#but the jury can rot in hell

[labyrinthofsphinx]

With all this talk of moral codes and all I've just got to ask- what moral codes do the three of you follow? I mean obviously neither Vox or Al want to hurt kids but Drift absolutely seems down to throw hands with them lol. But what other lines in the sand have been drawn?

Also, what are your favorite books? Vox, have you ever read The Sea-Wolf by Jack London?

So....this one will be getting into some story bits, just by the nature of what was asked:

The kid's code was kinda touched upon here a little and shown in Something Wicked, but generally...he's not a killer. He can and will scrap with anyone, if he decides there's a just reason, which can be as simple as a harsh enough insult. But he doesn't care who they are, men, women, or children. If he thinks you've earned it, one way or another, he doesn't mind teaching a lesson, best he can at his small size and stature. He will lie, steal, and cheat...so long as nobody gets seriously hurt. But to anyone that hasn't earned it, he's very empathetic. It would hurt him to hurt someone else, even on accident, if they didn't do anything to deserve it.

Vox's 'code' is a little harder to pin down, namely because he doesn't have as set or strict 'rules' as Al. His 'reason' for violence is because it's what gets him to his goal, what 'removes the obstacle' shall we say. If he can use other methods, great! Less cleanup. But he's not afraid to 'pull the trigger' either. Also, similar to the kid, Vox does not care about who his targets are. He's not going to hesitate if its a woman. Almost nobody in his circles are entirely innocent either...but he really wouldn't flip about having to take an innocent life, if he deemed it necessary. Though, you won't find him doing it for fun. He doesn't get a kick out of it. It's just 'part of the job' in a sense. Kids are the only exception to this because, well, they're kids. They're never in his way, too young to understand anything, and too innocent for all that nonsense. Also, deep down, he really does have a special tender spot for them. Blame it on the expectations of the time, or having too much experience working with scared kids on Hollywood sets, but he likes kids.

Al is an entirely different case altogether because, here's the thing: he both cares the most and the least about his targets. Emotionally, he couldn't care less. He honestly, truly loves to do it. And if he ever did take a wholly innocent life, he wouldn't normally lose sleep over it, might even delight in it...except for his code. We're going to get into more specifics later as to how and why Al got his code, but just be aware that he swore to himself that he would only kill those he thinks deserved to rot in hell. He has a very, very strong bias against killing women because most women he's met, even the bad ones, were victims of circumstances beyond their control. He's much more apt to blame a man for a woman's mistakes than giving her the entire blame...something he will have to contend with Vox about further along the line. He refuses to kill children, period. In his eyes, they're all innocent and are therefore excluded. Even when they aren't innocent, they are. As for what, exactly, gets you on his list...it's a difficult line to define exactly. Things that will obviously get you on the list: murder, arson, any kind of sexual violence, harming kids in any way, so on and so forth. Basically, he decided that he's judge, jury, and executioner of the people who slipped through the cracks in the justice system. He does, however, need the conformation of the crime, which used to be harder in the days before Vox became his partner.

As for where the lines are drawn...that's going to be a plot point later on. Because these guys are going to pushing and prodding that line the whole time. Al and Vox already kinda had because, I mean, they have a witness to the crime that's certainly a problem...but he's a kid. That threw their 'go to' plan out the window. Alastor also had his line pushed with Vox himself, just because he's Vox. In any other situation, Vox would be a perfect candidate for his list: a murderer, a cheat, a greedy slime, etc. However, Vox was useful...then he was a friend...now he's kinda more than that. Now he doesn't count for the list because he's attached to him. But, in the back of Al's head, in a nebulous sort of way, he knows Vox still checks all his boxes, even in ways that Rosie and Mimzy couldn't because, again, they're girls. It isn't lost on Vox either. He's just decided that if Al wasn't going to off him when they first became partners, then he never was going to.

I kinda sum it up like this: The kid is in survival mode, any extreme will only be even considered if it's do or die. Vox is opportunistic, and he's doesn't care about violence either way. And Alastor is the genuine article, the real hunter here, and the only one who actually, really enjoys and craves violence.

On a less dark note, the kid loves comic books, detective stories, and travel journals. He's also a big fan of old stories of heroes doing great and crazy things. Vox is a 'modern' story enthusiast, things like The Great Gatsby are his go tos, though he does like Jules Verne a lot too (also secretly loves old romance stories and poems but he will go to his grave denying it). Alastor loves ghost stories. He also doesn't mind the occasional thriller and horror genres, particularly gothic or eldritch horror.

And, yes, at some point, Vox probably would've read The Sea-Wolf.

Thanks for the ask!

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Easier Said Than Done

Thank you so so so much to @grungekitty-77 for writing the entire second half of this. You're amazing and I love u so much

Summary: the day of the trial has come.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of dehumanization, ptsd, and everything that comes with damage.

1361 words

Wes Sánchez was a prosecutor.

He’d only ever become interested with the judicial system at all after a movie about an optimistic girl going through law school and proving everybody wrong about her being some ditzy blonde airhead had come out when he was young. The interest had lingered over the years, and he’d started out studying defense. But he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t exactly what that movie had portrayed.

“Have a seat, Mr. Smith.”

“This is stupid. We all know he did it. Bastard deserves to rot in the cursed realm…”

Defense wasn’t so much about catching people in lies as it was demanding proof that it was a lie in the first place.

The nindroid sat in front of him, neutral and unblinking. Though Wes knew better, the guy barely even looked alive. 

Wes had found that he was more partial to the former. He could find a flaw in even the most airtight of alibis. But much more importantly than that? He needed to sort out the testimonies.

-“It’s not… abnormal for us to leave without telling each other,” the green ninja said, fidgeting in his seat. “But he wouldn’t answer his phone, and — and it had been a day… by the time we realized he was—”

-“Is this even necessary? Every other bad guy we’ve kicked the ass of has been hauled off to Kryptarium, no question!”

“Ms. Smith, I don’t have answers for other cases you’ve been involved in. I’m here now to prove this man is guilty. By all means, I’m on your side, here.”

She slumped into her chair, nodding, though she still didn’t look happy about it. The Smith siblings shared a bit of an anger streak, it would seem. That could quickly become… problematic, on the stand. 

-“It was… immensely hard on all of us. Our family was torn apart…”

Though the emotions were real, Wes worried that an argument could be made against the nindroid solely for not being human. 

-“He’s my best friend… I was so angry, I just…”

-“I can’t do this!” Cole heaved, breathing in short gasps that certainly weren’t helpful for his current state. “I can’t—!”

“Let’s take a break, Mr. Brookestone,” he offered.

Though he was no longer hyperventilating, he still shook his head rapidly, as if he hadn’t even heard him speak. “I can’t…” he repeated, hands cradling his head, “I can’t go back…”

The problem with ninja was that none of them were going to be easy. Each of them had glaring flaws that could be flipped on them in an instant in the courtroom. 

“Alright. I’m going to play the bad guy. I need to make sure you’re ready for whatever the defense is going to ask you. This isn’t going to be fun, but we need to prepare for this.”

-“—I’ll fry that man if I see him again, you can be sure of that!”

-“What the hell does that have to do with anything? That whole love triangle thing was stupid!”

“I understand, but it was very public knowledge that both of them were pursuing you. It will come up.”

-“No.”

“…no?”

“You’ve got enough angles for them to come at you from, you may as well be a circle. We’re not giving them that ammo.”

The green ninja frowned, but didn’t argue.

-“…I don’t see what my being a nindroid has to do with this.”

Wes sighed. “It shouldn’t, but it does. Your humanity will be called into question the second you open your mouth.”

Which narrowed them down to one option. The blue ninja certainly had his own set of issues, but Wes was confident that, if nothing else, at least the jury could relate to him.

But god, if he didn’t have his work cut out for him on this one.

“Cole, you need to breathe.”

“He looks sick!”

“Please say something… I know it’s scary, but we’re going to be right there the whole time, I swear! We won’t let anything happen.”

The first day of the trial started off poorly. 

-“Is it true that you electrocuted Mr. Hamada after breaking into his home?”

“Uh — yes… but that’s not—!”

“And is it true, Mr. Walker, that you proceeded to beat him with the aid of Mr. Garmadon, before dumping him on the steps of the police precinct? That hardly sounds like proper arrest protocol. Did you read him his rights while you were dragging his body through the snow?”

The fire ninja spent half of his time glaring at the accused, a red glow emanating from his fists. Wes suspected that the only thing keeping him in check was the ice ninja’s hand on his own, silent communication telling him to knock it off.

It certainly wasn’t helping the argument that the ninja were violent.

In retrospect, Wes should’ve predicted this. The case was so clean. The only flaw anyone could possibly find in it, the only hiccup anyone could point to, was the Ninja.

He was getting eaten alive in this cross examination.

“You were homeschooled, correct?”

Wes stood, desperate to end whatever this was.

“Objection! Relevance, your Honor.”

“Mr. Sánchez was the first to bring up the witness’s background, I’m within my rights to ask follow up questions.”

“Overruled then. Continue.”

Wes cursed under his breath. He felt like he had buried himself here. He thought the blue ninja would be the most palatable to the jury, but that might’ve been the wrong way to go.

“Yes. I was homeschooled.”

“Were you ever taken to the doctor?”

“Of course I was!”

“Were you ever given a tetanus shot?”

Shit. The Walker’s weren’t anti-vax, were they? 

“I don’t….I mean I didn’t…..I don’t know. Nobody ever told me that stuff.”

Jay was sweating. He was flustered and this was everything Wes had been afraid of.

He should’ve risked the love triangle with Nya, or leaned into the emotional argument and put Kai up. Jay didn’t look like the picture of normalcy that Wes was banking on.

“Leave my parents out of this!”

“If the witness would refrain from yelling in the courtroom.”

This was bad. After how hard Cole had tried to push through his trauma, it was going down the drain.

“Didn’t you have a very public feud with the supposed victim?”

“Have you ever completed any certified courses on conflict deescalation?”

“Are you even aware of the district you conducted this unlawful arrest in?”

“An affidavit from one Fugidove of his treatment upon quote and quote arrest by the ninja.”

“You mean to tell me that a trained ninja that fought the likes of the Overlord on more than one occasion, was helpless to a simple office worker?”

Wes watched everything slide down hill far in slow motion, but it still happened far too fast. He was suddenly giving his closing statement.

“I beg you not to get hung up on the details and semantics of this case. We have all the proof we need of what crimes were committed, and who they were committed by. I want you to remember the chains, the collar, the dog crate. I want you to think of Mr. Brookestone’s breakdown on the stand and ask yourselves if you truly want the perpetrator of these crimes to go free.”

He thought he did a good job.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have laws for good reasons. No one is above them. It is a reckless precedent to set if we allow one group of super powered individuals to act with impunity towards them. This is not a question of this man’s guilt, this is a question of how we expect justice to be done. My client, guilty or not, is entitled to rights. Rights I believe we have proven he was denied beyond reasonable doubt. This choice, right now, this is how you tell these very powerful people what they are and are not allowed to do in this city.”

Unfortunately, opposing counsel did a better job.

“We the jury find the defendant not guilty of the above entitled actions.”

Wes could barely hear the second half of that sentence over the absolutely enraged uproar behind him. 

[holycatsandrabbits]

On this day in 1977, Jay Anson published The Amityville Horror, and a launched a whole new generation of haunted house stories.

But before the movies, before the book, before the revelation that it was all a hoax, the house at 112 Ocean Ave, Amityville, Long Island, New York, was the scene of a real horror: the murder of six people.

Ronald DeFeo, Jr., 23, killed his parents, two brothers, and two sisters with a rifle on Nov 13, 1974. If you’re familiar with the Amityville Horror story, you know of claims DeFeo was hearing voices that told him to kill his family. This part is surprisingly real— at least, according to his defense. The jury was unmoved, however, and DeFeo was convicted of mass murder. He died in prison in 2021. It is also true that motive remains elusive: DeFeo might have been after life insurance, and there was tension between him and his father. But nothing was ever said about evil spirits before the murders. 

Of course, living in a house where six people were murdered by someone they loved has got to be a little freaky. But one family claimed there was a lot more horror going on. George and Kathy Lutz and their three children lived 28 days in the house at 112 Ocean Ave, starting in Dec, 1975. Interviews and a 1977 book by Jay Anson told the story of a terrified family who barely escaped with their lives. However, later fact-checkers found, well, no facts at all.

So we’re left with an odd contradiction: a false tale that got a lot of publicity for being “true,” but which remains, at its heart, a really good ghost story (which is why it led to many more books and movies). And here on Weird Wednesday, writing good ghost stories is our aim, so let’s see how horrifying the tale really gets!

Check out my Weird Wednesday blog post for the whole story and some horrific writing prompts, such as:

A Foolish Man Builds His House Upon the Sand. You’ve got a few choices for character fates in a haunted house: unscathed escape, injured or traumatized escape, death, or perhaps most horrifying, becoming part of the house forever. We often think of characters who die passing into a safe paradise, but in the horror genre, that avenue of escape is often blocked. So what does happen to those people? Perhaps the inside of the haunted house is just a form of Hell, where a character is stuck with a bunch of demons. Or maybe they’re alone, which is also not a great eternal fate. Maybe they really do become part of the house, part of its walls and floors, and can only move on when the house finally rots or burns down.

Or maybe haunted houses/places also exist in another world, invisible to the mortal eye, where a character can go traveling. Maybe if you die in the Amityville house, you get a visitor’s pass for the Lincoln bedroom or Borley Rectory. Are there demons pursuing these travelers? Do the newly departed make friends with other ghosts? Can they ever pass back into the world of the living?

DannyeChase.com ~ AO3 ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers 

Image credit

[xerith-42]

Redesign the Nine Part 2

That's right babey, we're doing a part 2! Because I went outside and sat in the sun but the brain rot still consumed as it does and I had premonitions about more of the Jury members. Before we discussed ones who were completely new, reworking characters from MyStreet into MCD. This time I want to take a closer look at three Jury members who we know were part of the Jury, but lacked on screen appearances, or depth portrayed in the appearances they got.

These are members who's stories are far more shrouded in mystery. Even the elements of it I know feel... incomplete. Because characters like lying to me and refusing to let me tell their damn story.

Let's get into it.

Lilian The Silver Tongue

That's right, she isn't going to be another scythe user, that's boring as hell. Let Ivy slay with that. Instead Lilian is a rather enigmatic member of the Jury because... She didn't go through the same process. Janus, Zachary, and Ivan were all members when Zane inherited the Jury, and everyone else went through the process via the Guard Academy. But Lilian...

