I made a front for myself, and I didn't let anyone get close. I didn't make any new friends. And I felt as lonely as I thought I would once she left me."

Raphael looks at him with something akin to shock in his eyes, but Magnus just keeps going, not stopping to think of the implications of that. "You're the first person who got close to me. You're my friend, and having you here has been doing me so good," he confesses, "to remind me that I don't have to be lonely, that I won't be. You haven't just been taking, my boy, you've given me so much. So-," he stops when he sees Raphael get up and walk towards him.

The hug is almost sudden, even if it follows very slow, calculated movements, the kind that is designed to give you every out. Magnus overflows with it, even with the awkward position of him sitting and Raphael standing, even with the limited contact. Raphael's face hides into his shoulder, and he feels fierce, strong protectiveness in place of the vulnerability from before.

"So," he chokes out, "I really don't want you to go."

Raphael nods. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

"None of that," Magnus laughs, a little wobbly, like he's overloaded.

Raphael huffs, suspiciously fond. Then he says, "te quiero, Magnus."

Magnus' eyes widen only slightly, and he answers, "te quiero también."

*

Magnus stumbles down the street, trying to support himself on a nearby house’s wall. He’s close; only a matter of two blocks before he gets home, but he feels like he’s been walking there forever. He’s so exhausted he didn’t even manage to portal himself home.

It had been an emergency call - a friend of Catarina’s who had recently adopted a little warlock girl reported her missing. They went straight to Magnus. He had been dedicating a lot of his time to that, recently, many warlocks reaching out to him when there was some kind of emergency.

He’s always kind of fulfilled that role, helping people when they needed it, but recently the number of calls he’d gotten had skyrocketed.

People have been speaking of making him High Warlock of The City Of New York.

There’s no High Warlock of The City Of New York.

He doesn’t even know if there are any High Warlocks for specific cities; distance is not a problem, so High Warlock positions usually cover a pretty large area. Hell, some of them cover entire countries. The Iberian Peninsula has only one, and most of the time she is so bored she petitioned to be able to make regular warlock work as well.

(It was approved.)

But New York - New York had been messy, and scary, recently. There had been a rise on hate crimes, and most of the downworlder community was on edge - but especially warlocks, who had been preferential victims of kidnapping. Crazy shadowhunters wanting to study “demon blood”.

They weren’t very organized political groups - yet. But the number of hateful shadowhunter groups had been on the rise, and the Clave had done nothing to stop it - not that anyone expected them to.

And New York, well, it had a pretty high warlock population density, and a particularly uncaring Institute in the hands of particularly bigoted shadowhunters. It was the best place for hate groups to start, and the High Warlock of the state hadn’t been managing to handle all the calls from all the population.

Hence why Magnus had been called in so many times, and why people were speaking of giving him a position.

He’s not sure if he should take it - certainly there are people more fit for the job than him. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on his people in such a hard time, and he never believed a lot in institutions such as the High Warlock position in times like this. And - well, he isn’t sure if he would be able to manage all of the region’s problems, his own, and also take care of Raphael.

Not that Raphael needs him a lot - he was more and more independent these days, long used or at least resigned to his vampire life. He has started volunteering as a cook in a nearby shelter, something Magnus had learnt filled him with joy; he’s made a few other downworlder friends, even a few vampires. It has been over a year - soon, Magnus guesses, he won’t need Magnus anymore, and will look for a real place to live in.

Magnus is - scared of that.

He doesn’t want to - he should be happy for Raphael, and he is, he truly is. He’s glad he’s making friends, going outside, finding joy, reconnecting with himself, his love for cooking, finding a place and a community. He’s proud of him, even. He would never want Raphael to be dependant on him, unhappy and lonely.

Honestly, Magnus is probably the dependant one.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Raphael - he had been feeling so lonely before him, even with his small group of friends, with his regular visits to Pandemonium; he had no one to talk to and no one to give him company for more than an hour or two. He and Raphael had settled into an easy routine; for the first time in, who knows, so long, Magnus felt like he had someone to share his life with, somewhere to belong, something he could be a part of.

It scared him to know he’d lose that soon. Raphael won’t want to see him again once he leaves - Magnus is probably a walking reminder of the worst moments of his life, anyway.

Seeing him leave will hurt.

But as long as Raphael is still there, he’ll want to focus on him, because Raphael doesn’t have anywhere else to go, while there are plenty of competent warlocks who could take a High Warlock position. He doesn’t want to leave his people, and he won’t - which is precisely why he won’t take such a responsibility if he can’t have it be his priority. Even if he knows Raphael probably won’t be there for much longer.

But he doesn’t want to prepare for that ahead of time. He doesn’t want to face the inevitability of it.

He’s just so scared of being left. Even if he knows it’ll happen. Has to happen. For Raphael’s happiness. For his good. It’s not like Raphael - owes it to him to keep in touch, to see him, when Magnus knows that he had no choice when he decided to stay with Magnus, and he probably only represents more pain for the boy.

So he supposes he’ll cross that bridge when it comes crashing down under his feet.

He’s alright with that - it’s not like preparing himself will really lessen the pain.

The visits that end up being shorter and shorter, the calls that will stop being returned, the furtive running when Raphael encounters Magnus by chance - Magnus knows he’ll pull away slowly, because Raphael is a nice boy, and he probably thinks that it would be ungrateful to cut Magnus off his life completely once he leaves.

But the disgust- the bad memories will win out, eventually.

And that’s okay. Magnus doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Much less to Raphael - he’s not only company, not just someone to fill the hole Camille left in his heart; Raphael might be the person that comes closest to understanding him. He knows about Magnus’ past, and he understands what it’s like to lose everything you knew in just a day. He’s hilariously sarcastic and never endingly good, he cares for others more than he cares about himself sometimes, he has a patience Magnus could never hope for and a cool head that never meant a cold heart. Magnus was so proud of him, of how he acted and his values, he could cry. He loved Raphael like he’d love a son, and he’d rather die than make Raphael suffer, force him to revisit the times that almost managed to dull his light and pull him away from the very things he dedicated his heart to.

He wishes he could be something other than darkness in people’s lives, though.

At least he managed to save today’s girl - she had been kidnapped by a small, but vicious shadowhunter supremacist group, and even her caretaker couldn’t find her.

Magnus had been trying to find her for a few days, when he supposed one of the shadowhunters slipped up. He got a try. He got to her fairly easily, but he didn’t know what state she was in, or what they were planning. Catarina was working a shift, Ragnor took too long to answer, and Dot was helping the actual High Warlock with another problem she couldn’t tell them about. But Magnus didn’t have time to wait, so it was just him and Kai - the girl’s caretaker.

Kai was also a warlock, although a pretty young one - only starting to venture into their 50s. Noelani, the girl, was only 7, just old enough to start to get a real hold of her magic, and just naïve enough to let people know about that. They had been on visit in New York, Kai having been called to speak about gender colonialism at a Nā ʻŌiwi NYC event. As their tutor - Noelani wanted to be a kahuna lapa’au, a magical healer, and, as the only other warlock and seeing as māhūs were traditionally responsible for keeping alive the traditional hawaiian practices, Kai had taken her under their wing - Kai had taken her with them, and the bright, overly enthusiastic about sharing her knowledge of magic, girl had attracted the attention of shadowhunters. About halfway through the month-long event, she went missing, and Kai called to Catarina, who was helping them both with healing magic, and who called for Magnus’ help.

Taking down the shadowhunters with their combined power wasn’t hard, even if Magnus did most of the work - there were only 4 of them, although he suspects they might have other connections. But the last one managed to cut Magnus with her sword, and, as it turned out, it had magic-suppressing venom.

If Kai hadn’t given her the final blow, Magnus could have been in deep trouble.

As it was, though, they were both fine, and they managed to leave with Noelani safe, the shadowhunters’ little lair burnt to a crisp, and their bodies sent over to the nearest clave branch. Magnus knew the clave wouldn’t mind, because that way they could return the bodies to their families, say they died honorably in some battle, and once it was clear that the crimes were stopping, take credit for solving the problem.

“Protecting the downworlder community is part of our job,” they kept saying, even as they did a piss-poor one.

