#but once you get a read on his usual demeanor the giant soft spot for dokja is so so easy to see

[relto]

something about dokja putting himself between yuseung and junghyeok, telling him he will never forgive him if he harms her in any way.. and cold ruthless junghyeok yielding.....

[haik-choo]

haikyuu boys through lovers’ eyes

atlernate title: how you see the haikyuu boys. 

-tsukishima, oikawa, kageyama, yamaguchi, sugawara, iwaizumi, kenma, bokuto, akaashi, hinata

tsukishima’s hair is the color of ready-to-harvest wheat; it’s the color of a farmer’s pride after a season’s worth of maintenance and hard work. his eyes are similar, but they shine with a golden glint. they’re riddled with the fear of passion, the fear of giving your all and still falling, but they’re hopeful. long blonde eyelashes adorn his citrine eyes like a thick blanket -- thick enough to make you jealous. his teasing smirk when he pokes fun at your envy is filled with love; his words are harsh and unrelenting but they have a caring undertone that warms your heart. his skin is as smooth as marble and when you run your fingers across it you almost can’t stop. when your touch lingers for too long tsukishima’s face flushes peach, his eyebrows creasing in embarrassment. his slender fingers gently grab your hand and interlaces your fingers together, his hypnotizing gaze anywhere but you. just gazing at him fills your heart with a want, no -- a need for him. the more you look at your lover, the longer you love tsukishima, the more you want to prove to him that the passion he pours into you will never go to waste. 

true beauty comes from the inside, oikawa proves. his flirty smile that he throws to others, his piercing gaze, his whole outside demeanor takes a backseat to the true oikawa. the sweat that drips off him after he hits his twenty-fifth jump serve in a row is beautiful. his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, pink from constant biting, is breathtaking. his honest hands that tell the truth no matter what (like when he yelled at you to leave, but was still gripping the sleeve of your shirt with shaky fingers or the time when he said he was mad at you but was still caressing your cheek), are graceful. oikawa’s umber hair that whisped upwards with the gentle pass of wind and deep dirt-colored eyes were undeniably attractive. his lips that curled with mischief were pretty, and his tall figure that protected you was, too. but the faint warm smell of a flower meadow after a sun shower that he emitted coupled with the loving words he whispered to you at night as he twirled your hair around his finger meant so much more. oikawa was beautiful, yes, but for all the reasons that others who weren’t you didn’t know, and never will. his true beauty is meant just for you. 

akaashi’s steel-blue eyes are underlined by heavy purple eyebags, but they’re a testament to his hard-working and reliable nature, so you think they’re beautiful. his cool midnight hair curls randomly, messily framing his concentrated face. sharp inexpressive eyebrows sit atop his eyes, giving off indifference, but his mind wanders aimlessly most the time. he dresses quick-and-comfortably in hopes of high function, not hopes of looking good, yet he still manages to steal the show. he tucks his neck and chin in the warmth of his large white ribbed turtle-neck, only allowing his sharp eyes to be seen. they’re almost always looking at you. his soft, uncalloused hands drift over to your leg, and his thumb rubs your knee lovingly. despite being good with words, he rarely found the courage to say them aloud, but he always thought them. actions were his preferred way of proving his love: making coffee in the morning for you as soon as you woke up, stopping work at eleven pm no matter what to focus on you (it was still late but it’s the thought that counts), and kissing you every morning and every night. his rosy lips tell you the truth much more honestly than any group of words he could ever string together. 

one-track-mindedness is a virtue in kageyama. there’s something so compelling about his utter confidence in himself and his talents. his confidence comes from the way the ball slides against his calloused hands, its the way his eyes find the best spot on the court to hit the ball, its how he constantly improves. sure, his hair was a cool midnight black (that was cut a little weirdly) and his denim eyes captured your attention with ease, not to mention that his rare once-in-a-lifetime smile caused butterflies to flutter their translucent wings in your stomach -- but he paid no mind to his physical features (seriously, have you seen his hair?). the physical things he took pride in were the bruises littering his legs, the olympic gold medals that hung on his wall, the way his lips molded with yours like plaster. he loves his muscles and how they shift around underneath his skin, pulling together and pushing apart as he reaches for something in the upper kitchen cabinet because they allow him to play volleyball to the best of his ability. he loves the sport, it’s his dream. he loves his body, because it supports his dream. and most of all, he loves you, because even as his body ages and his fingers tremble and struggle to pick up the ball with both hands when he once could pick it up with just one, loving you will never get harder. 

never did you think yamaguchi’s forest green hair would cause your ears to burn and heart to beat faster than usual. but now, you wonder how you ever lived without him. though, it wasn’t just his soft hair; it was his timid but loyal demeanor, it was his loving eyes and how they took in every detail of you and valued you for everything you were, it was how his arms made you feel as they  wrapped around your waist: safe, warm, secure. just as a forest with lush green leaves thrived, yamaguchi’s dark green irises were bursting with life. his smile was a little brighter than you remembered when he was younger, he was more sure of himself. his eyes didn’t waver when you met them or move away when you stared too long. his hands gestured in the air wildly when he was excited, no shame in his child-like passion. yamaguchi was no timid highschool boy who lived with regrets anymore. he lives everyday with new hope in his eyes, proud of himself now and who he was in the past. he even learns to love the freckles that splattered like stars against his softly tanned skin. he hated them at one time, but after you told him that he gets a new one every time you two kiss, he learns to love them.

the sun burns bright against a cool blue sky, but hinata’s smile manages to burn brighter, hotter than the faraway star (and so does his hair). he belongs in the sky, what with his dazzling smile that blinds unsuspecting patrons and his glass-like orbs of honeydew that hold giant hydrogen-burning supernovas within them. maybe that was a little much, describing him that way. but he seemed otherworldly, like someone you’ve met in a past life, a past universe. his white smile stretches across his face, his eyes narrowing into excited slits, cheeks red, giggle coming from his throat. there’s never been anything more perfect; a look of pure joy and ambition. even when he’s five sets into a game, sweat dripping down his golden skin like rain in spring, chest heaving up and down, begging for air; he’s so alive. there’s a fire in his eyes, lava in his veins. hinata burns so bright, feels so hot against your skin, that you can feel yourself melt when you touch him. he scalds anyone that steps foot into his life, leaving them with a scar, evidence of his passion. no one is the same after that. you’re not the same now, not with his head on your chest and his hand in yours -- but you don’t need to be. you don’t want to be. because then, you were a cold, lifeless planet, surface barren and plain. but his arrival, his scalding arrival, brought warmth, attracted water-filled asteroids -- gave you life. hinata was your sun, and you’d spend an eternity revolving around him.

sugawara has hazel-brown eyes that somehow captivate you. somehow, simple brown eyes surrounded by light gray eyelashes captivate you. you can see the world in their reflection, and it shocks you how beautiful his honey eyes make the world seem. his hair is the shade of a rainy cloud, yet it still somehow brings smiles. people surround him naturally, his demeanor accepting and friendly, and every person around him always has joy evident on their face. his extrovert-tendencies reduce down to nothing only when in your presence alone, though. at home he plops down next to you, the smooth skin of his face resting on your clothed shoulder, a heavy sigh leaving his peach lips as he mutters about just wanting to hold you. then the same captivating eyes flick upwards to you, and it happens again, time stops. you look so beautiful reflected in his eyes -- is this how he sees you? his hands cup your face to bring you down to his level, and his lips cover yours lovingly. sugawara is an enigma, and maybe you’ll never figure him out or know exactly what he’s thinking, but you think that maybe, just maybe, if he continues to look at you like you’re his whole world in his russet eyes, you don’t mind staying by his side forever. 

despite the uneven blend of the blonde and black of kenma’s hair, there’s something about it that makes you want to run your fingers through the locks. the reason may lie in his golden eyes and how they compel you to do things you never thought you’d do. things like make your heart pound fast, things like spontaneously kissing the cat-like boy next to you in a fit of loving emotions. kenma’s hands are not like other setters; they’re soft and constantly cold, begging for your warmth. the pads of his fingers and his knuckles are a light pink, much like the apples of his cheeks when he’s near you. his hands aren’t very big, but when they envelop yours they somehow still make you feel safe. his face has never been very emotive, but his mouth gives you hints on his inner thoughts, the smallest quirk of his small lips giving leeway to whats on his mind. in a way, it makes him easy to read. but you’ve never needed those small hints for kenma puts his emotions on full display just for you. only for you. he really is like a cat; it takes time to warm up to you, but when he does, he willingly reveals the soft plush of his stomach to you; he willingly lets you through the closed doors of his guarded heart. 

iwaizumi’s muscles shift beautifully underneath his tan skin as he stretches, his arms raising upwards, reaching for the sun. they relax as he settles down next to you on the couch and loosely throws an arm over your shoulder. as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone, you take the time to admire him in all his california-glory. he’s darker than in high school, the beaches in california gently toasting him to the perfect shade of golden brown. his skin brings out the green in his olive-green eyes, and silently you thank whatever gods exist for taking their time on him. his hair is slightly longer than before, though still cut unevenly, yet you want to curl your finger around his short strands of chocolate brown hair. looking closer to his face, you notice that even his face is less tense than when you were younger; he’s mellowed out. not that he’s any less competitive (ask oikawa), but he’s more gentle. small details pop out to you the more you stare, like the small barely-there freckles that litter his nose, or the sun-dyed lighter brown tips of his hair, or the slight sunburn that rests atop his nose from his recent trip out in the sun (you’ll remind him to wear more sunscreen later). But what you notice most of all is the soft smile on his dusty-rose lips. briefly, you wonder what’s got him smiling, but then you see his eyes are focused on your mouth, and the gentle angle in which he’s leaning, and you know exactly what he’s so happy about. you close your eyes, and meet him in the middle. 

there’s a shocking softness to bokuto’s demeanor; despite his hard plays and hard muscular body, his face and personality radiate warmth. it must be the way his large, round ashen-brown eyes look at a person with excitement dancing in them. or maybe it’s the surprisingly tender way he reaches a large hand out to touch your shoulder, completely opposite to his enthused mood. but, honestly, you know why he seems to soft. it’s because his heart beats for you. it’s because when he sees you, he wants nothing more than to embrace you and let the air become serene, his scent filling your nose as yours fills his. as he pulls you into a kind hug, you can feel yourself melt into him, his chest like a bed of pillows, soft yet firm, his body giving off the perfect amount of heat, his hands rubbing your back soothingly. you can feel him grin against your scalp as he kisses your hair softly. when he pulls back to look at you deeply, his expressive grey eyebrows seem to lessen in their harsh angle, and they lay nearly flat. bokuto’s multi-colored hair almost curls with love, a deviation from it’s pin-straight nature. a few more seconds pass and he pulls you back into his chest: you stay still, inhaling his comforting scent, heart full from the love he’s feeding you. 

-

a/n: oikawa’s ‘honest hands’ come from @cranbearly‘s iwaoi art !

[elladescent449-artspace]

It Started With the Milk : Chapter 8 - Home Sweet Home

‘It’ wasn’t home. Once Leo got back to the lair, he could tell Raph about everything, come up with a plan, and they’d be able to fix Donnie before anything else happened. ‘Easy as pie,’ the ever-positive-mental-personification-of-Raph said, after another moment he heard him say, ‘you know how to make pie?’ Leo wanted to chuckle, he really did but he was too stressed to laugh. After landing in a surprisingly soft pile of garbage, Leo had considered scaling back up the fire escape to protect April but reconsidered. He trusted her, especially because there were times where she proved herself to be more capable than them, but his chest still ached and his mind still worried as he left through the alley’s manhole.

Below the surface of the streets the water was still high from the rain. A shallow layer of water covered the brick walkway that soaked his shins as he ran. Leonardo took a sharp left around a corner and he could see a distant light from the lair. He picked up speed and after a moment he could make out the silhouette that stood by the entrance.

Raphael turned to the sound of Leo’s splashing. Alertly, he shouted “Leo!” before running towards his brother.

Leo stumbled as he slowed. “Raph, I-” He was crushed in a hug before he could process the motion.

The hug was tightened even more as Raphael pulled him closer to his chest. “It’s okay.”

Leo could feel his brother's voice vibrate through him at the close proximity, it felt safe, and it felt familiar. Leo’s arms slowly trained up Raph’s back as he returned the hug. “I was so scared,” Leo’s voice finally cracked and he could feel a sting develop in his throat as he tried to fight the tears that welled in his eyes. “It happened so fast and Donnie- It almost got me.”

Raphael dropped to a whisper. “Leo, you’re fine, you’re safe.”

“I don’t think that I am, I don’t think any of us are.” Leo only had to push a little to get Raph to release the hug. He looked up to his face, his expression strained with anxiety. “Whatever it did to Donnie, it wants to do to me, and I think it wants to do it to all of us.”

“Let’s go sit down and we’ll talk about it.” Raphael placed his hand on Leo’s back as he began to guide him into the lair. The temperature of their home was stark in contrast compared to the cold sewer pipe. Leo felt a wave of warmth wash over him as he went from the dark shadows of the walkways to the painted light from the open ceiling.

They passed by the kitchen and into the central room, where fragments of wood were still scattered on the floor. Looking up, Leo saw a comically turtle-shaped hole in the vert ramp. He would usually laugh at something like that, maybe even take a picture and send it to April, but it only made his stomach quiver with anxiety.

As they passed the ramp, Leo started: “It’s Donnie’s body.” There was only silence in the lair as they walked. “It’s his voice, it’s his face, but It is not Donnie.” He looked to Raph, who listened patiently as they entered the TV room. “It’s taken over him and maybe it’s-” Leo began trying to find a plausible reason, he hadn’t thought about how it had blended so well into their family circle. He flopped down onto his beanbag and raph pushed over his own before sitting down, leaning forward to get close to his brother. Leo sucked in a sharp breath, “maybe it’s, like...downloaded his memories too, that explains why it's been able to replicate him so well.”

“I… see,” The doubt in Raphael's voice hit Leo like a hammer.

“I’m not lying,” he uttered.

Raphael brought his hands up with a calming gesture. “I know, I know you’re not-” “I’m not joking about this Raph,” Leonardo needed to convince Raph before it was too late, before that thing came home. “Please, this is serious,” he begged.

There was a second of silence as he cocked his head to the side and read Leo’s face. Everything that Leonardo was saying was sincere, but… Raph gave a sigh as he placed his hand on Leo’s shoulder. He made eye contact with Leo as he calmly said: “I know it’s not a prank, but…”

“What?” A prank. A prank.

Raph shut his eyes for a moment and grimaced before trying again. “Leo, don’t you think that’s a little out there?”

There was a moment of silence brought upon by Leo’s shock before he scoffed. “We’ve fought mutant pigs with tentacles for arms, stinky plant mutants, giant spider ladies, a hypnotist hippopotamus,” a dry laugh escaped him as he continued, “and you’re saying that a body controlling parasite is a little out there?”

“Hold on, what I mean is-”

Leo cut him off, his voice beginning to rise. “He hasn’t been acting like himself, Raph.”

“I haven’t noticed anything, and when I saw him earlier-”

“That’s the thing!” Leo sprung up, coming up to eye level with his massive brother, “nobody has noticed but me.” He pointed to himself as he continued, “I talked to Mikey about it, and he didn’t notice anything either, but I am telling you-”

“Leo…” Raph tried to interject

“It is not Donatello.”

“Let’s just calm down, okay?”

“Raph, please.” He began to plead, his hand motioning over his heart, “you didn’t see it, he intentionally lost a dance battle to me, Raph,” Leo covered his mouth as he gave a quiet yawn.

Raphael closed his eyes as he sighed. He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Leo…”

Leo continued, his voice cracking under the emotional strain as he tried to make his brother understand, to make him believe him. “He practically recycled Shelldon, didn’t give a second glance when Mikey broke the tank-”

“Mikey broke the tank?”

“That’s not the point!” He shouted, surprising Raphael. “Don’t you realize what a mix of that means? Donnie would never. Ever. Disassemble Shelldon. That project is his pride and joy and for him to just open him up and leave him?”

“You saw Shelldon taken apart?”

“Well, no.” He stumbled over his own words as he realized what that sounded like,“but Mikey did!”

“Mikey knows about this?” Raph asked.

“Yes! But he didn’t believe me either,” he knew that he sounded frantic, but he continued, “this thing is a master manipulator, and it’s like it already knows everything about us from Donatello.”

“Leo-” Raph tried to interject.

“These facts have been building on eachother, “And then today he ghosted April, and attacked me!”

“What do you mean he attacked you?”

“I was trying to leave to go pick up April and he grabbed me, It tried to-” Leo’s voice cracked again. The memory of being pushed to the ground made his throat dry, “It tried to put a parasite in me, but I was able to get away before It did.”

Raphael sat quietly, listening to his younger brother's panicked words. He opened his mouth before shutting it again, trying to think of how he could possibly follow up. “How long has this been going on for?”

“Days Raph, it’s making my skin crawl.” A tear fell down his face and he quickly wiped it away. “I’ve been so- so panicked by all this that I feel like i’m losing my mind, I haven’t slept and I-” Another yawn ripped out of Leo as if on cue, making him stagger backwards as Leo covered his mouth. His brother stood. Raphael pressed the back of his massive hand against Leo’s forehead, effectively cutting him off and obscuring his vision.

After a few seconds, Raphael whispered, “you’re warm…”

Leo exhaled, “I was just running.”

Both of Raphael’s hands grabbed Leo’s face as Raph pulled him in, pressing his beak against his forehead. After a moment he hummed, releasing his smaller brother. “Leo, could you be running a fever?”

“No, I'm not running a fever!”

In an attempt to ease the conversation Raphael lowered his voice. “You don’t have to yell, i’m just making sure that you’re not-”

“Delusional?” Leo’s voice strained.

Frustration began to build in Raph’s demeanor as the conversation moved from rational to accusatory. “I’m not saying that.”

The tone was shifting in a way that Leo didn’t want. He was trying to make Raph get it, but the concept of this bad-thing-that-was-happening just wasn’t forming in his head. “Donatello” had integrated itself perfectly, it had taken days for Leo to notice something before he figured it out, so maybe if he took this from a different direction… “I’m sorry, a lot has happened today.”

Raphael’s expression softened. “It’s okay, look, let’s just talk this out, alright? I’m trying to understand.”

Leo folded his arms as he shifted his stance to something more comfortable. “I’m trying to explain this to you without sounding crazy,” he chuckled.

“Why don’t we start with the skate ramp,” Raph placed a hand on his arm. “What happened there?”

“Okay.” Yes, better. This was good! Leonardo would tell him his side of the story and maybe then Raphael would start to understand what was going on! Leo took a deep breath, he was going to tell Raph everything, from the attack, to April’s apartment, to everything It said and the parasite in the bottle. “I was leaving to pick up April and-” There was the sharp sound of pressurized air and then he felt a pinch strike him, and then Leo began to feel numb.

Raphael immediately noticed the fog in Leo’s eyes as he trailed off. Leo looked down and Raph followed his vision, spotting the brightly colored yellow dart in his thigh.

“Raph-” Darkness was already closing his vision. He took a step and his legs buckled beneath him. Leonardo tried to grab his brother, to use him to steady himself, only to find that his hands weren’t working anymore.

He couldn’t feel it, but Raphael caught him before he fell. After another second Leo lost consciousness all together, succumbing to the empty blackness. Raph looked up. On the second level of the lair, standing with a wide stance, Donnatello lowered the tranquilizer gun.

“Why did you do that?” When there wasn’t a response a familiar anger krept into Raphael’s tone. He repeated himself, “Donnie, why did you do that?!”

Donatello sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “He was clearly showing signs of insanity,” he said matter-of-factly. He set the dart gun down to lean against the wall before he began to approach them. “Our best option would be to treat him for a level two fever before he infects anyone else, just give him to me.”

Leo was fully limp in Raph’s arms now, a few tears escaping from his peaceful expression. Raph didn’t know if that was an effect of the drugs or from the pain, or maybe if it was from the fear he felt right before he went unconscious. “Actually,” he twisted away from Donatello’s reaching arms, “I have a better idea.”

Donatello visibly twitched at Raphael’s response, “Raphael, as the smart one-

“As the leader,” the emphasis on that word was stronger than Donnie’s,“we’re going to treat him the same way we treat any sickness, Mikey, go get the plastic seals.”

“Roger that!”

“Micheal.” Michelangelo stopped in his tracks at the warningly low tone Donnie held in his voice. Looking at Raph with a dark expression, “what’s the big deal? I can just give him something in my lab and we can get this over with.”

“Look, he is terrified,” he held Leo just a bit tighter. “If it is a fever, it’ll pass in a couple of hours like it always does,” they weren’t cruel.

Through gritted teeth Donatello said, “he’s a danger, not only to himself,” he raised his tightly bandaged hand, practically shoving it in Raph’s face, “but to us as well!”

A pang of guilt and uncertainty pulsed in Raph’s chest, “you’re right Don,” a small smirk appeared on his purple brother's face, “but,” and the smirk disappeared, “He’s sick and he’s scared. We don’t want to make it any worse… and besides, you hate sick people in your lab.”

Donatello’s fist clenched for a moment and Raphael matched his brother's stare with equally narrowed eyes. His face still contorted with frustration, Donnie muttered, “fine.” He turned and left the room towards his lab, ripping the tranquilizer gun from the wall as he went.

The awkward silence that was left made Raphael feel tired. ‘Is this the right choice?’ he thought. His mind flicked over that short argument and he suddenly felt confused, since when did Donnie play the doctor of the family? Sure, he had enough chemicals to analyze stuff, but he had nothing in the medicine department. So why did he want Leo in his lab?

