#honestly at this point i would have rather he just died in that cocoon

[valkyurii]

I think I will forever be bitching about what the dlc did to Miquella and Malenia. Sigh. There's good stuff in sote, but honestly the Miquella plot shenanigans deflated my general interest in elden ring.

That’s fair. I feel the same way to an extent. I still play the game but my interest in the lore has kind of dropped off as of late. I still love Malenia very much, nothings really changed there, but Miquella is a different person to me now unfortunately. I never expected him to be the perfect ‘good guy’ by any means, but seeing him get reduced to a creep with an obsession for his older brother, who he potentially bewitched into marrying him just soured him for me. The whole thing just feels extremely gross to me and the vagueness surrounding it makes it nearly impossible to talk about with people. It genuinely sucks and I hate that they did this to them.

[kar-dragon]

There's a reason reapers are that hard to defeat in combat, and it has nothing to do with keeping the balance of life and death or wielding a scythe for eons.

In fact, you yourself are a poleaxe wielding reaper known as the executioner, specialized in taking in the souls that lived and died by the blade. In your two centuries as one of the reapers, you have never even broke a sweat.

Until now.

"Alright, I wield. You proved yourself in combat." You declare, the thrill of facing a worthy opponent still coursing your body.

"You have been quite the opponent yourself." Claimed the old warrior as he lowers his spear. "It has been a long time since I faced someone who could keep up with me like you did."

You snort in amusement. You remember saying those very same words before. "Well, I assume you don't know what comes next, then?" You ask him, earning a confused look from the warrior.

"What do you mean? I come back to life, don't I?" He asks as you shake your head, using your axe as support to stand back up.

"One would assume as such." You say as dark energy starts surrounding the now concerned warrior. "I certainly did after my death. No, the trial by combat is a sacred ritual to induct new reapers." You continue as the energy starts to envelop the warrior.

"You tricked me!" He exclaims while trying to escape from the ancient magic surrounding him, as you shake your head again.

"No, I just didn't see the point of telling you that." You say as you rub the scar going through your neck, your "death mark", showing how you died. "I have been a reaper for the last two hundred years, and before that I used to be a infamous fighter known for challenging powerful warriors to duels and killing them, until I was ambushed and brought to the capital for execution. You were the first one to actually defeat me in a one on one duel." You commend him. "Because of that, I didn't see the need to tell you the truth, as I imagined it would be just another easy victory. Besides, you wouldn't have given me that fight of a lifetime if I had told you about the ritual." You continue as the warrior is completely encased, unable to respond, but still able to hear you. "It's quite ironic how I had gone through the exact same situation. I challenged another reaper to a duel for my life, only to find out that's how new reapers are created. That's when I learned why reapers are so hard to defeat."

You move to the side of the cocoon of darkness, contemplative. "It's not just because it's our duty to carry souls to the afterlife, kicking and screaming if needed, but because each new reaper has to be stronger than the one who took in their soul. It ensures the natural order prevails, and gives people like us purpose after our death. Honestly, I couldn't think of a better afterlife for myself." You explain your point of view as the new reaper emerges from the darkness, a pale version of the warrior, wearing a black version of his gamberson and carrying a matching black spear. "Wouldn't you agree?"

The warrior grunts as he starts moving his body, testing his new unrelenting muscles. "I'd rather have returned to life." He says after a moment.

"As did I, but you will come to see that it's better to be a reaper." You respond with a smirk. "Sure, the hours are long and the benefits are crap, but at least we get to do what we do best and we never get tired." You add, before you feel another life being extinguished nearby. "Speaking of which, it seems like the bandit that got a jump on you just got his ass handed out to him by someone else. Can't think of a better subject to teach you the ropes of the job." You finish as you start guiding the warrior to where the newly dead bandit is.

There's a reason reapers are that hard to defeat in combat. All but the first had to defeat another reaper.

As a Reaper, you’ve run into quite a few souls who demand a trial by combat. Normally, they don’t even compare to you and lose very quickly. This time, a hardened warrior is determined to rise from the dead, and they have you on the ropes.

[hanniejji]

wild bunny

[ scaramouche x child!reader ]

summary: whenever scaramouche looks at the young child that always stood idly beside him, he is reminded of a certain fledgling that he once lost.

notes: had a sudden burst of writing juice because of the scara cutscene that broke my heart, tis my usual platonic shit agenda lesgo | m.list

words: 972 | warnings: a lil rushed because i typed this while at work LHASHAHAHAHA also mentions of dead pipol lmao

"what the fuck."

scaramouche stares in disbelief, jaw slacked and furrowed eyes pointed at the small cocoon of blanket on the couch in his office. your fluff of hair is disheveled, eyes unusually puffy and teary rather than dull. the small trail of sheen on your cheeks confirms his suspicion.

the unfeeling stray he picked out from the wilderness of inazuma is crying.

he had not seen you express a single emotion other than conflict, anger and bloodlust before, so for you to be crying—alone—it's safe to say that the balladeer is undeniably bamboozled.

"what are you wasting tears for, brat?"

maybe he should have been a little softer when approaching children in their… vulnerable state. but honestly speaking, scaramouche doesn't exactly know if that applies to you. children under the wing of the fatui aren't exactly normal—especially, children who can wipe out a whole team of fatus. nonetheless, you are still a young fledgling, exposed to the truth of this world where the gods are cruel and being weak does not equal to survival.

you remind him so much of kunikuzushi.

he grimace at the reflection, a parallel that coaxed him into taking your battered form under his wing—an unbelievable truth, as much as he denies it.

"i lost the bunny."

"the what?"

he crouches in front of the couch, forearms on his knees with an exasperated look on his face, though his feelings are far from the expression plastered on display. he has an inkling about what's upsetting you, now that he looks over you once more.

you and that thing are practically inseparable.

"i lost the bunny you gave me."

and by bunny, you meant the stuffed bunny he gave you a few months after he plucked you from the wild.

the one scaramouche gave because the first time he saw you was when you were blankly staring at the lifeless bunny on the ground. it died from the aftermath of a wild goose chase. a few weeks before he found you, fatuis and random nobushis would turn up dead in the wilderness of inazuma. it infuriated scaramouche. camps upon camps of fatus would be thrown into disarray and their rations are emptied. when he sent his underlings after the perpetrator, they'd fail to come back with good news. worse, they won't come back at all. he'd come upon them sprawled on the dirty ground somewhere else, dead.

so he went after the menace himself.

that's when he found you in the middle of a fatui camp, his underlings basically useless at this point, slumped on the ground and the poor innocent bunny in front of you. it's later then after he apprehended you that he found out that you were protecting the tiny mammal.

you were just a kid trying to survive in a world filled with monsters, strong enough to protect yourself but helpless and clueless when it comes to the life of others.

when his eye caught sight of a ragged stuffed bunny in an abandoned village, he grabbed it on impulse, faltering only when he was about to hand the now clean stuffed bunny that he stitched up himself. despite being confused as fuck, he casually tossed the thing at you, telling you that it's of no use to him and that you should act like a kid more because your indifference is creeping him out.

he prefers you over any kid by the way. don't tell him i told you.

"i'm sorry," his eye twitched, irritated at how you seemed to be so bothered. it's just a random stuffed bunny, nothing great about it. but he supposes that for someone at your age and comprehension, it must've meant something special for you.

and it does, a lot.