But Magnus couldn’t portal back, and, because Kai had never been to his loft, the best they could do to help was portal him somewhere in Brooklyn. Magnus didn’t have any money for the subway or a cab either, so walking it was. Noelani and Kai had offered to walk him to the loft, but he had waved them off, saying that he was fine, just needed a magic replenishing potion; and besides, they were scared and needed time to cool down. A walk would probably do him good, anyway, get some exercise and a bit of fresh air after so long working on this case.

It was all true, at the time. But the venom seemed to have longer-term effects that were much slower on the uptake. By the time he reached the street of his loft, he was exhausted, his wound was bleeding out, and he had trouble walking as well as breathing.

By the looks of it, the shadowhunters were succeeding in creating new weapons against downworlders. Fantastic.

He would be fine though. He just needed to get home, take his magic replenishing potion, and then get rid of the venom. Worst case scenario, he’d call Catarina. She’d know what to do, and if she didn’t, she would figure it out. She was smart like that.

So that’s what Magnus is telling himself as he limps down the last bit he needs in order to get home, the magic replenishing potion is on the apothecary, right on the first drawer, you just need to drink it, have a stamina potion if you need to keep yourself awake as well, you’ll be fine, as he stops for a moment to get some breath, almost there, just this little breath and you’ll be fine, no need to panic, it’s okay to go slow, as he starts walking once again, just that corner and a few more steps and that’ll be it, the wards will let you in, it’s so close now, come on, as he turns around the corner, there’s a shadowhunter at my doorstep.

There’s a shadowhunter at his doorstep.

Magnus blood runs cold, and instinctively he freezes, but the shadowhunter immediately turns to look at him. They’re like sharks, they can smell his blood as soon as it starts to drip down, showing his weakness. They thrive on it.

This guy is not here as a clave representative - if he were, that wouldn’t be much better, but the fact that he’s not makes even more anxiety pool deep inside of him. Magnus didn’t tell them he was the one who gave them the bodies, and if they traced the magic back, it would be Kai’s, not his. Besides, the shadowhunter’s alone, and smiling, and shadowhunters never smile when it comes to clave business.

He also has a huge seraph blade drawn and at the ready. And shadowhunters do smile when it comes to using these.

“Magnus Bane,” he says, almost conversationally, except for his distinctly threatening stance. Magnus figures the snarl at the end of his words is just how he’d normally say any downworlder’s name. “I knew we should have come for you sooner. This little chat of ours is long overdue, don’t you think?”

Were he not in a distinctly weakened state, Magnus would be rolling his eyes. Shadowhunters’ one-liners were always absolutely terrible, and the fact that they always said it like they were evil geniuses only made it more cringe-worthy.

But Magnus is is a distinctly weakened state, and he can’t afford himself to relax, not when he know he’s slow and weak and has no magic. So he stays still, and stops his automatic magic functions - his magic already subconsciously keeps his glamour up and his adrenal glands producing testosterone, even when Magnus is too weak to use it consciously, much in the same way that his body would keep breathing if Magnus were in a coma. Right now, though, he needs every reserve he can get, and he’s also hoping that having his warlock mark exposed will make him look more ready for the fight than he actually is. Maybe even make the shadowhunter feel a bit more threatened.

It doesn’t. He’s starting to shake in weakness and the shadowhunter only lets out a low whistle. “Oh, I love it when you do this. You guys try so hard to hide it, pretend you’re real people, don’t you? But this is when you show who you really are. Ugly, deformed animals. You know it, and you can’t hide it, not when it matters.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if he could. He just looks at him, his vision at least a little better with his natural eyes out at night, his legs shaking slightly as he tries to keep himself upright, his throat closing up in fear and the almost childish refusal to let the shadowhunter’s words truly sink in.

He’s too weak to throw a punch. He’s too slow to run, and has no place to go to. He has no weapon. He barely has enough magic to create some sparkles, even now that he ceased all of its functions. He can’t send a fire message to call for help. Raphael isn’t home. Maybe if the shadowhunter lunges at him and he can reach his throat, he can use the last of his magic to taze him, but even that’s a long shot. He can feel his magic getting weaker and weaker, and the shadowhunter’s sword is long. He has no strength, he has no speed. He has just enough adrenaline running to keep up with what’s going on. The shadowhunter lets out a disdainful, “bring it on, warlock,” and makes towards him.

And it hits him. He’s going to die.

He’s going to die the only way he never wanted to - by the hands of greedy, hateful killers, his body to be used to inspire more fear in his people. Weaponized against those he tried to protect.

And painfully.

Bleeding out. Beaten up. Helpless and tired. And something tells him this shadowhunter won’t mind taking his sweet time with him.

Magnus falls as soon as the shadowhunter’s body hits him, a full force launch that knocks him down easy. So easy the shadowhunter himself loses his balance for a second, not expecting so little resistance, and in his stumble Magnus manages to touch his neck.

But not to conjure any magic.

He realizes, belatedly, that he should have gone for his eyes. It wouldn’t require much strength, and if he fell down, Magnus would have a chance of making it to his loft. He could even call Catarina the mundane way from there, not to mention he had his wards.

But he didn’t. He tries to reach up with his other hand, but the shadowhunter lands a punch to his exposed ribs before he can. When his arms fall down from the blow, he steps down on Magnus’ shoulder, hard, not enough to break anything, but enough for him to scream, which is just humiliating.

He’s going to die, and he can feel the cold of the seraph blade against his throat, and the shadowhunter is probably saying something, and he doesn’t know how he could move without cutting himself right now, and he’s too weak to do anything, and the adrenaline is only helping him panic, not think, and the shadowhunter is probably laughing, enjoying his weakness like they always do, and he’s going to die, and that might be his last thought, he’s going to die, alone and weak and hated and not even managing to put up a real fight, this shadowhunter is going to kill him, and he’s going to die.

Raphael lunges at the shadowhunter and breaks his neck.

It cracks like wood under someone’s feet, and just like that, he’s gone.

“Raphael,” is all Magnus can manage, and it’s a useless thing to say, but it’s the only one he wants to right now.

Raphael. Raphael. He’s here. He saved Magnus.

“Magnus,” he answers, his voice laced with all the fear Magnus was feeling before, and Magnus can barely register why. Suddenly, he’s lying on his couch, and there’s noises of things being open and thrown out so fast coming from his apothecary he kind of snaps into life again.

“Mierda, mierda, mierda, carajo, coñ- puta madre, ese desgraciado puso esa mierda en su- vamos, vamos, por favor, Magnus-”

Magnus has no idea what he’s saying, even if he has a feeling he could piece it together if he could think clearly right now, but Spanish is far from coming naturally to him. Still, Raphael says his name with so much anguish, Magnus feels the need to intervene.

“First drawer of my desk. Magic replenishing,” he says, still a little weak. Raphael is at his feet so fast he can’t help but jump, and Raphael’s face does something that Magnus can only describe as twisting.

“Sorry,” he says, and for a second Magnus marvels at the fact that Raphael knows, that he understands. He’s forgotten what that felt like, to have someone know, to not have to fake smiles whenever he was forced to remember. “Please drink, Magnus, please,” he insists when Magnus looks at him for too long.

Magnus gives him a small nod, then downs the potion. He can feel his magic spark to life again, slowly filling back up. He feels more aware, more grounded, even if still tired.

Raphael looks at him expectantly, like he’s hoping for Magnus to start floating or curing himself, so he feels the need to explain, “it’ll take a while for it to fully take effect.”

Raphael tenses in a way that tells Magnus that if he had weaker self control he’d be bouncing around the walls. “We can’t wait. Magnus. What else can I do? Please-”

“Did you- my wound-”

“Applied pressure, bandaged a little, I couldn’t find-”

“Third drawer, the little purple thing. I also need a stamina potion. I’m afraid I don’t have this one at the ready.”

Raphael is back with his balm. “Should I call Catarina? I couldn’t remember her number.”