“Hey,” the soft tone pulled Raphael from his thoughts as he turned towards Mikey. Michelangelo put a gentle hand on Raph’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Raph, Leo’s gonna be okay.” And with that Michelangelo turned and left to get the plastic seal they would use on Leo’s door.

Raphael sighed as he rubbed a hand over his face. “I sure hope so.”

And here's the link! : https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420926/chapters/79888930

[mommy-medusa]

y'all thought you'd seen the last of me? NOPE! enjoy a scene between Medusa and Athena!

---

Medusa met her at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea around her island. There was a singular tree atop it, a giant, majestic olive, bearing juicy green fruits that Teddi would often snack on. Beneath its lush brambles, stood her visitor, glowing soft gold, staring out at the wine-dark ocean as the full moon reflected against the roiling surface and the shined armor she wore. When the owl arrived, it perched on her shoulder and tapped her on the cheek with its beak to get her attention.

Medusa still vividly remembered the first day they met. Teddi was only four at the time. They were coming back from a visit with Euryale, and the sky was dark and heavy with rain, but nothing could have prepared Medusa for what followed.

The storm hit them like a wall. Teddi dropped the rock she had been fiddling with and burst out crying. There were noises in the trees all around them. Visibility was zero.

For a moment, Medusa didn't know where they were.

Who she was.

Did she have a splitting headache on that day or was her mind just starting to make things up, back-projecting her memories like a faulty storyteller who kept forgetting details about the tale?

Whatever it may have been, it wasn’t even the worst part. There was something massive in the woods around them, something that circled like a frenzy of sharks who’d just smelled fresh blood. Medusa hadn’t been able to see who or what it was with the rain pelting into her eyes; the lack of sight was terrifying for her, as her main line of defense completely revolved around it.

Teddi was crying her little heart out, clinging to Medusa in terrified desperation. Medusa cupped the back of her head with her hand, pressing her face into her chest to muffle her strangled sobs, but it was not enough to make them hidden in the wake of what could only be described as a baby hurricane.

Something lunged out from the underbrush, and Medusa was prepared to defend her daughter, even if it meant dying.

But then there was a flash of white light, and a spear stabbed down into the beast’s skull, pinning it to the ground. Medusa looked up through the sheets of rain pouring down into her face, and a bolt of lightning lit up the figure of her celestial savior standing before her.

Now, however, there was no lightning to light the way. Instead, there was the full moon, and Selene’s glowing silver gaze backlit the goddess that had called upon Medusa to the meeting spot.

She was thin but muscular, donned in a pure white, full-length chiton that was padded with golden armor on her narrow shoulders and chest, its polished metal carved in the intricate design of an owl’s head coiled in olive vines. Shining gauntlets were clasped around her wrists, one hand holding a spear wound by a snake and the other bearing a shield of goatskin. A black cloak trimmed with emerald green serpents billowed in the slight breeze of night behind her, making her look like she had wings. On her head she wore a golden owl-shaped helmet, its gaze a glare of onyx. When she turned to Medusa, her eyes were as grey-blue as the ocean water and infused with light.

For a long moment, Gorgon and Goddess of Wisdom just looked at each other in silence.

“Athena,” the gorgon finally said.

“Medusa,” the goddess replied.

Medusa tipped her head at the serpent-trimmed cloak and snake-wound spear. “Did you bring those as a tribute to me?”

Athena’s face twitched slightly, like she was trying very hard to not react in a way that wasn’t mature. She was always like that, always keeping that dumb facade up because of the pressure put upon her by her father.

“I don’t tribute anyone,” Athena said curtly.

“I see,” Medusa said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” She slithered up the rest of the cliff’s incline delicately, her long tail leaving no trace in the damp grass. She closed the distance between her and her visitor, getting right in front of Athena, so close they were almost touching. “Or have you come to see me?”

Athena’s face did that thing again, this time with more of a noticeable struggle. Behind her luscious wisps of brown-black hair, Medusa almost thought she could see hints of red.

“No,” Athena said harshly. “I have not.”

“Oh?” Medusa placed a black-clawed hand on one of Athena’s shoulders, tracing the weaving designs inlaid across her armor pads. “Then for what did you summon your little messenger for?” She eyed the owl, which had shifted its position on an overhanging branch. It blinked back at her with those huge, goggle-like eyes of its.

Athena opened her mouth, then closed it a moment later, seemingly cornered. Medusa had her prey right where she wanted her. Her lips split open in a wicked smirk, venomous fangs flashing in the moonlight.

“Are you sure, dear Athena,” Medusa purred, leaning her face in close to Athena’s, her tail slowly wrapping around the goddess’ legs, “that you have not come to sate your desires with me?”

Athena pulled away suddenly, stabbing her spear into the ground like she was trying to command the earth to crack open and swallow Medusa up for her words. Her cheeks bore the flickers of an interesting shade of red, which Medusa would have additionally teased her on if she weren’t completely engulfed by laughter.

“Medusa,” Athena hissed.

“I apologize, I apologize--” Medusa sputtered out through her laughter. She had respectively pulled back as well, but couldn’t help the fit of giggles that rolled through her. “You just make it so easy!”

Athena’s nose wrinkled slightly. She seemed to have calmed herself, though she still had the faintest tint of a crimson blush on her cheeks.

“I apologize,” Medusa said again, straightening herself up. “I’m good now.”

“Are you really?” Athena asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Medusa answered, her voice evened out.

“Hm,” Athena’s gaze shifted back out to the water. She looked like she was watching for something. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Ever since that night eight years ago, Athena routinely made trips back to Sarpedon. At first, Medusa didn’t understand why; yes, she treated her to hospitality and dinner as thanks for the rescue, but why would the powerful goddess of wisdom and war herself want to stick around with a monster and her human child? Eventually, she found out: Athena was as lonely as she had been. Though, it came in a much different form compared to what Medusa used to feel.

Try as she might, Athena could not shield off all of her emotions. She had more walls than anyone Medusa had ever known before (which wasn’t a lot, but it was still something), but once she created cracks in the granite, she was able to read her as clearly as Nyx spelling out “I NEED FRIENDS” with the stars.

Medusa quickly picked up on all the little quirks she hadn’t noticed the first few times she and Athena met up--the face twitch thing, the way she would sometimes fall into an obedient silence, the constant tenseness in her muscles like she never relaxed--but then she started spotting even more mannerisms: the sheer will she had to use to keep her voice level, the mindset that she wasn’t allowed to show any emotions that weren’t deemed mature or leader-like, the way her voice raised a few octaves when she was flustered or taken off guard, the panic she felt when that pretense did start to slip.

Personally, Medusa preferred the goddess when she wasn’t wearing that stupid mask she created for herself. She liked the awkward, endearing Athena that could make Helios jealous when she smiled and was really bad at crab catching.

But at the same time, Medusa could understand why she had such a thing in place for herself. She didn’t walk about it often, Medusa believed she didn’t like to in the first place, but Athena shared what she wanted. And with every snippet she let slip out of her own personal struggles, Medusa understood a little bit more.

To be the favorite child of the King of Gods himself must be like constantly walking on eggshells. Medusa had thought her monstrous parents had been harsh and disciplinary, but after hearing stories about what it was like having Zeus as a father made her grateful to have Ceto and Phorcys instead of the bearer of lightning himself. She couldn’t truly understand such an experience, but she got a taste of it through Athena: through the constant tension in her body like she was a coiled jungle cat ready to spring, through the practiced reserved tone of voice, through the tired eyes from constant pressure from her father, through the guilty looks when she did show emotion and the guilty looks when she didn’t show emotion.

Athena came to Sarpedon time and time again to get away from all of that, to finally relax, and Medusa was determined to help her with that.

Still. It didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to tease the goddess.

“Are you waiting on a boat?” Medusa asked, following Athena’s gaze out to the water.

For a moment, Athena went rigid, but it went away as quickly as it came. She was usually very good about fixing the slips in her demeanor; another thing Zeus and his excellent parenting could be thanked for.

But this time-- this time something a little extra lingered behind before Athena was able to bury it away with every other emotion that she deemed negative. If Medusa hadn’t been so in tune with the way Athena acted, she probably would have missed it, but it was there, flickering in the reflection of the moon in her glimmering grey-blue eyes.

Fear.

“No,” Athena answered. “Just watching the water. It’s a beautiful view.”

Medusa let it slide for the moment. As concerned as she was, she knew better than anyone that Athena didn’t like to be pushed. She already dealt with it enough from her father, Medusa didn’t want her to have to deal with it from her safe person, too.

“It is,” Medusa agreed. Then, hoping to ease Athena’s obvious worry, she added breezily, “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

Athena went rigid again, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. The blush came back, deeper than before, and she tried to hide it by turning her head away, but Medusa had already caught on.

“Thank you,” Athena said in a clipped voice.

“You always act as though you’ve never been complimented,” Medusa said, sliding up next to her so they would both be standing at the edge of the cliff.

“On my strength,” Athena said. “I get complimented on my strength. And my fighting prowess and my ability to kill people.”

“Oh, so do I!” Medusa grinned at her.

“Not on-- on--”

“Your beauty?”

Athena looked away again, but the glow of the moon reflected against the red of her cheeks. “Mmm. Sure.”

“You know, one day I’m going to make you admit it,” Medusa said.

“Admit what?”

“That you’re pretty.”

“Mmm,” Athena made the noise again, something she would do when she was caught between a rock and a hard place and didn’t know what to say. “Over my dead body.”

It showed up again- the fear. It remained a little longer than the first time, and Medusa even heard Athena suck in a sharp breath before she was able to regain control of herself again.

The first time was worrying enough for Athena, but a second? Medusa was going to give the goddess one more chance to either open up herself or quiet her anxieties before she stepped in.

“Anyway, I’m immortal,” Athena went on hurriedly. “So it won’t ever happen.”

“Well, I’m immortal, too,” Medusa said. “So I’ll just wait it out with you.”

There it was again, and so close to the second time, too. Something really had Athena unsettled. But before Medusa could begin questioning her, Athena spoke up before she could, halting her words for the moment.

“You’re not immortal,” Athena almost growled. “You can die.”

Silence. The owl overhead shifted on its branch, as on edge as its goddess.

“Athena, what’s going on?” Medusa asked. “What’s wrong?”

Athena looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Athena--”

“Nothing is wrong,” Athena snarled, using the voice she often used for war in hopes that it would scare Medusa into leaving her alone. But the goddess of wisdom seemed to forget that Medusa had two monsters for parents, more specifically Ceto for a mother, and nothing was more frightening than the way they would roar when she or her sisters did something bad.

“Athena,” Medusa softened her own voice. She raised her tail and slipped it under Athena’s chin, making her look at her. “What’s wrong?”

Athena was quiet for a moment. Medusa thought she was going to give her the silent treatment before she finally relented, “A man approached me earlier today. Perseus. He asked for my help in slaying you.”

Medusa was silent.

“I didn’t agree,” Athena went on quickly, sounding slightly panicked. “I refused his request and sent him away. But still. I worried.”

Medusa couldn’t believe it: Athena, goddess of war, known for her incredible skill in battle, was freaked out for her sake. Out of all the things she had seen, the lifetime worth of carnage she had witnessed over the years, the tons of gore she was often drenched in during times of war, all the battles and the violence and the death, it was a man saying he wanted to kill Medusa that got her worked up.

Medusa began to laugh.

Athena was startled. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Medusa flicked her tail. “It’s just-- you have probably witnessed enough bloodshed and violence and other horrors to strike a mortal mind into complete insanity, and this is what frightens you?”

Anger flitted across Athena’s expression. It was more common than most of her other emotions, but still didn’t come out very often. When it did, Medusa thought she looked like a fiercer, adorable, more attractive version of Ares.

“Should I have agreed then?” Athena asked. “Maybe I should have given him a ride over on my giant owl?”

“You have a giant owl?”

“Not the point,” Athena snapped. “The point is that a man wanted to kill you and you are laughing.”

“Athena, darling, if you haven’t noticed, a lot of people want to kill me,” Medusa said. She could tell her lack of worry was getting on Athena’s nerves.

“No, you don’t understand!” Athena said, and she sounded completely panicked, now.

“Athena, breathe--”

“He was a demigod.”

That made Medusa pause. She blinked.

“Oh,” she finally said. “I see. How peculiar.”

Athena looked anguished. “Yes, and he’s dangerous. To you and to Teddi. And if anything happened to you, I--”

Medusa cupped Athena’s cheeks, silencing her. The goddess’s eyes were as big as the moon when she looked at her.

“Athena,” Medusa said, her tone both calm and commanding at the same time. “Breathe. It’s alright. Nothing is going to happen.”

“But--”

“Nothing,” Medusa cut her off, “is going to happen. Just breathe, darling. It’ll be alright.”

Medusa couldn’t believe it: the goddess of war and wisdom herself actually listened to her. Athena gave her a tiny nod and then shut her eyes, taking several deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth.

“Good,” Medusa purred, wrapping her tail around Athena. “I’ve handled myself well enough over the centuries, have I not?”

Another small nod.

“Now, tell me, dear Athena: who is this man?”

Athena finally opened her eyes, and Medusa could see that several of her walls had been let down. She could feel it, too; against the scales along her tail, Athena’s muscles were loosening their vice on her bones and her posture was slouching ever so slightly into Medusa’s grip.

“His name is Perseus,” Athena said. “He’s one of my many, many brothers, but this is the first time we’ve met.”

“Your father sure does know how to get around,” Medusa commented.

Athena snorted. Medusa loved it when she would laugh. “Tell me about it. But Perseus came to me asking for aid, something about your head being a gift for a king. I didn’t listen very much. I sent him away as quickly as possible.”

“And you were worried about me,” Medusa cooed, brushing back some of Athena’s hair. It was like silk against her fingertips.

“Yes, I was,” Athena said. “I do not want anything to happen to you.”

“You underestimate me, dear Athena,” Medusa said, leaning in. “I’m stronger than you think, and-- may I kiss you?”

With her jaw hanging open slightly, Athena nodded.

Medusa smiled, closed her mouth for her, and then pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She craved the warmth Athena’s body held.

“As I was saying,” Medusa went on. “Nothing will happen. Everything is okay. You can relax now, my darling.”

Athena opened her mouth, most likely to object, but then closed it and nodded silently. Medusa kissed her again.

“I do, however, find your worry both adorable and incredibly attractive,” Medusa said, making Athena red. “Sit with me.”

They both sat on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the ocean. Medusa still had her tail loosely wound around Athena, but Athena didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t making any effort to get her off.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Athena whispered at one point.

Medusa looked at her endearingly. “You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Athena nodded slightly.

“You were right,” Medusa said, gazing at the water. “The ocean is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Athena mused.

Medusa laughed. “Bold, are we?” she grinned. “First my heart, now my words? What’s next, my dear Athena?”

Athena was smiling, now. “Your favorite citrus tree? I have yet to decide.”

Medusa laughed some more. It was moments like this that really made her think about what her life had become. So much had changed in a span of only twelve years, and though it moved fast, she enjoyed every minute of it. She held those memories like stars, and they seemed to be laid out before her in the glittering night sky as she sat there on that cliff, Athena by her side, thinking.

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Jealous of a Kitten

Author's Note:

Hey y'all! So I was b l o w n away by the response to my last Loki x Reader oneshot, so I thought I'd give writing for him another go! I've had this fic in my drafts since literally last year lmao. If you end up liking it, I'd love a like, reblog, or comment to let me know! And if anyone wants to request something for Loki or any other MCU characters, feel free to send me a message and let me know! As always big thanks to @twentytwohearts for their help reading and helping out with this fic!

Y/N POV:

“Good heavens mortal, haven’t you got anything else to occupy your time besides pestering me?” Loki grumbled affectionately from his place on the sofa. He was reclined comfortably on the couch, back pressed up to my front as he rested in between my bent legs. My hands were tangled within his inky black locks, fingers lazily scratching through his hair as I braided small sections. I grinned widely.  

“Nope!” I replied cheekily, ensuring to overexaggeratedly pop the “p” at the end. “Cap gave me the rest of the day off from training, so you’re blessed with my presence all day, snowball."

The prince sighed melodramatically as he turned a page in the book currently resting on his lap. 

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it as a blessing pet” he remarked dryly. His tone was nonchalant, but I could hear the small smile in his words despite his clear efforts to seem passive. 

“Oh please, we both know you love when I ‘annoy’ you." I rolled my eyes with a giggle. Loki merely hummed in response as he continued to read whatever tome had caught his attention this afternoon. Deciding to mess with him a bit, I removed my hands from his now-wavy tresses. 

“Or maybe not?” I pouted, feigning hurt and leaning my chest away from his body. He stilled slightly with his fingers paused mid page turn. His back tensed just a bit, and I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to decipher whether or not I was serious. Though he only panicked a moment or two, it was enough to make me silently delight in having seemingly tricked the god of mischief. He huffed childishly, his hand grabbing mine quickly and placing it back on his head. 

My smile widened so far at his reaction I was almost fearful it may actually split my face in two. He didn't say anything, but was certain Loki could feel the satisfaction coming off of me in waves. Even though I'd known from the beginning, it was nice to be reminded just how content he was to be entangled with me for the moment. He could pretend all he wanted, but I knew something about the lanky god that most people didn't. 

He was a huge cuddle-bug. 

As stiff and regal as he presented himself most of the time, he never failed to make it known just how much he adored physical contact with me. I'd even go so far as to consider him touch-starved when we'd first met. I mean, it made sense. He was a prince and the only meaningful contact he'd probably experienced came from those that used to help him dress or bathe. The thought of him going for so long -- literally thousands of years -- without the affectionate touch of another living being made me genuinely teary. Once we'd established ourselves as a couple, he instantly became a constant presence at my side. It didn't matter the situation nor the company surrounding us, if he was in the same room as I was he would gravitate towards me. Whether it was a hand resting across the small of my back or fingers linked firmly through mine, he always found some way to initiate some kind of physical touch. I was more than thrilled at his open displays of affection -- even after months of time spent together I still felt the delicious ripples of electricity run through me each time his skin met mine. 

Moments like today's were rare. Days when neither of us had any obligations or work to be done, when we could just spend time with one another. Sweet, domestic slices of life when we could just cuddle close to one another and pretend for a moment that all the struggles of the world were gone. I sighed softly as we lapsed back into comfortable silence, both of us content to simply be in one another's presence. 

But, as always, no peaceful moments around here could last that long. 

Peter came bursting through the door, looking even more flustered than usual. Which, for him, was saying something. He was wearing his suit sans the mask, carrying a giant throw blanket, with his brown curls mussed wildly and eyes desperately searching the room. He spotted Loki and I fairly quickly. A brief look of relief passed over the young boy's features as he rushed over to where we laid.

"Hey guys, uhm I could use some help," he blurted breathlessly once he reached the couch. I chuckled, amused by the poor flustered teen. 

"You'll have to be more specific than that," Loki grumbled from his place between my legs. I didn't need to see his face to know exactly his expression. Clearly he was annoyed to have our peaceful moment interrupted, and I would bet money that he was scowling at Peter as a result. Frowning slightly, I pinched the back of his arm in reprimand. 

"OUCH," he exclaimed dramatically. His arm darted out of my reach, the other hand coming out to rub the sore spot childishly. "What on Earth was that for?"

"Leave him alone snowball, he clearly needs something," I scolded lightly. He huffed once more, settling back into my legs and turning his attention back to his book and grumbling inaudibly. I rolled my eyes. 

Peter's eyes went slightly wider as they darted between Loki and I. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the raven-haired Asgardian when he was actually behaving, and given Loki's current grumpy demeanor he seemed especially on-edge. I smiled brightly, hoping to ease his discomfort. 

"What's up Peter?"

His eyes darted back to mine suddenly, relief overtaking his face at the save.

"So I was just out, ya know like patrolling, and I was helping this old Italian lady. She was carrying all this stuff right -- and I obviously figured I would try to help -- but she didn't speak English. She was like kinda mad at first and she hit me a couple times, cause I think she thought I was trying to rob her, but eventually we got everything sorted and got all her stuff back to her super old car and --" Peter rambled, words slurring together with that inhuman speed that only teenagers could seem to muster. My brows furrowed in confusion and I lifted my hands up like a criminal surrendering. 

"Whoa WHOA Spiderling, take a breath man." I chuckled good-naturedly. The teen's face flushed slightly at my interruption. 

"Sorry. Right. Sorry." he mumbled. "Anyways, so I finally get all her stuff in her car, and she just leaned into me and patted my head. I was gonna swing away, but she handed me this and drove away." 

He gestured to the large blanket in his gloved hands. My brows furrowed. 

"Okayyyyy," I drawled, still confused as to the issue. "And you're mad she gave you an afghan because…?"

His eyes sparked with realization, mouth forming an 'O'. 

"Oh no, no that's not it. I mean that is pretty weird, like why would I need a blanket in the first place. Maybe she thought I looked cold or something, but --"

"Norns, child!" Loki interrupted. He shut his book with a snap, abruptly shifting positions on the couch so he was sitting upright. "Could you perhaps get to the point sometime this century?"

I slapped his arm disapprovingly -- he scowled at me, stubbornly scooting further from me in silent protest. I turned my attention back to Peter with a soft smile. I nodded at the red-faced teen, waving a hand in indication that he should continue. 