"it's just a toy."

"you gave me that bunny."

he sighed audibly, rolling his eyes before pushing himself to full height, arms crossed.

"it's not the only stuffed bunny in the world, idiot."

"it's the one you gave me. i don't want just any stuffed bunny."

now this, caught him off guard.

you seemed to be genuinely sad about losing the bunny, an expression he only saw on the day you first met. the same look on your face when you failed to protect something you deemed precious. if you're directing such sentimentality towards the stuffed bunny, then you must've really loved it.

more so because it came from him.

scaramouche is brought back to centuries past, an image of a different child flashing before his eyes.

he feels his chest tighten, but he dares not linger at the thought.

"look, you little gremlin," scaramouche grumbled, masking this unfamiliar feeling with exasperation and irritation—he dares not display such thing. "we can just get you a new one and it would still come from me. who the hell do you think provides for you, huh? me, no one else."

he sees your eyes brightened in the slightest, now facing him. he can literally imagine an invisible tail wagging with how you seemed to perked up. another unfamiliar sight, but not unwelcomed. if anything, it's going to be what he thinks of for the next few weeks, unbeknownst to him.

"but how about the one i lost?"

"forget it, it's ragged anyway," he gestures you to follow. "move your little feet, we have places to be and things to do."

the sound of your feet trailing behind him is something he would come to love listening to. that and the slight tug on his sleeves where your little hand naturally clutches around.

a week passes, you found a pristine white bunny in your quarters. it looks different from the one you used to have, but the stitches are familiar and the small electro symbol on its torso is one that you will not mistake for a different person's handiwork.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[glassessence]

Elriel Hint and Analysis - includes analysis of Feysand & Nessian (ACOSF Spoilers)

I’m pretty new to the fandom, but I am currently obsessed with Elriel. This is my ship and I will go down with it until the day I die. As a fairly casual reader, I honestly had zero doubts the next book would be Elain’s and that the couple would be Elriel. 

Then I discovered the existence of the extra POV chapters and Azriel’s threw me in for a bit of a loop. Especially with the ending (which I genuinely believe is a red herring. I lean very heavily into the lightsinger Gwyn theory).

However, stalking Tumblr made me come across this again: 

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. 

Love me, touch me, sing me.

And then my brain accidentally vomited an essay on the symbolism in each sister’s journey... 

Life and death and rebirth so clearly symbolise Feysand’s journey. Feyre leaves behind her life of poverty for a brand new one with Tamlin. She journeys Under the Mountain for love of him and ultimately succeeds in saving not just him, but all of them. In the process, she dies. Not just in the physical sense, but spiritually too. Feyre the human perishes, giving rise to Feyre the High Fae. In a purely physical sense, this is definitely a rebirth. But it’s stilted, incomplete. She’s the newly born phoenix - young, fragile and yet covered in the ashes of its fiery death. Her spiritual rebirth lags behind her newly changed body. Like a bird in a cage, she is trapped in Tamlin’s realm, unable to finish developing, to spread wings and fly. 

That all changes when she is whisked away to the Night Court. She learns to read and some of the ash falls from her body. She makes friends and some more ash is brushed away by the Inner Circle. The final remnants of ash are blown away by the taste of freedom and the kiss of wind, and Feyre’s rebirth is finally complete. Spiritually and physically, she is changed. She becomes Feyre the High Lady. From life back to life, she is returned through the power of love. Take note that while love is important in all the sisters’ journeys, it is the focal point and highlight of Feyre’s. She is someone who has never been loved in that wholesome, selfless way Rhysand loves her. Tamlin was possessive and abusive; Nesta was barbed and sharp. Elain was fragile and ethereal. Love was something she had never really known and consequently something she desperately, desperately needed. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is love me.

Sun and moon and dark refers very much to Nessian. Nesta is the sun and she is burning. Has been burning for a long, long time. She is aflame, nothing but ashes inside, and her words are fire. She scalds anyone who dares approach, just as everything melts before the sun. Like Feyre, she has had her physical rebirth, but not her spiritual one. She is trapped in her own head, locked behind her own self-hatred, her own raging inferno that yields to no one. Like Feyre, she is also a phoenix, but one whose fire never stopped. In that sense, she has never died. Her spiritual rebirth is not simply incomplete; it has never happened.

Until she starts training with Cassian. Until she starts befriending Emerie and Gwyn. This is what marks the death of Nesta the human and the emergence of Nesta the High Fae. (I use the term ‘human’ loosely here, mostly as a way of conveying my point about her spiritual journey rather than the state of her physical being). She loses her solar flare, that inner blaze that was killing her and blackening her soul. She mellows from unapproachable sun to a softer moon. It’s here that she stays a while, seeming to progress and regress in her healing journey as the moon waxes and wanes. It’s not until the hiking scene that she finally breaks. She weeps despite Cassian’s expectations to the contrary. Through her tears, she finally extinguishes the long-raging fire and hatred that has been destroying her. No more blazing sun, no more wavering moon. Only darkness to cradle her, and acceptance. Through Cassian’s ceaseless efforts and her friends, her journey reaches its apex. She finally becomes Nesta the Valkyrie. 

Her journey hinges heavily upon the fact that nobody could reach her through the flames. Nobody had kept trying after getting burned again and again. Nobody except Cassian. He reaches out, time after time, even when she hurts him. Even when she burns him. Until he succeeds and touches her soul. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is touch me.

Of course that leaves only the last line: rot and bloom and bones. I wonder who this could symbolise! Surely not the Archeron sister who is associated with roses and has a complicated romance dilemma with someone from the Autumn Court (rot) and someone else from the Night Court (bones)! Surely not!

Jokes aside, I strongly believe this line reveals Elain’s journey. If we continue thinking of the words as a progression, I think it makes a lot of sense. Keeping in mind the theme of life, death and rebirth, this is how I think of it: 

Life / Rot / stagnation, the start of the journey

Death / Bloom / change, the start of healing

Rebirth / Bones / ascendance and acceptance, the start of the future

There are several interesting things to note about the sentence: 

The word bloom is nestled among rot and bones

Elain’s two potential love interests both have strong associations with those words

I’ll address each point as we delve into Elain’s analysis. 

Let’s start with Elain the human. As previously established, this is when the character is at their worst, blind in the dark before the dawn. I see this as Elain’s forced transformation by the Cauldron. Everything she knows is ripped away from her and her marriage crumbled to dust. She is thrust into a world both unknown and at war. She emerges changed and cursed with powers she cannot control and does not understand. Her life, once a slow-blooming flower, has just rotted into nothing. She is lost, confused and deeply depressed. Her physical rebirth may be complete, but her spiritual rebirth cannot begin until she gathers the shattered pieces of herself back together.

This happens slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it’s hard to notice and easy to dismiss. She befriends Nuala and Cerridwen. Begins gardening again. Talks to the Inner Circle and buys them gifts for Solstice. Slowly, so very slowly, she is starting to piece herself back together. Off-page, she quietly unravels Elain the human and emerges from her cocoon as Elain the High Fae. Like a wilted flower that has dropped its petals, a new season has come, bringing with it new buds. She is blooming, opening herself to new possibilities for companionship, love and for a new self to rise to the surface. But blooms are fragile, newly born things. Elain hasn’t dealt with the full force of her trauma, of her lifelong lack of choice (I’m not going to delve into this as there are so many amazing analyses out there!). She is a trembling fawn, still trying to learn how to walk.