Lilian was found by Zane. It was a routine trip to Nahkra, just checking in on the village so close to O'Khasis' borders. A simple trip, so he only took Janus with him. While the two were in the market place, Lilian called out to Zane from her barely functional stall. What mattered was that she had a deck of tarot cards on the table, and a peculiar look about her. [proceeds to pull out my tarot cards and do a divination or two]

She didn't know anything about Zane. Lilian wasn't from Ru'aun, she was a runaway from Gal'ruk. She didn't know about Zane, or O'Khasis, just that she saw a nobleman and his guard and had a distinct feeling about them. The reading she got of him was even more fascinating that her gut feeling. She didn't even know his name and he didn't know hers but she knew there was a great mystery in front of her.

The Seven of Cups, the Five of Cups, and the Reverse Nine of Swords. Over ambition, sorrow of a loss, and the potential for time to heal.

Zane was never superstitious, but he believed in the Divine. In other realms. In the supernatural. Who's to say a deck of cards couldn't be used to predict the future, or read the inner parts of a person? These cards were accurate enough to give him pause at the explanation. Enough to make him stop and listen to the odd hooded woman who was suddenly speaking words the public had yet to hear of. They didn't know Zane's brother was dead yet, or that he had inherited O'Khasis. But her cards knew his loss.

It made Zane pay to get a better reading from her. A deeper look into him, this time with six cards that he pulled himself at her instruction. She didn't know the question Zane asked the cards, but when she read out the result, it was chilling. The question was simple; "Will my father's health get better?" The answer?

Past: The Chariot, Reversed Queen of Cups. A successful, balanced, triumphant man comfortable in his life, and a beautiful but perverse woman, not to be trusted.

Future: Reversed Fool, Knight of Wands. A hasty and impetuous man will offer a key choice, and The Seeker, be that Zane or the subject of his question, will make a foolish and disastrous choice in response to this offer. Tread with caution.

Present Attitudes: Justice, Two of Swords. A well balanced mind, body, and heart will be key to future successes. If one can keep their mind open, emotions calm, and thinking balanced, then great fortune awaits.

Lilian never gave Zane her own analysis of it, just the meanings of the cards. She left it all up to his imagination. And this was before Zane wore a mask. Even if she didn't know what he was thinking, she could see the gears turning in his head. She could see his reactions. She was piecing together who he was through these cards. He left after her reading, in an unsure position.

It was days later, when Lilian was preparing to leave and travel to another city that Zane found her again. He asked her for another reading. A simple yes or no question he wanted answered. And due to her fascination, she didn't even ask for payment. She gladly did it for him. This is a reading he didn't even let Janus witness, asking that his back be turned, and that Lilian not give him any explanation. Let the cards speak for themselves.

The answer Zane got was unsure. But he acted upon it anyway. He asked, and the cards answered. Lilian was to be the newest member of the Jury of Nine.

"What in the name of the Divine makes you think I want that?"

Lilian's retort was the final nail in the coffin. She came from nothing, she was nothing, and came to Ru'aun for nothing. Zane could offer her a proper life, an identity, a purpose. She used those cards to learn about others so she could imitate being human, and her lack of knowledge was an advantage she was keenly aware of. One Zane wanted to understand how to utilize himself. He and Lilian went back and forth for a while, but in the end he convinced her. In the end, Lilian was the first member of the Jury Zane ever assigned, and he didn't even recruit her properly.

And she instantly joined the rank of his most trusted ally at the time.

Janus the Silver Death

Janus was a member of the Jury when Garte held control, yet before that he was always assigned to help Zane. When Janus joined the Jury, he was the youngest member, the first to be freshly out of the guard academy and into the Jury. Garte preferred to bring in already hardened veterans, but he saw a ferocity in the way Janus fought, and a willingness to kill when told to do it. He was loyal and fierce. But he was young, spunky, and in need of discipline.

As was Garte's at the time youngest son, a teenage Zane. So despite attaining the best position a guard in Ru'aun can attain, Janus was given the job of babysitting body guarding the youngest Ro'meave. Awesome. He was so happy about this and it did not piss him off at all. But in spite of a... let's say less than great first impression, Janus still took the job with stride, and put his all into ensuring that Zane would be trained properly in combat.

It uhhh, didn't go that way. Instead Zane was a nerd who learned about magic and relics n shit, and Janus couldn't really stop him, but he still wanted to do his job. He still wanted to help Garte in that goal of making Zane into a potential successor for him. Janus never verbalized any confusion as to why Garroth wouldn't be more fitting of this training. In achieving this goal, Janus just encouraged Zane's interest in well, whatever nerd shit Zane was interested in. He doesn't understand any of it but Zane's clearly passionate and makes a solid case for why this is useful knowledge to have.

And when Zane becomes High Priest while Garroth is off at the Guard Academy, he selects Janus to be his top advisor. Zane hasn't even inherited the Jury yet, but he and Janus have just been doing shit together for long enough now that it just makes sense. When Zane does inherit the Jury, when Garroth fakes his death and Zane is officially named successor, Janus becomes his most trusted ally. But why does Zane trust Janus so much?

Because he doesn't ask questions. Janus was taught to be devoted to a fault, to not question his superior, and to take what he is given. When Zane asks him to go pick up the order from the butcher, he does it. When Zane asks him to help him run scenarios of taking over villages through subterfuge, he does it. When Zane asks him to slaughter an entire village while holding a probably cursed amulet so it can absorb their remaining life force or power, he does it. Unlike Zachary or Ivan, Janus wasn't loyal to Garte for very long. He is loyal to Zane.

That's why he and Lilian share the title Silver. It's a sign of loyalty to Zane, as it's his favorite color. The two members of the Jury that Zane trusts to know him on any personal level are given this title in common, even before he fully trusts either of them. He makes it mean that. I firmly believe that Zane saw almost every other member of the Jury as a pawn, or outright disposable. But Janus and Lilian? Those aren't just Jury members. Those are Zane's friends. Zane's fucked up and evil friends. Zane's friends who would help him commit war crimes.

Truly the ride or die friends of all time.

And uhh, then there's this fucking guy

Ivan the... bitch

I don't actually have a funny clever name for Ivan, I just think he's a little bitch. A little warlock bitch. I think Ivan's sick warlock powers let him get into the Jury easier, but his bitchy cocky attitude did not exactly work well with others. He was a respected fighter, but didn't often play nice with other members of the Jury, particularly Zachary who he got into a lot of fights with, and later Ivy when she joined. He was infuriating to be around, partially because he's just a massive jackass, and partially because he's so good at what he does that he gets away with being a massive jackass.

I don't have a lot to say about Ivan, I will admit. I don't have some dramatic backstory, no deeper connection with anyone, no family that's being blackmailed. Just an entitled bitch of a man. However, I did have a really interesting take about his relationship with Lucinda.

Hear me out on this; Zane finds out that he's potentially going to have to marry the heir to Pikoro. Wanting to avoid the disaster that happened when they tried to ask Garroth to marry someone he'd never met, he sends Ivan undercover into Pikoro to learn more about Lucinda and report back to Zane about his findings. His job was to just observe Lucinda, maybe talk to her once or twice, figure out what kind of person she is and whether she's actually compatible with Zane, or if this marriage is really going to be a sham.

Ivan ends up seducing her and telling Zane that she's a disloyal harlot of a witch. Because Ivan sucks. But y'know, Lucinda doesn't know about any of this, and when Ivan disappears, he lies to her. He leaves Pikoro saying that he's going back to the Academy to be a teacher there, and promises to see her again. In reality he just goes back to Zane, back to normal life, only occasionally sparing a thought for the beautiful witch he met.

And when Zane disappears with Lilian, and the Jury starts to slowly disband itself, Ivan thinks of where to go. What does he want to do with his life? Lucinda.

Good choice honestly. Prick.

That's all for today. See you losers next time when the brainrot really takes over and we tackle my favorite Jury members, who don't necessarily need redesign, but do need some fleshing out. Especially Ivy. See you then ;)

[alchemocha]

Please look at my punk au.

Ivo grows up in Juvie where he meets Orbot and Cubot.

After Gerald died and Maria there was no one to actually pay for his crimes

A trial was held to try Ivo for all of these charges

Humanity too scared and hateful of Robotinik, gave him a life sentence

Ivo lost his faith in humanity and has deep resentment over his uncle Shadow who’s testimony of ‘he looks like Gerald did when he was younger’ ‘he’s a genius’ made the jury completely freak out.

Shadow was not tried as he was seen as manipulated by Gerald through Maria. Ivo obviously did not get this luxury

In this Ivo is Gerald’s abandoned son on earth. Shadow is his uncle that left him to rot in a cell.

Ivo truly has no one til he meets Orbot and Cubot.

Eventually he will also meet Stone.

His personality-

Doesn’t differ to much from normal. He hates himself but hides it through false pride and a villain persona

He’s determined as hell. Eventually leading to him trying to fight back against abusive guards. Even escaping.

He does have a band with his friends (they are really good actually) think will wood and grandson unholy combination

The band is called Badniks

He can take a good punch

He has years of prison trauma

He’s quicker to bite than bark which differs from other aus

He misses the family he never had

He dresses like a punk when he escapes prison

He’s incredibly agile on his feet

He’s the lead singer (he meets Stone who’s a fan of his)

Orbot and Cubot are very very protective of there little shit

He has heavy combat boots that he’s made to shoot out medal spikes

He has tazer gloves

Bro could literally sleep anywhere

Deathly afraid of courthouses and police which comes off as hatred to those who don’t know how to read him

[magicalwardrobe-mw]

So Spain could have sent to Eurovision a song about languages and borders and inclusion in a minority language with folkloric undertones but at the same time kinda techno? Idk how to explain.

Or a really catchy feminist song about mothers and freedom and breasts with a giant breast in the background.

But do we send that? NoooOOOOo. Because of the fucking jury we send a typical party song from a party party girl in see-through clothes singing in Spanglish.

I just-

We deserve everything we (don't) get. Is2g this makes me so angry.

[matchahater]

“What the hell?” Kyle demands, slamming Jason’s apartment door behind them. Jason figures his neighbors are pretty used to that sound by now. “You wanna give me a warning next time you’re about to shoot somebody in front of me?”

“You didn’t stop me,” Jason says. He accepts that this will be an argument, sees the opening and slots his words through it. It's easy to twist them in the right way. “You got a problem with how I do things?”

Kyle scowls at him, tearing off his mask and slapping it down on the table. He could just take the ring off, Jason thinks, but that wouldn’t have any dramatic effect. “Are you trying to talk about morality with me right now? Seriously? You executed that guy. I don’t need to be associated with that shit, in front of witnesses-”

“You wanted to take him to jail?” Jason raises his eyebrows, digging in. “Where he’d rot for the rest of his natural life? You think that’s better?”

Kyle’s jaw works as he rests a hand against the tabletop, dark eyes still meeting Jason’s. “You're not a judge or a jury, Jason. Neither am I. It’s not our job-”

“Bullshit,” Jason retorts, breaking into a bitter smile. He knows Kyle doesn’t really believe that, no matter how holy he wants to pretend he is. “You think I didn’t know that guy was a trafficker? You think I didn’t have evidence? You and I are far more prepared to deliver justice than the state ever was, and you know it.” He leans back against the wall, sizing Kyle up, and relishes the irritation on his face. “What's justice look like to you, huh? How many chances should he have gotten?"

“We’re not talking hypotheticals,” Kyle snaps, making a sweeping gesture with an arm. He’s talking with his hands again, the way he does when he’s upset. “You can’t know what would’ve happened to him. You can’t know what the victims would’ve wanted.”

“You think you’re better than me." Jason folds his arms, feeling the cheap plaster flake onto his jacket. “But I’ve already thought through every moral dilemma about taking a life. I don’t regret a thing.” He cocks his head. “Does that bother you?”

“I don’t think I’m better than you,” Kyle says through gritted teeth. He does take the ring off, then, as if to emphasize his point. His costume flickers out of view as he sets the thing on the table. Now there are two men in the room. “I’m not Batman, asshole. I’ve killed people.”

“And I bet you’re so fucking broken up about it.” Jason rolls his eyes and pulls out the chair in front of him, taking a seat. They both know that move. He’s settling in for a long argument.

Kyle glares at the ceiling like he wants to punch a hole in it. He could, if he wanted to - but Jason’s willing to bet he doesn’t have the money to pay damages. “You really get on my fucking nerves, y’know that?”

Jason laughs sharply. “Then why do you keep showing up to my apartment, Rayner?”

It takes Kyle a long second to pull out the chair across from him, and another one to sit down, like every movement that gets him closer to Jason is physically painful. Jason can admit it’s a little bit glorious. “You can do whatever you want,” Kyle says finally, staring at the ring on the table. “But you don’t get to pretend you’re better than me, either. I know you feel a sense of responsibility too. It’s not my fault we've had different fucking life experiences.”

Jason presses his lips together. Even he’s not a big enough asshole to dig at Kyle about Alex. “I just think,” he says slowly, trying to soften his tone just a little, “that you decided you know what kind of person you are, and that it’s not the same kind as me. But I’ve seen you in action, Rayner.” He leans forward slightly, nodding at the ring. “That thing makes you do shit you never thought you’d be able to do. And I’m not talking about your magic tricks.”

Kyle’s eyes slide vacantly to the wall behind him, and Jason knows he’s toed a line. He won’t know if he’s crossed it unless Kyle gets up and leaves. “I wish I never fucking met you,” Kyle says coolly.

Jason didn’t expect that to hurt. “Because I make you think deeply about your actions?” he retorts, trying to numb the sting. “God forbid you think too hard about anything you do, or your head might explode from the complexity of your moral code. Jesus Christ.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Kyle passes a hand over his face, rubbing hard at the bridge of his nose. “Can you stop psychoanalyzing me for two goddamn seconds, Jason?”

Jason watches him try to force the anger out of his body. “Not my fault I’m perceptive,” he says. He backs down.

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Kyle says flatly, dropping his hand to rest it on the table.

"Seriously?" Regardless of how easily they piss each other off, there are times when Jason feels like Kyle is the one person, the only one who gets where he's coming from. Thrust into a situation out of his control. They know each other, like it or not. They make sense. “You had a traumatic experience, and it made you realize that the universe doesn’t give a shit about anyone," he says, trying to take the venom out of his voice. It takes up too much space in the small room. "So you decided to become the person that gave a shit.” He shrugs slightly. "Not that different from what happened to me."

Kyle’s still for a long moment. Jason wonders if they’ll actually end in agreement, this time. Then he shakes his head. “You’re so obsessed with the idea that we’re the same,” he says slowly. “That you finally have somebody who's gonna relate to you. Fine, Jason. You get me.” His eyes are indecipherable as he gets to his feet. “But I don’t understand you at all.”

[yourreddancer]

Just one more thing about student loan forgiveness--I went to UCLA when it was free!  We paid $100 a quarter in student fees and we protested that!  I got a great education--which I didn't fully appreciate at the time--and I didn't have to take out any loans!  

I have lived a creative and unconventional life because I was free to experiment, to write, to be an activist, to contribute in my best self to my community. We took for granted that education should be free--at least in public universities--because an educated population was a benefit to society. 