"Right. Sorry Mr. Loki. Uhm, so anyways, she gave me this and I don't exactly know what to do with it," he finished. He opened the chunky-knit blanket to reveal the smallest, fuzziest kitten I'd ever seen. The kitten was tiny, no bigger than my fist, fur matted and full of tufts of orange and white hair. As soon as Peter opened the blanket the small kitten blinked it's tiny eyes against the harsh light. Adorable high pitched squeaks came from the teeny cat, who was clearly displeased with the sudden disturbance to it's sleep.

I gasped, my heart practically melting at the sight. I stood suddenly, hands reaching out unconsciously and making grabby motions towards the adorable creature. Peter readily complied, gently transferring the mewling baby over to my awaiting grasp. I cradled the little cat delicately, blanket and all, against my chest and cooed soft, unintelligible words of affection. My hands instantly found a spot behind the kitten's ears and began scratching lightly. The kitten responded positively, nuzzling into my touch readily and purring loudly at the attention. My heart felt like it was positively melting at the sights, sounds, and feel of the small animal in my arms. 

"It's so cute," I gushed, though whether it was to myself or the guys I wasn't even sure. I finally managed to tear my gaze from the cat when I heard a quiet growl come from Loki's direction. 

He was in his same spot on the couch, but I could instantly tell he was annoyed, even without the little grumble. His posture was rigid, hands sitting atop his legs balled into fists, and eyes suddenly dark with anger. Only moments before his face had seemed soft, the sharp planes and angles relaxed as we'd sat together. Now his expression was stony -- the stern mask of irritation he so often wore back with a vengeance. I was momentarily distracted from the small creature in my arms. Twinges of worry and the impulse to comfort him planted low in my belly ran through me at the sight. 

"He is cute," Peter's voice interrupted, clearly oblivious to Loki's abrupt mood shift. "At least I think it's a he? Anyways I can't bring him home, May is allergic to cats and anyways I don't think they're allowed in my building. I was kind of hoping you could watch him for a while?"

"Absolutely n--"

"Of course!"

Loki's head snapped up towards mine as we spoke at the same time, his scowl deepening at my response. I furrowed my brows in confusion, slightly surprised at his aggressive reaction. Peter's eyes bounced from my face to Loki's -- the awkwardness radiating from him as he shifted from foot to foot. 

"Can you not just take it to a shelter or something of that nature?" Loki seethed, glaring at the poor teen. Peter was clearly flustered by the question -- red creeped up his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. 

"Well, see, I tried that! I did, but they told me he's too young for them to take -- cause he's just a baby -- and they can't take him," he stuttered. "Plus, they said they've got too many animals right now, and if he doesn't get adopted soon then they might have to...you know…"

I gasped, instinctively tugging the now-sleeping kitten closer to my chest. Loki shrugged, nonplussed. 

"So?" he questioned. "That is what happens to unneeded animals on this realm, yes?"

My jaw dropped and I frowned disapprovingly at Loki. I knew he could still be, shall we say, difficult at times; though he was definitely on his way to being 'rehabilitated', old habits die hard and he often still struggled with concepts like compassion and kindness. Particularly when it came to anyone or anything that wasn't, well, me. Even still, how someone could look at the tiny creature in my arms without feeling the warm, protective emotions that I did baffled me. 

"We are NOT sending this poor baby to be killed!" I stage whispered the last part, glaring at Loki and cradling the kitten protectively against my chest. "Good lord Loki, just look at him!"

I held the small orange cat down slightly, revealing it's angelic sleeping face to the scowling god. He glanced at the kitten briefly before turning his attention back to me and quirking a brow. 

"I have." he stated plainly, voice laced with poorly concealed contempt. I scowled at him and stuck my tongue out childishly before turning back to Peter. 

"Ignore him Pete, of course we'll take care of him." I reassured the flustered teen. Peter's young face instantly flooded with relief and he mumbled a muffled 'thanks!' as he rushed back out of the room. 

Smiling and chuckling, I turned back towards the couch where Loki still sat. His facial expression remained annoyed and he'd crossed his arms tensely against his chest. I couldn't help but giggle outwardly at his pout; he looked like a child who's toy had been taken away. Though I found his pouty face adorable, I still found it slightly infuriating that it was over the innocent little bundle in my arms. My obvious amusement only caused his scowl to deepen and he scooched over further from me as I sat in my previous spot on the plush couch. 

"Somebody's a bit crabby," I stage whispered to the still sleeping kitten. Loki scoffed. 

"I am not 'crabby' pet," he grumbled. "I simply don't understand your fascination with this little creature.”

I chuckled, the noise hollow and closer to a scoff than anything. I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to the small kitten in my arms. He began to stir lightly, stretching out his tiny limbs and squeaking out the most adorable yawn before turning his attention to Loki and I. His small eyes appraised the two of us with a kind of innocent curiosity. Eventually he deemed us safe enough, and he began to slowly venture out from the confines of his blanket. As he tentatively explored my lap and the small section of couch that separated Loki and I, I felt my face split into a wide smile. Warm, happy feelings blossomed in my chest at the sight of the curious creature. 

"What's your name gonna be, huh?" I cooed to the small, exploring cat. "Are you a Tom or more of a Finn hmmm?"

Loki rolled his eyes, face never leaving his book. 

"How about blot?" he suggested plainly. His tone was even, controlled, and even though his lips didn't quirk up even the slightest bit at his suggestion I was wholly suspicious instantly. Sending a frown his way, I replied quickly. 

"Dare I even ask what that means?" I quipped warily. His eyes flashed momentarily to my face as he shrugged. Even with the briefest glance I could see the tell-tale spark of mischief in his eyes. Rolling my own eyes in exasperation, I turned my attention back towards the small tabby and ran my fingers across his back. 

"Hmm, what else?" I pondered out loud. "How about Tigger? You look a lot like Tigger."

The tiny cat purred louder at my words, curling around my hand as I spoke. Encouraged, I scratched his fur a little harder. 

"You like that huh? Alright, Tigger it is!"

 A quiet scoff came from the other end of the couch. To my utter confusion, Loki was still radiating complete and total annoyance from his place across from me. He sat tensely in the opposite corner of the couch with his boots tucked petulantly beneath him and his body angled as far from mine as gravity would allow. His head was bowed down slightly, his attention seemingly directed back to his book. Despite his best efforts, I could tell that he was only idly paying any attention to the words on the page. Gone was the smooth look of contentment that had graced his beautiful features mere minutes before; his face was once more a cold veil of poorly concealed contempt as he feigned reading. The look, though common to the rest of the world, was troubling to me. It’d taken months, but I thought I’d broken through the raven-haired god’s stony exterior. The sudden return of the stern facial expression caused pangs of concern and sympathy to prod at me from within. I reached a hand out instinctively to grasp his hand in mine, determined to display my silent support. 

Despite his ‘silvertongue’ reputation, Loki often struggled to verbalize feelings of anything other than contempt, rage, or disgust. I’d learned quickly that often he didn’t need me to attempt to discuss anything he wasn’t ready for -- rather it seemed the best way to comfort him in these times was a physical show of my presence and affection. 

This time was no different, and though his head barely moved an inch I could instantly feel the way he calmed under my touch. The muscles in his hand immediately relaxed as he moved to twine his long fingers between mine. His tense expression softened, although only fractionally as he grasped my hand. He turned his attention from his book slowly, deep blue eyes turning to meet my worried gaze. 

"Hey, talk to me snowflake," I demanded softly. "What's going on?"

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but a small mewl cut him off before he could speak. I glanced down and giggled lightly at the sight of the small orange tabby beneath us. The tiny kitten had wandered down the couch and was currently sitting mere inches away from our intertwined hands with a curious look overtaking his small face. Evidently he wasn't quite pleased to have the attention taken from him so quickly, and he reached a paw out tentatively to hover above our hands. Eventually deciding it was safe, the small cat placed a paw over the tops of our hands, eyes darting between Loki and I with a kind of content curiosity that made my heart practically melt. 

Loki, quite obviously did not share these feelings, and withdrew his hand instantly. His face was once more overtaken by a deep scowl as he snapped his book shut and swiftly stood. He turned curtly and exited the room without another word. My eyes followed him as he left, brows furrowed with concern and confusion. Tigger, meanwhile, was clinging to my chest by his tiny claws, his heart beating with an insane speed. He was clearly scared by Loki's sudden moves and general demeanor, and I cooed soft words of comfort to the small creature. My eyes never left the door though, thoughts of interest and concern overtaking my mind as I wondered what exactly had gotten into my raven-haired companion today. 

A few days later

Loki's POV

Sweet giggles filled the halls of the tower as I walked towards Y/N's room. A small smile overtook my features as the sound filtered through my ears. Typically I found midgardians irritating and their laughter grating, but as was almost always the case, Y/N was an exception. Y/N simply radiated happiness at every turn, and over the past weeks the sound of her infectious laugh had become one of my favorite sounds. Her mere presence had the uncanny ability to both calm and excite me at once, and I'd grown progressively more fond of my time spent with her in a way that baffled me and those around us.

In fact, the past few days had proven increasingly difficult for just that reason. Y/N and I had spent less time together as of late -- a fact that saddened and irritated me in near equal parts. For the past few days I’d found myself yearning for more time with my dear mortal, having been separated by the rather irritating presence of a certain small animal. Ever since the young Spiderchild had thrust a stray cat into Y/N's care she had been wholly and utterly enamored with the useless pet. She doted on the feline, which she'd dubbed 'Tigger', and spent nearly all of her time either caring for, amusing, or simply fawning over it. 

It was becoming rather taxing. 

At first, once I had begrudgingly accepted that the cat wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, I'd attempted to simply ignore it and go about our time as usual. It was only a day or two before that notion was entirely dismissed. Each time I made such an attempt Tigger had made his presence unmistakably clear. The loathsome, needy thing seemed to share my desire to be near Y/N, and was constantly sitting on or pawing at her. And even the precious few moments in which it wasn't physically touching Y/N it took to mewling and crying until she gave in and picked it up. I hadn’t had a single moment with Y/N in which we were truly alone for days, and I was reaching my breaking point. 

As I finally reached Y/N’s room and entered, the smile that the sound of her laughter had put on my face immediately turned to a scowl. Inside the room was Y/N, beautiful as ever, sitting casually on her bed. The sight, which normally would have filled my stomach with a tiny stir of happiness, was marred with the unwelcomed addition of a certain small kitten. The wretched thing was sitting in between her legs, happily jumping and pawing at the toy she waved above him. She was looking over the stupid pet with such fondness in her eyes -- a look which I'd once thought was reserved only for me. Irritation overtook my senses at the sight, and I couldn’t help the scoff of annoyance that came from me. 

Y/N looked up at the sound, initial confusion turning to excitement as she realized my presence. My own feelings of resentment faded marginally at the sight of her beautiful features lighting up with a smile of genuine happiness at the sight of me. 

"Hiya Snowball!" she greeted me excitedly, rushing up from her place on her bed and striding up to where I stood. She tucked herself into the fold of my arms easily, her head resting comfortably against my chest and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I sighed lightly, my own arms winding around her relatively smaller frame and my face coming to rest against the top of her head.

"Hello my love," I murmured lightly into the crown of her head, placing a sweet kiss in my wake before burying my nose in the soft hairs there. She hummed softly in contentment, and we stayed in this position for some time. It could've been moments, minutes, hours -- I was never quite aware of the passing of time when I was with Y/N like this. I was wholly encased in the safe little bubble that only her presence seemed to create. I was surrounded by her: the unique scent wafting from her hair, the feel of her body melding against mine, and the soft thumping of her heart against my chest that provided the ideal background music for our calm moment together. I was completely entranced by our embrace, all feelings of irritation gone for the moment. 

But only for the moment. 

The sound of tiny cries and the feeling of a small body thumping and winding its way across our ankles broke through the peace we'd established like a freight engine. Y/N's chuckle vibrated low against my chest before she pulled herself out of my arms to peer down at the kitten. Annoyance seared through my body as she detangled herself from me and squatted down to scoop the needy thing into her arms. She stood up once more, cradling the spoiled little creature in her arms and scratching its face with her long slender fingers. 

"Someone wants a hug too, huh?" she cooed playfully to the cat. My frown deepened at her soft tone, the same tone she often spoke to me with -- the small, loving voice that had crooned to me during late nights or early morning moments spent wrapped in one another's embrace. The same tone that never ceased to comfort me or make me feel as if she was possibly the only person to truly love me. The sound that I treasured so dearly was now being directed to a lowly, disgusting animal. It sent a wave of rage through my entire being like a white hot flame. 

"Norns Y/N!" I snapped. "Can we not have a single moment without the presence of this...this animal?"

Her eyes widened as she took in my words, brows practically flying upwards in surprise and hands stilling against Tigger's face. Her wide eyes blinked a few times in complete shock as she surveyed my face carefully. 

"I'm sorry?" she questioned confusedly. I exhaled loudly in irritation, arms coming to rest across my chest in a display of my annoyance. 

"Does it not bother you that we've not spent a moment together, alone, since the creature was forced upon you?" I questioned, tone acidic and face a stone mask of anger. Her brow furrowed deeper in confusion briefly before a wave of understanding flooded her eyes. Expression softening, she set the kitten down lightly onto the floor before crossing the few steps required to reach me once more. Though her eyes held nothing but concern and understanding within the deep Y/E/C irises, her face had the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"Well I'd ask if it bothered you snowflake, but it seems that may be redundant at this point," she replied to my earlier question with ease. Her soft hands reached up towards me and wrapped easily around the back of my neck. Almost of their own accord, my own hands found the curve of her waist and held her firmly. In lieu of a response I simply scowled in her direction. She chuckled lightly, and propped herself up on her toes briefly to place a gentle kiss on my cheek before she led me over to her bed and motioned for me to sit. I complied, albeit somewhat begrudgingly, and she ensured we were settled against the head of the mattress before she spoke again. 

"Loki, are you...jealous of Tigger?" she questioned. Her tone was very matter-of-fact, but the ghost of a smirk still lingered on her face. I felt my face flood with heat, and though I'd like to blame the color on anger I was certain she could tell that I was embarrassed. Though she was largely correct, I was struck with the ridiculousness of the statement as I heard it tumble from her lips. Glancing away from her expectant gaze I mumbled out a response, though I wasn't entirely sure what it was. 

Her gentle fingers moved slightly around my head, delicately stroking the skin of my neck and face until her soft palms rested against the sides of my face. She applied the gentlest pressure to my cheek, forcing me to look her in the eyes once more. I reluctantly complied. 

"Because if you are," she continued. "I'm sure I'd have to tell you just how insane that is. Outside of the fact that Tigger is a cat and you are my not-so-human boyfriend, the idea that there's anyone or anything I'd want to spend time with more than you is just completely inaccurate. He's a baby, and he needs a lot of my attention that's all. Since you haven't been coming around much I just assumed you were busy with other things lately -- never once did it cross my mind that I was the reason I hadn't seen you much." 

I felt my furrowed brows relax slightly. Stupid and petty as my feelings may be, I couldn't deny that hearing such reassurances straight from the one person I truly cared for had taken away a considerable amount of unease from my mind. I exhaled a long breath and shifted unconsciously deeper into Y/N's hold.

"Regardless I'm truly, very sorry that I made you think I was choosing something else over you. I would never want to hurt you like that, or make you feel like you aren't the most important person in my life." 

Her worried gaze was still locked firmly on my face as she spoke. Though the majority of my chest was filled with a feeling of relief from her admission, there was a twinge of guilt lurking deep within my stomach. I often forgot just how caring and gentle Y/N could be and this may have been one such occasion. Of course she latched onto the feeble creature -- was that not what she did with me as well? It was simply a part of her nature to care for the weak or disadvantaged. 

I frowned once more as my mind reeled with the realization of my own selfishness. Y/N clearly mistook my expression however, and I could see the guilt in her eyes as she spoke up once more.

"I can ask Peter if there anyway he can watch him for a bit, maybe just give us some time alone. Or maybe --"

"No." I cut her off abruptly once again. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she opened her mouth to reply. My own finger came up to her face fast as lightning to silence what would undoubtedly be more apologies. 

"Dearest, clearly the fault is not on your end in this case," I started, hoping to ease her mind. "We both know I often, shall we say, struggle with expressing my thoughts at times. Of course you wish to care for the kitten, just as you care for everything in your life. I was wrong to assume your affections were completely diverted and for not mentioning my feelings sooner. For both, I am truly sorry."

Her expression softened at my apologies, face relaxing under my hand as I spoke. She smiled a small grin of appreciation before thrusting herself forward and deeper into my arms. I let out a small 'oomf' at the force of her body attaching to mine, but regardless my arms wound their way around her frame and I cradled her to my chest. She sighed in contentment, and we stayed in this position for a few moments before I felt her chuckle against my body. I pulled my head back just enough to give her a questioning look. 

"I'm sorry," she giggled, face alight with mischief and glee. "Did the big, fearsome Loki just say he was sorry?"

However unintentionally I felt my face heat up once more, although this time it wasn't from anger. I rolled my eyes lightly before smirking down at Y/N's smiling face. 

"If I were you, I'd mark this day down in your memory, as it isn't likely to be said again anytime soon," came my dry response. 

I heard Y/N's melodious giggle from where her face was pressed against my body, sending delicious sparks of happiness across my frame. Outside of that, her only response to my statement was nuzzling deeper into my body -- a welcome action that I easily reciprocated. My eyelids closed as we settled ourselves into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in one another's presence. I hummed, utterly at peace with my current position, when I heard a tiny mewl from nearby. 

Opening just one eye, I saw a curious little face near mine. Tigger had evidently decided it was now safe enough to venture close to where Y/N and I laid. He was pawing hesitantly back and forth across my lap, eyes assessing me with tentative curiosity as he made tiny circles around my stomach. I chuckled at the feeling of his impossibly tiny paws kneading my lower belly as he settled into a lying position. Y/N opened her eyes at my amused chuckle and shot me a sheepish grin. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I can take him somewhere else. I think Peter's around, he'd probably watch him for a bit."

I shook my head, placing a small kiss to her forehead and placing a hand on Tigger's ears.

"It's alright love. I meant what I said when I was sorry -- he didn't do anything wrong, he simply wishes to be around you as much as possible. Obviously, that is a trait we both share, and I think I could expend a bit more energy in attempting to bond with Tigger." I answered genuinely. The kitten purred loudly in response, inching his body further up my chest until he was resting just beside Y/N's face. He closed his eyes sleepily, and curled into my body constantly as he slept. 

Y/N grinned widely, her lovely face alight with such genuine love and glee that I was taken aback at her beauty. She placed a sweet kiss to my lips in thanks before returning to her place on my chest. I closed my eyes once more, smile firmly in place as I lied quietly and revelled in the peaceful moment. 

Taglist: @grahoundart

[toonytoodles]

Random fun fact time! Ft. OCs! (Repost because I added more/ edited a lot of stuff)

Avery -

- Sneezes like a kitten, and most of the time she accidentally uses her fire breathe when she sneezes, so watch out

- Sleeps on a rock

- Is made uncomfortable by actual dragons, it's just... too weird for her...

- Has a strange and inexplicable extreme fear of eels

- Reacts to fear by singing/humming/speaking very loudly, and also by running and screaming (basically, how markilpler acts when playing horror games? yeah that)

- At least once a week her dad has to help her brush through her hair, he says they should get it cut but she absolutely refuses

- Owns a few pairs of gloves- most of which look nearly identical. Some are for different days, some pairs are for bedtime, and some are for special occasions, but she also has some different types and styles of gloves for different events

- Loves the holidays, dislikes the weather that comes with it

- Absolutely hates people touching/messing with her tail, even if it's by accident she gets kinda mad. That's hers- don't touch it. (Emma's the only exception to this simply because it can't be avoided- although Emma does try to touch it as little as possible)

- Slightly allergic to pollen

- She has a clicking-like purr

- If you scratch under her chin she'll purr and relax, but if scratch a certain spot on her neck she'll sleepily fall over

- Adopted as an egg and raised by her human father and fairy mother

- Has a Scottish accent 

- Works as a Glazier (glass blower) and makes potion bottles, also helps with making the potions, and occasionally costumer service and boring stuff like stocking/inventory

Emma -

- Plays with hoodie strings and/or hair when upset or nervous (it happens often, her hoodie strings are sorta worn out)

- She's a big fan of animals! Especially bears, puppies, and unicorns, she thinks they're adorable! When she was younger she used to like dragons quite a bit too

- She's a protective friend and big sister, and she's a little over protective over people she cares about

- Tends to read into things; if your tone or demeanor is slightly different she begins worrying that something's wrong or that she did something. She also tends to believe that no one actually wants to be her friend or wants to be nice to her, but that they're only being nice because they're afraid of her or pity her.

- LOVES HUGS!!! Absolutely loves them, hugging other giants, hugging people smaller than her, getting hugs, giving hugs, she loves hugs

- Once accidentally ate a fake candy cane decoration, off someone's front lawn, because she thought it was real gigantic candy, left out for giants (she was like four, so it made sense to her then, but she still gets made fun for it a bit by her family)

- Loves snow and winter

- Her favorite color is probably blue

- Is surprisingly good at sneaking up on people, for someone 30ft tall she's quiter than most borrowers

- Is the second oldest of five kids, her older brother Rory is 23, her younger brother Richard is 15, and her youngest sisters Aroura and Tiana are 6 and 8, and they're all pretty close

- Her dad is a size shifter, and so are Richard and Tiana, the rest of the family are giants

- She's ambidextrous

- Very cautious of her surroundings

- Hates surprises/being scared

- Bi-romantic and ace

Sofia -

- Can write without looking at what she's doing

- Only wears slip on shoes or shoes with Velcro/zippers, she never learned how to tie them, she couldn't figure out what to do with her head or look at what she was doing

- She's an artist! She likes to paint!