But her spiritual rebirth will remake her. Bones. It’s so different from the previous two words that it really leaves an impact. Blooms rot and fade. Flesh breaks and dies. But bones are strong, the frame that holds up our entire beings. Bones are unyielding and solid, taking no other shape like blood nor bruising like flesh. I see this as Elain standing up for herself, unswayed by external forces that have always governed her life and breaking away from the fragile flower people have always thought she was. By cutting away the rotting flesh, she will reveal the backbone beneath and ascend as Elain the Kingslayer/Seer. 

Of course, closely tied to each sister’s personal growth arc is her love interest. For me, I don’t see it going any other way than Azriel. 

SJM chose rot not only to represent the ‘life’ section of Elain’s personal journey, but also to represent Lucien. He has connections to the Autumn Court, a season that is often associated with decay and rot, but also with harvest and bounty. Highlighting the negative aspects of autumn invokes a strong sense of wrongness. Lucien is not right for her. Not to say anything bad about his character; he’s just not right for Elain. His presence in the books eats away at her newfound boldness; he rots away the path she is trying to carve for herself. 

On the other hand, Azriel is closely tied with death, with blood and bones and shadow. He’s not only Rhys’ spymaster, he’s also his torturer. His association is with bones, a word that invokes a sense of everlasting, of persevering beyond death. Bones is also used to describe the ‘rebirth’ section of Elain’s personal growth arc, the final aspect that leads to ascendance, and acceptance of one’s past and present. Meanwhile, bloom represents Elain herself and the ‘death’ portion of her story, the aspect that heralds change and healing. 

Rot, bloom and bones represent both her personal journey and her love interests. It’s all intrinsically linked. Lucien is ‘life’ and stagnation, Elain is ‘death’ and change, and Azriel is ‘rebirth’ and acceptance. As a progression, this is how I interpret the sentence: 

By rejecting the bond with Lucien, she is stepping into herself and forging something everlasting with Azriel.

Lastly, let’s not forget that the phrase symbolising her is sing me. This didn’t make much sense to me until I read Azriel’s bonus POV. In it, he confesses to Gwyn that he does sing. Why include this if it’s not a subtle callback to this prophetic paragraph in ACOMAF? It feels like a treat to hardcore fans who like finding all the little connections (since they’re the ones most likely to have read the bonus chapters). The fact that Gwyn also sings signals to me there’s an important plot point regarding song. Maybe homegirl Elain will be forced to throw a hardcore metal concert to save Az XD Wouldn’t that be a plot twist HAHAHA. 

I don’t know when SJM started planting seeds for Elriel in any serious capacity, so perhaps I am reading WAY too much into this. Either way, I am super keen for the next book!

Please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts! I am desperate for Elriel right now hahaha. Thanks for reading! 

OH, BUT ONE MORE THING. 

The greetings are really interesting. Sweet thing obviously refers to Feyre. Lady of night and princess of decay are clearly meant for Nesta. 

Fanged beast and trembling fawn are left for Elain. It’s easy to write this off as being about her LI and herself, respectively, but I don’t know. The sentences build upon each other. A single moniker grows to two - the first separated by a comma, the second expanding to use an and. It’s something you see a lot in poetry, generally used to emphasise a point. I’m not entirely sure what the point is; it might just be a nice writing flourish, but wouldn’t it be interesting if both those statements were referring to Elain herself? Wouldn’t it just be juicy? 

[docleonidas]

Part 4: Unknown

The sound of the transport screeching to a halt made the person inside glance up momentarily from their terminal, a light tutting noise echoing momentarily before a scaled hand reached into a bowl beside them, scooping out a purple larva of some sort.

They had already gotten the news on the new Gifting and thus the passing of both host and symbiote. "Honestly, what did they expect was going to happen." The lizardfold (note: species name is the Grimwald) grumbled, hopping off the chair and quickly scaling a nearby cabinet, grabbing a container of an unknown medicine from a shelf as they did so.

Dr Histros was one of the few non-symbiotic members of the Pnil complex, their own partner having failed to bond properly, but this wasn't an issue to the doctor, as they were quite content here.

They were standing at a point that as soon as the door opened, they quickly thrust a tablet into the face of Avrin, who spluttered as the pill was thrust down their throat. Though she seemed annoyed with the tactic, she huffed and went to lie down on a medical cot as the doc quickly hopped down heading towards his desk.

Jyren nodded his thanks as he set his cargo down on the desk, heading out to gather the last as Galon and R'ylith each placed their own cargo of cocoons upon the examination table.

Jyren was back within moments and held the last cocoon, as there was no more space on the small desk, untill R'ylith wordlessly took it so Jyren could go look after Avrin as she nodded off to sleep.

The rather diminutive Doctor sighed as he rolled up his sleeves, opening drawers and pulling out several medical implements before scrambling over to one and setting them down alongside it. "Galon, would you take notes so I can test faster and get them processed?" He asked the Vrith, before starting to measure the cocoon. Size, weight, temperature, consistency and even viscosity were all checked in remarkably quick timing.

The Doctor had had a good deal of practice in examining Pnil bonding cocoons, and as he finished each basic check, he would have each one moved to the next room, warmer than average to assist the growth of the young symbiote. The cocoons would only stay in this form for a few days, and the hosts would be rather famished right afterwards.

A grunt of frustration made Galon glance over at him on the third cocoon, and the doctor shook his head. Looked like this one was a dud, a symbiote that for some reason didn't bond and had died, leaving the cocoon behind where it would break along with the others in a few days.

The fourth cocoon puzzled the doctor. The size was strange, the temperature was higher than normal and the consistency of the cocoon was far thicker and stiffer than normal. He sent it through anyway, resolving to look into it, but both symbiote and host showed no signs of any issues he could tell for now.

Within an hour, all four cocoons were safely placed in individual cots, which could monitor both hatchling and symbiote over the coming days. Galon promised to return in a halfday to collect his hatchmate before leaving the doctor to his lab, and a sleeping Dre'en and her symbiote.

The Doctor pondered his results. While he hoped he would be proven wrong when it came to cocoon 3, 4 was playing on his mind. He would not risk the harm of either hatchling, but if something was wrong....

He shook his head, deciding on his course of action. Jyren was still awake, and so he had the older symbiote, though only half functional, act as an assistant. A blood test was out of the question, but he was able to hear strong heartbeat. However, when he placed the cocoon into a medical scanner, a shiver ran up his spine.

This....creature was not Dre'en, nor any species he recognised. Organs he didnt recognise, an oversized cranium, and legs that bent forwards instead of back like a normal Dre'en meant that he was unsure just what this was.

He glanced at the log from the medical center, they had barely done a cursory examination on the hatchling. He would have to let the community heads know, and it would be their decision what to do next.

[transsergio]

Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 3 - His And Hers, For Better Or Worse Chapter 2 - I'm Not Gonna Repeat Myself Chapter 1 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 2011 words in this chapter

Emily and Penelope put their plan into motion; Spencer arrives. (This is the final chapter of this fic! thank you to everyone who kept up with it this week!)