Magnus shakes his head, even if he’s a little unsure. He doesn’t want to bother Catarina, but he also doesn’t want to put more stress on Raphael. Then again, standing in the sidelines while Catarina works would probably only make him more agitated. “You can make it pretty easily. Just mix some ginger powder, grinded malagueta, honey, and werewolf fangs. Equal parts. They’re in my apothecary, all labeled-”

“Like this?” he has all the ingredients in an instant, and mixes them in front of Magnus, like he’s afraid of doing it unsupervised. Magnus knows he’s far from a boy, but when he’s like this, so eager to help and anxious for his guidance, Magnus can’t help thinking of him like one.

Like a son, he tries not to think, even if he knows, deep down, that that’s what he feels. He’s watched Raphael grow and build himself, has seen him change and open up and look up to Magnus for help, for advice. He’s held him as he cried and been shocked to find out Raphael could do the same, too. Every time he sees Raphael helping others, or making new friends, or starting new projects, pride swells in his chest as if ready to burst. Raphael is his own man, but Magnus also feels that a part of him is permanently with him, and a part of him is permanently changed by Raphael’s presence.

It’s terrible, and he knows it. Raphael has his own family. The last thing he’d ever want would be to replace them.

But Magnus can’t help it.

So instead of saying any of that, Magnus just nods, and adds the last bit of magic that the potion needed to hold up, and drinks it in spoonfuls as Raphael carefully lifts his bandages, cleans his wound up with alcohol - for the second time, Magnus can tell now that he’s paying attention, and either Raphael was incredibly fast or he was more out of it than he thought - and spreads the balm in deliberately slow strokes.

It fills him to the brim with a mix of pride and some sort of love that’s almost painful, aching. He knows Raphael is doing it not to scare him and he feels so- touched, he can barely compute it.

He tries to reign it back in before any tears could make their presence known, and by the time Raphael is done, the wound is already closing and Magnus can feel his glamour snapping back into place and his hormone activity returning to normal. Soon the magic will finish what the balm started and the wound will be closed. He’ll just have to check to make sure the venom is out of his system. But if his simple magic replenishing potion was enough to undo its effect, he supposes it can’t hold up for more than a few hours.

“Water,” Raphael says, resolutely, “and food.”

“I don’t think I should eat,” Magnus protests, and immediately regrets it when Raphael’s eyes widen like he just passed out. No matter how much time passes, he never fully gets used to Raphael’s idea that feeding a person will solve all their problems.

Not that the idea itself is that foreign to him, but - the gesture is. No one’s really worried about that since he lost his mother.

“It’ll slow down the healing potion,” he explains, “I haven’t fully absorbed it.”

Raphael keeps still for a second, like he struggles to process that, but then he nods. “Water, then,” he says in a tone of finality that Magnus wouldn’t have dared to protest, even if he hadn’t noticed that he’s actually pretty thirsty. When he comes back with a cup and the hugest water bottle Magnus had on the fridge, he ends up drinking it all, and then some more after Raphael fills it again, until finally he feels like he’s stable enough to fully settle into his tiredness. His head falls back on the couch, and he closes his eyes as he hears Raphael shuffle about and carefully sit beside him.

Once he’s done, Raphael wraps his arms around Magnus and rests his face on Magnus’ shoulder, and Magnus has the weird feeling that he’s comforting Raphael as much as Raphael’s comforting him, even if that makes no real sense. His grip is so tight it almost hurts, but it’s exactly that Magnus needs, comforting and putting the best kind of pressure over him, grounding him, making him feel- safe. Raphael knows it, he realizes, he’s been living with Magnus long enough to know what he needs for comfort.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Raphael asks, slightly muffled. His hands are rubbing up and down Magnus’ arm, where they meet, like he wants to make sure Magnus knows he’s real.

“I feel fine,” he replies, and it’s not a lie. “My mind isn’t foggy anymore, my magic is going back to normal, the wound is closing. Soon I’ll be good as new,” he half-jokes. Raphael just nods, but otherwise doesn’t move an inch, and Magnus allows himself to just bask in that presence, that feeling of- home.

(He shouldn’t think it, he really shouldn’t. Not when he knows this is the last place Raphael would want to call his home)

“Are you okay?” Magnus finds himself asking, when the silence starts to feel heavy enough to put itself between them. Raphael looks at him like he’s crazy, and Magnus would feel sheepish if he had enough energy for that.

“He didn’t even touch me, Magnus, I’m fine,” Raphael says, in a slightly confused but still reassuring tone, like he’s afraid Magnus hasn’t processed what went down.

“You killed him,” Magnus replies, shame lodged at the base of his throat.

He couldn’t defend himself. He was weak, and dependant, and Raphael had had to step in for him. Raphael, who almost starved himself so he wouldn’t hurt others, who paid penance almost every day, who could barely handle the thought of upsetting someone else. He killed someone because Magnus was too weak.

He imagines catching the boy on his knees again, burning himself with ashes because of this, and the thought makes his stomach churn.

“Yeah,” Raphael says, still rubbing his arm affectionately, the touch grounding, “yeah, he’s gone, it’s okay.”

He thinks of his father’s voice, booming and disdainful. You’re weak. Thinks of feeling stuck, of being a burden, dependant. You need me. Thinks of Camille-

“Magnus,” Raphael says again, a note of desperation in his voice. He always got so lost when it seemed like Magnus lost his footing, and it only made him feel more responsible. “Magnus, it’s okay. You’re safe. He’s gone. You have your wards. I’m here. No one else-”

“I know. I just… I didn’t want to make you do this,” he admits, embarrassed. It makes him feel more childish, the way there’s nothing he can do. Nothing he could have done. He put yourself in danger, and he wasn’t strong enough to end it himself. If-

“Magnus,” Raphael interrupts, sounding shocked, “he was going to kill you.”

Magnus nods, a self deprecating smile on his lips. “I know.”

Raphael swallows, and Magnus can feel the distress in his movements, in the way his hands twitch, and his arms sometimes press a little too tight against Magnus for just a second. “Please tell me you weren’t going to let him,” Raphael says, “please tell me you weren’t- Magnus,” he pleads.

“I wasn’t going to let him,” he says, “I just. Couldn’t win. Of course I would, if I had the chance, I just. Wish I hadn’t made you- I know how you feel about hurting others.”

He turns to look at Raphael, even if it slightly upsets their embrace, and his eyes are wide like he can barely process what Magnus just said. He wonders, briefly, if Raphael hadn’t realized what he had done, until Raphael speaks. “Magnus. He was going to kill you. I would kill him a thousand times over. Honestly, I- I won’t even ask for forgiveness for this one.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to do with these words. They hit him like cold water, shocking but way too quick for him to realize it.

“I don’t care, Magnus,” Raphael says, even more emphatic this time.

Magnus breaks down crying.

It’s - hard to explain. He’s still scared of being so weak, the idea that he almost died still hitting him with shock every once in a while like crackling electricity. And he doesn’t want Raphael to have to deal with these things for him.

But there’s something about being cared for like this, of knowing that Raphael wouldn’t hesitate to protect him, that floods him with something that feels almost like relief.

He knows Raphael doesn’t have a “no-exceptions” moral code; he’s told him all about Rosa, about the fights he would get into when other students tried to bully her, about the people he’s hurt. He told Magnus about how he stabbed a white supremacist who went after a girl in Raphael’s neighborhood, one day. Raphael doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but there’s very little he wouldn’t do for those he loves.

I’d rather it is me making the hard choices, he had told Magnus once. It’s better if these sins are mine to carry.

But he knows how Raphael truly feels about it, from the small, almost imperceptible whisper that followed. I’m already rotten with them, anyway.

And Magnus feels terrible, sick to his stomach, like the worst man on Earth, that he added one more weight to Raphael’s shoulders. And even worse than that, because the fact that Raphael is willing to protect him, enough not to regret it, makes him feel so much lighter, better, relieved.

It’s been so long since anyone stood up for him without utterly despising him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hands going to his face so he can at least hide the tears that he knows he won’t be able to stop. Magnus rarely cries, is very good at hiding it up with smiles and gestures and mean comments, but when he does, it overtakes him with all his might, breaks him down into sobs like his lungs want to tear him apart, shakes him like there’s so much trying to get out that he can barely keep himself from bursting.

It’s ugly, and loud- and obnoxious, and annoying, and pathetic, and weak, and manipulative, and he can hear their annoyed voices in his head, every time we fight you just break down and then I have to stop everything and handle you, we will talk when you’re finished with this little fit of yours, and he can’t stop it.