- Has a hard time saying "no," so when she says it, she means it

- Hates surprises and people sneaking up on her

- Has a pet python named Albert

- Probably the only person on the planet who has worse anxiety than Emma

- Don't call her "Soph" or "Sophie," and she gets mildly annoyed when her name is misspelled

- Typically uses right arm to carry head and left hand for everything else

- Has a weird sense of humor

- Has a million stuffed animals, has like 20 on her bed, but Rupert the blue bunny is her favorite

- She has an enchanted scarf that allows her to wear her head when needed, she doesn't usually use it because she's not used to it & it gives her anxiety (she's scared of the scarf falling off/being taken off unexpectedly) but she has it and uses it on occasion, mostly at home

- She doesn't let anyone else hold her head, it seriously freaks her out, her dad is the only exception, but Avery held her once for a group photo (her body took the picture)

-She loves singing and has a soft beautiful voice but is too shy to sing around anyone 🎶

- She was bullied when she was younger and doesn't like to talk about it, she already gets emotional easily and those memories hurt

- She loves Avery's jokes and has a bit of a weird sense of humor

- She's adopted, she lives with her human father (another fun fact, her dad is one of Avery's parents best friends!)

- Unlike Avery, she wasn't adopted as a baby, she was about 6-7ish when she was adopted

- Loves vegetables

- Gets embarrassed easily

- Doesn't go out of her comfort zone, she only does stuff when Avery basically forces her to

- She really likes Emma, but is also sorta scared of her sometimes, she's just scared of people and being looked at, so she can be a little overwhelming without meaning to be, it's nothing personal and she knows Emma wouldn't hurt a fly, she's just scared of people and sometimes Emma is a lot of person

- Doesn't want Emma to hold her (Emma respects it, although sometimes they work it out to where Emma can give her a gentle hug)

-Her favorite season is fall

-She loves rabbits and frogs, but won't admit she loves horses (there's a stereotype that all dullahans love horses, she won't give in)

-Hates confrontation

-Loves vanilla cake

-Hates strangers and people she's not comfortable around being anywhere near her

- Pansexual

- Sorta has a voice claim, but it's weird and sorta difficult to explain?

Andie -

- Has a French accent (picked it up from dad)

- One of my only OCs to have a voice claim

- Plays the flute

- Mean, selfish, and self centered, but somehow also a good person

- Sings sentences sometimes

- Scared of turtles

- Works as a bard/waitress at the family tavern

- Unfortunately she is heterosexual

Andy -

- Somehow didn't pick up their fathers accent

- One of my only OCs to have a voice claim

- Plates the lute

- Genuine and kind hearted, but also a bumbling moron

- Dreams of being a song writer, wants to be a professional musician

- Works as a bard/waiter at the family tavern

- Bi, but prefers women

Clementine -

- A book worm

- Likes to sing

- Practices magic, knows a few interesting spells

- Sometimes her and Avery fight over magic usage vs. potion usage (they know it's a dumb fight, but they don't care, at this point it's a joke)

- She's a white tailed deer

- She has great hearing, and is usually very aware of her surroundings

- She wants to be a magic professor as an adult

- Demisexual, pan, but prefers men

Pond-

- Elementals don't really have gender, she chooses to present as female and use female pronouns

- Can't "see," but rather senses vibrations, since she's made out of water she doesn't have eyes, but based on other senses she can get around just fine

- She can't smell either

- Doesn't care for romance

- Has 4 pet fish she keeps with her, named Karl, Frank, Phillip, and Fish

- She has a baby sister, Brook

- She's odd and can be off putting unless you know her pretty well, then her weirdness is sort of endearing

- She can tell her friends apart by the way they walk and their gestures, and of course their voices, but really has no idea what any of them look like, she knows their species and the normal traits of those species, but not much outside that

- She doesn't eat or drink

- Smart, but sorta reckless

- Sorta hard to hug :( but the others still try

Sapphire -

- Has minimal size shifting abilities, but prefers to be her true size, she loves sitting on her husband's shoulders or in his pockets (She's about 5ft in her bigger form)

- Used to be an adventurer, at one point she was a pirate

- Met her husband on one of her adventures

- Has a Scottish accent

- She has a sword her size (no it's not a toothpick or a toy or anything, she has an actual tiny sword) 🗡

- Makes potions for the shop and deals with customers

- Grew up outside of Tradeskeep, her and Kal retired from their adventuring career and settled down there

Kalvin -

- Used to be an adventurer/ mercenary

- Huge, ripped, has all kinds of scars, but his 4" tall wife is scarier than he his, he's basically a teddy bear

- Makes potions, does restocking, inventory, and doesn't as much anymore, but makes potion bottles

- Has scars/tattoos from various adventures

- Used to have dragon scale armor, he once saved a village from a dragon, but has sold it and no longer tells the story, he now claims it was a bear

- He's a great dad ❤

- Loves ale & meat, but not as much as his girls

- I cannot overstate how much he loves his family, he LOVES his wife and daughter, like a LOT, it pretty much defines who he is, he's a family man

- Met his wife while on a quest

- He used to be a nomad while adventuring and getting paid for jobs, he'd wander from town to town, until he settled at Tradeskeep and put up a shop

Ok so i know that's a lot, but it's there for anyone who's interested in all that ❤ I have other facts too, so if you wanna know any more just look around on my blog or send an ask, Q&A for OCs are open, and I'm open to art/writing requests/ideas! ❤

[xxpadfootxx]

Since When Do Heroes Have Paws? Part 3/6 (Doggy Paddling in the Dark - TokoTsu)