Hotch’s advances stop. Or, become marginally less obvious.

In his third text this week, Hotch asks, “Do you need anything from break room?” It is only Tuesday. Emily knows that if she lifts her head, she will see his beady black eyes through the glass. He’ll be staring at her, hoping to see her fingers working over her tiny keys, telling him that yes, she’d appreciate a bottle of water or any other menial task that will bring him out to the bullpen. She’d rather text Penelope to peek through the security cameras, to see exactly how far their one-night stand has gotten her. Yes, sleeping with the boss comes with great advantages, like your office becoming a cage.

Emily does her paperwork in silence. She’s hellbent on leaving at four forty-five, no matter what Hotch might throw at her to keep her in his line of sight. At four thirty, Emily turns off her cell’s ringer. She is escaping to her salvation, a night of face masks and a season rerun of the Bachelor with her girlfriend. As she closes down her computer and organizes her files, she glances about. Derek is long gone, citing a date with his television, couch, and dog. Reid finished his work hours ago, but plays chess against himself until Emily’s ready to head out together. And JJ is on a phone call, likely with Will, likely about to tell their son she’ll be home a little late again. Emily doesn’t see Rossi, but at his age, you never know how many bathroom breaks he’ll need.

As Emily rises with her back to Hotch’s door, Reid follows. They head to the elevators. She’s excited to dish about her later plans, as Spencer is her only known ally outside of Penelope. In return, Spencer tells her about his last date.

“You’re saying he forced you to make eye contact?” Emily asks as the elevator encapsulates them.

“Yeah. It was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve had yet. Every time I was looking elsewhere while I spoke, he’d say, ‘Eyes on me.’ I don’t think we’ll be going out again,” Spencer adds with a chuckle.

Emily raises her eyebrows. “No kidding. Maybe we could get him on some kind of watchlist for bad first impressions.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I did block his number before the night was over.”

Emily laughs and bumps Spencer with her elbow. “I don’t blame you.”

The elevator dings and releases them on the parking level. Emily makes for her car and Spencer for the subway, despite Emily’s repeat offer to drop Spencer off herself. A part of her is glad, though. She wants to get home fast and not leave a second empty.

By home, of course, she means Penelope’s apartment in all its purple and glitter. They’re settled in her living room by five-thirty, television hooked up and face masks elegantly adorned, a blanket solidifying them as one happy mass. They plow through three episodes before they remember the masks could’ve come off halfway through the first, and that they haven’t ordered dinner.

“Pizza sound good?” Emily emerges from their cocoon, stretches, and finds Penelope’s stash of takeout menus in the kitchen.

Penelope joins her at the counter. “Hm. Maybe Thai? Wait, what’s with the face?”

“Nothing.” Emily tries to mask her shudder. “Just… Hotch, he mentioned something about Thai in one of his messages.”

“What, did it give him diarrhea?” Penelope teases. She looks for Emily’s little smile and the crease between her eyebrows, the sign that Penelope was funny even if Emily won’t admit it. It doesn’t come. Penelope recalibrates. “No worries. We'll get something else then.”

“I’m sick of it, Pen,” Emily says. She slaps the menus down. “If he’s making my job harder and me less effective, why should I stay in the department? Our communication is horrible, I’m agitated in the field, and I can’t get him to stop. I’m running out of options.”

“Okay, slow down.” Penelope rubs Emily’s back in light, soothing circles. “You’re hungry and fed up, and you have every right to be, but let’s have some food before making big decisions like leaving the job that lets me call you every hour. I’ll pick. You get comfy. Go, shoo.” And she scoots Emily into the living room with a pat on the ass.

“Fine,” Emily raises her hands in surrender, “fine, I’m going.”

When dinner arrives (gyros from the Mediterranean place a couple blocks over), Emily devours hers. It’s gone before Penelope can pry the foil from her own meal, and Emily’s head is where her plate used to be.

“Oh, Angel,” Penelope sympathizes. “It’s going to be fine.”

Emily nods against the table. “Yeah, I think so. But I don’t want him fired. He’s a good leader, and he needs this job. His wife died, and before that they were in witness protection. That’s got to do something to a person, right? He risked everything and he lost it all.”

Penelope chews thoughtfully. “Maybe we don’t need to get Hotch fired, but we can play it like survival of the fittest – as long as you’re faster than somebody else, he won’t catch you.”

“What?”

“I was watching this thing on the Discovery channel about jungle cats hunting and how they go for the weakest of the pack. It was really sad because you don’t want the lions to starve and at the same time you don’t want the antelope to die, but that’s not the point. If we latch him onto someone else, he’ll forget all about you.” Penelope wipes her hands clean. “Like magic, you’re free!”

For a moment, Emily has hope. Of course they can hook him up with someone else. It’s what every classic sitcom Emily raised herself on has implemented. There’s only one problem. “We don’t know any single straight women.”

A wicked smile flashes across Penelope’s face. “Who said anything about a woman?”

*

“Are you sure you want to do this? A workplace relationship is exactly what I’m running from,” Emily says.

Spencer’s voice crackles over the line. “It’s honestly fine. According to the exit polls of the 2008 elections, about four percent of Americans were gay, lesbian, or bisexual. Roughly one-hundred and thirty-one point three million people voted. If every vote counted also answered that exit poll, that would be approximately five million, two-hundred and fifty-two thousand people identifying as such.”

“Yeah?”

“Hotch could be one of them, is all I’m saying.”

“Right. But I want to be sure you’re comfortable.”

“Emily, I promise. I wouldn’t be going if I couldn’t handle it. Besides, if he’s as straight as he looks, we’ll have awkward small talk and I’ll go home. It won’t kill me.”

“If you say so. Oh, I’ve got to go, Spence. Good luck,” Emily says. She snaps her phone shut and turns.

Penelope stands in her kitchen with two glasses of wine. She wears neon pink lingerie, a 1960’s inspired sheer robe with fur trim, layered over a matching slip.

“You’ve got to go?” Penelope sips her glass and leaves a pink lipstick print around the rim. “You’re going to leave me here all alone?”

Emily bites her lip. “Not a chance.”

*

An hour later, Emily and Penelope are curled around one another in Penelope’s lavender sheets. They’re sweaty, warm, and flushed.

“And you thought I couldn’t take your mind off it,” Penelope smirks. Her bragging is part bravado; she’s honestly glad Emily didn’t rip her robe to pieces.

“Eh,” Emily pants. “All part of my plan. I know how you love to be right.” And wow, did it ever feel so good to be wrong.

Penelope giggles and toys with Emily’s hair. She loves this part especially. When it’s just them, sleepy and well cared for, and Emily seems so defenseless. Her eyes are softer, her muscles lighter, and she lets Penelope put her loose strands into tiny braids. But this time, one of their ringers pops the bubble.

Emily hoists herself up and snatches her cell phone from the nightstand.

She turns to Penelope and mouths, “It’s Spence.”

Penelope hisses back, “Put him on speaker, dummy!”

So she does. The voices on the other end are muffled by fabric. It’s as if the phone is being rolled through a load of laundry. Penelope fumbles for the mute button and silences their side.

“It’s a butt-dial,” she says, her heart beating as rapidly as it was just minutes ago. “Oh my god, we really are secret agents.”