 When I speak to students today and tell them the UC system was free, they can't even conceive of it!  I remember one student saying, "How could it be free?  Did the teachers teach for free?" No, in fact they had better pay and better job security than most college teachers today who are relegated to adjunct status and poverty wages! 

 So I completely support loan forgiveness, advocate for more of it and returning to an understanding that education is something that benefits all of us! 

Because that student whose loan forgiveness you resent so much might someday be the nurse who holds your hand or the anesthetist who puts you under for the emergency operation, the teacher who helps your child learn to read, the accountant who files your taxes, the tecchie who creates the app that entertains you, the emergency responder who comes to the door when you need help, the writer whose work opens up new worlds, the scientist who launches the telescope that makes the Webb look crude, the lawyer who defends you if you're unjustly accused or the member of the jury who decides your fate.

  Do you want them weighed down with unpayable debts, or free to give their service, their skills and their most creative contributions?  And for you who struggled and scrimped and paid back your loans--if you want to resent someone, resent those who cut back the funding for higher education and made it a luxury instead of a right.

You can thank Ronnie Raygun for putting a stop to that in California. May he rot in hell!

[radabadabing-bing]

Ruling Me

You ever get an idea, and then you realize how good that idea is? I dunno what overcame me, but I remembered an idea I had way back when I started the blog. Didn’t have a single thing written for it, but I sat down and crunched it out in like two or three sessions. However, couldn’t think of a title, so just slapped on a slightly fitting mediocre one haha

Anyways, that particular idea was that Michalis rubbed Niles the wrong way, and honestly you should know what comes next if you are following this blog. It also let me write dialogue for this which I love to do, I’m pretty pleased overrall with how it turned out. Enjoy!

Niles and Michalis were a little less than acquaintances. They were often deployed at the same time, sure, but to imply they were anything more than occasional coworkers was...generous. Neither had a personality that would particularly jell with the other, nor backgrounds that befitted such a thing. It was more or less a strict work relationship. So why Niles felt a need to approach him on that particular day was something of a mystery. Maybe it was just the convenience of the location they had passed by.

Niles had begun with a particularly tame conversation starter, especially by his standards. He had been loitering in a hall as Michalis passed by. “Well well, King Michalis himself. Nice to see you about-”

“Speak when spoken to, cur.” Michalis didn’t even let him finish, before turning to him with a disgusted look. He glared at the archer with a rather unwarranted disdain.

Somewhat flabbergasted, Niles could only say back- “Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?” Michalis hissed. “I have no need to talk to you. I can barely tolerate your presence on the battlefield. Know your place.” He pointed a gloved finger at Niles, malice exuding from his continued grimace. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Begone.”

When Niles continued to sit where he had been at the first place, surprise still evident on his face, Michalis took his leave first. Storming down the hall, in his dark cloak. Niles was no stranger to such angers, but usually it took him actually doing something first. Sure, there were some haughty nobles in Nohr who would likely see him in the exact same light, but he wasn’t fighting alongside those nobles. Surely he was warranted a chance, a modicum of respect?

And that got under Niles skin. Just a bit. 

Now there were perhaps less extreme methods of annoying Michalis he could’ve gotten to, such as planting himself in hallways that the King of Macedon would certainly pass through. Not to mention, Michalis couldn’t exactly just attack Niles outright- The Summoner would have something to say about that. But just annoying Michalis also seemed a tad...Too gradual. After all, he had delved into verbal assault quite quickly. So maybe Niles could also jump to an extreme as well.

It had been three days since that incident. Michalis was walking alone as always. His face stern, like he had a good reason to be grumpy in an empty hallway. Though he would soon not be so alone, as someone grabbed his long red hair. He whipped around to see who it was, only spotting Niles’s face for a moment- Until an odd scent and sensation overcame him. It all went dark.

He awoke in a much different location. Brief sunlight was all that illuminated the room, as Michalis’s eyes darted around. They quickly settled on a particularly smug man, leaning against the wall. “Good, you're awake. Glad to know I didn’t overdo it.”

Michalis wasn’t even about to waste breath on Niles, until he realized that he was bound to a chair. He grunted as he pulled against the ropes binding his hands together, scuffing the chair across the floor a few inches, trying to free himself. Finally, he snarled. “Scoundrel. Release me at once!”

“Oh? And why should I do that?” Niles said back. “I don’t go out of my way to tie you up just so I can let you go. Besides, it’s not like you had anywhere to be fast, considering you spend most of your time brooding alone. We have time to chat.”

Michalis futilely struggled more. “So what do you want? To kill me?”

“No, not at all. I couldn’t get away with that, trust me. Besides, you are far too entertaining to simply kill.” Niles shook his head. “I just want to...how to put it...Knock you down a peg.”

“Humiliate me? Are you just going to leave me here...to waste away, left with you as my only mercy?” Michalis hated that idea. Left to rot in a shady backroom until this...lowly rogue...came to give him food and water.

“Decent guess, but also no. I’m moreso interested in your words...You couldn’t ‘stand’ to see me, right?” The smug look on his face seemed to grow ever more smug, much to the annoyance of Michalis.

“So what?! Are you going to break my legs? Paralyze me?! Stop toying with me! Get to the point!”

Niles decided to humor Michalis. “Yes, yes, fine. Look up.”

Michalis did, finding that there was some sort of jury rigged contraption above him, and also sitting behind him. Barrels, a tube cascading down...What was it?

“I don’t understand.”

“I figured you wouldn’t. I was inspired by a similar machine, made for filling troughs. A time saving machine for farmers, though I’ve made it a bit more...direct. As funny as the image of you eating out of a trough is, I’m rather impatient.” Niles went over, and grabbed the tube.

“What are you even prattling on about-” Michalis was silenced by the tube being shoved in his mouth. “Mmpf!”

“I told you, it was direct.” The proud King tried spitting out the tube, trying to uselessly speak as he did so. Meanwhile, Niles turned a valve, opening the barrels. A brightly colored liquid descended. “I’ll be honest, this stuff wasn’t cheap to get a hold of. So don’t waste it, okay?”

As the liquid got closer, Michalis tried harder and harder to spit out the tube- He wasn’t sure what the hell that stuff was, but he certainly didn’t want it in his body. Though it was for naught. Soon the substance was filling his mouth. It was sickly sweet in taste, nearly overpowering. He could feel it dribbling down his chin as he tried to keep himself from swallowing it, before giving in. 

He took a deep gulp of the liquid, feeling it sink to his stomach. He looked to Niles again, looking down at him with his sly grin. Michalis grunted in resistance as Niles ruffled his hair. “See? It’s not that bad. Now, I do have other things to do, so I’ll come back soon to make sure you’re doing well.” And like that, Niles slipped out of the room, leaving the feeding King alone.

Michalis grunted more, struggled more, even after Niles left. He wasn’t sure what this substance was, only that it was...honestly really good. The taste was amazing. Still, Michalis’s prideful mind forced him to keep trying to resist. Not to mention, his stomach would fill up and, and he’d vomit at some point...right?

His stomach certainly felt full. It gurgled and grumbled, feeling bloated. He looked down, surprised to see it actually bulging decently outwards. And further outwards. His regal wear and belt felt tight against it. It...was just bloated, right? Michalis’s angered glare soon softened into one of worry.

His stomach gurgled again, louder this time. He could see his belly begin to push over the belt, like it wasn’t stuffed full, but rather filling out with soft fat. As Michalis took another gulp, he swore he could feel his pants and armor filling out. Fabric and metal joints growing taut. Niles words...Couldn’t stand to see him. Things began to click in Michalis’s head.

He struggled against his restraints once more, but it was still pointless. Not to mention, he couldn’t even start trying to spit out the tube. Not because it was difficult, though that was certainly true, no, it was just too good to do so. And with each gulp, his clothes became tighter, straining further to contain his growing form. Uncomfortably tight, actually.

The first victim of his now burgeoning body was the belt. The sound of leather creaking, cracking, snapping apart. The metal buckle shot across the room, clattering on the floor. Michalis’s belly promptly flopped out, pale flesh laying upon his lap. Whatever muscular frame he had before had given away to his currently chubby one. He let out muffled groans as the seams on the sides of his pants split, more pudge spilling out. The chair slightly creaked under him.

His struggling had ended now, as he was starting to willingly drink the substance. His pride was beginning to lose out, as he slowly got lost in the taste. Unconsciously, he began to suckle at the tube- He wanted- No, he needed more. He wasn’t even watching as his clothes began bursting and tearing all over. How his pecs had turned into blubbery tits. His ass spilling over the sides of the chair, his thighs not far behind, as his pants tore further and further. His gurgling gut grew larger by the second, filling with the concoction, immediately turning it into more blubber to pack on.

His shirt was practically tearing down the middle, as his cravat became shreds. His thick neck and second chin wouldn’t fit it. Buttons popping, metal bits and bobs pinging off onto the floor. The chair’s groaning got louder as he surpassed the weight it was meant for. Truthfully, he had likely surpassed that weight far before the chair had begun to give out. 

Before the chair came apart, however, the restraints holding back Michalis’s fatty arms snapped apart. It was only rope, and the growth had managed to pull it far enough. If Michalis was still as bitter as he was the few minutes before, he would’ve certainly pulled the tube out. But that was long gone to this Michalis, who reached for the tube not to pull it out, but to demand even more. Though his arms were a tad too inefficiently large to reach it by now.

A snapping sound briefly brought Michalis back to some of his senses, as he fell to the floor with a slam. He looked down at himself, realizing his freedom- Though ‘freedom’ was a meaningless term when one couldn’t move. An anger welled up in his mind towards Niles- That vicious ne’er do well who was responsible for all this. How dare he do this to the King of Macedon!

But then, another thought- This was incredibly enjoyable. Ugh, how the thought of growing even larger brought him elation. And if he was King, he certainly deserved such a luxury! The thoughts of Niles began to fade once more as he returned to his guzzling, spreading further and further on the floor.

The only clothes that hadn’t ripped completely to shreds was his cloak, which covered very little of his body. The rest was coated in thick fat, spreading further into the room. More and more he encroached upon the room, his frame nearly immobile.

Though soon his growth came to a halt. He suckled the last drops of the potion from the tube. And Michalis definitely tried to get as much as he could out of it, and relaxing his head back. The tube was promptly spat out, a much easier feat now that it wasn’t feeding him the delicious nectar. Another rumble from his stomach, and Michalis let out a belch.

He was likely over six hundred pounds at this point, if not heavier. He sat on his titanic ass, under ripped fabrics and crushed wood. His gut similarly sat flat on the floor, two large rolls encompassing it. His man boobs laid upon it, plump and full. A chunky neck, a few additional chins, an all around chubby face. His long red hair and reforming scowl would be one of the few hints that this man was Michalis. 

The sunlight flitting through the thin cracks had turned to the orange shine of twilight. Michalis felt...dissatisfied. With? He wasn’t absolutely sure. Perhaps dissatisfied he was now immobile. That he was unable to flaunt his new form, away in this dank room. Or was it the fact he couldn’t reach down and pleasure himself? Or maybe it was the lack of that liquid elation, and how his form grew ever more expansive…

He had no time to consider that. There were noises. Footsteps. Michalis stood to attention- Well, his head did at least, focused on the sole entrance and exit. The rest of his body nudged and jiggled slightly.

“Is someone here? I heard a-”

Before the massive king stood Corrin, another not quite acquaintance. In more standard circumstances, Michalis would’ve been more neutral on his presence versus Niles. But now? Michalis face once again grimaced, though made less intimidating by his jowls and pillow like cheeks. Fists clenched as he looked down upon the young prince, who looked upon him, shocked at the transformation his teammate had undergone.

“Bring me Niles,” He huffed out. 

“N-Niles? Why do you-”

“Because,” Michalis didn’t feel like he had time for this. “I need more.”

[maybe-your-left]

Window Panes - Forever

We made it! 

Here is the Window Panes Masterlist and my Masterlist for all my other fics. 

Summary: A cool breeze nipped at your exposed legs, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. You were curled into your comforter, comfy and safe, your cheek pressed against your pillow. Lips pursed and a small amount of drool seeping into the fabric. A creak came from the corner of your room, slightly rousing you from your slumber. You glanced around, your drooping eyelids barely taking in the scene. In your sleep riddled state, you didn't see him, his large figure stalking towards you. The whites of his eyes shining in the moonlight, it wasn't until you felt a palm slide up your side. Following the natural contours of your body, the warmth emanating from it lulling you to sleep once again. A dip in the mattress, the springs creaking under the weight. 

Hot breath fanned over your neck, soft lips pressing onto the back of your ear. A deep hum filling your senses, you sighed. Cuddling back into the figure, wanting to get closer to the warm entity. A low chuckle sounded behind you, and then... 

Nothing. 

TW/CW: This is dark shit, like explicitly horrible shit happens in this. However, I enjoy reading dark fics, and I super loved Stalker Clyde by @clumsycopy​ & was inspired by the oneshot EOS by @thetorturerwrites and I wanted to write something with the sameish tone for Halloween. NSFW, Violence, Murder, Non-con elements, Domestic Violence, Surgery, Explicit sex, oral sex, anal sex, sex toys, miscarriage, mental manipulation, stockholm syndrome, waterboarding, forced feeding, Animal abuse (just a brief mention, I do not go into any detail). 

“Is it-Are we rolling?” 

“Yeah, we’re rolling.” 

“Okay, great,” a sigh of relief. 

You shifted in your chair, smoothing back your hair and itching the microphone that was attached to your shirt collar. Crossing and recrossing your legs, you should’ve worn pants, a skirt was a stupid idea with these boots. You gave a weak smile to the woman across from you, her white teeth flashing the cameras all around the sound stage. 

“Okay,” she looked into the lens, “We are here tonight with one of the victims of the famous 2020 murder trial from New York. She went through over five years of repeated abuse at the hands of her kidnapper, all while he was out killing people around the city.” She turned to you, nodding her head as a show for you to react to the TV. “It’s so nice to have you here, Miss (Y/N).” 

You cleared your throat, shifting once more, “Thank you, it’s a pleasure to be here.” 

“How are you doing?” 

You bit back a scoff, what a stupid thing to ask. After that introduction, what was she expecting you to say, ‘oh I’m fucking fantastic, I’ve been running since the day he was sent to prison and going through intense psycho-therapy to rid myself of Stockholm syndrome.’. 

“I’m great,” you faked a smile, “Always nice to visit New York again.” 

“I’m sure,” she smiled once more, all you could think about were the wrinkles on her face, the crows feet on the corner of her eyes. She must get botox for working at a news station, there’s no way her skin is on with just natural confidence. 

“When was the last time you visited?” 

You had to stop yourself from blurting out an answer, knowing that this would be on national television. Which you knew federal prisons watched, you wouldn’t want to give away any of your whereabouts since the incident. “Uh-it’s been a few years, I haven’t had much reason to be back. My life has shifted to another part of the world.” 