Summary: Tsu teaches Tokoyami that there might just be more than her than fluffy fur and a fragile form.

~~~

Even as a dog, Tsuyu felt content. She had eaten a wholesome meal, taken a nap in a soft pile of blankets that had been left for her, and gone for a walk with Tokoyami. But something was missing. She couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but something about Tokoyami was setting off her senses that something was wrong. She had tried to figure out what it was but without her voice, it was hard to probe. Right now, Tokoyami sat on his bed reading a book, Dark Shadow resting its head on his shoulder. Tsuyu was lying in her bundle of blankets at the end of the bed and she watched the bird boy, her eyes scanning for something, anything to tip her off as to what felt so weird about him. She had always felt comfortable around the reclusive boy, his calm demeanor and cool intellect always leading Tsuyu to feel calm and collected as well. This had started a chain of events that led to them hanging out more often, usually choosing to hang out in one of their rooms to read books or study, merely enjoying each other’s silent presence. But this time felt different. Tsuyu felt as if there was a barrier between them and yet she could think of no way to break down that wall.

“I can feel you staring,” Tokoyami said cooly.

Tsuyu wagged her tail and spun her ears back bashfully. She didn’t know he had been paying attention to her. Tokoyami’s sharp stare left the pages of his book and drifted over to her, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Suddenly leaning forward, Tokoyami reached out and stroked her fluffy white fur, ruffling the mop of hair on her head and using his pointer finger to lightly scratch beneath her chin. Tsuyu’s tail wagged harder but her eyes widened slightly as she felt it. She was starting to see why she felt such an odd barrier between them. Even though he was petting her, his hand was barely adding any weight into his movements, and his arm was hovering in the air, keeping all weight off of her to the point where his arm was getting sore from holding it up. After a short while, Tokoyami sat back with a soft groan, leaning into the pillows behind his head. Tsuyu continued to watch him, more and more things coming to her attention. She noticed how quiet and passive Dark Shadow had been, his head never leaving Tokoyami’s shoulder. She knew Dark Shadow to usually be more on the quiet side but in all of the time she had studied with Tokoyami, she knew he had a loud, kind of rambunctious side too, much to Tokoyami’s annoyance and Tsuyu’s secret enjoyment. But now, the beast merely lay still, his eyes drooping almost sadly as he rested against the bird hero, his dark form obscuring part of the pillows.

Tsuyu observed Tokoyami for a little bit longer before making up her mind. Standing up abruptly, Tsuyu darted over the comforter of his bed and bounded over to him, her small tail wagging and her fluffy fur swaying around her as she moved. Tokoyami had zero time to react before Tsuyu made it to him and didn’t get the chance to try to stop her before she bolted under his arm and pressed her body up against his side, curling up in a little ball right in between his body and Dark Shadow. Tokoyami blushed a little bit but Tsuyu didn’t see, her head turned away from him to look at Dark Shadow. Despite the shock of her sudden change in position, Tokoyami recovered quickly and snapped his fingers, a sound which prompted Dark Shadow to immediately sit up and try to move away from her.

Tsuyu had had an idea that this was going to happen and lunged forward, her tongue shooting out of her mouth to wrap around the shadow’s clawed arm. Dark Shadow paused with a surprised squawk and turned to see the little white ball of fluff holding him tightly by the arm, her frog quirk still in effect despite her condition.

“Tsu, what are you doing?” Tokoyami asked, his voice slightly gruffer than usual and his eyes alight with slight fear.

She couldn’t talk, but she did look in his direction and wag her tail, waiting until Dark Shadow relaxed and moved back to his previous spot before she released his arm. Sitting up but not moving away from her place beside them, Tsuyu looked right into Tokoyami’s eyes, her ears perked and her eyes sparkling.

Tokoyami sighed and reached out to pat her head again, once more using the least amount of pressure possible as he did so. Without hesitation, Tsuyu reached around and very lightly nipped his fingers, leading Tokoyami to retract his hand quickly with a small yelp of surprise. Tsu expected him to ask her what the hell she was doing but instead, he leaned down and spoke to her, his voice rising up an octave.

“I am so sorry Tsu! Did I hurt you? Where did I cause the damage? Do you need something? Anything? A towel? A blanket? Some food? What can I do to make it up to you?” His voice was still in its low tone, not having changed much but the speed of his speech was rapid and flustered, very unlike his normally cool, calm, slower tone and speed of voice.

Her heartbeat rose just slightly at the rush of his voice, something to do with her new small dog genes, but she managed to swallow her anxiety and barked loudly, cutting off his rambling speech. Standing carefully, she made her way over to her friend and pressed herself firmly against his chest, her tail still wagging. Using her nose, she pushed his hand up and snuggled underneath it, her tiny teeth gently latching onto his finger to keep his hand in place. Tokoyami watched her with unfiltered surprise as she moved until she was rested completely under the full weight of his hand. As soon as she was settled, Tsu sighed and relaxed, trying to show Tokoyami that she was comfortable and didn’t need to be coddled even with her new size. Tokoyami remained tense for a while, his sharp eyes narrowed on her fluffy white form before he finally allowed himself to relax a little, telling himself that if he was hurting her that she would tell him. Tokoyami sighed in contentment and both had finally relaxed, Dark Shadow even closing his eyes, when a loud banging on Tokoyami’s door caused them to jump away from each other.

“Tokoyami, Tsuyu, Aizawa says that it’s your turn for training, please report to the training arena in approximately five minutes!” Iida said through the door with his usual blunt authoritative voice.

As soon as Tsu felt her heartbeat slow down a little bit more, the fluffy white terrier hopped off of the bed and made her way to the door, turning to look at her friend expectantly. Tokoyami sat in the bed for a moment longer, his eyes wide and his beak slightly parted as he contemplated something. His eyes darted from the door to Tsu to Dark Shadow and then back to Tsu again. Taking a deep breath and schooling his features back into a neutral look, Tokoyami stood from the bed, Dark Shadow disappearing into his chest. The bird hero opened his door and followed Tsu out into the hallway toward the arena where they were to train for the afternoon.

Aizawa sighed and looked at the watch on his wrist as Jirou left the ring with a dumbed dog Kaminari treading behind her, his tongue lolling out and his eyes closed blissfully, little yips coming from the Shiba Inu’s throat as he walked. Despite the fact that his students were on a break, he had decided to hold some quirk training tests to see where they would need to start off when the break ended. He knew that several of his students were now dogs for the time being, but he had decided to host the test anyway to see how those five students specifically would be able to handle the giant shift in their lives. He looked at his watch impatiently again, waiting for Tokoyami and Asui to show up, something that sparked his interest slightly considering those two students, in particular, were always punctual. He was just about ready to go looking for them himself when a fluffy white West Terrier bounded into the room, a less than thrilled Tokoyami following behind her. Aizawa’s eyes narrowed as the boy approached him, his eyes constantly turning to glance at Tsu as if he didn’t want to be caught. The little white dog was out of earshot, her nose twitching as she made herself familiar with the room.

“Sir?” Tokoyami whispered once he got close enough to his teacher.

“Yes?”

“Do you think we could do this some other time? I’m really worried about Tsu.”

“She looks fine to me,” Aizawa responded shortly, glancing over Tokoyami’s shoulder to quickly check for a limp he was missing. “What seems to be the problem?”

Tokoyami shuffled from foot to foot, something that Aizawa found particularly strange considering the boy’s normally cool, confident personality.

“Well, she is just so small and fragile, I don’t want to hurt her, my quirk is so aggressive, and that’s just in the daylight! Why don’t we do this when she is human again? Then she can defend herself from me.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at the bird boy and sighed making Tokoyami look up. His teacher leaned down and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I think you should have a little bit more faith in your friend,” Aizawa whispered before removing his hand and walking past the boy.

Tokoyami wanted to protest but saw the point as moot as his teacher approached Tsu with confidence. Aizawa leaned down as Tsu trotted up to her teacher and sat at his feet. His large hand gently patted her head, making Tokoyami gasp just slightly. Aizawa’s hand was nearly the size of her head! Nervousness at the idea of Tsu being injured by someone’s large, clumsy hand made Tokoyami grit his teeth and tense his fist, something that Aizawa did not miss but didn’t acknowledge. Standing up, Aizawa moved back to his place at the edge of the arena and motioned for the two students to begin.

Tsu immediately trotted to one end of the arena and crouched into a fighting stance, her tail straight out behind her and her ears pricked up to catch every noise around her. Tokoyami moved to the other end of the arena and also got into a fighting stance but allowed it to be looser than normal, his fists not so tightly curled and Dark Shadow raising out of his chest only to be the size of a small dinner plate. Tsu cocked her head slightly and Aizawa saw her tail droop slightly at the pitiful size of Dark Shadow, but she managed to shake it off and refocus herself, her body tensing even more as she waited for him to make the first move.

Tokoyami watched her for a few seconds before sending Dark Shadow out toward Tsu in a rush of darkness. Tsu brightened at the force of the shadow being thrust at her, only for her features to fall again when Dark Shadow slowed down immensely at the last second, swiping at her so slowly that she side-stepped it without even having to move more than a foot to her left. Aizawa heard her little growl as Dark Shadow made another weak attempt to snatch at her, her eyes blazing now with frustration.

“Both of you stop,” Aizawa said suddenly. Tokoyami’s whole body relaxed and Dark Shadow dove back into his chest.

“Thank you, sir,” Tokoyami said, about ready to turn to leave when Aizawa caught their attention.

“As it is pretty obvious that the two of you are not fighting at the capacity necessary, I’ve decided to add a little something to your test to motivate you.”

Tokoyami’s eyes flashed with fear as Aizawa moved over to the far wall and placed his finger on the light switch. Turning an almost wicked smile on Tokoyami, Aizawa flipped the switch, bathing the room in darkness.

Tokoyami was tempted to call out to either Aizawa or Tsu when he very suddenly felt something forcefully hit his chest and throw him backward. He let out a groan when his back hit the wall, pain spidering up his spine. The bird boy tried to stand but didn’t get more than a few inches off the ground when he felt something wrap around his waist and lift him only to throw him back down onto the ground.

“Tsu?” Tokoyami croaked, trying to get up once more. The thing that had hit him before tried to wrap around him again, but he finally allowed Dark Shadow out of his confines. The dark beast grabbed ahold of the long ribbon-like object and threw it around. Tokoyami flinched when he heard the sound of Tsu’s yelp and stood up with his hands held out on either side, trying to find something to grab ahold of.

“Tsu! Are you alright? Where are you?”

It was then that he heard something like the sound of a whip flying through the air and managed to just barely jump out of the way before what he realized to be her tongue slapped the ground where he had been moments before. Tokoyami spun around just as the tongue came back for a counter-attack, barely even giving him enough time to blink. Tsu’s tongue wrapped tightly around his waist and tossed him across the arena. Although she knocked the wind out of his lungs, Tokoyami remembered what happened the last time he stayed on the ground and scrambled to move as Tsu attacked again. He knew he was going to get thrown again and didn’t have enough time to get his legs underneath him, and so with a whirl of power, allowed Dark Shadow to block her attack with his large claws. Tokoyami’s eyes widened at the size of his quirk, the large bird-like shadow filling almost half of the arena and his eyes glowing a deep, dark red.

“Dark Shadow, no!” Tokoyami shouted as his quirk caught sight of Tsu somewhere in the darkness and dove for her small form, his jaws parted in fury and his claws opened to grab at her. Tokoyami tried desperately to hold back but Dark Shadow was taking advantage of the darkness and swelled with power, ignoring the pitiful tugs against him from Tokoyami.

“More, More, MORE!” Dark Shadow cried out, the giant beast rising up before crashing down heavily onto the arena floor.

“NO! Dark Shadow, you’ll hurt her! We’ll hurt her! I’ll hurt her!” Tokoyami called out, scrambling to his feet and peering through the darkness to get a glance at the damage his quirk had caused.

A really bright blinding flash suddenly blinded Tokoyami, who raised his hands to block the light from his eyes as Aizawa flipped the switch on the wall. As soon as Tokoyami felt the pain in his eyes die down, the boy lowered his hands to see Aizawa watching him with an almost smug smirk plastered across his face.

“I told you that you need to have more faith in your friends,” Aizawa said slowly, waving his hand to the left of Tokoyami. Tokoyami glanced over and felt his jaw drop in shock at the sight that met his eyes. There, standing in the center of the arena was Tsuyu, human once again rather than the little Westie terrier she had been before, with Dark Shadow wrapped protectively around her body. A small blush had risen to her cheeks at the realization that she wasn’t wearing any clothes thanks to her transformation, but she stood tall and gazed at Tokoyami with a determined look.

Tokoyami managed to close his mouth shut with a snap and then gave her a gentle smirk. She returned his look with a dazzlingly confident smile that seemed to brighten the entire room.

“Very good, both of you. Tokoyami, you will want to have a little bit more control over your quirk in the dark but you otherwise handled yourself well even with the pressure of fighting against an opponent in the dark. You are dismissed,” Aizawa said.

Tokoyami approached Tsu and took her hand, leading her out of the arena with Dark Shadow still wrapped protectively around her body. The pair made their way out of the arena and walked down the hallway toward the bedrooms so that Tsu could change into some proper clothes. As soon as she had put on a simple fern green t-shirt and a pair of white shorts, Tsu trotted out of her bedroom and made her way over to Tokoyami, who was leaning against the wall in an attempt to look relaxed. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she felt the exact opposite, all of his muscles coiled and tense, his eyes darting around to look at everything except her.

“Tokoyami,” Tsu said, finally managing to draw his eyes to meet hers. “Do you know now why I acted the way I did? Why I attacked you without hesitation in the arena and nipped your finger in your bedroom?”

“Yeah…” Tokoyami said softly, dropping his eyes to stare at his feet.

“Listen,” Tsu said with a soft sigh. “I understand what you were trying to do, and I understand why you were trying to do it. When that thug’s quirk hit me, I happened to take the form of a very small dog, but you can’t keep seeing me as some kind of little weakling that needs to be protected all the time. I am a hero in training just like you, and I deserve to be treated like one.”

“I know,” Tokoyami said. “It wasn’t so much me trying to protect you because I saw you as fragile though. I would NEVER see you as a weakling, although I do not blame you for thinking that I did. The main reason why I was treating you differently is because it was me. If you were with any other person during this whole thing, then I would not have been worried at all. But you were staying with me, the student with an out of control quirk, the person who is dark and antisocial and secluded and uncontrollable. I mean, you saw what happened during the training camp! When the villains attacked, my quirk went so insane that I was actually attacking my friends, almost killing them, and I was absolutely powerless to stop it. I was worried that I was going to hurt you because I have no faith in myself, not because I don’t have faith in you.”

Tokoyami continued to stare at the ground as he told her everything, his shoes suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the world to look at. The feeling of a small hand against his face made the boy flinch and the feeling of her soft lips gently brushing against his cheek made both him and Dark Shadow flare up with a fiery blush. Her face was also red but a little more controlled as she stepped back, a sweet smile on her face.

“Thank you for telling me, I understand everything now. But in the future, don’t be so hard on yourself. I was able to subdue Dark Shadow by merely touching his nose when he came in to grab me. Why? Because you did not want to hurt me. I don’t have some special power that allowed me to conquer your mighty shadow, YOU made that happen with your heart and your mind. Even when the darkness made him go crazy, you were able to break through his wall, to the point where he even guarded my body against prying eyes when the lights came back on, and you didn’t even know that I had gone back to normal. Dark Shadow obeyed because YOU care. You are not a failure or a monster, and I think it’s important for you to understand that as much as you can. Just keep working at it and you will make an amazing hero.”

Patting Dark Shadow on the nose and winking once at Tokoyami, Tsu began to walk away with a bright smile on her face. She was almost at the end of the hall when Tokoyami stopped her, his hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Wait,” Tokoyami said. Releasing her wrist, he raised his hand to her hair and patted her head with the full weight of his arm, refusing to hold back with the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth.

The hallway rang with the sound of Tsu’s laughter at the gesture, making the corners of Tokoyami’s mouth twitch upward even more. He hoped that he’d always be able to make her laugh and smile like this, his heart filling up with butterflies as she beamed at him and linked her arm with his, making her way to his room to continue their gentle study session from earlier that day.

[vex-bittys]

Snake Charmer: An Underfell Story (Finale)

The lamia skeleton, Edge, may be the King now, but he still owes Grillby a favor. Edge only has one thing that Grillby is interested in: his mate, Red. Red is torn between his ex-lover and his current mate. How can this complicated love triangle be settled? 

Contains: NSFW (18+ only), language, explicit sexual content, fontcest/fellcest (mention), Sansby sex, voyeurism (slight), cuckolding (slight), major character death

READ ON AO3

Sometimes violence proves necessary to ensure peace. After the bloody coup against King Asgore, the Underground changed for the better. Monsters no longer killed for fear of being killed if they didn’t have a high enough LV. The toll of despair no longer drove monsters to fall down. The reign of the new skeleton lamia king ushered in an era of a previously unheard of concept- hope.

At first, powerful boss monsters went into hiding, fearing that they may become the next targets of a ruthless and bloodthirsty monarch. Contrary to the previous regime, Edge felt no need to dust monsters who already acknowledged his superiority, and this philosophy spread through the Underground. Boss monsters staked out territory, and weaker monsters swore fealty to them in exchange for protection. Displays of power settled disputes now rather than outright murder.

Clever monsters with low battle stats offered their services to the Royal Scientist, Alphys, and soon the creepy lizard monster had her lackeys repairing the infrastructure of the entire kingdom. The pittance of EXP that weak monsters provided paled in comparison to the value of labor, so Edge sat upon his throne, unchallenged, watching his domain prosper and his children grow strong before his watchful eyelights.

Edge kept himself busy by breeding his rarely-clothed queen, the skeleton monster named Red, as often as possible while his children were distracted by other pursuits, taking the submissive skeleton whenever and wherever he pleased, including on the floor of the throne room during a particularly uninteresting audience. Red had produced no additional offspring, but Edge didn’t mind in the slightest. He’d grown quite fond of his mate and enjoyed watching him squirm and scream in pleasure when Edge fucked him. The mantle of King truly suited the lamia well.

Though his kingdom flourished under his competent rule, one thing still weighed heavily upon Edge’s mind: his unpaid debt to Grillby. Without the fire elemental’s grudging actions, Edge would have dusted, and the throne left unclaimed, sparking further war and bloodshed in the Underground. The enormous skeleton lamia knew that Red had manipulated Grillby’s feelings for him to coerce the fire elemental into helping him, but regardless of the reason for the assistance, it had been given. Edge waited impatiently for Grillby to collect his favor, but the fire elemental took his sweet time, leaving his new king in frustrating suspense as each hour, day, and week ticked by with no communication.

Grillby took advantage of the changing hierarchy in the Underground to further establish his dominance of Snowdin, where he lived and conducted his business. No monster in the region could match his power, and few monsters in the entire Underground even had the privilege of seeing that power for themselves and surviving. The fact that a fire elemental chose to live in a land of perpetual winter stood as a testament either to Grillby’s tremendous fortitude or his complete insanity; nobody dared to speculate which.

The purple-flamed monster ignored the uncollected debt that the new king owed him. He swept the street in front of his shop, indifferent to the flakes of snow sizzling in his flames. He knew that a powerful boss monster like Edge would hate to have such an open-ended obligation hanging over him, but Grillby opted to let him stew in it. The skeleton lamia only possessed one thing that Grillby wanted, and the fire elemental doubted that Edge would be willing to give up his mate, life debt or no life debt.

Would Red even want to be with him? Grillby recalled his suffering during the time that Red had been missing. He remembered the yawning maw of despair in his mind at the thought that the stocky skeleton could be dust, settled somewhere that Grillby would never find him. He had mentally kicked himself so many times for not confessing to Red how he really felt, for not admitting to emotions that monsters couldn’t afford to acknowledge in a kill or be killed world. Back then, he suspected that Red also harbored the type of love for him that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with desire for companionship. Now, doubt gripped him, preventing him from even visiting the Capitol since Edge took the throne.

The unanswered question gnawed at Grillby incessantly, stealing away the potential comfort of a peaceful Underground. Time passed, and idle wondering turned into obsessive brooding. Grillby examined the possibilities from every angle, played out every scenario in his head. He had to find out. He needed that closure. Grillby decided that he would make use of his royal favor after all, and once that decision was made, there was no longer any reason to wait.

Grillby visited the palace for an audience with the King.

Edge never deigned to sit properly upon the gilded throne in his Throne Room. He preferred to coil around it as if it were prey that he intended to strangle the life out of and crouch over the spires of the back like a hulking gargoyle. His mate, Red, usually perched on one of the velvet padded arms of the great chair or lounged nonchalantly at the base, leaning against the giant lamia’s thick tail.

The royal children- twelve young lamias and a skeleton babybones- wrestled playfully on the smooth marble floor of the Throne Room under the diligent eyelights of their doting parents. When a fire elemental arrived to conduct business, escorted by the Captain of the Royal Guard herself, the little ones made themselves scarce, scattering into the hidden depths of the palace just as their father taught them. This was Edge’s insurance policy in case a second revolt aimed to unseat him from sovereignty.  No matter what happened, his children would survive.

The slim gold chain connecting Red’s spiked collar to his master and lover jingled as Red jolted upright in surprise. Other denizens of Snowdin, some of them old pals of Red’s from what seemed like a lifetime ago, came by regularly for Royal Guard reports or simply to pay homage to their new king, Grillby had avoided them since the day Red’s children were born, and the rejection stung. Grillby barely glanced at Red who lowered himself back into his position at the foot of the throne, scowling at his former friend and ex lover.

“SSSPEAK!” hissed Edge, eyelights narrowed and body tense. The purple-flamed bartender wanted to discuss business, but Edge wasn’t eager to hear his request. His code of honor forbade him from simply killing Grillby to make his own life easier which meant that he would hear the fire elemental’s demands, however ludicrous they might be, and they proved to be quite ludicrous indeed.

“I’ve come to collect,” replied Grillby, as cool as a monster composed entirely of fire could be. His almost indistinguishable eyes, hidden behind the sunglasses that he wore despite the lack of any sun in the Underground, fell on Red, namely on Red’s collar.

“AND?” Edge’s impatience seeped into the solitary syllable, conveying the nature of the very dangerous ground upon which Grillby tread.

“I want Red.” Grillby pointed unnecessarily to the short skeleton. He stepped out of the way a millisecond before Edge’s heavy tail struck the floor where he’d been standing, shattering the marble and sending splinters of it flying in every direction.

“HOW DARE YOU!” roared Edge, rearing back to strike Grillby. The fire elemental summoned flames into his hands, squaring off with the enraged lamia. Red leapt between them to prevent a fight that could only end in the death of one or both combatants. “CONSSSIDER YOUR CONTINUED EXISSSTENCE REPAYMENT OF MY DEBT,” spat the seething lamia.

“It’s not your debt I’m collecting on, Your Majesty,” sneered Grillby, injecting as much contempt into the title as Edge had injected his venom into the former king. “It’s his.” Once again the fire elemental’s finger jabbed in Red’s direction. “He left Snowdin behind along with a mountain of unpaid bills to my establishment.”

Ever since he met the skeleton lamia, Red had trusted Edge to make the important decisions. Aside from their initial confrontation, Edge always kept Red’s best interests in the forefront of his actions. This situation, however, required Red to speak for himself. His long list of IOUs had once been a running joke at Grillby’s bar, a joke that both Red and Grillby participated in, but somehow that camaraderie had turned to bitterness, with jealousy the driving force behind it.

“ya really think treating me like some commodity ta be traded is gonna fix things between us? i thought ya knew me better than that, Grillbs.” Red’s words were sincere, but they hit Grillby like a slap in what passed for his face. At least the fire monster had the decency to shuffle uncomfortably at the admonishment.

“NOW GET OUT,” added Edge, who harbored no soft spot for Grillby, no patience for diplomacy or logic, and no intention of relinquishing his mate.

“Afraid of a little competition?” Grillby suggested, voice full of malicious antagonism. The air in the Throne Room vibrated with Edge’s mounting rage, and Red feared that he wouldn’t be able to keep the two monsters from fighting for much longer. “How about a compromise?”

If Grillby were any other type of monster, the intensity of the skeleton lamia’s glowing crimson glare would’ve scorched him to ashes. Grilly’s devil-may-care demeanor faltered slightly, and he hurried to deliver his offer before Edge wrote Red off as collateral damage and charged him. He didn’t doubt his skills in combat, but injury to Red was an unacceptable risk. Red may have trusted Edge with his single HP; Grillby did not.

Grilly addressed Red directly for the first time. “Let me have just one night with you, Red. Let me prove myself to you, and if you still prefer him-” He jerked a thumb at Edge. “-then I won’t bother either of you again.”

Edge snarled, showing his venom-dripping fangs. “WHAT MAKESSS YOU THINK-”

“i accept,” Red interrupted, making Edge blink comically in surprise. He had never considered that Red might want to sleep with Grillby, and a seed of doubt embedded itself in his SOUL. Red wore his collar for now, but what if he planned to leave, to choose another monster as his mate? Edge could kill Grillby. He could force Red to stay with him, force Red to submit to him, but he couldn’t force Red to want him.

Grillby smirked, but Edge silenced him with a growling hiss before turning to his mate. “I’M NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH HIM,” Edge stated firmly, and Red nodded.