Emily tries not to encourage her. It’s thrilling, obviously, but her stomach twists. They’re invading Spencer’s privacy. “We should hang up.”

“Yeah, we really should,” Penelope agrees. Emily reaches for the red button that will disconnect them when they finally hear clearly.

“Um, is Jack home?” Spencer wonders.

“No, he’s with Jessica. If this is about a case, I don’t need to chance him hearing the details.”

“Actually,” Spencer coughs, “this is more of a… personal matter.”

“Oh? What’s up?” Hotch sounds genuine enough. He probably thinks of Spencer like a son. Emily wants to pull Spencer out and abort the plan. This is too far.

“I noticed you and Prentiss haven’t been cooperating well lately.” Spencer says, so naturally. “Emily’s my friend, and I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to help?”

A beat passes. “No, nothing that I’m aware of.” Hotch answers. “I respect you and your intentions, Spencer, but I don’t know—”

Spencer is curt. “I think you do.”

“I do, what?”

“You know. I think you might be the problem actually, sir.”

When Hotch doesn’t respond, Spencer continues. “I think you and Emily have a sexual history together. I think you’ve been trying to repeat that history, and she doesn’t want to. I think you’re looking for a way to forget Haley while you grieve her, and that you believe Emily is the solution. In reality, you’re looking for someone to dominate and let you feel in control while your life spirals out from under you, and for someone who will reject you so these wishes go unfulfilled and you aren’t at fault – the other party is. I think it stems from the guilt you feel regarding Haley’s death, both in that you blame yourself for making her a target, and that you couldn’t stop Foyet from killing her.”

Emily and Penelope exchange glances. Spencer has said everything the team considered privately, and tied it back to Prentiss in one neat, factual statement. All that was left was the aspect the team couldn’t predict; how Hotch would react.

“Do you want a drink, Reid?”

What?

“Uh, sure? What- what kind?”

“I have scotch, lemonade, and Juicy Juice.”

“Lemonade sounds good.”

“Good.”

Dishes clatter as Hotch pours for them. Emily and Penelope wait, hanging up completely disregarded.

A cushion wheezes nearby. Hotch’s voice is now much closer. They can feel his vibrato through the tinny speakers. He asks, “Are you confident in your profile?”

Spencer takes a gulp of his drink. “Fairly so, sir, yes.”

“And if I asked you to prove it?”

“Sir?”

“You’re positing that I want to dominate someone and simultaneously, am hoping to be rejected. If you’re right, I’ll make my move and be discouraged when you give me the go-ahead. Maybe I’ll even have a breakdown. Sobbing, psychosis, the works. Do you want to find out?”

“Okay,” Penelope throws up her hands. “This feels icky again. No. Uh-uh. I don’t wanna know.”

Emily shushes her sharply. They’ve just missed a piece of the conversation. “Hold on, hold on.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Hotch questions.

“I’m sick of everyone asking me that.” The other line rustles into white noise. Briefly, it clears. They hear two gasps and what has to be the fumble of bodies.

Hotch rasps, “Come upstairs.”

“And that’s enough!” Penelope slaps the cell phone shut. “I need some air.”

“No kidding.” Emily shakes her head. “Maybe I missed my shot.”

“You take that back.”

Emily leans into her girlfriend, grinning all the while. “Make me.”

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter I: Chance encounter

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6,471

Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael

Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing

Summary:

Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...

--------------------------------------------------

Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.

Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.

Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a  suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.

Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.

That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.

"Ugh.."

Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.

Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.

I'M IN THE SEWER

NIKA <3

Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.

Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.

That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself

"Maybe the stench killed him?"

The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?

"Shit.. I hope not…"

Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons…  Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.

The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.

Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.

Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.

7:48 P.M.

This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..

Meow…

Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.

Meow…

There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..

As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.

Meow!

Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.

Meow!

And then…

"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"

Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.

There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.

This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby. 

Meow!

Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.

Meow!

The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.

"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."

In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.

To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.

Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?

"Who.. who's there..?"

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.

"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"

He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.

"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."

"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."

She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.

"Nic… ola…"

He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.

"Who are you? How'd you get down here?

"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"

"I-... Wait, your what ?"

Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??

"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"

At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…

"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"

His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.

"You mean like…"

At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.

"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."

This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.

"You're… injured…"

He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.

"Let me just-"

Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?

"H- hey… are- are you okay?"

Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.

"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."

And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering

"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"

"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"

Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.

"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"

He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.

"You are Nicola. "

"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"

She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.

"What.. huh. What is this place?"

Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.

"You… don't know? You've been living here."

"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"

He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.

"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"

As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.

"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."

"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."

At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.

Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?

She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.

It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.

This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.

Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.

Raphael. He's still there.

After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.

All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.

Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.

"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"

Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.

Oh fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...

It was him.

--------------------------------------------------

So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD

The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.

Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter 3

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo MASTERPOST: A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

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CHAPTER THREE- Elsie

My dear sister Elsie,

Firstly I want to apologise. I’ve spent such an awfully long time practising my penmanship skills (as my tutor insisted upon) and as such I was forbidden to reply to your last note until I had mastered the perfect flicks on my lettering. Well, what do you think?

I am thrilled to hear you’re going to be an Enchanter! I confess that I know very little of Circle hierarchy, but I assume that it’s a promotion of sorts? If so, then hurrah! You deserve it. You’ve always worked hard.

I actually have news of my own. As you know, my studies at home are coming to an end (finally!) and I’ve been deciding what I want to do with my life. Lucetta and mother have always said I could stay at the estate and become a sensible gentlewoman and find a nice husband. Oh, but how dull! I’ve been humouring them for sure. Honestly Elsie - can you imagine me hosting tea parties and soirees?

No… so I’ve had somewhat of an epiphany, I think. I would like to say that I’ve always been a faithful follower of the Maker. So… I’m joining the Chantry. For mother, I think it’s the next best thing so she should be satisfied. But I’m not doing this for her, or even for myself. I truly want to help spread the Chant of Light and help those who aren’t as privileged as us. It doesn’t feel like the noble or honourable thing to do; just the right thing. That’s how I know it’s what I must do.

- A letter from Cecelia Trevelyan to her eldest sister Elsie Trevelyan at the Ostwick Circle. 9:36 Dragon.

3. Elsie

When Elsie awoke the morning after the official forming of the Inquisition, she sat up in bed, felt her head hammer with an awful hangover and flopped back down on the feather mattress, pulling the covers over her head. I never should’ve let Varric Tethras buy me drinks all night , she thought miserably. What made it worse was that whilst she had felt giddy and tipsy, Varric had been jolly and yet Solas - who had consumed just as much ale as the pair of them - had sat all composed with a sly smile on his face, as if he couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol. As such, Varric had continued to buy more rounds of drinks, just to see if the elf would waiver but Solas had only chuckled and drank away whilst maintaining his sober composure. Some of Elsie’s closest friends in the Circle had been elves and none of them had held their liquor particularly well at all.