“That’s fantastic! So you’ve been doing well for yourself the past six years?” 

“Yeah,” you gave a genuine smile, “It’s been tough, no off days really. Trying to gain some normalcy from it all, but I’ve done well. I live relatively fearless, of everything.” 

“We have you here because of a break in your case, as I’m sure you know.” 

You gave a grim nod. 

It’s all anyone wanted to talk about since the story flashed on the news last week. Leaving your once quiet home filled with reporters. You weren’t even home when it happened, out getting groceries, gripping your sons’ hands firmly as you walked the aisles. Letting him pick out some snacks for his lunchbox, like any mother would, when your phone blew up. 

Dozens of messages, calls, articles, you name it. 

All with his face plastered on it. 

Convicted murderer and kidnapper, Kylo Ren, has requested the death penalty. After being found attempting to escape federal prison for the 6th time in the past five years. The convict claims that he ‘would rather die than live another day rotting in his cell’. Dropping all the appeals cases that his lawyers have been pushing since his initial sentencing. 

The former New York state governor was on trial for murderering and disemboweling 9 separate victims and kidnapping an 18-year-old girl. He kept her in his basement as his sex slave for close to 3 years before he married her, the young girl escaping into the streets when she was just 22 years old. Covered from head to toe in gashes, blood, and bruises. Claiming that her husband had beaten her within an inch of her life. 

The subsequent trial lasted three months after his arrest. Leading to him being convicted of first-degree murder, rape, and domestic assault. He was sentenced to life in prison, his then-wife was placed under medical care for an undetermined time. 

Mr. Ren has tried to get his charges appealed since the initial sentencing, claiming that his wife was mentally insane and an unfit witness. Along with other claims that include bribing members of the jury to change their verdicts. The whereabouts of Mr. Ren’s ex-wife is unknown, but he claims that he has kept tabs on her even from ‘the inside’. 

“Your kidnapper is being put on death row, which isn’t allowed in the state of New York. Which means he is being transferred over state lines to another prison. However, it hasn’t been revealed where he is being brought because of people interfering with the swap. How do you feel about that?” 

You chewed your cheek, thinking for a moment. There was no way he did this willingly, Ren was never someone to take the easy way out. The last time you heard from him was three years ago, on your son’s birthday. 

Receiving a call from the prison, the only one you had gotten since the sentencing. 

You remember picking up the phone, throat going dry as you whispered that you accepted the charges. Waiting for the operator to connect you to him, after three long years without his voice. 

“Hello, love.” 

“What,” you whispered, stepping away from the living room of screaming toddlers. Your boyfriend gave you a weird look when your face went white as a ghost. “What do you want, Ren?” 

“How are you? Doing well I hope?” 

You huffed, moving into your kitchen and ripping a bottle of wine out of the fridge. Taking a drink as you snarled, “Just tell me what shitty thing you have to say so I can go back to my family.” 

“Oh, yes. Your family.” he sighed, “And what a sweet family it is… little Luke is how old now? I would think he would be about… three.” 

“How do you know about my son?” 

“Hm.” 

“I don’t think he’s just yours.” 

“You shut your mouth, Luke is not your son. I’m going to hang up if you don’t get to the point.” 

“He’s growing up so well. Hairs getting longer, but I know you like to keep it short. But he complained about his ears last time-so big.” 

You took a deep breath, peaking into the living room. Just in time to see your baby boy, smiling and laughing with his friends. Sitting in your boyfriends’ lap, tearing into presents. His big eyes shone with tears of joy when he ripped through a gift that was his favorite color, red. A squeal so loud it could’ve shattered a window, pulling out a giant plush toy. It was like a penguin-mixed with a little dog, no nose, and some sharp fangs. From one of his favorite TV shows, along with a card and some other little toys. 

“Tell me, love,” he chuckled, “Does he like his present? He sounds over the moon about it through the speaker. What I wouldn’t give to be there to run my fingers through his dark hair, look him in the eyes and tell him how much his father loves him.” 

You made Luke sleep in bed with you that night, holding his small body flush with yours. Running your fingers through his curls as he snored into your chest, small tracks of drool seeping into your nightshirt. Trembling as you stared at the shadows, dancing across the bedroom from the window. Full moon shining, you could’ve sworn the floor was creaking downstairs, the sound of footsteps climbing towards your room rang in your ears. 

You didn’t sleep that night, staring into your son’s face as he woke. Blinking awake to smile as you, his grin reaching across his face. All the way to his ears, large ears, covered by his almost black waves. His long lashes fluttering as he greeted you, “Hi mama.” 

His eyes. 

Fuck. 

One of them your eye color, shining back at you. But the other, it was his. 

Deep auburn, shining in the sunlight. Daring you to challenge him, defy him, prove him wrong, anything that would allow him to unleash whatever hell lived under his skin. Flowed through his blood, tainting every corner of your psyche. His child, the one you hid from the world. Moving as far away as you could, claiming it was your boyfriends’ child. 

But he knew. 

And Luke was starting to notice. 

“I feel,” you looked at your hands, forcing them into fists to stop them from shaking, “Just fine, he’s not in my life anymore. Just a small chapter in the book of my story, I hope that he finds peace. Wherever he goes.” 

“Peace? For a man that almost killed you multiple times?” 

You nodded, “Yeah, I do. I can’t change who he is, or what he’s done. I can just try as hard as I can to move on. And if being on death row will help him find what he’s looking for then I wish him the best of luck.” 

She gave you a weird look, shifting in her seat, “Do you think it says anything about his guilt?” 

“Guilt?” 

“Yes, for the past six years he has never acknowledged that he was guilty. Claiming that the jury and witnesses were bought and that you were mentally unstable-making up half the accusations against him. Do you think that him asking for the death penalty is a way of admitting that he was guilty?” 

“Hell no,” you blurted out, eyes going wide at the camera, “Oh-can I swear? I’m so sorry.” 

She laughed you off, “You’re fine, we can blur it out. But you sound so confident? Do you think he believes that he’s done nothing wrong?” 

Now it was your turn to laugh, “Not to repeat myself but, hell no. That man knows, he’s very conscious of his decisions. Everything has a purpose, everything is done for a reason, Ren doesn’t waste his energy on doing something for no benefit.” 

“What would be the benefit of being put on death row?” 

You sighed, thinking about Ren, trying to get into his mindset to see how he could angle the sentencing changing. Letting out a sharp laugh as you rubbed your eyes, “Well-you said it earlier.” 

She looked at you confused. 

“New York doesn’t have the death penalty.” 

New York doesn’t have the death penalty. 

New York doesn’t have the death penalty. 

New York doesn’t have the death penalty. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, looking around the room frantically. “Oh my god-oh my god-oh my GOD-New York doesn’t have the death penalty!” you screamed, shooting out of the chair. Grasping the reporter by her shoulders and shaking her violently, “He knew! He knew I was coming here! He’s gonna take him!” 

“Miss (Y/N),” the reporters and security officers yelled. Trying to calm you down, but no, she had said it. 

New York doesn’t have the death penalty. 

You ran from the TV station, hailing a cab on the packed streets. Frantically calling your boyfriend over and over, he was at home. Back in Nevada… where the death penalty is legal, with Luke. He wouldn’t pick up, the dial tone ringing three times before his voice sang through the speaker. 

You wailed in the back of the cab, calling everyone you knew back at home. Asking if they could go get Luke from school, if they had seen him that day. Anything to try prove false the sick feeling in your stomach you knew was true. 

Running through airport security as fast as you could, taking the first flight back home. You prayed on the way that your boyfriend had Luke, safe and sound, back at home. Hopefully, curled in his red blanket, snuggling the stuffed animal he got that faithful birthday. 

Even though no one knew where it came from. 

Luke wouldn’t let you get rid of it. 

Claiming his daddy gave it to him. 

You just let him have it, he was three there was no way he would let you take his toy away once he had held it to his chest. Kissing it with his full lips, dragging it around the house every fucking day. It was his best friend, from the moment he saw it. 

You cried on the plane, realizing too late that the gift was from him. 

His real father. 

Watching after his miracle child. 

When you touched down in Las Vegas, your phone blew up. Your stomach flipping as you read through the messages from your boyfriend, explaining that he let your friend pick Luke up from school. The same friend claimed that your boyfriend had picked him up, Luke’s teacher calling to let you know someone in a black Porsche picked him up. 

Whisking away his child from under your nose. 

You choked on your tears as you read the message from his teacher, telling you how happy Luke was when he left. How he ran into your new boyfriend's arms, like he had known him for his entire life. She told you that he had introduced himself, Ben was just the most amazing father figure she had ever met. Stowing away Luke, surrounded by toys and chocolate when she waved them off. 

After you gathered your luggage you walked towards the cabs out front. Stopping cold in your tracks when you saw a chauffeur holding a sign that said your old name. 

Mrs. Ren. 

You climbed in, body feeling numb. 

Your phone dinged, a picture being sent to you from an unknown number. 

A picture of Luke, held tightly against his real father’s chest. Drifting off to sleep in his strong arms that once choked you to death. 

See you at home love, we miss you. 

-----

I wanted baby luke to say something like ‘my daddy visits me at night’ but it was too on the nose. 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads @millenialcatlady @ohdamnadamm  @daydreamsofren @candycanes19 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @millenialcatlady @safarigirlsp  @caillea @roanniom @insufferablelust @mrs-zimmerman​ 

[fistsandfangs]

lost and found

A fantasy au wherein alec is a guardian angel, magnus is a demon who makes deals, and maybe they’re not as different as they think.

written as a gift for @ladymatt for the malec secret santa 2020

As the flames at Magnus’ feet die out, he takes in his surroundings inquisitively. Beneath his boots are tentative chalk lines, thin and light in places, that connect into a pentagram drawn on a cracked cement floor. The room he is in is vast and all but empty, with high ceilings and exposed metal beams. A warehouse, most likely; the kind of place a human might deem a safe, neutral location for a demon summoning. As he turned to his left, a woman, young in years but with a heaviness weighing on her that belied her age, was staring at him from a few feet away with a tattered hardback journal clutched in one hand.

“You called me,” he stated, standing a few steps away from the barrier line. “I assume that because you did the summoning correctly and seem…prepared, that you know what it is that I do.”

She looked almost startled at being addressed, but the expression lasted only a moment before she held it back with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “I know what I’m doing,” she asserted, though her voice wavered slightly.

After analyzing the detailing of the pentagram, Magnus touched the tip of his boot to a symbol that had been incorrectly drawn. “It’s an impressive work, but I would suggest you study a bit more next time. This right here…leaves an opening.”

Now the woman looked terrified, frozen in place with her arms encircling her middle protectively.

With a slightly sardonic chuckle, he shook his head. “If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have pointed out your error.” He stepped closer to the edge line, closer to her. “After all, you wish to make a deal, yes? Which means you have something I would be happy to take. I don’t want to ruin that opportunity for myself just yet.”

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For a moment, he just looked at her, observing. She had very short hair, so blonde it was practically white, and deep brown, almost black, eyes. Her pupils were almost swallowed up by the darkness of the iris. There was a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and dusting the tops of her cheeks, looking oddly childlike in the midst of her worn features. He was well-versed in reading humans after all these centuries, and he could see in her an authenticity that caught his attention. “What’s your name?”

“Alana. Alana Clarke. And I want to make a deal.”

“Well then,” Magnus began, steepling his fingers thoughtfully, “tell me, to what do I owe this summons?”

“I…have something I want to forget.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word.

“Someone,” Magnus stated in realization. “A deal with me requires specificity, Ms. Clarke.”

It took a moment before she hesitantly elaborated further. “My husband. He was…cold. And unable to love, in the end. I never felt like I could leave him. One day, he snapped and I…I didn’t have a choice. I can’t let the memory of him control my life anymore. I can’t bear to let him change me the way I’m afraid he might.”

Rubbing his fingers together contemplatively, he replied, “That is a very serious choice to make. And one that cannot be undone. As luck would have it, it would be quite easy for me to give you what you’re asking for, but it has a steep price. And not just your soul. Are you certain this is what you want?”

Her silence was only too telling.

With a firm shake of his head, Magnus took a step back. “You must be sure. I am neither judge nor jury; I will only carry out what our deal entails. I urge you strongly to consider this. Memory cannot just be given and taken on a whim. Once I remove it, it will be permanent.”

Alana shook her head with a tired sigh. “I just… I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t think… I don’t know how to go on without doing something. I—” Abruptly cutting herself off, she stood up a little straighter and schooled her expression into a carefully curated stoicism. “I have to take the responsibility, and I will.”

It had been a long while since someone with such conviction had come to Magnus like this. Often, those who summoned him didn’t understand the gravity of the situation they were making for themselves, but it was their mistake to make. This time, somehow, he couldn’t bear the thought of allowing her to follow them down that path of regret lurking in the future.

“For your benefit, I will not yet make the deal,” he began. “I require certainty, and I do not see that in you. I’m going to give you another opportunity to think very carefully about just what is worth the price of your soul before you sign it over to me.”

**

The next time Magnus found himself standing in the ash and last embers of unholy flame in the middle of the old warehouse, the person standing opposite him was not Alana Clarke.

Instead, it was a tall, dark haired man with a stern look on his face, standing stock-still with his hands behind his back. He was not entirely mortal, nor human, Magnus realized upon observing the presence of spiritual matter along the lines of his shoulders and down his spine. It also wasn’t lost on him that the man had a blade made of adamas tucked away inside the folds of his jacket. It was an ancient kind of weapon, not only priceless but rare.  

The pentagram Magnus was standing on was far more detailed than the one that Alana had used to summon him, rooted in much stronger magic. The kind of magic that could only be infused by a summoner of great power. “I’m impressed,” he mused, turning in place to observe the rest of the finer detail.

“You made a deal with Alana Clarke,” the man stated coolly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “For her soul. And you’re going to have to rescind.”

Magnus couldn’t help but be amused by the situation. “Demon-client confidentiality prevents me from discussing any of this with you, I’m afraid.” But his curiosity was piqued. Especially when he realized that the faint smell of angel blood had permeated the air around them.

Angel blood.

“Of course, I should have realized immediately.” He stepped up to the edge line of the pentagram to look closer. “Which one of Raziel’s guardians are you?”

A soft sigh of exasperation preceded one word: “Alexander.”

“‘Defender of man’, yes? Seems fitting.” If he didn’t know better, Magnus would have said that Alexander preened almost imperceptibly at his words. “And Alana is in your care. Interesting, given the fact that she sought me out.”

The shadows of tenderness that had lingered on Alexander’s face for mere seconds at the mention of her name disappeared altogether as his expression clouded over. “She never should have summoned you. Her grief has blinded her, so I have to be the one to protect her.”

“You almost believed that when you said it.” Magnus of all people knew what lying to oneself looked like. “The truth is, it kills you that you can’t save her from this grief. Your purpose is to protect her, but there are limits to what you can control, and now you have to face them.”