“ya wanna watch? kinky…” Red chuckled, not blind to the gravity of the situation, but choosing to make light of it anyway. Some coping mechanisms never changed. At least Red’s concession placated Grillby, whose victorious smirk could only be read by those who knew him well enough to recognize his expressions.

“Shall we go back to my place and-”

“YOU’LL TAKE HIM HERE AND NOW OR NOT AT ALL,” Edge cut in. He would not permit Grillby to leave the palace with Red unsupervised and outside of his immediate control. Red nodded in agreement. If it would set his mate’s mind at ease, he could perform just fine in the Throne Room with the massive lamia watching. Red hardly considered comfort or privacy a necessity for sex.

Grillby snorted but didn’t argue. Let the skeleton lamia watch; maybe the asshole would learn something about pleasuring Red properly instead of treating him like a disposable fucktoy. The lesson would start with removing the ridiculous collar that marked Red as claimed property. Grillby reached for the slim leather band circling Red’s neck, mindful of the spikes meant to discourage removal. Red brushed his hand away.

“i’ll take off the leash, but the collar stays,” he said flatly, not allowing any room for negotiation. Red unclipped the leash and let the delicate gold chain drop to the floor. He wore no clothing to remove, so he stood before Grillby, naked and willing, a dream come true for the fire elemental… almost. The collar still irked him, but Grillby took what he could get. If he played his proverbial cards right and Red chose him, he’d be setting that leather and gold atrocity aflame soon enough.

Grillby’s purple flames crackled in a mixture of anticipation and poorly concealed ire at the ludicrous rules. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall onto the polished marble next to Red’s leash, partially covering the symbol of Edge’s ownership with a rippling pool of expensive silk. Next he removed his belt, taking his time with his pants, unfastening them at long last to reveal a thick cock covered in vibrant, undulating flames. Red flushed unexpectedly as the purple light from Grillby’s glowing shaft played across his ivory bones.

Toeing off his shoes to complete undressing, Grillby cast aside his pants and did a quick twirl, more for Edge’s benefit than Red’s. The stocky skeleton had seen the fire elemental naked before, the one and only time they’d had sex. That very same night, Red had slipped away under the cover of darkness, not sure which he feared more- learning that the impassioned sex was simply a casual hook-up for stress relief or allowing true emotions and genuine affection to bloom in the violence and deprivation of the Underground with no sunlight to nourish it.

The fire elemental reclined his well-proportioned body on the dias, not quite daring to take up temporary residence on the throne with the giant lamia coiled around it. Grillby doubted that Edge would uphold his end of the agreement if he fucked Red right on top of him.

“Come,” Grillby invited Red, patting the gleaming marble next to him.

“pfft, i got more stamina than that!” joked Red, but he seated himself next to Grillby, close enough to invite contact without instigating it. The flames of Grillby’s body warmed the frigid stones pleasantly causing the reflective surface to glimmer. If not for Red’s flippant attitude and the threat of two blazing eyelights hanging overhead, the setting might have been romantic.

Grillby didn’t waste any more time with words. His hand snaked out, a single finger trailing down Red’s sternum, featherlight and fever hot. Red magic, the same color as the maraschino cherries that Grillby used for cocktails in his bar, swirled in his pelvis, waiting for Red to manifest it into flesh with a hesitancy that had become unfamiliar to Red since he became Edge’s mate. When the lamia approached him with lustful intentions, Red’s magic snapped into the form of a pussy instinctively, responding to Edge’s undeniable dominance. With Grillby, Red had to focus on what he wanted.

Red’s magic coalesced in his pelvic inlet, developing into luscious pussy lips that swept back and up into the curves of a full, round ass. Grillby admired the new additions to Red’s pelvis. Without his impeccable control, he would’ve tackled Red to the floor and fucked him senseless immediately, but Grillby needed to prove to Red that he was the better lover, the better monster, the better mate. A fast and messy romp on the unyielding floor wasn’t going to suffice.

The hand on Red’s sternum meandered off track to caress the underside of his ribs, drawing him closer. Grillby leaned in for a kiss, and Red tipped his head back to accept it. Grillby let his fiery mouth skim Red’s jawline instead of going straight for a kiss, and he was rewarded with a soft little gasp of surprise. With a mate like Edge, Red had surely forgotten what foreplay felt like, and Grillby intended to remind him, one brush of the lips or slip of the tongue or stroke of the hand at a time. He lived for the moment when Edge had to watch Red come fully undone at his hands.

The fire elemental’s mouth found the leather of Red’s collar next, and he belligerently left a small scorch mark on it as he nuzzled it upwards to tease at Red’s neck with his tongue. Red’s lids eclipsed his sockets. The prolonged wait for the kiss made his magic buzz and tingle, and Grillby’s gentle attention lulled him into a blissful haze of desire. Grillby’s hands weren’t idle either; they toured each foramen and process along his spine like eager sightseers, unwilling to bypass a single dip or divet in Red’s bones without thorough exploration and leaving a trail of heat and arousal in their wake.

Red sank into Grillby’s embrace, loving the way the warmth saturated his bones. Finally, the ghost of the fire elemental’s breath haunted Red’s upturned mouth. The skeleton parted his jaws, and Grillby accepted the invitation, delivering a long lingering kiss in which he sought to communicate the depth of his feelings for Red first through the rough movement of his mouth against Red’s, then with the intricate swirling of his tongue against Red’s, and finally with his hands sliding down to the skeleton’s hips to position his body so that he laid back on the dais.

Breaking the kiss with reluctance, Grillby straddled Red’s body, staring down at him with a surprisingly honest expression that Red couldn’t quite place. Humming so softly that the skeleton struggled to separate the vibrations of the sound from the fire elemental’s breathing, Grillby placed kisses, one after another, across Red’s clavicles, then down his sternum, a parody of a religious gesture that meant nothing to the denizens of the Underground but symbolized a sort of worship between the two monsters on the dias nonetheless.

Grillby dipped his head lower, stroking the supple ecto-flesh forming Red’s pubis with his hands while he tenderly nuzzled the skeleton’s inner thighs. The heat pouring from Red’s pussy matched the heat of Grillby’s flames as the fire elemental slowly spread his glistening folds to expose his swollen clit and fluttering entrance. When the fiery tongue found its way past his plump pussy lips and into his tight hole, Red tilted back his head and let out a satisfied sigh.

The bartender from Snowdin never failed to ignite Red’s magic with his touch, and his very bones burned with a desperate need. At the risk of viewing the experience through the scope of a barrage of fire-related puns, Red held an undeniable torch for the fire monster, yet somehow the sexual encounter with Grillby failed to fan the dying ember into a flame, leaving Red missing something despite the pleasure of Grillby’s tongue curling inside of him.

Sensing the fading intensity of his lover’s reactions, Grillby switched from tongue-fucking the skeleton to fingering him slowly. His mouth migrated to Red’s clit, settling over it and beginning to gently suck on it. Red’s back arched and his hips tilted upwards against Grillby’s hand. Grillby’s fingers were long and nimble, and they found all of the sensitive places inside of Red’s pussy that his tongue had toyed with, only this time with the added sensation of the clit stimulation.

Pleasure overwhelmed Red, and his phalanges scrabbled for purchase on the smooth marble beneath him. Pressure built low in his abdomen; he ached for release as he hovered at the precipice of orgasm. Grillby changed his strategy again, letting Red tremble with the tension of being so close. The fire elemental used one thumb to continue to play with Red’s clit while his tongue joined his fingers inside of the skeleton’s deliciously wet pussy. No meal he served in his establishment compared to the taste of drawing an orgasm out of Red with his fingers and tongue.

Flavor exploded in Grillby’s mouth when Red came, and he lapped it up eagerly. The skeleton’s pussy clenched around his fingers and tongue, and the thought of that same tightness squeezing his cock once again tempted Grillby to rush things. He resisted once again as well. If this was truly his last chance to be with Red, he planned to savor every second starting with licking Red clean of his arousal. Once his saliva slickened Red’s folds instead of the skeleton’s own fluids, Grillby stuck his fingers into his mouth, sucking the same tangy stains from his flaming digits, not letting a drop go to waste.

Red’s eyelights pleaded for more, and Grillby would not deny the object of his affection for a moment longer. Breathing harshly, the fire elemental lined himself up with the skeleton’s trembling pussy, rubbing himself up and down the glistening slit to get lubricated. Red moaned, low and loud, coaxing fat drops of pre-cum from Grillby’s cock with only that single sound. No more waiting. With a groan, Grillby sank into the welcoming embrace of Red’s pussy.

Grillby moved slowly, deliberately, letting every inch of his cock stretch Red’s hole as it filled him. Red cried out at the maddeningly languid pace set by the fire elemental. The drag of Grillby’s thick shaft, the way it caught on his entrance as it slid inside of him, so gradual, so controlled, drove him insane with lust.

Red wanted to be utterly destroyed. Red wanted it hard and rough, not soft and careful. Red wanted his face shoved into the floor while his pussy was railed until his throat became raw from his empassioned screams. Instead, Grillby made tender love to him, the steady, unhurried rhythm of his hips at odds with the fervor that consumed his SOUL.

Moans mingled between sharpened teeth and fiery lips only to be swallowed into silence when Grillby and Red’s mouths met. During the confusion of tongues and hot breath, the fire elemental’s hands found his lover’s, and their fingers, purple fire and pale bone, intertwined. Grillby’s powerful thrusts gained speed, rocking Red’s smaller body beneath him.

The fire elemental’s hips stuttered to a halt, slamming into the willing body of his lover with fierce finality as orgasm swept over both of them. Red’s body stiffened, and stars exploded behind his sockets. He gave in to the soothing waves of euphoria, closing his sockets and letting his greedy cunt tighten around Grillby’s cock again and again, milking the searing cum from his flaming lover.

As Grillby’s hot magic pumped into his pussy and the first blinding rush of orgasm faded, Red came to a stark realization. He didn’t love Grillby, and he never had. His relationship with Grillby had never extended past friendship and one desperate hookup to chase away some of the loneliness of his life in Snowdin. Sleeping with Grillby now and subjecting him to a glimmer of hope that would never truly materialize was unfair. He owed Grillby honesty at least, especially considering that he had little else to offer. There is no consolation prize for unrequited love.

How do you tell someone who is willing to give up everything for you that you don’t harbor the same feelings? How could Red explain that Grillby’s saccharine affection was just another rut to fall into, just more motions to go through while the oppressive nature of their lives continued to crush them while they waited for a merciful blow to speed the act of falling down? Grillby’s love followed the same desolate path that Red sought to escape, a path that eventually led to dark, endless emptiness no matter how hard he fought. Falling from a greater height causes a more painful landing.

Red decided to be straightforward. Explanations wouldn’t soften the blow.

“I can give you everything you ever dreamed of,” Grillby murmured against the side of Red’s skull, oblivious to his thoughts.

Grillby had no idea what Red dreamed of. If Red chose Grillby, they would live two miserable lives, together but somehow also separate, and always aware of the gap that existed with no possible way to bridge it.

“I choose Edge.”

The words sounded strange coming from Red while another monster’s cum dribbled from his still-throbbing pussy, but they also rang true. Edge’s savage vitality breathed life into Red like nothing else in the entire Underground. The huge lamia’s protective and possessive nature left Red feeling both valuable and secure, like he belonged in this world, like he mattered to it... and when they fucked? Edge’s hunger for Red was palpable, visceral, inexorable, and insatiable.

The lamia in question’s entire thick body encircled Red, separating him from Grillby and obscuring him from the fire elemental’s vision. Edge flipped Grillby’s clothes to him with the tip of his tail, a clear and callous dismissal.

“YOU HEARD HIM,” hissed Edge impatiently as Grillby quickly and wordlessly dressed himself. “NOW GET OUT OF MY PALACE BEFORE I EXTINGUISSSH YOU WITH MY PISSSSS.” Grillby obeyed without protest, numb to the threat, Red’s words tumbling around in his head and refusing to make sense.

As soon as the door closed behind the forlorn fire monster, Edge retrieved the slim gold chain from the floor and clipped it onto Red’s collar. The lamia then used the newly refastened leash to pull his mate close.

“YOU ARE MINE, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYONE TO TAKE YOU FROM ME,” Edge rumbled, and his words reverberated through Red’s bones and down to his very SOUL.

This was as close to a declaration of love as the lamia would get, but Red had become well-versed in interpreting Edge’s often gruff statements. Red had not missed the brief flash of fear in Edge’s eyelights, despite how quickly Edge’s usual arrogance replaced it. Sometimes even the King needed some reassurance of his place in the world.

Tiny skeleton faces peered around the archway leading into the Throne Room. The presence of the children prevented Edge from reclaiming his mate then and there, but they also served as a reminder of the one final thing that Edge and Red provided for each other- a future to look forward to.

“i love you too,” replied Red, and Edge made no comment about his mate’s translation of his words except for holding him a little tighter.

---------- (The song used here is Almost Lover by a Fine Frenzy) ----------

And when you left, you kissed my lips You told me you would never never forget These images

Grillby stumbled out of the Palace and into the streets of the Capitol, sunglasses-shielded eyes unseeing. Other monsters moved aside to let him pass, assuming him to be drunk or possibly injured. Nobody asked, though Grillby couldn’t have formed the wrenching pain in his SOUL into sensical words anyway. He barely grasped what happened, his mind refusing to accept the reality of losing Red, not to death and dust, but by his choice, to another monster.

Well, I’d never want to see you unhappy I thought you’d want the same for me

The fire elemental hunched his shoulders as the scenery changed from the Capitol to Hotland to Waterfall, unnoticed. He struggled to process the possibilities of the future. Red’s choice to be with Edge wasn’t something he could fight. If he killed Edge, Red would never forgive him. No amount of begging or coercing would change Red’s mind, and honestly, Grillby wanted the skeleton to find happiness, even if it meant letting him go. Unfortunately, letting him go left Grillby with nothing.

Goodbye, my almost lover Goodbye, my hopeless dream

Grillby ignored the blasting snow flurries that announced his arrival in Snowdin. The fluffy snowflakes that rode upon the back of the frigid, blasting winds sizzled in his purple flames, but more than steam rose in their wake. Little grey flakes like ash drifted upwards to mingle with the pristine white snowflakes the same way that the dancing light of Grillby’s flames had mingled with the pale ivory of Red’s bones in the Throne Room.

Goodbye, my luckless romance My back is turned on you Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do

Grillby’s feet knew the way back to his bar and restaurant, but the fire elemental himself was lost, unable to move forward mentally and therefore also physically. He stood in the blizzard swirling at the entrance to the town of Snowdin and blinked as if waking from a dream. He had no choice but to accept that Red was gone, forever out of the reach of his aching heart, and nothing else really mattered to him beyond that.

I cannot wake up in the morning Without you on my mind That’s what it came down to. Nothing else mattered to him without Red. But now you’re gone and I’m haunted And I bet you are just fine Did I make it that easy To walk right in and out of my life?

Grillby continued to stand, flaming yet frozen as the wind gathered up his dust and scattered it across Snowdin, indistinguishable from the ever-present ground cover of snow…

Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do

… until nothing remained but memories.

PREV | INDEX

[moonlit-seren]

For Dispatch || Heo Hyunjoon

Summary: Dispatch reporters have always been well known for their diligence and persistence no matter the situation. So when y/n gets thrown a potentially dangerous lead to follow, she finds herself face to face with Seoul’s biggest mob boss and a savory Inkigayo sandwich.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: This is my very first The Boyz fanfic, so I hope it’s alright. I feel like the Dispatch workers in the story were more like secret agents than reporters lol.

Credits to fall-out-bangtan for inspiring the plot~ <3

꧁Masterlist꧂

~

~

“Y/n L/n reporting for duty sir,” I stated, voice loud and proud as any reporter’s should be. My hands were planted firmly by my sides, with a clipboard wedged under one arm as I bowed to my superior respectfully.

“Yes, sit,” said my boss calmly, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. I sat down, watching as he leaned forward so that his clasped hands rested on the polished wood.

A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes, sparkling brighter than it usually does when he finds a new story to cover.

Sangyeon had only been my boss for a couple of months, but our friendship had grown to the point where we could read each other like an open book.

And from what I could tell from his demeanor, I should be very, very concerned for my well being right now.

“So you know how I sent Sunwoo after that one fishy looking guy in the alley two days ago?” Asked Sangyeon, guilt flashing across his face at the harsh glare I sent him.

“Yes, and I distinctly remember seeing the handle of a knife on the person Sunwoo was pursuing, and advising you to call him off,” I replied coldly, not seeing the benefit of having risked the life of one of my coworkers just to follow a potential story.

Sangyeon dismissed my comment, waving it off as if it were nothing more than a bothersome fly. Both of us knew that Sunwoo was one of most diligent reporters at Dispatch, but I couldn’t help but worry about him.

“Don’t worry, he came back alive yesterday, with something that could completely blow our audience off of their feet,” exclaimed Sangyeon, eyes widening as he made overly excited hand gestures.

I rose an eyebrow at him, opening my mouth to ask what it was but he cut me to the chase. He slid a photo across the table, explaining that Sunwoo had taken it.

In the image was a blurry shot of three men. One had his hair dyed a dark orange, with soft doe eyes in contrast to a sharp gaze. The second had dark caramel colored hair, a slightly sturdier build than the first, and a cocky stance. But it was the third male who truly caught my attention.

He was a couple of centimeters shorter than the other two, but had beautifully striking fox eyes. Framing them was a curtain of sleek black bangs styled up in a quiff, giving him more of haughty, arrogant look.

Though his milky white skin didn’t appear to be marred with any tattoos, several piercing lined the cuffs of his ears including a dangling cross and he had on an long, expensive looking fur jacket. It didn’t take much to guess that the third person was the leader of the group, as he stood at a slightly larger distance from the other two.

“You’re ogling,” whispered Sangyeon, amused by how my eyes remained fixated on the gorgeous male.

I stuck my tongue out at him, crossing my arms defensively as a blush spread across the apples of my cheeks. “Whatever, I don’t believe that I came to your office to get teased.”

Sangyeon smiled knowingly, before shaking his head. Sinking back in his armchair, he launched into an animated explanation as he began to explain his findings.

“He’s probably the last person you’d want to date unless you want your head blown off,” started Sangyeon, causing you to raise your eyebrow once more. “I don’t recognize any of these people so I asked around the office and what do you know, Kevin came back with a report from last week saying that he had stumbled upon some underground meeting.”

“Apparently some sort of money exchange was made between the person he was following and another male with a black coat. Both were flanked with two companions. I think that the second party may have been these three,” Sangyeon pointed at the photo once more and you nodded along, unsure of what else to do.

“So you’re saying that this guy is some sort of gang leader?” I asked, pointing at guy who had caught my eye in the picture.

Sangyeon shrugged a little in a carefree response, taking a sip out of the beige mug on his desk before delving back into his story.

“Better actually. I went through our old records and that was when it hit me. I’m surprised I hadn’t recognized him right away,” Sangyeon continued, purposely pausing because he knew that the suspense was killing me on the inside.

“And?” I prompted, a little impatient as he intentionally reached over to straighten an already neat stack of papers resting on the corner of his desk.

“Several months ago, before I got promoted, our last boss sent me to go check out what was said to be a power switch ceremony. I managed to sneak in under the cover of a gang member and the CK was there,” narrated Sangyeon, pride swelling in his chest at the shocked expression on my face.

“CK? As in Seoul’s biggest mob boss in recorded history?” I asked, my eyes widening into large saucers. Anyone who has ever watched the news would know that CK was Seoul’s most notorious criminal in the entire city. Back in his day the police never stood a chance, always being a solid ten steps behind. In fact, he was a renowned criminal all over the world and not just in South Korea.

Sangyeon nodded in affirmation. “Well not anymore apparently. He stepped down and passed his power onto his son who appeared to be around four years younger than me. At that time the boy had his hair dyed a steel gray, which was why I didn’t recognize him at first… But that piercing gaze and cold brown eyes are unforgettable.”

The two pieces clicked together in my mind the moment Sangyeon finished his last sentence. My eyes drifting down to the photo once more at the three people conversing in it.

“He goes by the name Hwall, no one except those incredibly close to him know his real name. As for the other two, I remember seeing them at the ceremony too, so I’m assuming that they’ve grown up together,” said Sangyeon.

“Isn’t it a little curious that the current biggest mob boss didn’t even realize he was getting tagged by a news reporter?” I wondered aloud, curious as to how that ‘Hwall’ guy was still alive in the business he’s in when he couldn’t even notice he was being followed.

Sangyeon shrugged halfheartedly, “Who knows, maybe he did notice Sunwoo but let him follow him around. Just to let the word know that he was still out there and at large.”

I nodded, seeing the logic behind his guess. The net was probably the easiest way for one underworld leader to let his or her competition know of their presence.

After all, news spreads like fire on the internet and it’s far safer than coming out in the open waving an ‘I’m alive’ banner in front of all of your enemies.

“Alright, so now that I know the backstory, can you tell me why exactly you called me of all people rather than Sunwoo down here?” I asked, still a little confused over my presence here.

Sangyeon held up a finger, indicating that he wanted me to wait a second, as a sweet smile spreading over his face. My eyes narrowed, immediately recognizing his expression. He only ever used that smile when asking a difficult request, and more often than not, I always end up regretting agreeing to it.

“You see, not every news outlet gets such a rare chance to cover a giant story like this. If we get this scoop, Dispatch’s name will be known world wide and our division will become famous for obtaining it. It would be risky to send Sunwoo out again so we both agreed that you’d be the best one for this job,” explained Sangyeon, pulling out a file from his desk draw. From what I could see, it looked like it contained all the information we currently had on this particular case. “Besides, I only want you on the field for a day, there’s a slim chance that you’ll get caught.”

“I shouldn’t seen this coming,” I thought, sighing deeply. On one hand my cover could get blown and I could get killed, but on another… If my work gets recognized I could get a huge pay raise and never have to worry again next time I go binge in a expensively delicious dessert cafe. Besides… life isn’t worth living if you’re still knee deep in student loan debts.

Much to both of our surprises I agreed without much hesitation, reaching forward to take the file out of a gawking Sangyeon’s hands. “Sure, what do I have to lose?”

•

The fated day came a week later, with Sunwoo guiding me to the right place at the right time and hanging around to see if I could overhear or sneak a peek at anything.

“He’s going to a meeting with the leader of another gang from Jeju. They’ll be on the second floor of the Park Enterprise building, 2nd door to the right from the elevators. You should have a clear visual from the roof of the karaoke bar next door,” informed Sunwoo, before hanging up to let me do my thing.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself, pulling on a baby blue snapback and matching face mask. I slipped my phone into my bag before beginning the trek up the stairs of the building Sunwoo told me to go to.

The door to the roof was unlocked for whatever reason, but I wedged a small stone in the doorway to keep it cracked open just in case.

“Let’s get to work,” I thought, placing my bag onto  the ground as I pulled out my binoculars to peer through the window of the room my target was supposed to be in.

The blinds were nearly pulled all the way down and at most I could only see a sliver of the ebony table in the center of the room.

The only windows to that particular room that were exposed were the ones facing the large office building across the street, which I’d have extreme difficulty sneaking into.

Spotting the horizontal flag poles lining the edge of the building, the corners of my lips slipped into a smirk and I pulled off my hat in order to tie my hair up into a ponytail.

“For Dispatch,” I whispered, bravely crawling onto one before dangling upside down on the pole. It extended above the sidewalk below, the building only being four floors up.

Bringing the binoculars up to my eyes, I sighed in content realizing that I could see perfectly into the room now.

There was a total of nine people in the room, three of which being Hwall and his ever present duo of right hand men.

I watched as the people conversed, unable to make out much from the silent conversion besides the words “money” and “guns”.

Sure enough, a few minutes later two silver briefcases were brought to the table containing whatever goods that were about to be exchanged.

A few distant yells disrupted my focus, as I pulled my binoculars away from my eyes and glanced down at the mini crowd that gathered below.

“Get down from there suicidal idiot!” Shouted a boy from the sidewalk, frantically gesturing his arms to signify that I should plant my feet back on a solid surface.

He appeared my age but other than that I couldn’t distinguish much from my vantage point besides a mop of dark blue hair partially hidden by a denim cap.

Similar cries erupted from around him as many concerned faces peered up at me from the ground.

I smiled at his concern, touching my pointer finger to my lips in a shushing gesture before bringing the binoculars back to my eyes. “For Dispatch.”

The meeting concluded as quickly as it began, only lasting for a mere ten minutes.

It seems that it’s dangerous for men like them to stay in one place for too long, especially in broad daylight where everyday businessmen rather than shifty drug dealers roamed the streets.

I finally climbed off the flagpole I had been dangling from, nearly toppling the moment my feet met the cement of the roof from the severe headrush I experienced.

Not wasting any time, I quickly gathered my belongings before running  down the stairs of the building I was in.

The moment my feet hit the first step, I pulled my phone out again, speed dialing Sunwoo to ask if he knew where to go next.

“You know the beach where we went last month with Kevin and Sangyeon?” He asked, picking up nearly instantaneously.

I racked my brain projecting the memory in the forefront of my mind. Indeed we had gone to a public beach for a mini vacation and as expected, a series of embarrassing events occured under Sunwoo’s influence.