“Don’t be sorry,” Raphael says, “don’t be sorry, okay? I don’t care, I’m just glad you’re okay, Magnus.”

Magnus nods, letting Raphael draw him closer and hide his face on his shoulders. He feels a little stiff, and cold, but Magnus melts all over him anyway, grabbing his torso desperately like he’s scared Raphael will be torn from him.

Raphael pets Magnus’ head slightly, muttering words of comfort to him, and he really feels like this whole thing is on reverse. He’s been the one to take care of Raphael for so long- and not just Raphael, he realizes.

By this point, taking care of others is something that comes from an almost sense of duty. If it were a choice, he would choose it, of course; but he doesn’t feel like it is. To not be the one helping Raphael feels completely unnatural, and he has a feeling that, if it were with someone else, it’d be good - but he feels like, somehow, he’s losing Raphael by doing this. Like it’s proof that he doesn’t need Magnus anymore.

He knew this. He already knew this. He’s been getting ready for it. But having Raphael hug him and murmur words of comfort to him, seeing himself as the dependant, crying one- it’s really rubbing it in.

He doesn’t even know what to do with it, because he’s not about to pull away, to drive their distance, to put himself together. He can’t. He’s so distraught, and wild, and terrified, all he can do is grab him like a lifeline, and hope that it’ll take at least a little longer for him to go.

“You’re alright. You’re safe. That’s all that matters to me. Okay? Don’t apologize. Te quiero,” Raphael says, in that short, calm, but unbearably strong way only he knows how.

“Te quiero también,” Magnus answers immediately, through sobs, agitated and weak, and just as sincere. He wants Raphael to know. That he loves him. That it’s okay.

Raphael nods and hugs him tighter, and keeps saying it. Te quiero, te quiero, I love you, Magnus, te quiero, te quiero tanto. It makes Magnus sob harder, but it’s good, and he needs it, needs it like his strength and magic, needs it like he needed Raphael to barge in at that moment, desperate and unwavering, and make him safe, and bring him home.

He cries to Raphael’s words, and then falls asleep to them, and by the time he wakes up, startled to see neither of them had moved an inch, and is practically yanked back into the hug as soon as he tries to move, he starts to believe them, too.

*

It wasn’t long after that that Magnus took the High Warlock job.

They got a better name for it - High Warlock of Brooklyn. Less of a mouthful, more respectful, even if not as accurate. He carries it with pride, of his role, of his people, of the lives he’s saved, the people he’s helped. Slowly, he’s using the role to turn the city of New York into a safety net for warlocks, keeping them connected and tuned to help each other when needed. He has to, otherwise there was no way he’d be able to handle the amount of cases they get.

But he’s happy with what he’s been doing with it, with the way his influence has slowly started to gather warlocks closer together, connecting instead of hiding away from each other. He’s proud to be building a community based on mutual support and trust. He’s proud of the way people look up to him.

And yes, part of the reason he did it was because he thought Raphael was going to leave soon. He wanted to have something else to do so the loneliness couldn’t get to him. He wanted to help more people, since it was clear Raphael didn’t need him.

Even if Raphael took his sweet time to leave. It’s been almost a year since that happened, half of which was spent with Raphael all but glued to Magnus’ back, like he was scared that Magnus would be attacked again. Magnus had not-so-subtly started to train more in front of him, with dramatic and impressive bursts of magic and powerful punches and kicks. Raphael smiled in a way that told him that he knew what Magnus was doing, but otherwise took a long time to relax.

But he’s ready for it. He knows it won’t last long. Maybe Raphael is scared of leaving him alone, is looking for a better place to stay, is letting him adjust to this new role he’s taken. Maybe he feels indebted still - he wouldn’t be surprised if Raphael refused to leave because he wanted to “repay” Magnus first.

Magnus tries not to let that part sting. He knows that’s just how Raphael is, never believing he deserves care without giving anything in return; but a part of him keeps thinking, he wants to pay his debts so he won’t be tied to you anymore.

Anyway. He’s ready. He is. Even if he still feels like his home is only truly home once Raphael is back from the restaurant, even if he loves his late night talks with him, even if he’s the first person Magnus has opened up to in centuries, even if he has to hold himself from saying that’s my boy! whenever Raphael brings in some good news, even if he’s growing used to ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead in goodbye and even if he’s definitely way too attached, he’s been preparing himself for it, and he’s ready.

That’s what he tells himself.

But Magnus is a terrible, terrible liar.

"I suppose this is not another guilt-ridden outburst," Magnus says, calmly. Steadily. Still.

Raphael's smile is small, but real. "No," he says, ruffling his hair. "I've given it a lot of thought."

"Of course," Magnus answers, neutral as the diplomat he sometimes is. He pretends to be looking at something in his desk, even if it's completely cleaned out and he always magics what he needs into his hands, anyway. "I assume you have a place to stay?"

Raphael lifts his chin. "I'm joining the New York clan."

"That's…"

"I know," he sighs. "Camille's clan. I hate it as much as you do. But I can't… I can't let her get away, Magnus. For what she did to you. For what she's doing to other vampires. I've only met a few, and she makes them miserable," his fists clench and unclench almost subconsciously, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that Raphael holds himself so tight Magnus is scared he'll snap out of his own skin.

"You don't have to- avenge me-"

His voice sounds almost angry in distress, which is - not what he wants. He very rarely fails to keep his tone in check, especially when it comes to things like these. But Raphael doesn't seem to mind. He knows full well Magnus isn't angry at him. It hurts a little, how easily he can read him.

"I know that," he says with a little tilt of his head, like he's acknowledging all that's going on inside of Magnus in that moment. "But I don't want to watch her destroy so many mundanes' lives. I don't want to go to another city and be away from home. And I don't want you to have to deal with her presence everywhere. I don't want her to go unchallenged-" he takes a deep breath. "She's a monster, and I want to take her down. And I have a plan to."

Magnus doesn't know what to say. Raphael sounds resolute beyond words. And even if he feels guilty - for turning against Camille when she had helped him once, for letting Raphael go through her violence because of him - he can't find it in himself to tell Raphael not to.

He's seen what she's been doing to the other vampires. Even helped a few of them she had turned her back to. If anything, they deserved better - but Camille was good with political alliances, and she ruled them with a mix of painful isolation, favors, and fear, just like she did Magnus.

His stomach turns, and suddenly he doesn't want to think about that.

He doesn't have to, because Raphael keeps talking. “You don’t have to visit me, of course. I’ll come here. I won’t make you see her, I promise. I’ll try not to let her know about us, if she doesn’t already.”

Magnus’ nod is a little dumb. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t go see Raphael. He can’t make it known that they know each other. He has to stay away. He was expecting the distance to stretch slowly; he never thought it’d be like this.

“I understand,” is all he can think to say, soft and with just the smallest hint of the sadness that swirls inside of him. He swallows, and hopes that the motion puts a lid on his feelings. “When are you leaving?”

He doesn’t think the question sounds like an accusation. But Raphael still lunges forward and takes his hands in his. “I’m going to visit, Magnus, I promise. I’ll need it, too.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he replies, a little embarrassed. “Wouldn’t want you to be stuck with her nail polish claws all the time.”

Raphael smiles at him, a tiny thing that doesn’t quite land, just like Magnus’ joke. “I’ll miss you, Magnus. What you did for me… I can’t say how much it means to me.”

“It was nothing,” Magnus says, and it feels like it’s choked out, but the end result is so smooth he’s almost terrified at his own ability to hide it. “Just what anyone would do.”

“No. Most people would help me. You gave me,” he looks down at his own hands, fingers twisting a little around Magnus’, like they’re not quite sure what to do with themselves, “a home,” is what he settles with, “when I didn’t think I could ever have one again. I- this means a lot to me, Magnus. You mean a lot to me.”

“You too, dear,” Magnus answers, a little more firmly this time. “Te quiero.”

“Yeah,” Raphael says, sounding somewhat defeated, and Magnus tries not to think about what that means. “Te quiero también.”