With a groan, Elsie rolled over, wrapping herself as tight as she could in her cocoon of blankets. Thank the Maker we aren’t travelling today , she thought. Even thinking about the motion of riding on horseback was enough to make her feel -

She gagged and shuddered, pushing all thoughts of motion out of her mind and instead tried to get comfortable again. After another wave of nausea crashed over her and she not-so-elegantly stumbled out of bed and retched in her chamber pot, did she collapse into an almost comatose state on the bed. Oh, if only my noble family could see me now…    

Suddenly she sobered and sat up, her breath catching. Family. Her family. Three out of the four Trevelyan daughters had attended the Conclave. All who had attended were dead, except for her. So her sisters -

It was finally hitting her. Her sisters Cecelia and Evelyn were gone. Snuffed out in an instant and yet she remained, her alone. Thousands had died, yes, but to lose not one but two of her sisters…

Elsie pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. It didn’t feel real and yet she had always been pragmatic and faced the facts. That's what her father had always loved about her - her pragmatism and ability to look at the wider picture, to think forward and not back. But how could she do that when two of her sisters were instantly killed and she was unable to remember a thing? Not one damn thing! She cursed. Guilt clawed into her belly, pulling uneasily at her gut. Perhaps Cassandra had been right to have her in chains. Maybe she had done something but couldn’t remember?

Idly, as she turned those thoughts over in her mind, she weaved a trickle of fire through her fingers, her movements as delicate as if she were playing keys on a piano forte. Elsie had always been the best at that instrument when they were children, despite the tough and sometimes bored exterior she exuded. The piano forte had been Elsie’s preferred instrument and before her magic had quickened, she and Evelyn would regularly hold small concerts to the servants in their home. Evelyn had been particularly talented with the lyre. But then Elsie remembered that Evelyn was dead and it didn’t matter how good a musician she had been. She was gone, and they had never truly got the chance to reconcile.  

A harsh rap at her cabin door intruded her dark thoughts and she absentmindedly said “enter”, even though she was still sat curled up on her bed in little more than a loose fitting shirt and breeches.  

The door to her cabin opened and a blast of cold air swept inside, but not enough to extinguish her flames tickling her fingers. Her visitor shut the door behind them and stomped their feet on the mat to brush the snow off. That’s when Elsie snapped her head up as the visitor was not someone she would’ve expected.

The templar - well Commander now, apparently - was dusting his boots off and was not looking at her as he began to speak.

“Herald; my apologies for the intrusion, but I’ve brought with me the latest reports from Corporal Vale-” he stopped abruptly when he finally came into the cabin fully. He stared at her and was transfixed at her control of the fire magic she was still weaving between her fingers.

A lick of anger flared in her stomach and her flames sparkled in response. So she snuffed them out with a wave of her hand. That little action earned her an ill-concealed flinch from the commander, and Elsie wasn’t sure if that was a small victory over him or not.

A thick silence fell between them until Elsie sighed and stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not an arsonist, don’t worry,” she muttered, taking the papers from the commander's hand.

He seemed to snap out of thoughts when she spoke. “I never said you were.”

Elsie snorted. “And yet you’re looking at me with your other hand on the hilt of your sword as if I’ve grown two heads... or about to turn into an abomination.”

He let go of his grip, as if scolded by fire and frowned at her. “Old habits die hard,” he eventually said but Elsie had turned away to read the reports. She continued to pretend to read until he took the hint. She heard him sigh and leave her cabin, closing the door behind him with a firm thud.

Elsie slouched her shoulders and stared back at the closed door. She had been short with him, but what was she supposed to do? Pretend to be fine with him pretending not to be keeping an eye on her and her magic when he clearly was? Still, as she set the reports aside and looked around for her clothes, it had been rather unfair of her. She thought back to when he had escorted Cecelia to her, before the Conclave. If they had never found Elsie, then perhaps Cecelia would’ve stayed in Haven and avoided -

No. Elsie shook herself. She couldn’t think of maybes, ifs, and what could've been. The Templar had been helping her sister. Surely she would’ve done the same in his place? And it’s not like he knew that there was going to be an explosion, killing thousands…

After getting washed and dressed, Elsie braided her hair down her back and slung her old staff over her shoulder. As she stepped outside of her cabin into the crisp midday sun, she turned her eyes upwards towards the Breach and exhaled slowly. The mark on her hand had flared a little, but had also been stable since their attempt to close the hole in the sky. But it hadn’t been enough and she needed more. The Inquisition needed more.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Elsie made her way through the village, pushing aside all thoughts of the daunting challenge ahead and how it felt like she was tiptoeing on a precipice of change, of something bigger than themselves.

“Dimples!”

Elsie looked up to see Varric waving her over near the Chantry. Cassandra stood with him as well as - oh perfect, she thought. The Commander.      

“Finally joined the world of the living?” Varric said lightly. She could feel the Commander’s judgemental gaze on her, but decided to not even acknowledge his presence and focused her attention on Varric.

“I see you’re chirpier than usual, even though you drank just as much,” she replied with a frown.

The dwarf chuckled. “Now, now, you only think I drank as much as you and Chuckles. It’s one of my many talents.”

“And is one of your so-called ‘talents’ to also be a smug know-it-all?” Elsie retorted, using her hands to exaggerate her point. She heard something like a snort come out of Cassandra. Was that a suppressed giggle? Surely not…  

“Why Dimples; I pride myself on it,” Varric grinned and Elsie couldn’t help but smile back and shake her head.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Must you give ridiculous nicknames to everybody, Varric?”

Cullen finally spoke. “Yes, I was wondering the same thing. And why ‘Dimples’ for the Herald?”

Varric pointed at her, making Elsie’s face flush involuntary as they all looked at her. “Because surely you’ve noticed Curly, that when our beloved Herald smiles, she has dimples on her cheeks.”

Elsie finally looked at the Commander and took her opportunity to have a little fun. Without missing a beat she deadpanned: “And those aren’t my only dimples either, Commander; but not many people have been lucky enough to see those .”

To her great satisfaction the burly and stoic Commander’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, whilst Varric burst into booming laughter and Cassandra smirked.

“Ha! She got you there, Curly!”

Elsie didn’t take her eyes off Cullen. Oh, what she would do to be in his head right now to know what he was thinking. “So, Curly is it?”

He refused to meet her gaze. “No.”

Varric pointed to Cullen’s hair, which was a warm golden blonde with a slight wave. “His hair used to be curly, back in Kirkwall.”

Elsie froze. Kirkwall? She thought, her gut twisting.

“The Commander spends more time on his hair than any of us ladies,” a new voice said from behind them. The serious Spymaster Leliana had stealthily approached and even she had a small smile on her face. “Isn’t that right, Cullen?”

The commander stuttered before dismissing himself and headed into the Chantry. Varric laughed again and Elsie plastered on a good-natured smile. Kirkwall eh? She thought. That’s something I need to pick up later.

Later that day, after the final arrangements were made to ready their departure to the Hinterlands, Elsie entered Ambassador Montilyet’s office, following a request for a meeting. With a sinking heart, Elsie knew this was going to be about her family and had already put off meeting Josephine twice already.

She pushed open the office door to find the Ambassador talking with -

Oh perfect. Again?

Commander Cullen looked up at the same time as Ambassador Montilyet. He frowned at her, making her insides lick irritably. It seemed that her little flirtatious joke hadn’t been as warmly received as she had hoped. And yet he was always so cold and impassive; maybe seeing a disapproving or even mildly angry side of him would be more interesting, even if just to convince her he was actually human, capable of some sort of emotion.

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said, clearly missing the glare they were sharing or choosing to ignore it. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just reiterating to Cullen the importance of securing more noble allies.”