“You can’t undo the past,” Alexander countered, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes in consternation. “And that’s what she truly wants. Whatever you offer her, it won’t be enough.”

“You know what she went through. You know how greatly she mourns—both for what she lost and what was never hers to begin with. There’s no price too steep for peace that can heal that kind of devastation.”

The angel visibly gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping as it flexed. “Rip up the deal and give her soul back.” The slow cadence he spoke with betrayed the anger that he was sealing away inside.

“It might interest you to know that no official contract exists yet. Ms. Clarke hasn’t made her choice, so if you have concerns, you should take them to your charge herself.”

The anger stoked by Magnus’ words became increasingly apparent in Alexander, and he rolled his neck to the side slightly as if trying to shake free of something. “I won’t ask again.” When Magnus offered no reply, he took a few steps back from the pentagram. “Well, you’re welcome to rot here until you change your mind, then.”

If he were a different person, if circumstances were trivial, he would enjoy an indulgent show of his own strength. As it were, Magnus only gloated a little as he stepped over the brusque chalk line meant to confine him. “I have no plans to do any such thing.”

Alexander was speechless, his mouth slightly agape as Magnus moved towards him. “That isn’t possible. No lesser demon can—”

Reaching out with a dark red tendril of magic, Magnus held him still. “Pleased to meet you, Alexander. My name is Magnus Bane, reigning Prince of Edom and son of one of the First Hierarchy—a Knight of Hell.” When their faces were mere inches apart, he offered the faintest of smiles. “Ms. Clarke has sought my protection now, so I suggest you don’t try to interfere again.”    

**

The air in the Hunter’s Moon was thick with the scent of stale alcohol and sweat-slicked bodies, and Magnus relished it. Perhaps it was the hedonistically human part of him, but there was something magnetic about the raw electricity of bodies pressed flush against one another beneath the hot lights.

His attention was diverted, however, when he noticed the man who had just walked in and was making his way to the bar. Alexander stood out in a crowd even when he was dressed down, wearing a grey Henley and jeans.

With a subtle gesture, Magnus caught the eye of a bartender gathering empty glasses abandoned on a nearby table. “The man who just walked in—make him a Vieux Carre.” A neatly folded hundred-dollar bill materialized between his thumb and middle finger, and he offered it to her.

The woman’s bracelets made a delicate jingling sound as she plucked it from his grasp. “He looks intense. Ex of yours?”

With a chuckle, he brushed his thumb tenderly against her chin for a fleeting moment. “Discretion, Maia.”

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Courtesy of?”

“An associate.”

Despite looking thoroughly unconvinced, Maia pocketed the money and Magnus raised his drink to her in gratitude.

“An olive branch?” Alexander guessed a few minutes later, setting his glass down on Magnus’ table.

“Actually, it’s a black cherry garnish.” Magnus plucks the fruit from his glass and takes a bite of the tender flesh. “I figured a drink would be a good icebreaker.”

Alexander dropped down into the chair opposite him. “You don’t look surprised to see me here.”

“You’ve been following me on and off all day, angel. What am I meant to be surprised about?”

His expression darkens, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in consternation. “We haven’t struck an accord yet.”

Shaking his head faintly, Magnus downed the last of his Negroni. “There is nothing to negotiate. You have no claim on the contract between me and my client.”

“She is going to do this if I do not put a stop to it.” Rather than the burn of anger or the cold of hatred, Alexander looked pained to be saying those words. “I want to make a deal.”

Whatever he had been expecting Alexander to say, that certainly wasn’t it. Magnus sat in stunned silence for a beat. “Just to be clear… You want to give me your eternal soul to release Alana Clarke from a contract that she implored me to honor?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t know what he was agreeing to, and yet there was a fierce determination on his face that almost made Magnus wish that it were possible. “Let’s do it.”

“It is not possible, Alexander,” Magnus said somberly. His tone had gone soft despite himself. The desperation in the guardian’s eyes made something in his chest begin to ache. “Even if you did have a soul as the mortals do.”

It almost looked as though the faintest hint of vulnerable desperation was beginning to shine through the cracks of his façade. Instead, with a grunt of frustration, Alexander pushed back from the table and crossed his arms. “She is under my protection, Magnus.”

“In a manner of speaking, she’s under mine too.”

“If you control Edom, why even spend your time making deals for souls? Isn’t that beneath you?” he retorted heatedly.

“It’s not about the souls. It never has been,” Magnus found himself saying. It had never been in his nature to be transparent, and frankly he had never had a reason to try. The way that Alexander wore his feelings so genuinely compelled him to reciprocate. “The lesser demons who skulk around crossroads and manipulate the avaricious and covetous do so by nature. I choose the worthy summoners, the ones who want nothing more or less than resolution, and offer them peace.”

Staring down into his glass, Alexander heaved a sigh of frustration. “Indulging their emotions is not the same as protecting them.”

“That depends on who you are protecting them from, hmm?”

Something in those words seemed to reach Alexander in a way that nothing else between them had. His shoulders hunched wearily, as though a great burden had been dropped and left foregone. “I don’t know,” he surrendered.

**

Thunder rattled the window panes of the penthouse as the storm outside grew stronger, and Magnus could feel the glass shivering beneath his fingers where they were pressed on either side of Alexander’s body. They were both mostly clothed, but where their bare skin touched, it felt like fire. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the otherwise darkened living room, so Magnus used the cacophony of harsh exhales and soft moans to guide his movements.

It had to be the most profane act, because it felt like salvation.

“Nnnnh,” Alexander moaned, reaching up for Magnus’ hands blindly and intertwining their fingers.

More or less restrained, Magnus put more power into the movement of his hips. It was an inexplicable desperation that had led them to this, and now it was boiling in his blood and driving him forward.

The pleasure crested, and for one perfect moment, everything felt simple—they were just two people who found relief in wanting one another. That was how they had ended up here, after all; a categorically innocuous moment had somehow set Magnus’ skin on fire with how greatly he yearned to touch him, and everything between them had unraveled before he could do anything but follow in its wake.

For weeks the tenacious guardian had been nothing but a thorn in his side, but then all at once, something changed and Magnus could no longer remember how to simply dislike him. Perhaps he put too much stock in his heart—or whatever the son of a Greater Demon was capable of containing—to ever stay free of falling prey to the way of the mortal world. All he knew now, though, was that he felt dread like an ache in his chest at the unavoidable truth that Alexander would leave.  

“Don’t leave,” Magnus whispered breathlessly in Alexander’s ear. “You can stay the night. I want you to.”

In reply, Alexander nodded and pressed an almost reticent kiss to his lips. “I’ve already crossed the line, what’s another step?” Even pressed together in such an achingly intimate embrace, there was a hesitance in him. Perhaps he was telling himself this was a big mistake, and he would hate Magnus in the morning.

It wouldn’t be the first time, at least, so he would drink away the pain in the evening and be remade again in the morning.

Already in a sloppy state of undress, they both peeled off their remaining layers of clothing and let them fall in a heap on the bedroom floor before crawling beneath the sheets. Magnus had slept alone for so long that his heart twisted in his chest at the feeling of a warm body beside him.

Once Magnus had settled into the mattress and was lying still, Alexander slid his foot between Magnus’ calves and pressed their bodies closer. His hands were more diffident in their movements, slowly tracing a path down Magnus’ forearm and over the bone of his wrist before loosely intertwining their fingers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor this fragile piece of time, but when he opened them again, it was morning. The deep orange and red of the sunrise bathed the bedroom in a warm glow, and illuminated Alexander where he was perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you going somewhere?”

The muscles in Alexander’s upper back rippled beneath his alabaster skin as he tensed. “I didn’t want to wake you,” was all he said, but for just a moment, his eyes lingered on Magnus as if he were hoping for a rebuttal.

“We don’t have to keep doing this to each other, acting as though we’re so unalike.”

That made him look away, and he stood with his back to Magnus as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt sleeve absently. “Yes, we do. We have to be.”

“God himself created even the avenging angels in his image,” Magnus replied with the hint of a smirk on his lips.

With a wry, all but humorless laugh, Alexander shook his head. “That’s not the point, Magnus! What kind of guardian allows the ones he looks after to pawn their souls for resolutions?” He turned back to face him with hard resolve.

Magnus couldn’t help but be reminded of the volatile, at times impetuous, young man he was. He had been quick to anger, holding himself in contempt for all the things that were out of his control. “Alexander—this is her life. Do you truly prefer that she suffer through this mortal existence when that is all she gets?”

“I have failed spectacularly in the past to do the one thing I’m meant to do, and I won’t let that happen again.” Grabbing his jacket from the floor, he shrugged it on and stalked off.

**

“I’m ready,” Alana declared without preamble.

A smattering of Edom’s red dirt shook loose from the tread of Magnus’ boots as he strode over to her. “I told you that the next time you summoned me you would need to be certain. If this is your decision, then all that is left is your contract.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Magnus held up his hand and angled it above her chest. “All this requires is a mark left on your soul, like an earmark. It binds you to me.” With a languid flutter of his fingers, a deep blue energy emitted from them and seeped beneath her skin. The pulsing of her heartbeat was thrummed against his magic and he could feel it as if her heart itself were in the palm of his hand. With a final push, the energy ensnared her soul, wrapping around it like ivy on a vine and pressing in to leave behind an intricate lace of markings.

She shivered faintly and let out a short, sharp exhale. “It feels like ice.”

“It should not last long,” he assured her as he pulled his hand back. “Now, taking your memories will be painless; simply stand very still.”

As soon as he began to probe her memories, her eyes clouded over into a haze of milky white. In brief flashes, he could see through her eyes flashes of the past that she had hidden away. He could feel a tangled web of emotions, each vying for pride of place. He could hear a cacophony of her name echoing in millions of different tones and inflections. Each piece pulled at her, nearly tearing her apart from the tension about to snap. Extracting them was like sucking the poison from a wound, leaving a bitter residue behind. It had been left to fester for so long that in places the memories were like rot, but in time, they all came away. “You’re purely your own now,” Magnus whispered in Alana’s ear, and with that, he vanished from her side.

For a moment, he just stood in the alleyway behind the warehouse, breathing in the damp, cold air of the rain’s end. A few droplets dotted his face and neck, and he closed his eyes to savor it. In Edom, there was no such relief like a storm.

Suddenly, he felt a presence in the shadows, familiar and passive.

“Come to spy, angel?”

Emerging soundlessly, Alexander stood with his arms folded behind him like a soldier poised in wait.

Quirking an eyebrow, Magnus turned to face him directly. “Are you going to start a street brawl for what she willingly gave me?”

The guardian almost smiled at that, and it put Magnus more at ease. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Actually, don’t answer that. I have a feeling I would not like the answer.” Shaking his head, Alexander continued. “I was here when Alana summoned you. But I… I decided you were right, Magnus.”

“Sorry?”

Despite himself, Alexander chuckled wryly. “I could be cast out for what I have done, but protecting the mortals entrusted to me is worth any price.”

Magnus looked at him skeptically. “Forgive me if I am hesitant to accept your truce, Alexander.”

“Who said anything about a truce?” Though his words were antagonistic, his tone was peaceable. “But I suppose I should thank you for what you taught me.”

Holding up a hand to stop him, Magnus shook his head. “Please, angel. We are not obliged to such extreme shows of good faith. Besides, Edom would freeze over, and then where would I be?”

Alexander awkwardly shifted closer. “Here’s hoping we remain acquaintances from afar.”

“As if,” Magnus waved off, pressing in closer until their chests were flush. “You like me too much.”

“I never said that,” Alexander managed breathlessly before leaning in to join their lips in a kiss that could grow a whole garden from Edom’s barren desert sand.

**

For all of its flaws, Magnus decided that he liked Brooklyn. Edom was his domain, but perhaps this could be his home.

Penthouse One had become more or less a safe haven, oddly enough. The balcony provided the perfect place for his morning meditations, the living room could host a great many guests, and the apothecary was quaint and studious. And perhaps he was indulging in feeling like a mortal at times, but what else was he to do when he was topside so frequently?

The soft click of the door opening made Magnus set down his martini and move towards the entryway curiously. In the hall, he saw a figure cloaked in a long black coat with a hood concealing their face. Boots stained with dirt and dried blood left a faint trail on the wood floor, and the bow over their shoulder was battered with scratches and dings.

“Alexander, you’re home early.”

Shaking his head free from the hood, Alexander revealed his bloodied face. “I gave myself the rest of the night off.”

With a disapproving tsk, Magnus guided his chin away from him to get a better look at the trails of crimson oozing down from his temple and cheekbone. “No rest for the wicked, hmm?”

Alexander rolled his eyes as he allowed Magnus to steer him to the couch. “I think I may have broken a rib,” grunted as he lowered himself onto a cushion.

“Take your jacket and shirt off so I can see.” Magnus gingerly sat beside him and helped to maneuver his arms from the sleeves. His knuckles faintly brushed Alexander’s upper back and his whole body tensed in reflex. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully working around the cloth that covered two deep, distinct scars where Alexander’s wings had been ripped from his back some time ago. They looked much like his father’s. As soon as they worked together to peel Alexander’s t-shirt off, Magnus couldn’t help but lean over and brush his lips, faint as a whisper, against the point between his shoulder blades between the dark V-shaped scarring. “Now, let me take a look.”

“Here.” With some difficulty, Alexander rolled slightly to his left side, revealing a blossoming bruise against the side of his rib cage. After just a gentle probing of Magnus’ finger tips against the tender skin, he jerked away. “Fuck.”

“Was it worth the fight, Night Arrow?” Magnus asked with a faint smile, unearthing a package of alcohol swabs from the first aid kit they kept hidden beneath the couch for just such an occasion.

“Always. I have to do something, right?” The bitter edge in voice would likely always be there at the mention of his being cast down. The scars on his back were a reminder he would never need, because Magnus knew he could never forget.

Magnus himself would likely always be haunted by the events of the night Alexander fell from Heaven. The sight of him when he stumbled to Magnus’ door, drenched in sweat and pale as death as he bled through the scraps of fabric he had wrapped himself in still felt too unbearable to recall. Even as a mortal, he still found a way to dedicate himself to the protection of the innocent, and Magnus could never begrudge him that.

“There’s something else that might help,” he murmured, wincing as he scratched absently at the drying blood on his forehead.

Setting down the swabs, Magnus straightened up to look at him.

“A kiss.”

“A kiss,” Magnus echoed, a grin spreading across his lips. “What will you give me for it? Your everlasting soul?”

Alexander dropped his chin and his lips parted just enough to tenderly take Magnus’ finger into his mouth. His tongue was warm and soft, and Magnus felt that all too human feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Releasing him with a quiet pop, Alexander smiled. “That’s not mine to give anymore. It’s already yours.”

[theyscreamjade]

I was talking to my grandmother when the news came in, we were talking on the phone when she gasped and became silent. My grandmother began to shout and cry over the phone with me while she rushed to turn on the tv.