“Well then. Let’s plan your moving,” Magnus says, already thinking about how he’s going to redecorate Raphael’s old room. He does that a lot, and he knows it; his things are too easily tainted with the presence of others. When he loses them, he can’t stand them anymore.

Raphael lets himself be led by Magnus’ automatic rambling, and even when they eventually settle on the couch and Magnus falls asleep on his shoulder, the distance between them feels wider than ever.

*

Magnus has always wanted to have a family.

Even from before he lost his mom. He wished his stepfather would raise him. He wished him and his mother didn’t have a purely contractual relationship. He wished he wasn’t going to leave within a year. He wished he didn’t scream at them both, or look at them with what could only be described as disgust in his eyes, or twist his nose when Magnus came back from his apprenticeship with the dukun. He wished he didn’t hate their food.

He wished his mom hadn’t died. He wished he could feel her hands again, washing his hair, the soothing smell of jasmine. He wished he could make her laugh one more time. Better yet, smile. That wide, soft, careless smile she pointed at him sometimes. He wished she would hold his hand as they walked to the port, feeling the cool breeze when it was day, shielding him from the cold wind when it was night. He wished he could hear her say it again, the this is my child that soon turned, as it was clear what his gender was, this is my son.

He wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t hated him.

It made him sick to the brim, like he could barely stand being inside himself, to think about it. His mother hated him. His stepfather yelled it at him as he tried to drown him. His father was so terrible Magnus couldn’t even wish that he was different - he just wished to get away, to run, to hide, anything. To not be him. To not be his family.

But he wanted family. He wanted the comfort of knowing there would always be a group of people who’d care for one another. A group he could belong to. A group he could love. He wanted to have a home, and he didn’t want to do it alone. He wanted to be soothed by the certainty of having others around, not terrified by it. He longed, and he looked for one in all the right and wrong places - Ragnor, Catarina, Camille, Freddie, lovers and friends alike. In Ragnor he found a quirky and caring uncle. In Catarina a close friend. In Camille, just enough to feed his hope. In Freddie - maybe the closest he’d ever gotten to companionship, even if tainted by both of their fears of opening up, and lost forever to his death. Raphael had been the one who felt the most like it.

He knew it was preposterous to even hope to be Raphael’s family. It was everything to him, too. And he had actually had it once. Magnus wouldn’t know where to start making one. He felt so helpless at his leaving, just like he did when his stepfather yelled at him, when his mom died, when his father brought him to Edom at the end of another day.

He wasn’t destined to have it. He wasn’t supposed to. He was rotten, and immortal. Broken and tainted by bad choices. He lost his chance.

He really wanted some whisky.

“All settled,” he said once there was no other way of stalling. Raphael wasn’t taking a lot, playing the role of a lonely vampire who’d just found out about the Shadow World. He wanted to look lost, so Camille would think he was easy prey. Magnus felt that this plan was mocking him, but he didn’t know why. “Take care.”

“You too,” Raphael answers, taking his weight from one leg to another like he can’t find a way to stand comfortably. Magnus sighs. Goodbyes are always painful for him, and awkward for the others. Sometimes he thinks he prefers it when people leave without doing it. But he supposes Raphael has had his fair share of disappearing suddenly. Besides, it’s not his style.

Still, Magnus doesn’t want to drag this out for him. Or for himself. He clasps his hands, seemingly satisfied with Raphael’s arrangements. “Well, good luck, then,” he says, lightly, like all the weight that drags him down was left at the bottom of his stomach, too deep to touch his words. “Take care. No, I’ve already said that. Well, then I suppose the pleasantries are already done. I’ll see you soon,” he says, purposefully vague, so it doesn’t feel like a promise, or a threat. He almost wants to turn away and slam the door behind him, redecorate the entire loft and then drink some tequila just for the burning irony of that. He doesn’t, though, because a part of him wants to see him leave, at least. He should be cheering him on. When a kid leaves their parents’ home, that’s freedom, right? It’s calls for pride and celebration.

Then again, it’s not like he’d know.

Raphael just stands in front of him. He’s stopped his - swinging, and is now looking at Magnus, something deep missing in his eyes like he’s not fully there. He’s unnervingly still, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that it sometimes feels like Raphael only has two modes when it comes to movement.

He never really managed to teach him how to use body language. It’d be pretty useful. Especially against Camille. Oh, fuck, Raphael was going to try and overthrow Camille. Magnus felt like his whole body was twisting. Was Raphael really ready for that? Magnus couldn’t even help.

His thoughts are forced to a halt when Raphael brings him into a hug, sudden and tight. Maybe a bit too tight, but at the moment, it’s exactly what Magnus needs, that grounding touch and pressure that feels like safety and calms his racing mind. Raphael is small, compared to Magnus, but he feels solid and precious in his arms, both shielding him and needing to be protected. It’s recharging, warm, like his magic when it envelops him after a long day.

It’s a long hug too, enough for Magnus to consider his options. He doesn’t want to put more pressure on Raphael. But Raphael is hugging him. And he feels like Raphael would like to know- deserves to know that he’s loved, that he’ll always have a home with Magnus. That he’s family to Magnus, even if Magnus isn’t to him.

So, when Raphael lets him go, Magnus takes a deep breath and says, “Te quiero.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, putting each hand on one of Magnus’ arms, like he needs him to stay still to absorb this information, “You’re like a father to me. You know that, right?”

Magnus just stares at him, in open shock, frozen like his whole body and magic has stopped still. Raphael isn’t looking at him, which is probably a good thing, because he looks like he’s battling with the words before they leave his lips.

“You’ve taken me in, and you… Understand me… And you trusted me when I couldn’t trust myself. This will always be my home, to me, as long as it is your home. I don’t want to leave, and I…” he lets out a deep sigh, like he gives up on the battle, and then switches back to spanish, where he sounds confident, strong, certain, “Te amo, Magnus.”

Te amo.

It’s like the world is bursting out of Magnus.

Te quiero means I love you, but te amo runs so much deeper than that. It’s the kind of deep, selfless caring where loving a person feels a natural part of yourself. It’s deep, and strong, and calm, all at once, and many people live without ever saying that to anyone who isn’t their spouse, or family.

It’s bigger than when he made Magnus his mom’s special recipe. It’s bigger than the hugs, and the tears, and the time that he saved his life. It’s solid, palpable, words as solid as a spell’s.

And Magnus bursts.

All but lunges at him, forcing him back into a hug that’s, if possible, even tighter than the previous one. It knocks the air out of his lungs with a sob, sudden and desperate and relieved, like he hasn’t been breathing before he allowed himself to let that fear go.

He’s crying, like a kid, suddenly and freely and honestly, and all words escape him, except for the ones he holds deeper in his heart.

“Anakku yang kuhargai,” he says, amazingly clearly considering how overwhelmed he feels, “aku sayang kau.”

My precious son, I love you so much. It’s Malay. Words of his past, of his history, of his making, from so long ago Magnus doesn’t even know if they’re still the same, but still the ones his heart speaks in, the ones that touch him deepest even when he hasn’t dared utter them in years.

Raphael doesn’t know what it means, of course. It’s so silly- but he doesn’t have to, because he understands it all the same. And he knows, because he gets it, just how much Magnus is sharing by saying this to him, like this, in tears, in Malay, in the language that has always been family and home to him.

Raphael doesn’t know, but he knows, because he hugs Magnus back just as tight, and tells him “it’s okay, it’s okay, we will always be family, Magnus, it’s okay.”

And god, Magnus thinks. It just might be.

[heavenbarnes]

i don’t love him but he’s here and you aren’t

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Bruce Banner

Warnings/Contains: drug use (marijuana, so please don’t read if this makes you uncomfortable), age gap, unprotected sex, if you squint it’s cheating, mentions of death,

Word Count: 2,350

Request:  Okay.... weird request..... but like,,, smoking then getting freaky aka lazy high sex with Bruce. Normal, or Endgame!Bruce, anything works. Please, I'm dying over here

so i decided to take this request and make it bucky x reader also, but it’s post!snap. this completely disregards most of what happened in endgame, and i essentially re-wrote the film. i just decided to make a ridiculously dramatic piece and borderline nonsensical piece, cause it’s quite wordy x

Think of what your city would sound like if you removed half of it’s inhabitants. She could confirm for you, it sounds like a graveyard. Those left behind unable to find the strength to make a sound.