“How could I forget?” I snapped with a huff, climbing down the second fleet of stairs. “You intentionally pushed me into Kevin, hoping for some cliche k-drama moment!”

“Well it kind of worked,” Sunwoo mused, snickering at the angry tone I was using. Of course he was amused at the mortifying predicament he put me in.

I gasped, appalled at his statement. “We ended up falling on top of some poor kid’s sandcastle! You should’ve seen the little girl’s face, she looked like she was about to cry! And to this day Kevin still thinks I intentionally fell on him! Do you know how embarrassing it was? I can’t even talk to him nowadays!”

Sunwoo burst into a loud bout of laughter, accompanied by the sounds of a couple items getting knocked over. “Not my fault your love life is a joke.”

“Kim Sunwoo!” I exclaimed, feeling a deep sense of hurt at his jesting antics. A quiet ding resonated from my phone, signifying that it was at two percent. “Crap my phone is about to die.”

“Kidding, kidding. Anyways, I gave you an earpiece yesterday, you can just use that instead of your phone to talk to me later. Remember, go to that beach!”

“Alright, bye,” I hung up, tucking my phone away as I exited the building I was in.

Seeing as I arrived via one of the city’s commute buses, I looked around, quickly scanning my surroundings for a taxi of sorts.

Unfortunately, the only vehicle around was a small white cargo truck across the street and I realized with a sigh that it’d have to suffice.

“One hundred thousand won,” I offered, waving the bills in front of the truck driver. His beady eyes absentmindedly followed my hand, clearly itching to claim money as his own yet hesitating. “All I need is for you to drive me to Eurwangni Beach.”

“I don’t have any space in my truck to, there are only two seats and my coworker’s occupying the second,” he began, but I quickly cut him off with a simple shake of head.

“Don’t worry about that,” I replied, walking over to the flower shop beside us. Spotting the ladder propped up against the wall, I moved it so it was right beside the cargo truck before clambering onto the top of it.

“I’m going to get in trouble with the police,” sighed out the truck driver, taking the wad of cash out my hand as I leaned over the edge of the truck’s roof.

“Not if I have a seat belt,” I assured, pulling out  a detached lap belt and a role of neon orange duck tape from my bag.

“Kids nowadays…”

I ignored his exasperated comment, taping the seat belt down before patting the roof of the truck to indicate that I was secure.

As requested, the driver drove to the aforementioned beach, which was a short drive from where I was in Incheon.

I’ve never actually visited Incheon before today, as the meeting I was just observing took place here. The Dispatch office I worked in was located in Seoul, a few blocks away from my apartment.

To be honest, the ride wasn’t unpleasant at all. The roads were fairly smooth and the luscious scenery on the way looked like it came straight out of a photocard.

Once we arrived, I hopped off the truck, allowing the soft sand to cushion my fall. Due to the sunny weather, the beach was already occupied by several different parties.

I went to go sit on one of the public use lounge chairs, sighing as my skin hit the shade of the large red beach umbrella.

Remembering Sunwoo’s words, I rummaged through my bag for the small device he had given me. There were only two buttons on it, one being call and the other being end call.

It must’ve been linked to the one in Sunwoo’s possession as there was no way for me to enter in a number, so I pressed the dial button before slipping the black earpiece in my ear.

“Sunwoo, is this really necessary?” I whispered, hearing him pick up after the second ring.

“No, but it makes it feel like we’re secret agents so why not?” Rang Sunwoo’s voice from the tiny device. “Besides, stop speaking. You’ll look stupid and suspicious talking to yourself. Not that you don’t already look stupid lounging on the beach alone.”

I glared as he chuckled, despite knowing that he couldn’t see me. It was like Sunwoo’s second nature to tease me for whatever miniscule reason he could find and if karma didn’t get him back one day then I would.

“Alright prick, now tell me what I’m doing lounging on a beach chair in eighty degree weather,” I demanded, taking my hat out of my bag to fan myself with it.

My efforts proved fruitless as it generated no more than a tiny gust of air from each swing, so I pulled it on instead in defeat.

I heard a few shuffling sounds from the other end of the line, waiting for a response from my coworker.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there. And here I was thinking you’d appreciate an impromptu vacation” Sunwoo replied after a few seconds, taking a long drag of what I assumed to be coffee. I rolled my eyes, unafraid to do so in public as I had on a dark pair of sunglasses. “ According to our sources, Hwall is supposed to arrive in a few minutes with his two goons. Most likely taking a break from the whole criminal thing.”

“He literally just came out of a meeting-” I began, eyebrows furrowing in skepticism before being startled out of finishing my sentence.

“WHAAAAAAAHOOOOOO-” cried a frenzied, dark haired male are he charged into the ocean like a stampeding rhinoceros, eyes bulging and mouth stretched open into a wide smile before snapping shut right as the waves swallowed his body.

Shortly after yet another person charged after the first, kicking up fist fulls of dirt into the air as he clumsily dove head first into the glistening blue waters with a loud splash.

My eyes widened at the strange occurrence, still trying to comprehend the rare sight of men my age acting like eight year olds on a sugar high the moment they spot the ocean.

“Why do I even bother with them?” Asked a soft voice a few yards away from me, a third figure appearing from the same direction the other two came.

Curious, I turned my head to peer at the mysterious voice, jaw dropping as I took in the sight.

There, in all his glory, stood the very person I had been tasked to follow, his dark hair billowing in gentle waves like the ocean before him.

Having changed out of his suit, Hwall only had on a pair of swim shorts, forgoing a top and opting for a simple shark tooth necklace in its stead.

Cheeks darkening in a dangerous shade of red, I quickly averted my eyes before they drifted further than the pale skin of his collarbones, reaching up to tip my hat further done my face. “Oh my sweet california oranges.”

“What?” Asked Sunwoo, startling me out of my reverie. I had completely forgotten his presence, unknowingly relishing in the silence from his end. Dealing with him could be quite a handful at times, though I wouldn’t trade our friendship for the world.

“Nothing, I thought I saw a shark,” I responded casually, trying to play off the nervous titter in my voice. Much to my horror, my voice carried over the wind catching the attention of the fine specimen to my left.

Before Hwall had the chance to turn his head fully, I tilted my head downwards to better hide my face as I furtively pressed my phone against my right ear to pretend I was in the middle of a phone call.

“Was that shark hot? I can hear your blush from here y/n,” Sunwoo stated teasingly, making a loud kissing noise. I silently cursed at how well he knew me, realizing how transparent I must be considering how easily my friends could read my emotions.

“Shut up,” I whispered sharply, turning off the earpiece in my ear in annoyance. “Why do I even bother with you.”

Directing my gaze back on the ocean, I watched with mild interest as the two males continued to splash around, hyper aware of how Hwall hadn’t moved from his spot.

The moment I had spotted him the two dots connected together and I realized who exactly the two childlike strangers were. It was a little surprising, seeing two supposed mob members actually like normal teenagers if not younger.

“HYUNJAE,” shouted the tall male with dark orange hair. He had on a distinct look of disgust and betrayal as his companion had managed to nail him right in his face with a handful of water.

“Suck it up Younghoon,” Hyunjae replied, sticking out his tongue as he scrambled out of the range of his angered friend. He burst into a bout of strangled laughter, as Younghoon pounced on him bringing the both of them beneath the surface of the waves.

It was only then that Hwall shifted, strolling towards the ocean in a carefree manner. My eyes caught onto his movement, shifting to his back as he leisurely swam towards Hyunjae and Younghoon.

Much to my surprise, rather than splitting the playful fight, he laid down on Younghoon’s back as the latter was still attempting to throttle Hyunjae.

Younghoon gasped, swimming away in surprise which caused Hwall to roll back into the water.

Yet another water fight broke out as their laughter carried all the way to the beach, or rather, all the way to my ears.

I smiled unknowingly, finding the sight strangely endearing. For whatever reason, I had half expected the group to go shark hunting or some other dangerous activity when I heard they’d be coming. This was the last thing I expected in all honesty.

Seeing the trio like this made me feel a little more  at ease, as if I were at less of a risk of dying due to following them, though it would still be a little early to make that assumption.

The next few hours continued on in a similar fashion until Hwall, Hyunjae, and Younghoon wore themselves out.

“I need food,” whined Hyunjae, collapsing on his back on a beach towel that I presumed was his.

Younghoon plopped down next to him, nodding a little as if to say ‘me too’.

Hwall glanced down at them, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll go buy something from the cafe down the street.”

He walked away to a chorus of thanks you’s, pulling on a shirt and a pair of sandals from the bag laying beside his two friends.

Inconspicuously gathering my own belongings, I waited for five minutes before leaving, already knowing which cafe he meant as there was only one within walking distance.

By the time I arrived, Hwall had already ordered and was situated at a table by one of the floor length windows that lined the shop. His head was resting on his palm, as he stared out through the glass only breaking out of his pensive trance when a waiter brought over his mug of coffee.

Not wanting to be caught staring, I walked towards the counter to order something to nibble on since I was already here.

But to my surprise, the male working the cashier flashed me a cheery smile as he slid a sandwich across the counter. “One Inkigayo sandwich right? It’s already been paid for, so enjoy!”

I didn’t have the chance to ask him if he had made a mistake as to who to give the sandwich to or even who paid for it, as he was already talking to the next customer in line.

Walking to the nearest empty table, which was coincidentally beside Hwall’s, I sat down and slowly peeled open the plastic wrap covering the sandwich.

A small beige notecard fell out of the wrapping, fluttering delicately on the table. I picked it up, flipping it over as the side that had been facing me was blank.

There, in messy black handwriting, was a short message that seemingly caused my heart to stop for a solid few seconds.

“I probably would’ve killed you by now if you weren’t so cute.”

My cheeks flared scarlet red, feeling absolutely mortified as I knew that it was foolish of me to think that someone of his profession wouldn’t notice that they’re being followed.

Dropping the card back on the table, my gaze nervously trailed forward, before stopping on Hwall who was already looking at me.

The afternoon sun cast a beautiful aura of light on his face, illuminating his features with an ethereal glow as he winked at me, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smirk.

.

.

.

“What’s up girl?”

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Henry’s Unfortunate Ink-antation [Part 7]

[submitted by: @the-elusive-blue-skittle]

After having breakfast with Joey and the other toons, Henry ran off with Bendy. The little devil had heard a big CRASH come from one of the bigger rooms on the first floor, and dragged Henry with him to investigate. Someone had broken a mirror… Whoever that was had better be ready for seven years of bad luck.

The toon duo peeks around a corner to spy on whoever had broke the mirror. And who else but Andrew Henderson? Looks like someone got too angry over not getting his way. Bendy, of course, sees this as an opportunity for a prank. The little devil winks at his buddy, making a ‘shush’ motion as he creeps around the corner.

Without warning, he inexplicably jumps into what appears to be ‘behind’ the panel in which the glass once resided. The heavy-set man looks back at the mirror he broke to see… A reflection. But it’s in black in white! Andrew is none the wiser to the presence of the little devil as he motions a hand wave. He turns his back and looks at the mirror over his shoulder. The reflection does the same. He gets in real close…

And the reflection does, too. The two touch noses, which causes Andrew to yell loudly and flee the bathrooms as Bendy cackles in a boisterous manner.

“KAHAHAHAHH! YEAH, YA BETTER RUN!”

Henry covers his mouth and giggles, watching Andrew run away with his tail between his legs. Running up to his pal, Henry bounces in place excitedly, the prank having riled him to pull one on his own. But what kind of prank could he possibly pull?

“Bendy, that was amazin’! You really put on a show, there!”

“Aw, shucks… I appreciate your enthusiasm, Henry!”

Henry glances past the little devil, and into one of the broken mirror shards. He raises a brow.

“… Do I really look like that?”

“Well, yeah. Get a good look at’cherself, pally, ‘cause if ya get splatted again, you’ll know the difference between an arm and a leg!”

Henry picks up a mirror shard, holding it at different angles to inspect his face and body.

“I look so… Weird! But it feels right somehow…”

“Well, ya better get used to it! You’ve got a whooooole week ahead’a ya’s!”

Henry stares into the mirror, slowly poking his left cheek. It’s a LOT squishier than when he was human, though even then, his wife played with his face to tease him. Tugging on said cheek, the new toon winces, somewhat bothered by the sheer elasticity of what he still considers ‘skin’. He lets go, letting the part of his face snap back into place as if it hadn’t been touched in the first place. Looking closer, Henry notices that there are two big spots on his cheeks that bear a slightly darker shade of grey, resembling rosy cheeks.

The toon sports a small smile at his reflection, cupping his left cheek with a hand. “Well, gosh… I’m … Kinda cute!”

Bendy snickers under his breath. “Keheeheehee… Aaaaalright, pretty boy, time to put the mirror down!”

“Wait, did I say that out loud?! Quit laughin’! It’s not funny!”

“Ohhhhhh, yeah it is! Pretty boy.”

“Aw, shut up, you tutu-wearin’-” “Ah-ah-ah, Henry! You said it yaself, and I ain’t one to disagree.”

Henry’s cheeks flush with dark grey. He doesn’t even have the willpower to retort that he’s not cute, because he knows that the very opposite is true. The little devil slaps him on the back with a grin.

“Chin up, big guy! We got more pranks ta pull! Come on!”

In Henry’s mind, he second-guesses himself, asking himself if he’d usually call himself out like that under normal circumstances. Pushing these thoughts aside, the toon simply follows along like nothing happened.

Henry smiles, nodding as his little buddy takes him by the hand and drags him off to the first floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, as Henry’s being dragged along to the main part of the studio, he’s lost in his own thoughts, legs going on autopilot as his mind races.

‘This is all happening so easily… So… Fast… Have I always been so easily convinced to go around and cause trouble? Would I normally do this if my job wouldn’t be put on the line? I mean… I’m loving that I get to go around with Bendy all day, and staying at the studio with d- Joey isn’t bad, either, but… I feel like I’m missing something important. Oh well… If I can’t remember, it probably wasn’t very important in the first place, was it?’

Further disregarding the thought, Henry shakes his head a little as he listens to Bendy going on a spiel on the perfect prank to pull.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Around lunch time, a special visitor stops by for Henry, who had found a comfy reading spot right in the middle of the floor. Looking up from his novel, the toon smiles as his lovely wife comes into view. Dianne smiles back.

“Hiiiii, honeybun,” Dianne coos, gently setting a bag to Henry’s side. “I brought goodies. There’s a couple books, a lunch, some pillows and blankets, some nice colored pencils, and… Your secret thing.”

“Awww, thanks, pumpkin. You’re the best!” Henry exclaims, hopping to his feet and planting a kiss on his wife’s lips. Dianne smiles and squeezes the little toon in a tight hug.

Sighing, Henry squeezes back. “I’m sad that this is all the cuddle time we haaave…”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself. You’ll be back home in no time, right?” She asks, pinching his monochrome rosy cheek with a grin.

“Hahahah… Right!”

Dianne looks at the clock. “Would you look at the time! I need to get home before dark.” “But it’s only half past noon!”

“Oh, I suppose you haven’t seen… There’s a big storm coming. Sorry, Hen…”

At the mention of a storm, Henry’s expression falls. “S… Storm? Wuh-oh…”

Dianne bites her lip. She always forgets about Henry’s little phobia… Scooping Henry up off the floor, Dianne kisses her little husband all over his face, snuggling him like he’s a baby kitten. “I love you, pookie. You’ll be okay. I promise.”

Henry smiles, not making an effort to remove the toonified lipstick stains from his face. “Thanks, sweetums… I love you, too. Drive safe for me, alright?”

“Okay, Hen-Hen. See you tomorrow,” Dianne smooches him one last time before putting him down, leaving the toony animator to swoon back and forth in place. “Cutie-pie.”

Henry dares not retaliate at the comment, instead cupping a hand to his cheek with a bashful wave. “Oh, you… Byyyye, toots!”

Dianne smiles one last time before heading out the door, leaving Henry to keel backwards. He falls on the floor with his hands clasped over his perceived diaphragm, a white lily soon sprouting into his hands from out of nowhere.

‘Gosh, I love her so much…’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The storm going on outside has been raging for a long time. Not that anyone’s been counting, of course. The second the first raindrop fell, Henry already grabbed his bag and disappeared under Random Employee #406’s desk. With the bag clung tightly in Henry’s grasp, the poor toon shakes and shudders, whimpering as his eyes dart around the ceiling. Is anything leaking? Ohh, it’d be a DISASTER if the roof started leaking. He still has no idea how badly water would hurt him in this state. He screeches a little as something falls on his head, though he quickly realizes it’s his overactive imagination.

The employee drags Henry out from under her desk, prompting him to yelp and dash under another desk. Conveniently, his own. Though… It’s dark and scary over here, and the rumbling thunder outside doesn’t help much. Henry glances around fearfully, and repeats the process of hiding to excess. Joey is busy in his office, dealing with Bendy, so he can’t hide there just yet.

‘Wait, wait, okay… Calm down… Let’s be rational… It’s just a storm! Just a measly, little-’

At that moment, the loudest thunder Henry’s EVER heard rings out, shaking the building, and causing the poor little toon to tremble under the blankets Dianne had brought him in the dark, empty corridor he calls his ‘office’. The blankets smell like home…

‘Okay, Henry, focus… Focus… The blankets smell like home… Home is nice, and Dianne brought the blankets, and I love Dianne… Dianne makes me happy, so if I just remember home, and Dianne, and her pretty voice, and her smile… ‘

Thinking of Dianne allows Henry to calm down enough to inspect his surroundings, checking for leaky roofs and people walking by.

CRASH!

Squeaking loudly, Henry dashes to another location in the blink of an eye, no longer keeping composed, rational thought about his situation. He had made the mistake of hiding in a spot where Wally WAS cleaning. Wally shoves the toon out from under the table with his broom.

“Hey! Shoo!” “S-Sorr-”

RRRRRRRUUMMMMM…. CRASH!

“eeEEP-”

The janitor’s stern expression falters. He feels guilty about last night. Though… he still needs time to cool down. For now, he gives Henry an awkward pat on the shoulder and points him in the direction of a good hiding spot. It’s where he’d always find Bendy in the midst of any rainstorm. The little toon nods shakily in understanding, heading off in the direction Wally was pointing.

After an hour or so, Henry had been kicked out of every hiding place he could find, with the fastest record of the door slamming on his rear being… Sammy’s office. Of course. With nowhere else to go but deeper, Henry slowly saunters to the stairs leading to the lower floors. The rainwater and thunder won’t be such a big threat deep underground, right?

Upon arrival to the Heavenly Toys department, Henry can’t help but feel a little uneasy at all the giant plushies sitting around everywhere. He’d only ever been down here twice, and even back then, the toys were few and far-between.

Henry carefully and quietly traverses the large room, up the stairs, and to the doorless entrance to Shawn’s office. He knocks on the frame of the door.

Knock knock knock.

Shawn looks up from the doll he was working on. Turning around, he sees the little toon he’d recently gotten acquainted with. “Oh, afternoon, Henry! What can I do ye for?”

Henry remains silent, the blanket and bag pressed close to his body, and the soft blue material obscuring the lower half of his face.

The Irish toymaker notices Henry’s demeanor, and his expression falters. “Oh… It’s the storm up there, ain’t it? Come on an’ sit down over here.” Shawn pulls over a cushioned chair next to his desk and pats the seat, inviting the toon to come and sit with him. Henry gladly obliges, climbing into the chair with the objects still being hugged close to his body.

The little toon sits there for a moment as Shawn gets back to work. He slowly digs through his bag from Dianne to find… Walter, the childhood teddy bear. Henry raises a brow, but realizes that, perhaps, for however long he’ll be stuck at the studio, Walter can fill in for Dianne. He wraps himself up in two of the three blankets packed, hugging the now much larger bear close.

Shawn turns to look at Henry, who, upon noticing that he’s being observed, immediately gets embarrassed and tries to hide his face. The toymaker smiles a soft smile.

“Hey, ye don’t gotta hide from me. I can keep a secret.”

The childlike toon nods slowly, going back to snuggling the home-scented bear in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours pass. Henry has securely fallen asleep in Shawn’s comfy chair, all snuggled up in his blankets and snoring. Shawn looks at his watch, quietly getting his things together.

Poke poke.

Henry opens an eye, rubbing it with a limp hand under his glasses. “Whassa matter?” “Sorry, but it’s time to get up. I can’t leave ye down here all night. I gotta go home.”

“Oh,” Henry sighs, stretching with a small squeak escaping his throat. “Mmkay…”

The Irish toymaker helps Henry up and out of his chair. The little toon puts his things away in his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Thanks a million, Shawn.. I owe ya!”

“Oh, nonsense. It was my pleasure! Now, c’mon, up we go.”

Henry nods silently in agreement, following Shawn up the stairs, past all the pipes and metal doors, and back up to the music department. The stereotypically short Irishman waves goodbye to his co worker and wanders off to the exit, leaving Henry to hesitantly make his way up to the first floor by himself. The storm is still going, though not as harshly as before.

During the walk back to the first floor, Henry gets lost in his own thoughts, his legs going on autopilot as he wanders.

‘Today went by a lot faster than I thought it would… I’ve been feeling a little funny after I got mashed into the wall a buncha times… Maybe it’s just the cabin fever getting to my head. Wait. That didn’t make a lot of sense just now. What’s cabin fever got to do with being splattered like a tube of paint? Oh, well… Guess I’m just tired, huh? REALLY tired…’

Henry turns the corner, somewhat perturbed by the sounds of the Machine’s pumps. He hasn’t really been around them for this long, and the sounds are really starting to nag at his Schrodinger’s brain. The little toon stops in his tracks to yawn and rub his eyes, getting visibly sleepy. He mutters to himself on the rest of the way to Joey’s office.

“Mm… Sleepy…”

… All of a sudden, Henry collapses on the wooden floor, snoring loudly. Joey peeks out of his office, which is only another twenty feet away. He smiles and retrieves the toonified animator, bringing him back and tucking him in in the comfy office chair. With the stuffed bear tucked securely between his arms and chest, Henry smiles softly in his sleep.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

[terresdebrumestories]

Chapter 2/22: Demon

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: The Shadowhunters Chronicles RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 6 281 words PAIRING(S): Clary Fray/Izzy Lightwood, other pairings to be revealed as the story goes. CHARACTER(S): Clary Fray/Fairchild/Morgenstern, Alec Lightwood, Izzy Lightwood, Jace Wayland/Morgenstern, Magnus Bane, Maryse Lightwood, Robert Lightwood, Jocelyn Fray, Luke Garroway, and most of the other canon characters. GENRE: Urban fantasy with a dash of coming of age and lesbian romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): - NOTE(S): - SUMMARY: Clary’s life plan from her eighteenth birthday onward is fairly simple: do her internship with her mother at Moonlight Tattoos, become a world-renowed tatoo artist, and find herself a girl she can spend the rest of her life with, pretty much in that order.

The part where she tries to save a girl from a would-be rapist and ends up having to fight demons kinds of throws a wrench into that, though.

(Or: This is what I wish we’d had in City of Bones.)

[Also available on AO3]

“Going out already?”

Clary stops on her way to the front hall, and answers her mother’s worried look with a reassuring smile.

“I’m up for it,” she promises with a gesture at her face and general demeanor, “see? All rested. Besides, you know Aminata’s going to kill me if I miss her first reading.”

Clary has been following her friend to Java Jones’ poetry readings for almost as long as she’s known her, mostly because words are as essential to Aminata’s well-being as pictures are to her own. That spot at the microphone is too much of an accomplishment to let it pass now, especially when the entire country is about to wedge itself between them.

“You only woke up two hours ago,” Jo points out, “are you sure you don’t want to stay here and rest some more?”

Dismissal is Clary’s first reflex—she has, after all, slept more than long enough to feel completely refreshed—but the frown on her mother’s face, when she actually pays attention, is far too deep to be only about that. Clary’s eyebrows rise with understanding, and she makes herself smile again:

“It’s the middle of the day, mom, and it’s not like Pandemonium is right next door. I’ll be fine. ‘Sides, if I stay here I’ll just be in your way—you’ve been on the phone ever since I woke up.”

“With Cat and Luke,” Jo admits with an odd little smile, “I took a day off. More importantly, Luke and I were talking about what happened to you. We think it’d be a good idea to set up an appointment with Dr. Neba.”

“Today?” Clary protests—almost whines, really—before she can think better of it, “But I—”

“No, he’s out of town until Monday,” Jo says in a tone of voice that leaves very little doubt as to her feelings on the matter, “and we wouldn’t book it behind your back, anyway. I just wanted to know if that was alright with you?”

“Oh! Sure,” Clary says with a breath of relief, “no problem. The EMTs said I should get my wrist checked anyway.”

“Thank you. You should also talk to Luke soon. He’s—worried.”

Clary frowns a bit at her mother’s pause, but Jo smiles and, well. It’s hardly the first time she stumbles over English after using Canti with Luke for a while.

(Clary tried to research the language on the web once, but it has to be the most obscure dialect in the world because she never could find anything about it, even after several hours and getting two different librarians involved. Sometimes it almost feels like Luke and Jo made it up between them.)

“Okay,” Clary agrees, mouth stretching over a surprise yawn, “I’ll call him as soon as the poetry meeting is over. Can I go now? I’m already late.”

“Fine, abandon me, you ungrateful child!” Jo mock-whines with a dramatic hand to her chest.

Clary rolls her eyes with a chuckle, checks her purse—keys, water, aspirin and her sketchbook, useless though it’ll be today—and hurries down the steps and through the front door, so focused on getting to Java’s before Ami’s poem she doesn’t even pause for her customary eye roll when her mother yells ‘I love you’ at her from the parlor window.

{ooo}

Running, as it turns out, makes Clary’s wrist throb with pain. It’s not a pleasant sensation, and she ends up walking to Java Jones, the only upside of that being that she gets there mostly sweat free, and she can slip into the cool micro-climate of the coffee-shop with a contented sigh rather than a shiver.

Aminata may be the one who dragged her to the poetry readings, but Clary practically grew up in Java Jones. This is where her mother would take her for treats on the weekend: they’d hole-up in the age-worn couch next to the toilets’ door and Clary would spend entire afternoons alternating between playing with her toys and watching her mother sketch out customers, sometimes adding antlers and wings and scale just to make Clary laugh. Clary’s first subjects, when she started learning to draw, were found here, whether they were customers, the chalk frescoes her mother created for the giant blackboard, or the soft lines of flower-shaped lamps.