“So they can clog up the village and come crying when their satin shoes get spoilt?” Cullen scoffed. “We need more troops, not some spoilt arsehole who’s had everything given to them on a golden platter.”

Oh, he really is just asking to be vexed, isn’t he? Elsie forced a smile.

“Normally I would be inclined to agree with you, Commander,” she said, and he blinked in surprise but it soon turned to a frown as Elsie continued. “We aren’t all silk slippers and dainty cakes. What a wide assumption you make of nobility; especially when you - a templar - are so quick to stop rash assumptions of yourself.”

They stared at one another, the air thick with unsaid arguments and tension like earlier that morning.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he said slowly. “You’re a mage from a Circle, I thought.”

Elsie bristled. “Yes, and I lost all rank and respect when I was forced into the Circle.”

Josephine cut in, sensing a heated argument on the verge of disrupting her calm office. “Lady Elsie is the eldest of the Trevelyan daughters, and was-”

“Was heir, until it was all taken from me: because I’m a mage.”

Another silence, thick and heavy filled the room. Commander Cullen regarded her coolly, his eyes dark with anger and something else, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Finally he inclined his head. “I’ll leave you to your meeting, Lady Ambassador. Lady Trevelyan,” he said stiffly.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Elsie let out a breath and exchanged a look with Josephine.

“What an infuriating man,” Elsie muttered. “He does it on purpose,” she continued, taking a seat opposite Josephine.

Josephine’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

Elsie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I barely know the man, but he baits me at almost every chance he gets. And I can’t help but get riled up.”

“Try not to worry, Herald. Just let him do his job and he will let you do yours.”

Elsie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible. As a templar, he can’t help but watch mages. Oh yes, he may say he isn’t one anymore, but just because I’m no longer in a Circle, doesn’t mean I’m no longer a mage.”

Josephine shifted. “What you said to Cullen, about you being the Trevelyan heir… well I think we can use that fact to our advantage.”  

Elsie didn’t comment on Josephine’s excellent diversion in conversation to get on to the matter at hand. She looked at the Antivian with renewed respect.

“I was disinherited, my lady. There may no longer be Circles, but there is no chance of my position in my family being restored. Nor would I want it to: I couldn’t do that to my sister Lucetta, when she is on the cusp of taking over from my father.”

Josephine smiled. “That is a noble gesture indeed, but you are right, there is little chance of you being restored to your former position.” She spread her hands. “That being said, now that you are the Herald of Andraste, your situation is somewhat unique, and the Trevelyan name does carry some weight, even in Orlais. If you are happy, I would like to freely distribute your family name when spreading the word of the Herald of Andraste.”

She nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

The ambassador made a mark on her ledger. “And your family: would they be satisfied if we were to contact them? Would they help our cause?”

Elsie smiled humorlessly. “My father loves politics and my mother loves to gossip and both are as devoted to the Chantry as the other. I can’t see it being a problem at all.” Indeed, Mother may even forget the shame I brought to the family as a mage, Elsie added silently. Well, probably not, but maybe she won’t pretend I’m dead anymore.

Josephine sensed something left unsaid and looked at her kindly. “Would you like me to write a letter to your parents? It can come from me, or I can ghostwrite one for you…?”

She smiled with relief. “That would be appreciated, Lady Ambassador. I’m sure you can say things more… eloquently than I could ever hope to.”

“You’re too kind, my lady,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I will have a draft letter drawn up today for you to review and sign before you leave for the Hinterlands in the morning”.

-

The rest of the day was spent preparing for her departure from Haven. She had been used to travelling light from her time as an apostate following the fall of the Circles, so had little to pack in the first place. However, as she looked around the cabin, she felt suffocated by the small space and the lack of freedom she had in the tiny village. Things had changed so considerably, that she just wanted to be herself again, if just for a moment.

Elsie picked up her staff by the door of her cabin and pulled on her boots and a new thick coat which had been given to her for her journey. Outside, the light was beginning to fade and the evening was drawing ever closer. It was the perfect time to slip out of the village and head for a walk without being disturbed, as the soldiers and almost everyone else in the village halted in their activities and listened to the urgent growl of their hungry bellies.

Since she had been in Haven, her appetite had dwindled. She had always been known as the girl with the hearty appetite back in the Circle, and her robes had clung to her quite tightly in places, but she had been happy and eating had been something to pass the time when there was little else to do sometimes. Now after a year of being on the run and having to work or hunt for her meals, her robes had begun to hang loosely and her new outfits courtesy of the Inquisition, were very different and also much smaller… and yet comfortable. She knew that she should eat more, especially in Haven, where food was thankfully plentiful for everyone, despite their remote location. The next few weeks would be different but even so, she couldn’t find it in herself to be hungry. Not when it was a feeling her sisters would feel again.

And they won’t feel anything. Because they're dead.

Elsie kept her head down and pulled up her hood and walked down to the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around herself. Already at the shore, the noisy bustle from the village grew distant, and as she continued to walk further away, it all but faded, so all she could hear was the crunch of her boots in the fresh snow, and the water lapping quietly. She slowed her pace once she was on the far side of the lake and for the first time in a very, very long time, she was totally alone. No one could see her and no one was watching her.

She smiled bitterly. Oh, how she had longed for this solitude when she had been in the Circle. There had been a modest courtyard garden at the Ostwick Circle, but there was always someone else there. A templar, or a mage or a tranquil. You were never truly on your own in a Circle. And on the run she had always stuck with fellow apostates, as it really was strength in numbers. But now…

Finally Elsie came to a stop and looked across the lake. She may have been alone, but she still felt far from it. She didn't need to look up to know about the gaping hole in the sky. Especially when its eerie green hue was reflected in the otherwise calm waters of the lake. No matter where she went, Elsie knew that the Breach would follow her, like a giant eye boring down on her every move.

But she paused at that thought and slowly lifted her head up to look straight into the Breach. Was the Maker there? Was that the reason why she felt this heavy presence ooze from the sky??

Perhaps she truly was the Herald of Andraste. What a ridiculous notion, she thought. If anyone had any right to be the Herald of the Maker’s Bride, surely it would’ve been her innocent and pious sister, Cecelia?

Cecelia. Her lovely round face, dotted with freckles and her bucktooth smile filled Elsie’s mind and she let out an involuntary sob that startled her. Cecelia, whose life was just beginning, was dead. And was it her fault? Why had Cecelia - sweet and innocent Cecelia - died, and she survived?

And Evelyn. Evie, her templar sister. She had also been a faithful woman, bounding herself to the Maker by joining the Templars. And yet her life had been snuffed out too. Evie, with her strong jaw, her cropped hair and her rare smile. She had possessed an intelligence and wit that many underappreciated or took for granted. Their relationship had been strained due to the war, but blood was still blood, and sisterhood was a bond stronger than one could describe.

Tears were streaming down her face now and Elsie clenched her fists, glaring at the Breach. How dare the Maker take their lives from the world. In a world already dark and foreboding, why had He designed to snatch their lives away? The pair of them were worth more to the faith than Elsie by far. And yet here she stood. The lone survivor. The Herald of Andraste.

Her anger flared, her clenched fists shook and without warning her fingers began to tingle and fire licked her hands and forearms. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t just.