My grandmother cried over the phone with me over this. “For the first time ever, change is finally coming.” Mind you, THIS WOMAN HAS BEEN THROUGH HELL. She was born within the fucking fifties and seen the worse of the worse. She’s seen her friends go missing, her grandmother being beaten by officers for wanting change! She was one of the first students to integrate schools in my hometown and she was ridiculed by her fellow friends for wanting a great education.

When George’s case was handed to the jury, she held her breath. She held her breath because we’ve been disappointed left and right, day and night, over and over again. For her to cry and say ‘This is the change I wished to finally see’ is fucking powerful. No man deserved what happened to George like it did, NO ONE! I hope that bastard rots in jail and I hope the rest follows with him.

Kim White can rot.

The bastards that shot a innocent Adam Toledo.

AND THOSE BASTARDS THAT FUCKING SPRAYED JOE GUTIERREZ.

Give us the justice we fucking deserve!

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, ladymatt

For @ladymatt, wishing you a lovely, safe, and happy holiday with this little malec one shot! x

Fantasy au wherein Alec is a guardian angel, Magnus is a demon who makes deals, and maybe they’re not as different as they think.

Read On AO3

*****

Lost and Found

As the flames at Magnus’ feet die out, he takes in his surroundings inquisitively. Beneath his boots are tentative chalk lines, thin and light in places, that connect into a pentagram drawn on a cracked cement floor. The room he is in is vast and all but empty, with high ceilings and exposed metal beams. A warehouse, most likely; the kind of place a human might deem a safe, neutral location for a demon summoning. As he turned to his left, a woman, young in years but with a heaviness weighing on her that belied her age, was staring at him from a few feet away with a tattered hardback journal clutched in one hand.

“You called me,” he stated, standing a few steps away from the barrier line. “I assume that because you did the summoning correctly and seem…prepared, that you know what it is that I do.”

She looked almost startled at being addressed, but the expression lasted only a moment before she held it back with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “I know what I’m doing,” she asserted, though her voice wavered slightly.

After analyzing the detailing of the pentagram, Magnus touched the tip of his boot to a symbol that had been incorrectly drawn. “It’s an impressive work, but I would suggest you study a bit more next time. This right here…leaves an opening.”

Now the woman looked terrified, frozen in place with her arms encircling her middle protectively.

With a slightly sardonic chuckle, he shook his head. “If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have pointed out your error.” He stepped closer to the edge line, closer to her. “After all, you wish to make a deal, yes? Which means you have something I would be happy to take. I don’t want to ruin that opportunity for myself just yet.”

For a moment, he just looked at her, observing. She had very short hair, so blonde it was practically white, and deep brown, almost black, eyes. Her pupils were almost swallowed up by the darkness of the iris. There was a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and dusting the tops of her cheeks, looking oddly childlike in the midst of her worn features. He was well-versed in reading humans after all these centuries, and he could see in her an authenticity that caught his attention. “What’s your name?”

“Alana. Alana Clarke. And I want to make a deal.”

“Well then,” Magnus began, steepling his fingers thoughtfully, “tell me, to what do I owe this summons?”

“I…have something I want to forget.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word.

“Someone,” Magnus stated in realization. “A deal with me requires specificity, Ms. Clarke.”

It took a moment before she hesitantly elaborated further. “My husband. He was…cold. And unable to love, in the end. I never felt like I could leave him. One day, he snapped and I…I didn’t have a choice. I can’t let the memory of him control my life anymore. I can’t bear to let him change me the way I’m afraid he might.”

Rubbing his fingers together contemplatively, he replied, “That is a very serious choice to make. And one that cannot be undone. As luck would have it, it would be quite easy for me to give you what you’re asking for, but it has a steep price. And not just your soul. Are you certain this is what you want?”

Her silence was only too telling.

With a firm shake of his head, Magnus took a step back. “You must be sure. I am neither judge nor jury; I will only carry out what our deal entails. I urge you strongly to consider this. Memory cannot just be given and taken on a whim. Once I remove it, it will be permanent.”

Alana shook her head with a tired sigh. “I just… I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t think… I don’t know how to go on without doing something. I—” Abruptly cutting herself off, she stood up a little straighter and schooled her expression into a carefully curated stoicism. “I have to take the responsibility, and I will.”

It had been a long while since someone with such conviction had come to Magnus like this. Often, those who summoned him didn’t understand the gravity of the situation they were making for themselves, but it was their mistake to make. This time, somehow, he couldn’t bear the thought of allowing her to follow them down that path of regret lurking in the future.

“For your benefit, I will not yet make the deal,” he began. “I require certainty, and I do not see that in you. I’m going to give you another opportunity to think very carefully about just what is worth the price of your soul before you sign it over to me.”

**

The next time Magnus found himself standing in the ash and last embers of unholy flame in the middle of the old warehouse, the person standing opposite him was not Alana Clarke.

Instead, it was a tall, dark haired man with a stern look on his face, standing stock-still with his hands behind his back. He was not entirely mortal, nor human, Magnus realized upon observing the presence of spiritual matter along the lines of his shoulders and down his spine. It also wasn’t lost on him that the man had a blade made of adamas tucked away inside the folds of his jacket. It was an ancient kind of weapon, not only priceless but rare.  

The pentagram Magnus was standing on was far more detailed than the one that Alana had used to summon him, rooted in much stronger magic. The kind of magic that could only be infused by a summoner of great power. “I’m impressed,” he mused, turning in place to observe the rest of the finer detail.

“You made a deal with Alana Clarke,” the man stated coolly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “For her soul. And you’re going to have to rescind.”

Magnus couldn’t help but be amused by the situation. “Demon-client confidentiality prevents me from discussing any of this with you, I’m afraid.” But his curiosity was piqued. Especially when he realized that the faint smell of angel blood had permeated the air around them.

Angel blood.

“Of course, I should have realized immediately.” He stepped up to the edge line of the pentagram to look closer. “Which one of Raziel’s guardians are you?”

A soft sigh of exasperation preceded one word: “Alexander.”

“‘Defender of man’, yes? Seems fitting.” If he didn’t know better, Magnus would have said that Alexander preened almost imperceptibly at his words. “And Alana is in your care. Interesting, given the fact that she sought me out.”

The shadows of tenderness that had lingered on Alexander’s face for mere seconds at the mention of her name disappeared altogether as his expression clouded over. “She never should have summoned you. Her grief has blinded her, so I have to be the one to protect her.”

“You almost believed that when you said it.” Magnus of all people knew what lying to oneself looked like. “The truth is, it kills you that you can’t save her from this grief. Your purpose is to protect her, but there are limits to what you can control, and now you have to face them.”

“You can’t undo the past,” Alexander countered, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes in consternation. “And that’s what she truly wants. Whatever you offer her, it won’t be enough.”

“You know what she went through. You know how greatly she mourns—both for what she lost and what was never hers to begin with. There’s no price too steep for peace that can heal that kind of devastation.”

The angel visibly gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping as it flexed. “Rip up the deal and give her soul back.” The slow cadence he spoke with betrayed the anger that he was sealing away inside.

“It might interest you to know that no official contract exists yet. Ms. Clarke hasn’t made her choice, so if you have concerns, you should take them to your charge herself.”

The anger stoked by Magnus’ words became increasingly apparent in Alexander, and he rolled his neck to the side slightly as if trying to shake free of something. “I won’t ask again.” When Magnus offered no reply, he took a few steps back from the pentagram. “Well, you’re welcome to rot here until you change your mind, then.”

If he were a different person, if circumstances were trivial, he would enjoy an indulgent show of his own strength. As it were, Magnus only gloated a little as he stepped over the brusque chalk line meant to confine him. “I have no plans to do any such thing.”

Alexander was speechless, his mouth slightly agape as Magnus moved towards him. “That isn’t possible. No lesser demon can—”

Reaching out with a dark red tendril of magic, Magnus held him still. “Pleased to meet you, Alexander. My name is Magnus Bane, reigning Prince of Edom and son of one of the First Hierarchy—a Knight of Hell.” When their faces were mere inches apart, he offered the faintest of smiles. “Ms. Clarke has sought my protection now, so I suggest you don’t try to interfere again.”    

**

The air in the Hunter’s Moon was thick with the scent of stale alcohol and sweat-slicked bodies, and Magnus relished it. Perhaps it was the hedonistically human part of him, but there was something magnetic about the raw electricity of bodies pressed flush against one another beneath the hot lights.

His attention was diverted, however, when he noticed the man who had just walked in and was making his way to the bar. Alexander stood out in a crowd even when he was dressed down, wearing a grey Henley and jeans.

With a subtle gesture, Magnus caught the eye of a bartender gathering empty glasses abandoned on a nearby table. “The man who just walked in—make him a Vieux Carre.” A neatly folded hundred-dollar bill materialized between his thumb and middle finger, and he offered it to her.

The woman’s bracelets made a delicate jingling sound as she plucked it from his grasp. “He looks intense. Ex of yours?”

With a chuckle, he brushed his thumb tenderly against her chin for a fleeting moment. “Discretion, Maia.”

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Courtesy of?”

“An associate.”

Despite looking thoroughly unconvinced, Maia pocketed the money and Magnus raised his drink to her in gratitude.

“An olive branch?” Alexander guessed a few minutes later, setting his glass down on Magnus’ table.

“Actually, it’s a black cherry garnish.” Magnus plucks the fruit from his glass and takes a bite of the tender flesh. “I figured a drink would be a good icebreaker.”

Alexander dropped down into the chair opposite him. “You don’t look surprised to see me here.”

“You’ve been following me on and off all day, angel. What am I meant to be surprised about?”

His expression darkens, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in consternation. “We haven’t struck an accord yet.”

Shaking his head faintly, Magnus downed the last of his Negroni. “There is nothing to negotiate. You have no claim on the contract between me and my client.”

“She is going to do this if I do not put a stop to it.” Rather than the burn of anger or the cold of hatred, Alexander looked pained to be saying those words. “I want to make a deal.”

Whatever he had been expecting Alexander to say, that certainly wasn’t it. Magnus sat in stunned silence for a beat. “Just to be clear… You want to give me your eternal soul to release Alana Clarke from a contract that she implored me to honor?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t know what he was agreeing to, and yet there was a fierce determination on his face that almost made Magnus wish that it were possible. “Let’s do it.”

“It is not possible, Alexander,” Magnus said somberly. His tone had gone soft despite himself. The desperation in the guardian’s eyes made something in his chest begin to ache. “Even if you did have a soul as the mortals do.”

It almost looked as though the faintest hint of vulnerable desperation was beginning to shine through the cracks of his façade. Instead, with a grunt of frustration, Alexander pushed back from the table and crossed his arms. “She is under my protection, Magnus.”

“In a manner of speaking, she’s under mine too.”

“If you control Edom, why even spend your time making deals for souls? Isn’t that beneath you?” he retorted heatedly.

“It’s not about the souls. It never has been,” Magnus found himself saying. It had never been in his nature to be transparent, and frankly he had never had a reason to try. The way that Alexander wore his feelings so genuinely compelled him to reciprocate. “The lesser demons who skulk around crossroads and manipulate the avaricious and covetous do so by nature. I choose the worthy summoners, the ones who want nothing more or less than resolution, and offer them peace.”

Staring down into his glass, Alexander heaved a sigh of frustration. “Indulging their emotions is not the same as protecting them.”

“That depends on who you are protecting them from, hmm?”

Something in those words seemed to reach Alexander in a way that nothing else between them had. His shoulders hunched wearily, as though a great burden had been dropped and left foregone. “I don’t know,” he surrendered.

**

Thunder rattled the window panes of the penthouse as the storm outside grew stronger, and Magnus could feel the glass shivering beneath his fingers where they were pressed on either side of Alexander’s body. They were both mostly clothed, but where their bare skin touched, it felt like fire. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the otherwise darkened living room, so Magnus used the cacophony of harsh exhales and soft moans to guide his movements.

It had to be the most profane act, because it felt like salvation.

“Nnnnh,” Alexander moaned, reaching up for Magnus’ hands blindly and intertwining their fingers.

More or less restrained, Magnus put more power into the movement of his hips. It was an inexplicable desperation that had led them to this, and now it was boiling in his blood and driving him forward.

The pleasure crested, and for one perfect moment, everything felt simple—they were just two people who found relief in wanting one another. That was how they had ended up here, after all; a categorically innocuous moment had somehow set Magnus’ skin on fire with how greatly he yearned to touch him, and everything between them had unraveled before he could do anything but follow in its wake.

For weeks the tenacious guardian had been nothing but a thorn in his side, but then all at once, something changed and Magnus could no longer remember how to simply dislike him. Perhaps he put too much stock in his heart—or whatever the son of a Greater Demon was capable of containing—to ever stay free of falling prey to the way of the mortal world. All he knew now, though, was that he felt dread like an ache in his chest at the unavoidable truth that Alexander would leave.  

“Don’t leave,” Magnus whispered breathlessly in Alexander’s ear. “You can stay the night. I want you to.”

In reply, Alexander nodded and pressed an almost reticent kiss to his lips. “I’ve already crossed the line, what’s another step?” Even pressed together in such an achingly intimate embrace, there was a hesitance in him. Perhaps he was telling himself this was a big mistake, and he would hate Magnus in the morning.

It wouldn’t be the first time, at least, so he would drink away the pain in the evening and be remade again in the morning.

Already in a sloppy state of undress, they both peeled off their remaining layers of clothing and let them fall in a heap on the bedroom floor before crawling beneath the sheets. Magnus had slept alone for so long that his heart twisted in his chest at the feeling of a warm body beside him.

Once Magnus had settled into the mattress and was lying still, Alexander slid his foot between Magnus’ calves and pressed their bodies closer. His hands were more diffident in their movements, slowly tracing a path down Magnus’ forearm and over the bone of his wrist before loosely intertwining their fingers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor this fragile piece of time, but when he opened them again, it was morning. The deep orange and red of the sunrise bathed the bedroom in a warm glow, and illuminated Alexander where he was perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you going somewhere?”

The muscles in Alexander’s upper back rippled beneath his alabaster skin as he tensed. “I didn’t want to wake you,” was all he said, but for just a moment, his eyes lingered on Magnus as if he were hoping for a rebuttal.

“We don’t have to keep doing this to each other, acting as though we’re so unalike.”

That made him look away, and he stood with his back to Magnus as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt sleeve absently. “Yes, we do. We have to be.”

“God himself created even the avenging angels in his image,” Magnus replied with the hint of a smirk on his lips.

With a wry, all but humorless laugh, Alexander shook his head. “That’s not the point, Magnus! What kind of guardian allows the ones he looks after to pawn their souls for resolutions?” He turned back to face him with hard resolve.

Magnus couldn’t help but be reminded of the volatile, at times impetuous, young man he was. He had been quick to anger, holding himself in contempt for all the things that were out of his control. “Alexander—this is her life. Do you truly prefer that she suffer through this mortal existence when that is all she gets?”