Java Jones has a decidedly Art Nouveau feel about it. Curving greens and flowering yellows fill the space above earth-colored wood panel and hardwood floor, and even with minimal furniture it’s impossible not to pretend the place is some sort of liminal space, the entryway to a magical fairy realm.

The difference being, of course, that no one has ever been trapped into the shop after eating their food, but aside from that Clary is pretty confident in the comparison.

She gives Aminata a quick wave when she spots her—nervously biting her nails on the same couch Clary learned to draw on—and walks up to her favorite barista as he serves a couple of coffees. He got a new tattoo—some kind of brown, fur-like thing dripping blood on his biceps from where it pokes out of his shirt sleeve. Clary wrinkles her nose at it when he’s not looking, but she refrains from commenting and just waits for her drink in silence.

At last, she makes her way over to Aminata with a white chocolate frappé freezing her fingers and a reassuring smile on her lips, unsurprised when her friend’s first move is to grab for her elbow and almost spill her drink in the process.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Aminata hisses, the tremor of nerves in her voice almost palpable, “where on earth were you?”

“Had a talk with my mom,” Clary replies as she extracts her arm from Ami’s hands, “she wants me to see our doctor about this.”

Aminata’s face turns contrite when Clary waves her splint in her field of vision, but Clary doesn’t let her fall into guilt and shrugs instead. She’s still nervous, it’s true. Despite her reassuring words to her mother earlier, she couldn’t helps but look over her shoulder on her way here, as if the guy with the blue hair were about to pop out of a side-street and start beating her any moment—but this is Java Jones. She’s known the shop and its regulars all her life, there’s no reason to think anything should happen to her here.

“So,” Clary starts, putting extra cheer in her voice to drive out the awkward silence, “did I miss anything interesting?”

“I think Eric Levinsky’s poem was about you again. You know, ‘fire hair’, ‘concentrated temper’, the usual.”

“Still confusing bad temper and not being a doormat, I see,” Clary mutters, and Aminata snorts.

The guy also fails to grasp the concept of lesbianism, but then he’s hardly the first, won’t be the last, and Aminata isn’t quite as invested in that topic anyway. It’d take too much fun out of the snipping if Clary ended up being the only one with a gripe, here.

Besides, there are plenty of other things to enjoy here. The shop smells like ground coffee and honeysuckle, swaddled in the tang of hot asphalt pervading the afternoon air and slipping inside by some kind of almost-miracle. From the outside, light and shadow play over the crowd, spotting them in warm golds and cooler greens as they mill about the shop with varying degrees of attention for the poets on stage. Even the coming and going of customers toward the toilets isn’t too bothersome tonight. It’s drags at Ami’s nerves, that’s obvious enough, but it’s mostly kept quiet, and the couch is still the best spot for people watching.

Clary sits with her friend in silence and lets the poetry wash over her while Ami’s fingers grip and then slowly relax around her forearm, the lull of words and crowd noises dragging Clary down into the couch and out of her shoes in record time. She’s almost asleep by the time Aminata jostles her elbow on her way to the stage, the host encouraging the crowd to applaud and make some noise for a shy but promising newcomer.

The speech is nice—though the praise would be more meaningful if Clary hadn’t heard it about every beginner poet performing at the readings—and it gives Clary just enough time to readjust her ponytail and straighten up to full attention before Aminata starts reading.

Then a hand lands on her shoulder.

She freezes, back painfully rigid and heart picking up the rhythm as if gearing up for a race, and she has to swallow a whine when she realizes Aminata is too focused on the crowd of listeners to realize what’s going on in the corner. Slowly, without moving her head, Clary glances down at the hand—wide, firm, wrapped in dark, petrole blue leather—and blinks tears out of her eyes. There’s a barista close to her, serving a couple at the next table over, and Clary somehow manages to catch her eye.

The girl—Sarah, her name tag reads—gives Clary a funny look but walks over anyway. The hand on Clary’s shoulder tightens and tugs, and Sarah frowns.

“Everything alright miss?”

“Can you tell this person to leave me alone, please?”

To Clary’s horror, Sarah’s features go from concerned to a confused frown, the shadows on her face turning the white of her skin almost gray when she asks:

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t bother,” a light voice says, a little above Clary’s head, “she can’t—”

“That boy,” Clary insists, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “please tell him to let me go.”

“See me,” the boy finishes while Sarah schools her features into polite disbelief.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t see anyone there.”

Clary wants to tell Sarah her joke is just about everything but funny, but somehow it doesn’t feel like that would make anything better. She breathes in deep instead, and winces in pain when the knot in her throat stings on the way down. Don’t panic, she reminds herself, think.

Maybe she’s just hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all, and she’s probably stressed enough for a migraine to come through. She felt fine a second ago but it’s still possible. Besides, she’s never remembered her hallucinations before—they could involve leather clad men for all she knows. She’s probably just being needlessly paranoid and looking like an idiot for no valid reason but...still.

The hand on her shoulder feels real—heavy and strong in a way she doesn’t think she could fight off. There’s nothing here she can use to protect herself, except maybe her ring, but even with that, she’d have to land a punch. she’s not trained enough to take that risk.

In her throat, her heartbeat speeds up and presses against her windpipe until the edges of her vision grow dark and she all but topples forward with a whine.

Sarah yelps.

“Careful!”

“Woah, Fray!”

“How do you know my name?”

Clary does her best to look angry more than scared as she twists around to stare at the stranger. He’s wearing a face mask, and the hood poking from under a black leather jacket obscures the rest of his face, making it impossible to distinguish in the low light of Java Jones. Clary takes a step aside, toward the exit, and hears someone hissing for her to shut up and sit down.

There’s a ripple of murmurs and whispers behind her, and an odd silence where Aminata’s voice should be, but Clary is too busy trying to go through her parents’ teachings to care.

Back to the exit? Check. Hands into fists, thumb over the finger? Check. Stalling for time until help gets there? On it.

“How do you know my name,” she repeats, raising her voice as she backs another step toward the exit.

“Does it really matter?” The guy asks, “Calm down, people are starting to think you’re nuts.”

“I don’t care!” Clary repeats, more forcefully, “I’ve never seen you before in my life—”

“Wha—oh, yeah, didn’t see my face, but I—”

“How the hell do you know my name?”

There’s an aborted sound, like the stranger was about to get frustrated and then decided it wasn’t worth it—then he jumps over the couch, hands reaching for Clary’s left wrist.

She manages to shove her splint into the face mask through sheer dumb luck, and dodges under his arm while he’s distracted. She barrels through the toilets door before anyone thinks of stopping her, both the guy’s and Sarah’s voice hollering after her.

She shoulders her way past a couple—one of them swear as they hit the ground—and doesn’t realize her mistake until she’s slammed the ladies’ restroom door shut behind her. Crap. Trapped in. Crap, crap, crap.

Clary drags her eyes around the room, breathing loud in her ears as she takes in the closed cubicles, only just waiting to burst open and reveal people yelling ‘surprise’ at her in an instant—but her shoulder still burns with the heat of a foreign hand, her wrist throbs with pain from hitting that guy, and all of it feels so real—and how would she know the difference? How do you even tell hallucinations from reality when they’re about things that could conceivably happen?

She’s got to call Jo. Preferably before she can throw up with fear.

She’s reaching for her back pocket when the door shakes behind her back, the handle digging into her back with bruising force. She yelps in fright, heart in her throat, and bites her lips hard enough to hurt when the guy growls:

“Come on, you can’t hide in there forever, you know that right?”

Clary clamps her good hand against her mouth and screws her eyes shut. Her throat, her eyes, her lungs are burning—her heart’s trying to choke her and her brain keeps supplying every horror story she’s ever heard about black girls in her position. The entire world seems to swim around her, and when the door rattles again—harder this time, like something heavy was thrown against it—Clary stumbles to her knees faster than she even whimpers.

Think, Clary. Think.

Forcing her eyes open, Clary blinks tears out of her eyes and tries to have a coherent look at the room. There’s no other door here, no safe exit—that’s why Lucy Teruko got stuck here for almost fifteen minutes on that horrible date of her until—the window!

Clary crawls to her feet—has to catch herself with her good hand before she falls flat on her face on the tiles—and throws herself into the last cubicle to the sound of a door banging open against the wall.

The window above the seat it barely large enough for someone to go through, and for once Clary thanks genetics for her pocket size, before climbing on the toilet seat. The porcelain is wet, and she ends up with one foot in the water and a painful ankle before she can regain her footing, but she does get the window open and her upper body through it as the first cubicle bangs open.

One after the other, doors slam against the walls of empty stalls. Clary forces herself to stay quiet and calls on long-unused monkey cage skills to hang on the windowsill with her hips, push her lower body forward, and land on her feet with a painful jolt to her ankle. Loud cursing follows her toward the main street.

Summer-hot asphalt burns at her feet as she runs, and people turn to stare as she races down the sidewalk, jumps over a golden retriever like she’s in the middle of a track meeting, and manages to cross in all the wrong places, terror pushing her to speed she’d only ever dreamed of before. Her entire body burns by now—feels like she’s going to collapse and start retching if she even thinks of slowing down—but she keeps going anyway.

She does have to stop, eventually, bending over a bunch of tired-looking hydrangeas about three quarters of the way to her place and emptying her guts over the stems, careful not to put too much weight on her left foot. She braces herself against a concrete wall while the nausea dies down, and makes herself take deep breaths while her brain slowly collects itself and analyses the situation.

She’s barefoot, blisters growing so fast she can almost feel them form. Her left ankle is busted. Her purse—with her money, her phone, her ID—is still at Java Jones, hopefully with Aminata, but it’s not like Clary is about to go back there to confirm.

In short, Clary probably looks like a maniac who doesn’t have the brains to put shoes on, with no way to call anyone in or prove who she is or the truth of what she say. Assuming, of course, that the whole thing isn’t just happening in her head.

She’s so screwed.

If she looked better—if she couldn’t feel rivers of sweat rolling down her back, feel the frazzled state of her ponytail against her back—she’d ask for help. Maybe. She’s heard horrific stories about black people asking for help and getting trouble instead though. Not all of them get out of it alive...and let’s face it, she doesn’t look good.

She just ran three blocks like somebody was out to kill her—which may or may not be the case—without shoes, and she doesn’t need a mirror to tell it shows. Frankly, she’s rather not risk it. Her ankle hurts, yeah, but it’s not broken, and it’s not like there’s much to do about blisters beside taking things easy and resting. Besides, even if the guy is real, Clary probably lost him by now, thank God for Jo and Luke’s insistence on track training.

Slowly, with a careful limp, Clary starts back toward her home, determined to get there, get back in bed, and not move for the rest of the weekend.

It’s hardly surprising that it takes her much longer than usual to get home, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys it. It takes effort to ignore the staring passersby, and some more to keep herself from wincing at the heat under her feet. The sun is getting a little less unbearable at this time of the day, but asphalt is stone. It keeps heat.

It sucks.

The good news is, although no one offers to help Clary, no one becomes a problem either, so by the time she reaches the little square in front of her home, she’s just about ready to weep with relief. The white little twins from two houses down are playing in the fountain, like they always do. The pug from across the square fell asleep in the shade again.

Clary steps up to her own building with the odd sensation of leaving what little was left of her energy behind, the wisterias from the facade wrapping her in its perfumed embrace long before she reaches her front porch, glad all of this happened on one of her mom’s home days.

She limps through the reception room without even a glance for the door that leads into Dorothea’s apartment and climbs up the stairs with her mother’s name half on her lips already.

She stops dead in her track when she notices the smear of blood at the top.

Her mouth stings when her hand slaps against it, but Clary doesn’t care. She swallows a frightened whine and keeps going, stomach heavy when a couple more steps reveal a long, bloodied shard of glass next to the gutted frame of one of Jo’s watercolors, and then Clary is actually high enough on the stair to take a good look around.

To the left, the parlor and the door to the art room both look undisturbed. To the right, on the other hand, the busted glass is far from the only damage. The sad remains of the living room door half-hang from the hinges, the bottom half lying on the floor like a mangled corpse, and stepping up to the landing to peer inside the room does nothing to reassure.

It’s like a hurricane went through it: the dinner table is on the ground, half a leg broken and abandoned next to the hallway door, a broken plate scattered all over the room. When Clary limps around debris and reaches the other side of the table, she finds large gouges in the wood and a bloody tooth on the floorboard. There are bloody hand prints on the threshold to the back hallway, and the largest kitchen knife lies on the ground with blood all over the blade.

No trace of Jo anywhere.

The twins’ laughter filters in through the open window, and Clary wonders how a house can possibly get turned into such a mess without the rest of the world being any wiser about it. Don’t they know something horrible just happened? How does the world even keep working around this? Clary’s legs sure don’t, at least, and she has to sit in the hallway before she ends up in a heap on the ground.

Stop panicking, Clary tells herself—she’s heard those words so many times in Jo’s mouth, in Luke’s voice. If you’re in danger, don’t panic. Think. Get helps, first. Panic later.

Get help first. Think first. Clary isn’t in a state to brave the phone yet—not if she wants to sound even vaguely coherent for the call. So, she thinks.

Clearly, someone broke into the house without being seen—maybe they used the back door. Just as clearly, someone got hurt. Probably Jo. Most likely Jo—oh, god, please let her be alive, let her—stop. Stop. Think. 911 has to come first.

There’s no way Clary can deal with all of this on her own, and there’s no guarantee Luke is even back in the city yet.

Police it is.

Clary stumbles to the kitchen on shaky legs, and stumbles over the undisturbed Fire Box on her way there. Her mother’s laptop is here, too, and Clary saw the silver candle holder on the ground when she crossed the living room, so either the people who came here weren’t after money, or they did a really poor job of it.

The aloe vera was thrown to the ground, along with most of the cutlery drawers, possibly in search of the kitchen knife. Clary has to look away from the fridge and its open door—like Jo forgot it, or maybe was stopped in the middle of something—and focus her sight on the land line to calm the tremors in her hands.

She keys the number in with bile rising up her throat. Forces herself to practice what she’s going to say. Breathes in deep to steady her voice. Screws her eyes shut when the movement of Jo’s screen-saver catches her attention.

She wants to go to bed—pretend none of it is happening and that Jo’s going to come in through the door any time, now, and take things in hands like she always does.

The hopeless fantasy shatters when Clary raises the phone to her ear, and nothing happens.

No sound.

No voice announcing the line is currently busy.

No dull beeping.

Nothing.

Clary sobs. Wipes tears out of her eyes. Does it again, and gives up when her lungs turn her breathing into full blown sobs. They cut the phone lines. The Wi-Fi router is intact, Clary’s seen it, but still. They cut the phone lines. Why would anyone cut the phone if they didn’t expect to find someone in? And why would anyone organize a robbery when there’s someone to witness them? Picking empty houses is just less work, isn’t it?

So, whoever came must have known Jo was here.

Maybe they even came specifically for her.

What if they’re here because of Clary, though? What if the rapist she saw in Pandemonium was some kind of—of gang member or mob boss or something? And he didn’t like Clary’s intervention and decided to take it out on her and managed to discover where she lived?

What if he sent the guy at Java Jones too, what if Clary was meant to be with her mom right now and the only reason she isn’t is because she went out and got stupidly lucky? What if all of this was only meant for Clary and Jo took the fall because she wasn’t there?

She shouldn’t have gone out. Should have listened to her mom and stayed in—she could have negotiated then. Begged for whoever came to spare Jo. After all, if this is all because of Pandemonium, she’s the only responsible one. She’s the only one who should pay for it, right?

She wasn’t there, though, and now Jo is gone God knows where in God knows what state and going through God knows what all because Clary couldn’t use her brain and stay out of somebody’s business and now she’s stuck wondering what’s happening and Luke won’t be here for hours yet and there’s no phone and no police and Clary’s panicking, she nows it, she knows, but knowing it doesn’t help and she ends up sitting in the dirt in the middle of the kitchen while sobs tear out of her louder than she even thought possible.

It takes her a long time to calm down—for her body to exhaust the tears and her breathing to slow down—but eventually, she does. She’s not even sure how. It’s not like anything’s changed. It’s just—it kind of feels like the attack putters out on its own, like a car running out of fuel.

It leaves Clary aching, her body back to throbbing in pain in ways she wouldn’t even have thought of as possible.

It also, thankfully, leaves her a little more coherent, like her mind got aired out.

It’s not much—it’s not a solution in itself, at any rate—but it does leave Clary coherent enough to remember Dorothea and her hermit ways. The woman so seldom leaves her apartment Clary used to be convinced she was a witch, so chances are she’s in...which means Clary can use her phone! All she has to do is get downstairs and ask politely—maybe negotiate a little but that’s negligible. Then she’ll call the police and Luke, and let him take over.

He’ll be far better than she is at this sort of thing, anyway. Clary has never seen either of her parents lose their head in a crisis, and wherever they learned this—it might be an innate sense of calmness but Clary finds the theory a little hard to swallow—Clary is presently very, very glad for it.

So, get downstairs. Get Dorothea. Get Luke. It all sounds so simple, compared to the rest, that it makes Clary’s head swim and she trips over her own feet on the way to the back hallway. Not a problem in itself, except when it’s followed by a heavy scrapping sound.

Clary freezes. She’s alone in the apartment. At least, she’s pretty sure she is. Jo would have signaled her presence if she was there, wouldn’t she? Unless she was—no, Clary isn’t even going to think about that one. And anyway, scrapping isn’t creaking. Creaking could have meant the neighborhood stray cat getting in through Clary’s open window again.

Scrapping means someone dragged heavy stuff on the floorboard.

Logically speaking—assuming Clary’s logic is somewhat functional at the moment—it’s probably not someone out to get her. Probably. A kidnapper would be more discreet, right? They wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a mistake even an unprepared teen can spot.

Right?

It’s probably not Jo either. Clary wasn’t exactly trying to keep her noise levels down when she came in earlier, so if Jo were here, she’d have signaled her presence. Probably. And if she were too weak to call out, she’d be too weak to produce that kind of sound as well. Not Jo, then.

But in that case, who? An attacker? A kidnapper? Or worse, someone to finish the job and finish Clary off?

With her heart in her throat, Clary takes another, far more careful step toward the hallway, and steps around the creaking boards near the back staircase to reach for the kitchen knife and its bloody blade. Hopefully, having her fingerprints on it won’t get her in trouble later, but she’ll get to that problem if and when it poses itself. For now, not dying has to be a priority.

She tries to step around the glass again, but her legs are still numb from her panic attack, and clumsy with fright. She hisses when the sole of her left foot lands on a particularly nasty shard, and has to land on her heel with a heavy thud to avoid falling flat on her face—or worse, her knife.

In her bedroom, Clary hears something scrape again, and a sudden jolt on the circular handle makes her jump something like a foot in the air. Thankfully, she doesn’t freeze this time—slips past her bedroom to the closet door and flattens her back against it while she ignores the pain in her right wrist to try and open it without a sound.

Her door’s handle stops moving.

For a heartbeat, Clary thinks this might mean safety.

Then the door bursts outward and slams into her.

Clary barely has time to realize she’s in pain—sharp, stabbing pain in her left side where the handle hit, hot pulsing where sticky warmth floods down her nose—before she collapses to the floor, pure luck the only thing preventing her from impaling herself on her improvised weapon. When she manages to remind her eyes of which way is up—her head must have taken a bigger hit than she thought—Clary finds shoes first.

A battered pair of once-varnished shoes leads up to the sad remnants of faded black suit pants, and Clary has to struggle in order to keep following the line upward. She finds a shirt dirty enough that it barely retains the memory of white, the whole thing filled with really, really thick arms. Clary’s blood freezes in her veins long before she manages to find her aggressor’s...head.

There’s no face there—only a mess of purple-and-red scars like earthworms, features obliterated by thick, painful-looking tissues that barely part wide enough to reveal destroyed eyes. In he mouth—what was once a mouth—blackened shards mark the spots where teeth used to be.

A thick, bruise-purple hand reaches for Clary’s ponytail—flails for a second against its unexpected volume—and drags her off the ground by the hair, a scream flying out of Clary before she can fully process the gesture.

That seems to be the wrong reaction, thought, because the other hand appears in Clary’s field of vision, aiming for her throat in a way that makes Clary kick, squirm, scream as hard as she can until she remembers the knife in her hand and swings it around until it catches at the suit’s arm.

Clary falls to the ground with a thud and scrambles away from the—the—whoever or whatever the hell it is, half-crawling and half running toward the living room and front hallway until her right shoulder refuses to move and yanks her entire body back with it. She hits the other’s chest with a pained huff, tries to use the knife again, but this time all it gets her is enough of a slap in the face that the world starts spinning—and then a hand on her throat.

There’s a vague, stiffening feeling of déjà-vu when a gloved fist collides with the mangled vestiges of a cheek, but Clary doesn’t have time to process it before she’s dropped on the ground, next to a pair of thick leather boots.

“Get outta here!”

Clary’s feet get the message before she does, and she’s already jumped over the living room table by the time she recognizes the voice. Turning around reveals the same silhouette—wide shoulder, stocky built, clothing alternating between black and deep dark blues—except this time the hood is down, short cropped frizzy hair and a black-skinned face poking from behind the face mask as the guy tries to fight Clary’s attacker off.

He doesn’t seem to have much luck there. Clary smothers a panicked shout when the creature slams the boy to the ground—from there it’s like the world turns into a collection of details.

The kitchen knife in Clary’s good hand—shiny and bloody and bigger than it should be. A gasp, filling the room even through the louder grunts. Something like fear in amber eyes, surrounded by a familiar shade of brown. Clary’s hand raising.

Dull shock all through her arm.

The creature, clutching its knee, wailing like a wraith.

The boy—the man—coughing as he struggles to his feet. Turns to Clary. Panics—only for a moment, a short second, but Clary sees it—and shoves her away from him, into the front hallway.

“Get out of here! I’ll be right there!”

Clary spins on her heel so fast her twisted ankle doesn’t even have time to protest, shoots through the living room door, slips on the broken glass there, and rolls into the staircase.

It’s like the world skips a beat. One second Clary is running away from a fight to the death, the next she’s sprawled on her back in the reception room, unable to focus on anything but pain and holy hell there’s no air, no air, need air—

It occurs to her, after a while, that the fish-out-of-water sounds popping in her ears come from her. It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes things worse—drives home how bad her situation is and sends her into overdrive—makes her legs and back and stomach and head pulse harder under the flesh, burning with the heat of sudden pain even as she tries to turn around.

There’s a series of loud thuds upstairs. Hurried steps.

“Don’t move!”

Clary stops her effort, but even going limp hurts—there’s something warm on her upper thigh and a harsh, stabbing burn somewhere up her left arm, but she doesn’t dare looking around to assess the damage. Overhead, the stairs tremble with the weight of her savior’s steps, although he doesn’t make a sound, even when he jumps over the last few steps and lands into a crouch next to Clary, eyes roaming over her while his hands rummage into his jacket.

“Is it bad?” Clary asks, even though she knows the answer to that one already.

It’s still less scary to ask ‘is it bad’ than ‘am I going to die’ because she doesn’t want to—she doesn’t, really—but wet warm spot on her thigh is growing and the boy—man—whichever he is—sounds panicked where he throws foreign words into a phone. Clary’s head grows lighter, even a the rest of her seems to triple weight in an instant, black spots dancing in front of her and growing more numerous with every blink—of course it’s bad.

Really bad, if the way her would-be savior looks at her is any indication.

She’s already crying by the time he takes her hand, ready to tell her a bunch of reassuring things that may or may not be true—but when he finally grasps her injured hand, his features go from worried to shocked.

“Where did you get that?”

“What?”

Clary’s trying to follow his second answer, she really is—even through the darkening edges of her vision the urgency on his face is obvious, but there’s not enough blood left in her head for that to work. He must realize it as well—his face hardens,and he reaches for something on his side with something that may or may not be an apology.

He brings his hand to Clary’s thigh, and the world bursts into pain.

She thinks she screams. At some point, the man all but sits on her to stop her from moving away from him.

Pain, pain, pain.

Nothing.

Sharp, stinging pain on her cheek, and then words in her ears—urgent, and raw, and way louder than anything she’s ready to bear.

“Thank the Angels,” her savior says, “I thought I’d killed you!”

Clary tries to speak, but it doesn’t come out quite right—at the very least, she can’t make out more than a garbled sound, like her mouth fell asleep and refuses to wake up. Her general state of mind must be obvious enough, though, because a gloved hand comes to rest on her cheek, and golden eyes shift from relief to reassurance:

“It’s okay, Fray. You’re my sister. I’m gonna help you. I’ll take you back home.”

Clary is already home, mutilated though it is, and she tries to convey the message through the pained whine that escapes her. The guy shushes her, too dry to be soothing, and then he picks her up like she weighs nothing, bridal style.

In some distant corner of her mind, the more sarcastic part of Clary wonders when her life turned into an action movie.

“It’s okay,” the man says, “it’ll be a while before we get there but I glamoured us. You just go to sleep, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Well. At least Clary got herself a nice kidnapper.

Eventually, she does fall asleep.