The ones that do make noise, it’s like a haunted cry for those they lost. Building after home, after school, after car left empty. Like a dog awaiting it’s owner to return home.

She sat on the fire-escape, looking over the city. The lights still shone, half the cars still rumbled. Her solemn gaze cast its way from building to building. This spot, all the way up here, felt like the only place she could escape.

She couldn’t leave the tower any longer, without being hounded by questions and cries. “Where is my son?” or “Why aren’t you doing more?” or “Do you know what it was like?”

That one stung like nothing other. Did she know what it was like? Did she know what it was like? Dig deeper, keep asking, keep wounding. What they should’ve asked, it’s right there.

“Do you know what it’s like to lose someone to the snap?” Can you imagine how that feels?

She kept her head down when the question was asked, she shut her mouth and pushed through the people. She ignored the sound of unanswered questions, the sound of accusations spat at her.

She didn’t dare answer, answering meant accepting. Accepting that, yes, she did know how it felt.  

She knew exactly how it felt to hear her name leave his lips, like a cry for help. She knew how it felt to turn as quick as she could, in time to see him fall to his knees. She knew how it felt to watch the only person she ever loved turn to dust. She remembers it like it was last night.

“Steve! (Y/N)!” She heard it like a bullet whistling past her ear.

She’d never moved so fast in her life, scrambling to turn towards the source of the noise. She saw him there, gun tumbling towards the earth. Knees following suit.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he was gone before she knew it. She watched the body she’d mapped with hands and mouth, break away like clusters of stars.

How can someone be there one minute and gone the next? 

By the time Steve made it to her, she was a heap of what used to be, only cradled by the ashes of the man she loved.

Her eyes found their way to her Captain’s, silently asking for help? For forgiveness? If you can’t save the one you love, can you save anyone else?

If you can’t save the one you love, can you save anyone else? 

That’s what it felt like those people were asking. There wasn’t sympathy for the Avengers. No, “we’re sorry you lost your loved ones, too.” Only, “if you can’t keep your own safe, how can we trust you with ours?”

So she hides on the fire-escape, this way she is able to watch the city but she can’t be touched by it. She feels safe so high, she only feels safe when she’s high.

The lighter sparks and for a moment it blends in with the other lights, makes her feel less alone. The water bubbles in the confines of the glass, before the smoke makes it’s way deep into her lungs. As she exhales, it looks as if the city rests in the clouds.

If she could’ve picked up her city and hidden it deep within the clouds, she would’ve. She would’ve kept it safe, she would’ve protected the people that looked to her for safety.

Mother’s wouldn’t be without children. Husband’s would be with their husbands, wives with their wives and visa versa. Best friends would see each other again. She could pick the people up, like petals in a storm drain, and set them aside to safety.

She knew at the end of days she’d ask “have I done enough”, and for a while she thought she could answer with a solid confirmation. Now, the lines are muddy and she can only ask “have I done anything at all?”

“Please tell me you aren’t playing the blame game?” A tired voice came from behind her.

She turned her head to the right, resting her chin on her shoulder. She didn’t attempt to keep turning, she knew who it was. Turning back to her front, she brought her lips back to the glass. 

Bruce took silent invitation to join her perch outside. He was never a fan of heights, but he felt safe in her presence. He felt her arm at his side, offering him the glass vessel that was sure to set their minds at ease.

Bruce felt it too, the shame and regret from that day deep in the jungle of Wakanda. All of what they could’ve done better, who they could’ve saved. When Bruce joined the Avengers, he always hoped the pain they suffered wouldn’t translate to the innocent people on the streets.

He looked at her profile, watched her glossy eyes dart to every corner of the large space in front of them. He was taken back to that day, the sounds of her cries, when what was Bucky ran through her fingers like sand. He was taken back to the pain, he didn’t have anyone to feel that way about him, he shouldn’t be here.

The feeling of the smoke taking over his senses helped to loosen his muscles, helped to put him on a different plane. One where he could do something, anything. He could make things better. His physical form was, unfortunately, still existing on a plane where he hadn’t done enough.

Bucky Barnes has a beautiful girl who spends every waking moment reliving the moment he was taken from her.

Bruce Banner has a cold side to his bed and his own right hand.

Don’t tell him that everything happens for a reason. He shouldn’t be here.

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive us for everything we didn’t do?” She asked quietly, taking the glass back into her hands.

“If we can find a way to do it, then I suppose they will.”

“Do you think we’ll find a way to do it?”

“One where we all come out the other side? It’s slim but not impossible.”

“I know I joined this team with guaranteed martyrdom.”

Bruce let her words sink in as they passed the smoke back and fourth. She isn’t supposed to know how bad things get, yet. She is supposed to dream of weddings, white pickets, backyard barbecues. 

Instead she dreams of dying, for a good cause, to see him again. She knows better than anyone, how bad it gets, how bad it hurts. She knows that if she gets any salvation, if she catches any break, it’ll only be from the sweet release of-

“Death isn’t an option, nobody dies and we bring the dusted back.” The herb in his hands made him feel superhuman, more than he already was.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

She looked at him, for the first time since he came out here, she looked into his eyes. They looked like her own, a little red, just a bit watered. 

“I admire your optimism.”

“And I admire your durability.”

She took in a deep breath, one that wasn’t to inhale smoke this time. They’d passed it back and fourth so many times, it was getting to the end of the tether.

“What do I have left if not an inch of strength?”

“Half a team that needs you more than you give yourself credit for.”

She continued to gaze into him, past his eyes and into him. She saw a different pain in him. She’d been analyzing her own so long, she forgot what to look for in the others. She felt the heaviness in her own eyelids, and then she felt the need to move.

To move different, to roll about someone else’s sadness, growing tired of her own. She was so accustomed to her own sadness, she was crawling in her skin. She wanted nothing more than to put on someone else’s, live different for a moment.

So when she had Bruce’s hands in her own, on the plush of her carpet, she felt different. She felt as if she’d stepped out of her own bones, to jump his. She felt at home in his arms, just a home she hadn’t been to for a while.

Like opening your front door when you’ve been somewhere else for a while. It was going to take some time for this to start feeling normal. And how much time did she have? Was she willing to give?

With the pull of her eyelids, she felt the pull towards him. The angels telling her to rest her laurels with him. To step out of the ashes belonging to another, to rise as the phoenix here and with this man.

This man, with the olive skin that bares lines of success and failure. The man, with the rough hands from solving the worlds mysteries. The man, who smells like knowing your worth and knowing your horror.

The man who knows too much.

The devil lies in knowing the color that kills, the color he know all too well how to turn. Lies in the 7 PHDs, that each teach him what to be afraid of. Lies in knowing the outcome of impending actions, but not running from them.

He brought her down to the ground with them, forgoing the bed, back to floor to lay with the dogs. He knew how to run with the wolves, and he knew what they’d do to him if he stayed too long.

Thankfully the smoke in his brain was able to wrap his thoughts in a warm towel, bundle them up and deliver them to the back corner of his brain for the time being. He had company, and she smelt like flowers and freshly washed clothes. She was real and she needed attention.

So joining their two bodies at the waist wasn’t in need of debate. It seemed the most righteous thing they could do at the time. She sat a top him, and from the angle, the light above her head was nothing more than a golden halo. 

Did that mean she was finally glorious, and without sin? Or did the universe know more about martyrdom than Bruce had realized.

He had to find himself deep within her, she held the secrets and he couldn’t get deep enough. His arms wrapped around her back, bringing her chest flush to his. He thrust his hips up, finding any chance to become one with her.

She was the fountain in which you got penance, the vessel to drain all unjust actions from our world. Bruce was able to bathe in her tide, was he as grateful as he could be?

No, which was why he turned their bodies, laying her back gently against the carpet. Her eyes slowly opened, reaching out for the man above her. Bruce brought a hand to her soft skin, rolled it about in his palm. Would he always remember how delicate she felt?

She looked pure again, like a girl who didn’t know how it felt to have her joy snatched straight from her. She looked blissfully unaware of life’s cruelties. Bruce got off on the idea that she might’ve been whole again.