“I have failed spectacularly in the past to do the one thing I’m meant to do, and I won’t let that happen again.” Grabbing his jacket from the floor, he shrugged it on and stalked off.

**

“I’m ready,” Alana declared without preamble.

A smattering of Edom’s red dirt shook loose from the tread of Magnus’ boots as he strode over to her. “I told you that the next time you summoned me you would need to be certain. If this is your decision, then all that is left is your contract.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Magnus held up his hand and angled it above her chest. “All this requires is a mark left on your soul, like an earmark. It binds you to me.” With a languid flutter of his fingers, a deep blue energy emitted from them and seeped beneath her skin. The pulsing of her heartbeat was thrummed against his magic and he could feel it as if her heart itself were in the palm of his hand. With a final push, the energy ensnared her soul, wrapping around it like ivy on a vine and pressing in to leave behind an intricate lace of markings.

She shivered faintly and let out a short, sharp exhale. “It feels like ice.”

“It should not last long,” he assured her as he pulled his hand back. “Now, taking your memories will be painless; simply stand very still.”

As soon as he began to probe her memories, her eyes clouded over into a haze of milky white. In brief flashes, he could see through her eyes flashes of the past that she had hidden away. He could feel a tangled web of emotions, each vying for pride of place. He could hear a cacophony of her name echoing in millions of different tones and inflections. Each piece pulled at her, nearly tearing her apart from the tension about to snap. Extracting them was like sucking the poison from a wound, leaving a bitter residue behind. It had been left to fester for so long that in places the memories were like rot, but in time, they all came away. “You’re purely your own now,” Magnus whispered in Alana’s ear, and with that, he vanished from her side.

For a moment, he just stood in the alleyway behind the warehouse, breathing in the damp, cold air of the rain’s end. A few droplets dotted his face and neck, and he closed his eyes to savor it. In Edom, there was no such relief like a storm.

Suddenly, he felt a presence in the shadows, familiar and passive.

“Come to spy, angel?”

Emerging soundlessly, Alexander stood with his arms folded behind him like a soldier poised in wait.

Quirking an eyebrow, Magnus turned to face him directly. “Are you going to start a street brawl for what she willingly gave me?”

The guardian almost smiled at that, and it put Magnus more at ease. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Actually, don’t answer that. I have a feeling I would not like the answer.” Shaking his head, Alexander continued. “I was here when Alana summoned you. But I… I decided you were right, Magnus.”

“Sorry?”

Despite himself, Alexander chuckled wryly. “I could be cast out for what I have done, but protecting the mortals entrusted to me is worth any price.”

Magnus looked at him skeptically. “Forgive me if I am hesitant to accept your truce, Alexander.”

“Who said anything about a truce?” Though his words were antagonistic, his tone was peaceable. “But I suppose I should thank you for what you taught me.”

Holding up a hand to stop him, Magnus shook his head. “Please, angel. We are not obliged to such extreme shows of good faith. Besides, Edom would freeze over, and then where would I be?”

Alexander awkwardly shifted closer. “Here’s hoping we remain acquaintances from afar.”

“As if,” Magnus waved off, pressing in closer until their chests were flush. “You like me too much.”

“I never said that,” Alexander managed breathlessly before leaning in to join their lips in a kiss that could grow a whole garden from Edom’s barren desert sand.

**

For all of its flaws, Magnus decided that he liked Brooklyn. Edom was his domain, but perhaps this could be his home.

Penthouse One had become more or less a safe haven, oddly enough. The balcony provided the perfect place for his morning meditations, the living room could host a great many guests, and the apothecary was quaint and studious. And perhaps he was indulging in feeling like a mortal at times, but what else was he to do when he was topside so frequently?

The soft click of the door opening made Magnus set down his martini and move towards the entryway curiously. In the hall, he saw a figure cloaked in a long black coat with a hood concealing their face. Boots stained with dirt and dried blood left a faint trail on the wood floor, and the bow over their shoulder was battered with scratches and dings.

“Alexander, you’re home early.”

Shaking his head free from the hood, Alexander revealed his bloodied face. “I gave myself the rest of the night off.”

With a disapproving tsk, Magnus guided his chin away from him to get a better look at the trails of crimson oozing down from his temple and cheekbone. “No rest for the wicked, hmm?”

Alexander rolled his eyes as he allowed Magnus to steer him to the couch. “I think I may have broken a rib,” grunted as he lowered himself onto a cushion.

“Take your jacket and shirt off so I can see.” Magnus gingerly sat beside him and helped to maneuver his arms from the sleeves. His knuckles faintly brushed Alexander’s upper back and his whole body tensed in reflex. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully working around the cloth that covered two deep, distinct scars where Alexander’s wings had been ripped from his back some time ago. They looked much like his father’s. As soon as they worked together to peel Alexander’s t-shirt off, Magnus couldn’t help but lean over and brush his lips, faint as a whisper, against the point between his shoulder blades between the dark V-shaped scarring. “Now, let me take a look.”

“Here.” With some difficulty, Alexander rolled slightly to his left side, revealing a blossoming bruise against the side of his rib cage. After just a gentle probing of Magnus’ finger tips against the tender skin, he jerked away. “Fuck.”

“Was it worth the fight, Night Arrow?” Magnus asked with a faint smile, unearthing a package of alcohol swabs from the first aid kit they kept hidden beneath the couch for just such an occasion.

“Always. I have to do something, right?” The bitter edge in voice would likely always be there at the mention of his being cast down. The scars on his back were a reminder he would never need, because Magnus knew he could never forget.

Magnus himself would likely always be haunted by the events of the night Alexander fell from Heaven. The sight of him when he stumbled to Magnus’ door, drenched in sweat and pale as death as he bled through the scraps of fabric he had wrapped himself in still felt too unbearable to recall. Even as a mortal, he still found a way to dedicate himself to the protection of the innocent, and Magnus could never begrudge him that.

“There’s something else that might help,” he murmured, wincing as he scratched absently at the drying blood on his forehead.

Setting down the swabs, Magnus straightened up to look at him.

“A kiss.”

“A kiss,” Magnus echoed, a grin spreading across his lips. “What will you give me for it? Your everlasting soul?”

Alexander dropped his chin and his lips parted just enough to tenderly take Magnus’ finger into his mouth. His tongue was warm and soft, and Magnus felt that all too human feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Releasing him with a quiet pop, Alexander smiled. “That’s not mine to give anymore. It’s already yours.”

[kassies-take]

A Page From Maggie’s Book

Can you do a Maggie Sawyer x best friend reader badass team up where reader is new to superhero work and decides to go on a ride along with Maggie to see how police handle threats or something? 

@healthtobination

A/n: Sorry it’s taken awhile for me to do this

Warning: Rape, violence

Maggie Sawyer x BestFriend!Reader 

Word Count:  1747

“Do I get a gun?” you asked after putting on bullet proof gear. 

Maggie scoffed, “you think I am going to give you a gun? That’s funny.” 

“It was worth a try,” you shrugged. 

“You don’t need a gun when you’ve got force fields.” 

“Are we going to stop a robbery? Car chase? Ooh a...”

Maggie chuckled. “You’re cute, I’m a detective officer not a patrol officer.”

“So what do you do?”

“First off, you don’t need this.” Maggie gestured to the bullet proof vest. “till necessary. Second detectives don’t have your typical police cars, we’re stealthy, we find information. Our ride is unmarked cars.”

“What information do you find?” You asked leaning against Maggie’s desk

“We find anything and everything about suspects, their high school, the clubs they join, the name of their family pet, their sister’s name, parents name, job, friends. Everything.”

“So what do we do now.”

“Research.”

You tapped a pen on your knee continuously. The constants ticks made Maggie look at you with a raised eyebrow. She rolled closer to the right side of her desk, took out a key and opened the bottom cabinet. The detective pulled out a thick beige folder and handed it to you.

“What is this?”

“Victims.”

“Victims? Of?”

“Look through them.”

The file revealed multiple women with rape at the bottom.

“All of these women were rapped?” You flipped though several pages.

“You’ve worked with Alex and Kara before, they both go way to fast into action. Punching their way into things. We go the whole way, we want the man responsible to rot in hell. We find evidence and we don’t hold back and we do it for them.”

“Kara and Alex catch the guy. Kara’s a reporter so she has to get evidence.”

“Most of the time, Alex or Kara catch the guys but they get away from lack of evidence. Little Danvers may have evidence but she does not get to control the jury, or how the other side uses the evidence.”

“Sawyer, come have a look at this.”

You followed Maggie down the hall. The other officer played a footage. A view over the city.

“Real-estate, so what.”

“Wait,” The camera flew closer towards a window. Past the window was a girl changing.

“This is disgusting,” you glared at the screen.

“We’ve got a peeping Tom,” Maggie crossed her arms.

“It gets worse,” the screen cut to a bed room corner showcasing the whole master bed room.

A blond millennial woman in a pink shirt and grey sweatpants, walked from what was assumed the bathroom towards the bed. Seconds later a man in a mask pushed her onto the bed. There was obvious signs of struggling from the girl. You turned away as the man ripped open her sweatpants and began thrusting into the woman.

“He’s not a peeping Tom, he’s a serial rapist.”

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

You sat in Maggie’s passenger seat blankly staring at the the dashboard.

“Feet off the dash!” Maggie was as equally as pissed as your were.

“He clearly is the one in the video! Why can’t we use that?”

“We know it’s him, but for all we know it could be a man in a mask.”

“Ugh!!!!” You kicked at dash board. “You know what makes this more frustrating!”

“You kicking my car?”

“No, it’s that parents are more afraid of their kids being gay than they are of their kids being rapist or sex offenders.”

“At least your parents didn’t kick you out of the house.”

“You’ve got a point.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a few days since you and Maggie saw those tapes. You were currently twirling your pen going over notes Maggie took home. You had refused to play any games, even when the rest of Superfriends told you it would be a good way to destress.

“Everything is a dead end right now.” Maggie sighed, explaing to Superfriends about the case.

“Did you guys talk to any of the victims?”

“Yeah we did, one of the ladies said he took her necklace.”

“Did he take anything else from them. You know beside this whole thing?”

“We’re looking through it now. We did find that he went to this coffee shop frequently.” Maggie responded.

“Any of the victims connect there?”

“No nothing. I’m gonna check it out tomorrow see if any of the employees notice him or look through cameras if they have any.”

“Bring me along?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I know this case is important but can we get on with the game?” Alex frowned.

You opened your mouth to say something but Alex stopped you before you could.

“I’m not being insensitive (n/n). I’m very annoyed and as pissed as you are. But the point of tonight was to get your mind off this and have a mental break.” She picked up the dice.

“Lena’s on her IPad going through projects, and Kara is writing an article.” You pointed your thumbs to the side.

Nia peeked over Kara’s shoulder. “Actually they’re sexting each other.” She sipped her wine.

“What now?” You peeked at Lena’s IPad.

“Little Danvers,” Maggie smirked.

“What! Let me have a moment with my girlfriend.”

“That moment better be CONSENSUAL!” You threw popcorn at Kara.

“Why are you only throwing popcorn at me! Not that I mind.” Kara popped a few piece into her mouth.

“Cause I expected it from Lena and not you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“The workers say he comes often but doesn’t usually stay.” Maggie sighed.

“The other regulars say he just gets coffee and leaves.” You rested your chin on one hand.

“It’s not a dead end yet we can still check the cameras.”

The black and white video showed the suspect parking his car, walking into the coffee shop and leaving in the opposite direction. After several videos of the same action you and Maggie got up from your seats.

“Where ever he goes it must be in walking distance if he doesn’t take his car.”

“Mags... you know how in shows people rent out a storage unit to hide evidence or dead bodies.”

“Yeah what about it?”

“There’s one across the street.”

“Get ready with your shields.” Maggie pulled out her gun from her holster.

“We’re not calling for backup?”

“By the time backup gets here he could be gone.”

You followed after Maggie. Your heart beated against your chest. Clear honeycomb like patterns surrounded your two hands.

Besides a couple of people and a few boxes the units were sickenly quiet. The two of you reached a corridor with flickering lights. The circuit was either cut or it was done on purpose.

Your hands were shaking at the thought. Fear flashed across your face and the shields began to glitch. Maggie on the other hand pulled out a flashlight and sneaked with it over her gun.

Maggie slowed her steps as one of the units were opened. It was deserted yet filled with a twin bed, a few boxes, a blue bike, what seems to be a beaten teddy bear, water bottles, paper towels all lightened by a desk lamp.

“Dispatch this is 129F40, I’m gonna need back up at Studio Self Storage on Conova and Mar-”

A loud yell and a slam against metal met the officer and dispatchers.

“(Y/n!)”

Maggie joined kicking the man away after he threw a punch at your face. He was not giving you any time to recover and use your shields.

He moved his attention onto Maggie after you struggled to stand from the two head traumas you recieved. Maggie was good but he wrestled the gun out of her hands. He overpowered her and slammed her against another metal door.

Maggie pushed maneuvered her legs up against the wall and pushed him back against the other side. She threw punches.