But she wasn’t, which was why she was full of him. With each rock of his hips into hers, every spark that ignited from the friction between them, she was having a real void filled with false hope.

At least the cries from her mouth were real. The way she said his name was undoubtedly real as it coiled up inside his stomach. Her fingers sliding up his chest, nestling in the thick hair, that was about the most reality Bruce had experienced in a while.

He watched his mind wander away from him, escorted on the purest white cloud. His consciousness went right after it, eager as anything to see where the smoke of the night could take him.

To Bucky, he was loudest that night. He was louder than her moans. Louder than Bruce’s deep breaths with each thrust. He was louder than the blood rushing in their eyes.

How did Bucky hold her when they made love? Cause that was what they did, they made love and it wasn’t on the floor only after she’d had enough smoke to sedate upstate New York.

How did Bucky fuck her? Did he lift her hips to ensure it was the most pleasure she could receive? Did he run his hands the length of her body to remember what she felt like? 

How did Bucky speak to her? He must’ve known the exact things to say, when to speak, how to speak. He would’ve made more of an impression than Bruce is.

But it seems to be doing the trick, the way she brings her arms to his back. Her half-crescent nails sinking into the tight muscle of his shoulders. Her lips next to his ear, as she whines his name.

And he feels the ultimate tide washing over him. It came in the form of her orgasm finally reaching the entirety of her, cascading onto him. He caught the bug, feeling the heat draining from him as he lurched forward.

Like the ghost moving through him, in the moment he had become Bucky. He knew how it felt to take the blessing on the floor of a dimly lit bedroom. 

As they lay together, coming to their own conclusions, they chose to forfeit thinking. It was better to stay in a mindless state, rather than accept what they’d come to realize.

She was the type to remember forever, she might get by, but she’ll be there when you get back.

He was the type to help you get back, so you can slot right back in where he longed to belong.

[stetervault]

hey cywscross! any longfics (like at least 30k+ long) you can recommend? old or new is fine but like something multichaptered (and preferably complete) would be great! thanks!

Wow, 30k, you’re obviously settling in for a fic marathon lol. I can name you some, mostly Steter with a few Stetopher/Steterek:

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he’s captured. Stiles’s first thought is, “I won’t die here.”

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven’t spoken to in over five years.)

come find me by Areiton

“You want me,” he says, stubbornly sure and you consider him.

“Yes,” you agree, because you are not a good man, and you are not accustomed to denying yourself what you want. “And it doesn’t matter because I am saying no.”

You touch his hand, and he jerks, wide eyed as you lean into him, and breath into his ear. “If you still feel this way, come find me in ten years.”

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks.“Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is.“He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her.The camps……aren’t camps.Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Rabbit verse by Bunnywest (series, complete)

Peter loves to hunt. Stiles is his (too willing )prey.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are… different. Namely, he’s in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Uncle Peter Doesn’t Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (wip series, but each part so far is complete)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16.“Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,”‘Bambi’.“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous.Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

-

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn’t been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski…her uncle’s boyfriend.

Rewriting the future by Synesthetic

Two days before their planned bonding, alpha Derek Hale runs away with his secret beta girlfriend, leaving Stiles heartbroken. With the demands of his omega physiology forcing him to bond with someone before his first heat, Derek’s uncle Peter steps in and offers a solution.

To Save Them All by Goldenpetal13

AU, FutureFic/Re do of Season 1, Something happens, something bad, and Stiles finds a way to go back in time to change the past and save them all, to give them a future. He finds the way back and then swaps places with Scott and he gets bitten by Peter instead. Now he has to change the events that where set in motion after that event and maybe, just maybe they’ll all get to live.

Empathy, Empathy, Put Yourself in the Place of Me by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (series, complete)

Peter was suspicious.

Just generally, as a person. He always assumed his fellow man had impure motives until they proved otherwise, and then he still kept an eye out.

But at this particular moment, he was specifically suspicious of Derek’s new girlfriend.

He’s not the only one.

Bone Deep by ShippersList (28k+ but complete)

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Get Off (Me) by KouriArashi

Stiles hates being left behind with Peter while the pack is fighting monsters, because he never knows exactly what Peter will get up to.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Whatever Works by KouriArashi (Steter + Sterek)

The problem with having your soulmate’s first words to you tattooed on your arm is knowing your whole life that you’re fated to be with a jerk. It’s enough to make Stiles want to date other people … which is how he winds up dating his soulmate’s nephew.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Sympathy for the Devil by KouriArashi

Stiles gets a job as a hospital orderly and finds himself becoming strangely attached to the catatonic man on the long-term care ward, and finds out that there’s a lot more to Peter Hale than there seems…

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter’s heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels… sharply curious.

Begging Me To Open Up My Mouth by Green

In a world where the supernatural is known, Peter still has to stick out. He can’t just be a werewolf, he has to be a sub, too. He can handle the stupidity from his classmates, he doesn’t even care about that, but Talia not understanding what he needs because werewolf subs are so rare?

Yeah. That he could do without.

***

Stiles is a Spark, freelance Emissary, and a Dom, in that order. He likes it that way. The freedom of it, the ability to travel and learn. He’s not ready to settle down.

But he maybe considers lingering when someone catches his eye.

Of Werewolves and Tentacles by Guede (Steterek)

Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall, childhood best friends who were separated, now reunite to get to know each other again. Since Scott’s a werewolf and Stiles is a new graduate of Miskatonic University (which is proving strangely attractive to Peter-Hale-shaped werewolves), they’ve got quite a bit to catch up on.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

Cats and Dogs by Guede

Stiles is a were-cat. He likes to lie around in the sun, insists on poking into everything, viciously defends his territory and is always judging you. His best friend is Scott, a werewolf, he’s dating Peter, another werewolf, and he enjoys terrorizing Peter’s nephew Derek.

Oh, and John and Chris are were-cats too. Basically, everybody’s some kind of were and I make a lot of cheap jokes about cat and dog stereotypes.

The Time Travel Grammar Book by Guede

The story that was supposed to be about time-travel, but is really a stealth AU of the first two seasons where Talia’s a struggling single mom, Peter’s the eponymous teen wolf, and Stiles, Scott and Lydia…are time travelers (so that part’s not totally inaccurate).

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Movement in Alpha Major by Guede

Peter Hale, thirty-four, shady but successful human lawyer, knocks on his nephew Derek’s door one night because he’s just been bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, this ends up being a lot more awkward than one would expect.

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills by Guede (Stetopher)

Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.

Note: Bestiality warning is because the version of sphinx here is lion-shaped from waist down, and I don’t know how else to tag that.

Werewolf How-To by Guede (Steterek)

Being a sex mage with a magical knotting cock (and a profitable land revitalization business, thank you) doesn’t mean that Stiles needs to hook up with werewolves. It just kind of happens that way.

Intemperance by Guede (Stetopherek)

Stiles is the one who gets pulled back to Beacon Hills by a murder.

Sustainable Management by Guede (Steterek)

An alternate universe where werewolves and other supernatural creatures aren’t just integrated, but are so deeply embedded that they’re considered part of the natural ecosystem.

In other words, Stiles and his father work for a U.S. Forest Service that’s way different from the one here, if only because it involves many more secret-agent hijinks.

Strays by DiscontentedWinter (Stetopher)

In a Beacon Hills that’s been destroyed by a war between humans and werewolves, Stiles Stilinski does what he has to in order to survive.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter’s expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills.And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Save Me by DiscontentedWinter

Peter is the Alpha.He’s nobody’s savior.Not his pack’s. Not his town’s. And not that kid’s.But sometimes salvation goes both ways.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn’t mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn’t mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride’s uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn’t like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Naughty Hookers (Swathed in Wool) by pprfaith (wip series, but main parts are complete)

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter’s just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Sing to Me, Oh so Sweetly by lavenderlotion

“Can I get a story, Mama?” Stiles asked.

“What type of story do you want to hear, darling?” his mama asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and playing with Stiles’ hair. He liked it when she did that.

“I wanna hear about the magic woman!” Stiles demanded, doing his best to keep still.