You got up, crossed your arm on your shoulders and pushed forth a shield to move the man away from Maggie.

~~~~~~~~~~

“All officers and firefighters calling all back up, officer is in distress. Officer 129F40 is in distress.”

Dispatcher said over the radio. Alex immediately looked over at J’onn. “That’s Maggie’s number!”

They heard several grunts, as they immediately recognized Maggie and your voices. They also heard a whooshing sounds knowing that that was you and your shields.

Alex reaches towards her ear to activate the com.

“Kar-“

A gunshot echoed around the room before it went silent.

Kara rushed towards you and Maggie as she reached the self storage. She led the police and found Maggie sitting next to you. Kara rushed over scanning your body for the gunshot wound.

“She’s fine. She has a concussion and a few bad scratches.” Maggie said.

“A few? Her eye is swollen shut and her shoulder is dislocated, don’t forget to mention the other cuts on her face.”

You grinned at Kara. “We got him.”

Kara took a look further down the corridor and found a glaring bloody man with his hands cuffed through the bed frame.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the bed at Luthor Family Children’s Hospital. You got most of the injuries from the first surprise attack. Your arm was in a sling and several bandages on your face. Maggie only had a busted lip.

“I can’t believe you two went in with no back up.” Alex scolded.

“To be fair, they did catch the rapist.” Lena said from one of the chairs. “And without the help of Supergirl.”

“What took you so long anyways Kara?” Alex looked over at her sister.

Kara turned red.

“You weren’t!” You looked between Kara and Lena.

“Well we still proved that National City does need police officers and detectives after all.”

“No we proved that Superfriends is a good team. Half of this duo doesn’t even get paid.” You were still upset. “But Kara could take a page from Maggie’s book, instead of ogling at Lena.”

“Hey!”

[merryfortune]

eggshells

Un-Love You Challenge: Day 20. I hate you, you bitch.

Ship: Asuka/Yuriko

Fandom: Tropical Rouge PreCure

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Inspired by Revolutionary Girl Utena, Minor Animal death

Synopsis: Shrodinger’s bird is both dead and alive depending on whether its eggshell is broken. Asuka and Yuriko both wish that the bird is dead.

AN: As soon as I saw these two interact, I was instantly reminded of Juri and Shiori from RGU so I wanted to write a fic inspired by that.

   The first omen that their relationship was about to be broken beyond all repair was when the fleur-de-lis locket that Asuka had gotten for Yuriko broke. It came off the hinges unexpectedly with no forewarning. Through sheer force of will, Asuka had gotten it to click back into place but it was lopsided and as it was lopsided, Yuriko had little desire to wear it anymore. It sat awkwardly between her clavicles in a way it had never before.

   Especially not in the way Asuka had first adorned Yuriko with it. That moment of repose, in between torn gift wrapping and the intimacy, had meant a lot to them both. Asuka was delicate as the silver chain slipped into place against Yuriko’s skin. As she did so, she regaled an old wives’ tale that Yuriko hadn’t heard before about misplaced locks, whenever they went askew it meant someone was thinking of you and in the essence of that moment, Yuriko couldn’t help but sense that all Asuka was thinking about was her but… Yuriko was aware of other’s thoughts, too, as she was so damnably perceptive.

   The second omen that their relationship was about to be wounded beyond all healing was when that little black and brown sparrow had flown into the window and didn’t get up afterwards. Asuka had wanted to help it; Yuriko had wanted to allow nature to take its course. 

   They had been standing around the tennis club’s hangout, where they stored their sports gear and such, arguing or trying not to argue as they rallied around the obvious issue in the clubroom when they had heard the smack against the glass. Both had rushed outside as soon as it had happened, expecting a tennis ball. Not a bird. With Asuka taking it in her hands, against Yuriko’s harsh fussing, it was already too late. The skull was cracked, as was its beak and so all it could do was twitch in her hand with some imitation of life. Asuka’s expression was grim; Yuriko’s wasn’t even smug. Neither noticed the other, just assuming the other’s reaction.

   The third omen was that they couldn’t even look at one another. Things had become awkward. Stiff. They both knew they were headed for a brick wall but they were trying to overcome it anyway. Going through, going over, going under. Whatever it took but it was slowing down their game. They couldn’t win together as doubles with this hindered team work but they couldn’t even win either way if they were to go out as doubles. The other members of the tennis club could tell something had happened to them. Or, at the very least, something was happening between them.

   There wasn’t a fourth omen because the fourth unusual event was the end of it all. Their friendship, their love, their whatever their relationship was as more than just partners in tennis but a whole lot less than partners than lovers. After all, things tend to end at four. 

   Sometimes, they even died at four. 

   Unfortunately for Asuka and Yuriko, no matter how they wished for it, what they had didn’t die. And neither of them were the type to simply keel over and expire with their hearts in agony. So, what happened instead was some necrotic deterioration of their relationship and everything else in the way was mere canon fodder for what happened. Yuriko retreated to her own camp, finding a new tribe amongst the folk on the student representative council, and Asuka retreated to one at all, instead choosing to lick her wounds in private.

   Or at least that’s what Asuka had wanted to do. She wanted to sculpt herself as the cool girl. The loner. The girl who didn’t need anyone at all, even though it was no secret that doubles tennis was her passion - and so was any video game with co-op play, be it through multi-player or even A.I. controlled characters. And for a while it worked, she would hide out behind the school’s gymnasium or in the toilets, pretending she didn’t exist for the most part until she hit a collision with someone who was like the striking of the summer sun.

   Natsuumi Manatsu. What a girl. She was bright, bubbly, and she had an actual living mermaid living in some sort of watery genie bottle she kept in her bag - and that was to say nothing of what she could do with the ring on her finger. A ring which would soon have a sister which was gifted for Asuka and thus, Cure Flamingo was born and so was the Tropical Club and all aspirations and illusions that Asuka had of being of being a lone wolf were shattered because deep down, she liked to keep a flock of birds.

   Club President Takizawa Asuka did have a good sound to it, even if it really ought to be Manatsu. She was the central and driving force who had connected together a handful of scattered students who wouldn’t have interacted otherwise but no, no, she had humbly given up the role for Asuka. Seeing something in those bright eyes of her’s that Asuka didn’t even see in herself.

   She was thankful but it was unfortunate but she supposed her underclassmen were cute enough so she’d do anything to protect them. Beat up bullies, beat up underwater bad guys, and of course put herself in the crosshairs time and time again of the worst of the worst: young ladies like Kakuta Masami and, of course, Shiratori Yuriko.

   For so long, Asuka had managed to avoid the hawk-eyed ire of the council president. She hadn’t escaped it completely but she had minimised it but thanks to the Tropical Club, Asuka was once again the subject of that cold, hardened gaze. When it could be sustained at least.

   No matter the lecture, it did become apparent here and there within Yuriko’s behaviour that she was avoiding Asuka’s own, fierce gaze. She had all the power of fluttering wings and mermaid magic, she could handle one ex...something. Friend, girlfriend, partner. It didn’t matter; it hadn’t mattered because they felt like it would last forever so there was no need to label it. What rot that was. Now look at them. Going to war each time they gimpsed one another. Asuka could handle how Yuriko’s avian, yellow eyes slitted around her and how she had mastered the effect of looking closely, directly whilst actually not. 

   And so began their newest foray into being foes. The battleground might have changed but the battle itself hadn’t. The to and fro was far too familiar to them both as tennis pros. The rally and the volley. It was all the same to them: all a racket. Thus leading to their latest confrontation in Yuriko’s council room. 

   When it was all to themselves, like right now, they were free to get as downright nasty as they pleased: even if it was under the veneer of rather hushed voices. As much as they wanted to squawk at each other like duelling carrion birds, this was still a school so they had to keep their composure and their voices down. Besides, there were plenty more ways to pierce than just being ear-piercingly shrill in their voices.

   “You’re doing this on purpose,” Asuka insisted brusquely, “random inventory checks by the Disciplinary Committee aren’t so random if they’re only being held on the Tropical Club.”

   Yuriko shrugged, her face just a degree off from fully facing Asuka, her arms were folded in front of her, “I do not control the personal actions and decisions of Kakuta-san,” Yuriko murmured, “I merely suggest that the time is right at pure arbitrary of my own whims as they come and go between the paperwork and other scheduling that I do.”

   The dangling of the conspiracy infuriated Asuka. She growled, her hand balling into a fist by her side and in the thick of that raw noise in her throat, she hissed, “I hate you, you bitch.” Asuka knew she was right and Yuriko knew it too but was keeping it so locked and guarded and yet so out in the open just to bait Asuka. The rage that it caused seeped through and made Asuka seem redder - and madder - than her hair.

   “I hate you, too.” Yuriko smiled, oh so pleasant, her eyes crinkling in the corner with genuine joy.

   Asuka gritted her teeth and she stormed forward. She grabbed Yuriko by the lapels and shook her. Yuriko went prone with the roughness, seemingly not caring one bit at how Asuka had accosted her. Her whole body was limp, without worry, without so much as a glimmer of harshness in her eyes as they were far, far away from this brutish conversation.

   “What the hell is wrong with you?” Asuka growled. “Target me all you want, I don’t care, I can take it but leave the other girls out of it. The Tropical Club has nothing to do with us-”

   A glint of silver caught Asuka’s eye and just that tiny flash was enough to halt her tirade completely. All her anger ceased in her mouth as she was so stunned by what she saw on the pale of Yuriko’s skin. It slinked and slithered on her clavicles, mostly hidden by the turquoise of her flapping collar: the locket.

   “Y-You're still wearing it?” Asuka asked and she let go of Yuriko gingerly.

   She huffed, sorted herself out and Asuka noticed that the clasp was askew. Right by her pencil-thin neck, right where Asuka had always dreamed to leave a bruise: be it from love or from wrath, it mattered not. Especially now that Yuriko had gone and fixed it up, moving the clasp to the back of her neck, the locket moving beneath the white of her sailor shirt.

   Yuriko bore an enigmatic expression as she looked up, done with her fussing. It was distant and playful. And she reached out to Asuka, shocking her with the seeming kindness in her fingertips as they brushed past her temples, caressing her. Asuka winced and she was blinded. Yuriko’s fingers cupped her face in a way so that all she could see - and feel - was her hands. Her soft, supple hands and the spritz of a maturely scented perfume on her wrist. Asuka’s heart skipped a beat.

   Yuriko kissed her. It was a kiss that was like dry ice to Asuka’s searing mouth. It was a cold, clinical kiss that was fit to leave a blister on Asuka’s skin. She tried not to kiss back but all her soul wanted to. She had yearned to kiss Yuriko for so long, so why did this have to be the circumstance? When a kiss was not a kiss but a way in which to kill instead.

   Especially… Especially knowing the last time that Asuka could recall before this incident wherein she and Yuriko had locked eyes, firmly and strongly, for the last time. The event which had been foretold by the various omens of things breaking apart, getting wounded, and even dying. When Asuka had seen Yuriko kissing someone else through the crack of an ajar door at the tennis club room. The memory and recollection made Asuka sick and to think of it now, at such a pertinent moment, sullied the seconds that Yuriko spended on her, kissing her with such stringent luxury that it was calculated to the edge of her sigh on her sharp mouth.

   But in the darkness of her hands, that’s all Asuka could see and it all but killed her. She wished that it killed her.

[prettycutebunny]

On the other side

Illumi x reader

It’s part of a collab with my discord lovelies hope you enjoy it.

The fire was burning your flesh as your throat scorched. Everything was wrong ! You did nothing wrong but everyone is wrong ! This is not how it was supposed to happen. You’re tired, so tired of crying,begging,and screaming. They were the accusers,judge,and the jury. Why did it end up like this?

You two were young and naive. He always had a mean streak. He loved toying with people and animals alike but he wasn’t mean to you. You both decided to marry once you’re adult. Your parents approved. Love comes with time doesn’t it ? Being “soulmates” is for romantic suckers you didn’t need it ! Just a home and protection. How’d you know he’s going to find his “soulmate”? You still can remember that day when he came to you looking so happy yet mad?

“Hey,can we talk?”

His face was grim,which is weird compared to his deranged smile he held most of the time. His gang was standing nearby like guards. What’s going on ?

“Sure, are you okay ?”

“I found my soulmate,I’m going to cancel the engagement”

He said it without any hint of a joke. You felt rage boiling inside you. How dare he?

“No. I don’t care about this soulmate bullshit. You said we are going to get married and everyone knows that. I won’t allow you to break your promise. I refuse to be humiliated”

Yelling at someone you knew was resentful and vengeful wasn’t one of your brightest ideas but you couldn’t help it. Him canceling this whole thing and going with someone else was out of question. He wasn’t angry however he laughed.

“I know you’d say something like that”

He exchanged looks with his friends and they all attacked you. Screaming and scratching did nothing. Three men who loved fights and crime against a woman,it’s a losing battle. They didn’t care about touching you as they carried off toward the village. Your screams attracted attention as everyone got out of their home to check all this racket. Genthru Dropped your legs as his friend held your arms behind your back. He stood in front of the villagers and yelled.

“I caught my dearly beloved doing black magic”

He announced causing a chaos among people. There’s been dead animals found around the village which many interrupted as a sign of a witch nearby.

He held his hand high showing a weird looking necklace.

“She gave me this. It has a love potion in it. When my dear friends pointed it out and I took it off I started seeing the truth. She tricked us all”

“Are you kidding me ?! I don’t know what you’re talking about you cheating .....”

You voice was muffled by one of his friends as he kept talking. He kept showing weird items you never saw around saying you gifted them to him hoping to keep him beside you.

Tying you to a pole the edges of the village wasn’t hard. You couldn’t fight three of them let alone a hoard. There’s been rumors about monsters living on the other side of the river. You as a horrible witch deserve to be offered to them. Your flesh shall appease them as you slowly burn to death in the middle of nowhere with no one by your side.

The fire was closing in as the nearby wood started catching it. Your skin slowly melting,that’s when you felt it. A present of some sort. Opening your eyes you noticed a little boy. He was pale with beautiful blue eyes and white hair. His clothes were so elegant. He slowly approached you passing by the fire without an issue. You felt your ties loosen as he pushed you off away from the heat. The feeling of cold ground and the breeze on your skin was heavenly. You were burnt badly and dehydrated near death. The blue eyes boy spoke up.

“If you are a witch, why didn’t you use magic to escape ?”

You tried to laugh but it came as a weird scratchy noise. Your throat still dry and you legs burnt badly you couldn’t talk or move.

“Killu,how many times do I have to tell you. Stay away from humans. They’re food nothing more”

The new voice made your heart stop. From the frying pan to the fire of course. Looking up to the new comer. He was pale like the white haired boy,black long hair,big black doll eyes, and tall lean body. He slowly approached assessing you.

“She’s badly hurt brother,she was screaming so loud it annoyed me”

He said looking at his brother pleadingly

“If you’re going to kill her , can you do it quickly ?”

He asked giving you a pitiful look. The little monster had more mercy than you entire village. At least you won’t suffer for hours and you can come back to haunt the hell out of you fiancé. Excuse me, ex fiancé.

“Fine,but I’m drinking her blood.its a waste letting it rot with her”

He said approaching you before lifting you by your shoulder.thats when you felt it. Your entire body was filled with weird scorching warmth as your vision became suddenly so lively. Your heart was jumping out of your skin as you stomach started flattering. By the way he dropped you like you were a hot potato, he felt it too. His black eyes looking and assessing you again but not as a threat this time. Your entire skin turned pink as his eyes examined you from your hair to your toes.

“Brother ?”

The little boy asked.his older brother put picked you up suddenly.

“She’s my soulmate killu, I’m taking her with us.”

You looked at him before pointing to the river nearby. You’d pay half of your life for a sip.

“Oh,hold on”

He stopped putting you down in the middle of it. The water felt so good as you drank and wetted you’re burnt skin.

“Better?”

“Yeah”

Your throat still hurt,but at least you can talk. As he picked you up again you looked him in the eyes and introduced yourself hoping he’d do the same. You even added human for good measure.

“Im illumi zoldyck. What you humans call a “vampire””

“And I’m killua ! His little brother”

You looked at the little boy smiling. He was so adorable

“Nice to meet you killua. Illumi can I ask you a favor ? As your soulmate and all”

His eyes looked down at you studying your facial expression.

“Soulmates increases the life span and gives us more the best kids. I’m not letting you go”

You shook your head.

“No, you turn me to one of you ? I want to go back and kill my asshole ex and his new wife”

You said praying he’d agree. That jerk was going to pay. While you’re out there you’d burn the village for good measures.

He looked amused as he nodded seemingly liking the idea of getting rid of any guy you were once close to. This is going to be fun.