“You always wanna hear about the magic woman,” Mama told him. “Well, alright. Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

“Well, duh,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. The beginning was always the best part.

“Once upon a time, there was a young girl with skin as white as the moon and eyes as bright as the sun.”

Breathing You In by lavenderlotion (29k+, 1 chapter, but complete)

“Good morning, kiddo,” his dad said, and the words hurt.

All Stiles wanted to do was step forward and let his dad hug him, allow his father to give him comfort. His father’s hugs had always been all-encompassing, the way he would fold himself around Stiles and hold him as tightly as he could.

Stiles stepped around him, careful not to let foreign skin touch anything that was special to him.

Anything he loved.

Just Don’t Leave Me by lavenderlotion

Stiles had no idea it could happen. Really, he hadn’t. But it did and he had to deal with the fallout, alone. And, and after everything with Scott, and Derek, that was a daunting task. At least, he had his dad, god was he thankful he had his dad, but - but he couldn’t say he didn’t wish he had Peter, too.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he’ll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn’t know who this kid is, but he’s cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He’s not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn’t really mind.

Worn Out Shoes by moonstalker24

When the dead rise, and the world comes to an end, the McCall Pack must learn to live in this new world, or die in the attempt. This is the story of the end, and of the year that follows.

The Choice by moonstalker24

“You will be changed, Goscislaw Genim Stilinski. From your bones you will be changed.”“How.”“That we cannot tell you… That is the price.”

He’s made the deal, now he only has fifteen minutes to make a choice and either save or condemn them all. Fifteen minutes and then Stiles will have to live with the consequences.

Every step of the way by Pirotess666

Hurt, pain, suffering. TORTURE. Peter felt it all while he was in Eichen House.And after he got out? All those memories of what happened there were threatening to drive him insane.The only thing that helped? Being with Stiles.And Stiles just couldn’t stop himself from helping Peter.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (27k+ but complete)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Do You Like to Hurt? (Then Hurt Me) by taylorpotato

Stiles shows up at Peter’s apartment, drunk and horny. Peter almost does the right thing—before it all deteriorates into a voyeuristic power game and Stiles has a mind-shattering orgasm. Things snowball from there. Takes place after Season Three (with consequent canon divergence).

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday (24k+ but complete)

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

The World That Is Not Ours by Ragga (wip series but first three parts are done)

About a boy and his monster, or a monster and his boy.

[monkeymindscream]

What are your thoughts on Krinkle?

Random question, but I can work with it.

A couple years ago I made a post talking about how Krinkle was my least favorite character in the show. I’ve since written for him a fair bit, and have come to realize he is really fun to write.

Like - y’know how actors will talk about how much fun it is to play a villain, because they get to do things they wouldn’t normally get to when playing a hero? It’s kind of like that. When things happen with other characters, their responses need to be within certain parameters of logic. All that goes out the window with Krinkle. Something can happen and instead of moving from point A to conclusion B, Krinkle can jump all the way to point XIII. The plot he’s following will always be four steps to the left of whatever the main cast is doing, because he willfully exists in a narrative all his own. That is immensely entertaining to write, and to date the pieces I’ve written from his perspective are among the things I view least critically of my work. I’ve become paradoxically fond of him as a result.

...to a degree. I unfortunately still find it really difficult to sympathize with him at all. Frankly I find it difficult to understand how anyone could sympathize with him. Him specifically, I mean; I can completely understand feeling sympathetic/bad about the position he ends up in. But towards him personally as a character? Ehhhhhhhhh...

Something I realized while pondering how to phrase this whole thing was I never really interpreted Krinkle as a depiction of mental illness. I mean that’s absolutely what he ended up being, and regrettably not an especially flattering one at that. Which I mean - early 2000s, what can ya do besides try to be better moving forward? But anyway yeah even as a young kid watching the show for the first time, I always saw Krinkle as more of an exaggerated parody of a crazy fan, not a crazy person. Primarily because he was exhibiting traits I’d seen around forums and in fanfics at the time, just cranked up to 11. 

For example, his first appearance sees him attempting a very popular method fanfic writers would use to get their OCs on the Team. Specifically the Team would be in trouble, the OC would swoop in to help, and BAM now they’re a Hyperforce member. Plus his entire second appearance is basically one giant spoof of a self-insert fanfic as a whole: The aforementioned insert takes the main character’s place on for no reason, the insert has all of the same powers of the main plus a lot they don’t, they have a tragic backstory, the whole world (and plot) is centered around them and their whims, all that. 

That’s how most of Krinkle’s plans play out, honestly - he tries to apply fanfic logic to his actual life, and then gets angry when his leading actors don’t stick to his script. And his actions seem too... how to put this - pointed? from the writers’ end to not have been intentional. Which is why I don’t think he was supposed to be a stereotype of mental illness, but rather a playful jab at the fandom. 

He turned into a stereotype of mental illness anyway (showing him in a padded room certainly didn’t help), but for what it’s worth I don’t think it was the goal. Which calls forth a separate conversation regarding writer intent vs. fan interpretation, but that’s a whole thing just on its own. So I’ll drop this point here. 

Going back to me not personally feeling any sympathy for him - I openly acknowledge that’s maybe a little weird considering how ardently I’ve played devil’s advocate to some of the other villains from this show, but hear me out.  The others are often SO over the top and Saturday morning cartoon supervillain-y that I have an exceedingly difficult time feeling a genuine emotional response to their actions beyond “mm. bad. don’t do that.” Moreover, the worst of what the other villains do would be rendered impossible if the fantastical elements of the show were removed, which again makes it hard to feel especially offended by them.

Krinkle, though? All else stripped away, a considerable chunk of what Krinkle does is still both very possible and very unsettling. You can connect a lot of his behaviors to real-life stalkers. And it gets really hard for me to reconcile this stuff with the kids’ show he’s in, sometimes. What I’m trying to say is sometimes he feels a little too... real, for me, I guess.

Further muddling my opinion on Krinkle is that - whenever I see him being discussed - I get unreasonably defensive on the Team’s behalf. It always seems to swing back around to how badly they handled the situation. For example there was one comment I saw on A Man Called Krinkle on YouTube years ago (like I’m talking "if you wanted to upload the episodes you had to split them into three parts” YEARS ago) where someone basically said how sorry they felt for Krinkle, and was berating the Team for putting him on Ranger 7.

Ohhhhohoho y’all-

So, first issue I take with this, just straight off the cuff: What the hell was the Team supposed to have done differently? Kept him around, tried to fix his issues themselves? Visited him at Ranger 7, fed into his delusions to make him feel better, perhaps? Does this person expect real life stalking victims to make an active effort to help their stalkers get well, too? 

Also- ALSO: The Team is comprised of five (canonically somewhat socially-isolated) monkeys and a freshly thirteen-year-old child. The “adults” in the situation’s response to their first leader going ‘round the bend was “PUT HIM TO SLEEP FOREVER,” presumably because they just didn’t know what else to do. How could any of them possibly know what to do with some rando who had mental health issues clearly beyond what they were capable of helping? One who - I’d like to remind everyone - broke into their home, took them hostage, attempted to force them to unwittingly kill the kid they’d adopted, and then tried to commit murder-suicide?

(I realize that this is swiftly turning into me just getting feisty about this one comment from a minimum of 14 years ago. Look at me care.)

Also... this might just be me interpreting things wrong, but Krinkle kinda, sorta... doesn’t seem to want any help? Or acknowledge that his actions are in the wrong at all? Because okay, he claims he built his own “perfect world”  because he was sick of humanity (and wherein everything has his face and his every whim is immediately catered to; don’t try to tell me that shit don’t mean anything). And to even get the chance to build that world, he had to forcefully take over the facility that was conceivably trying to help him get better. That feels... pretty indicative of how much (or little, rather) he must’ve cared about improving. Which, if this is accurate, means that Krinkle was actively choosing to continue risking harm to other people and putting his needs and wants over theirs.

So um. Those are my thoughts, I guess? I think it’s interesting to explore his psyche but I really, really dislike him as a person. Obviously if you do like him/feel sorry for him/disagree with me on any count that’s completely fine. You’re absolutely entitled to your opinion. But yeah, that’s personally where I stand.