Elsie screamed in rage and fell to her knees in the snow. The fire at her fingertips hissed as they were extinguished. Her body wracked in sobs and her chest heaved, struggling for breath as the reality of her loss, of her survival, of her burden, became a harsh and brutal reality for her.

She may not have believed she was the Herald of Andraste, but as she looked over towards the village of Haven, where the Inquisition banners flapped in the wind, she realised that all of those people did believe she was sent to save them all. That she had survived for a reason. And yet she did not have a clue what to do.

When the tears on her cheeks and dried and the cold air was sharp in her lungs, her breathing steadied and she slowly rose to her feet. Elsie dusted the snow off her breeches and inspected her gloves which were a little singed. She brushed the hair out of her eyes that had come loose from her braid and slowly made her way back to the village.

A shiver down her spine made her look up in the evening light and she stopped in her tracks when she saw that she was no longer as alone as she had initially thought.

Commander Cullen stood on his own, looking right at her, with his sword half drawn. The steel caught the green light of the Breach and Elsie’s gut twisted at the sight of him and his stance. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he had been a templar of some authority, and all at once she felt like a shy apprentice, closing in on herself.

But she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even begin to want to fight with him again, or tease him. A wave of cold washed over her as he simply looked at her; his face, as always, an unreadable mask. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen each other.

Instead, she walked towards him, never once breaking eye contact, before stopping when they were level with one another and did something that surprised even her. Elsie placed a hand on his arm.  

She meant to say something - anything - but no words came to mind. Perhaps she was offering some prospect of peace between them. But as her hand rested just a little longer on his arm, she felt the heat of him. She needed a human touch to not feel so alone and for one ridiculous moment she had wanted to fall into his arms. A funny thought crossed her tired mind that he would probably be a good hugger. He smelt... comforting. Elderflower. Oakmoss. And it startled Elsie that she felt his presence could be to not just foreboding but also a little comforting. She wanted to say more, she wanted to lean in, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure which thought scared her the most.

Elsie dropped her hand and left Cullen staring after her. But he did not say a word, nor did he follow. Something in Elsie’s gut twisted again, and it terrified her.

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ->

[those-wings]

They’ll Never Take Us Alive  pt. 7 - Super Soldiers

Synopsis: Being the sister of Captain America was easy enough when you were children. Follow him and Bucky around, try to keep him out of trouble, bug him, etc. As you grew up Bucky became so much more than just your older brother’s best friend.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (eventually), torture elements later on, and some heavier themes that i will put disclaimers on when the time comes. so please 18+ and read with caution.

A/N: Six months later and I have finally finished this fucking chapter. Hopefully i can get back on track with how i was writing before. 

Chapter 7: Super Soldiers

Masterlist

The car I was ushered to was a nice government vehicle. I couldn’t place the last time I had actually ridden in such a nice car. Steve and I had a nice car that we had inherited from Mom when she passed, but it broke down a few years back and we couldn’t afford to fix it. Walking was perfectly fine in place, I suppose. 

“Steve will be undergoing an experimental procedure that is intended to create a super-soldier,” Peggy spoke as soon as the car had begun moving. “The project is overseen by two of the most intelligent men in the world. There is absolutely nothing to be worried about.” Listening to her talk was almost mesmerizing. The way her voice sounded, the way her lips moved. I had to shake the thoughts from my head to keep in the conversation. 

“And who are these scientists?” I asked. Not that I didn’t believe her, I just didn’t want to lose Steve because someone decided to use him as a guinea pig. 

“Dr. Abraham Erskine, and Howard Stark. I assure you they are two of the brightest men I know. You have nothing to worry about.” I took her words to heart. My brother would be safe. Anything less was not an option. 

With my questioning over, Steve took it upon himself to make sure that we all knew how awkward he was talking to women. 

In between pointing out every single place that he was beaten up, he then proceeded to put both feet in his mouth by calling Peggy “a dame”. Watching the horror show before me, I realized that whatever hope Steve had of reproducing was being thrown out the window every time he opened his mouth. 

Finally the car stopped at the curb of an antique store. Getting out, I noticed a lot of other men mulling about on the sidewalk. They were just talking to each other, but the way some of them were looking over their shoulder was strange. The kind of strange that seemed suspicious.

One in particular stood out. He was tall, short black hair, and wore a very nice black suit. It was hard to come across business suits, let alone dress suits, in war time. Fabric was rationed so heavily I couldn’t even find an affordable dress, so I couldn’t imagine how much his suit could have possibly cost. 

In his hands was a leather book, most likely some sort of journal, with a weird symbol on the spine. As we got closer it began to take the shape of what seemed like an octopus. 

His eyes met mine as we passed, and it gave me an uneasy feeling. His scowl cut through me, and his gaze sent a chill up my spine.

Inside the store a woman greeted us with: “Lovely weather today.” She was older, her gray hair pulled up in a bun. All in all she seemed like any grandmother I had ever met. The only thing that set her apart was how stoic she seemed. 

“Yes, but I always carry an umbrella,” Peggy responded. The woman moved back behind the counter, while Peggy led us to a room in the back. It was a small room, barely big enough for the three of us. The back wall swung inwards, creating an infinite amount of more space. 

Behind the wall was a sterile looking hallway, like the kind in a hospital, with people in lab coats running around. They all stopped when the door was fully opened, all  turning to look at us. Or rather, Steve.  

Looking over at Steve, I found him looking more than a little nervous. Looking like maybe he would throw up. I couldn’t blame him, I was pretty close to throwing up too. I had no idea what they were going to do to him. I didn’t know if he was even going to live through this. If his body was too weak to even do this. 

“You sure you still want to do this?” I questioned, receiving a nod from Steve in response.

The walk down the hallway seemed endless. Every step, added three more. When we finally entered the room at the end, I was blown away. There were people everywhere, bustling around, adjusting things. There wasn’t much in the room that wasn’t some kind of scientific machine. 

In the middle of the room was a metal table, sat inside of a what seemed like a pedestal. Next to it was a man in a lab coat, and Howard Stark. He was dressed in the exact same way, as he was the night of the expo. It seemed that dressed for a fancy dinner was his casual style. 

He stepped forward towards Steve and I, hand outstretched. “I’m Howard.” 

Steve took his hand, and I could see the slight tremor in his own. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be okay,” Howard reassured. 

The other man in the lab coat extended a hand towards me, which I took. “I am Doctor Abraham Erskine.” 

Hearing him speak sent a chill down my spine. I looked to Steve, concern obvious on my face.

 He was German. 

Steve, who I knew never really thought things through, and I had honestly believed was smarter than this, was going to let a German scientist experiment on him. Someone he had only known for a little over a week. 

Just so he could be stronger. 

I never claimed to understand the male brain. After I witnessed Bucky dare Steve to eat a worm when we were kids, I never even tried. Yet, standing here, witnessing this entire situation, I couldn’t even fathom how anyone could agree to this. 

“It’s okay (Y/N), he’s not one of them.” My body tensed when I realized that my hand was still in his. He gave it a slight squeeze with a small smile. 

“I understand your confusion,” Doctor Erskine answered with a small smile on his face. Everything seemed unreal. 

Steve was about to be experimented on by a German scientist, and his dumb ass saw nothing wrong any of this. 

I was escorted up some stairs, that opened up into a room full of people. I recognized one of the men as the mayor of Nw York. One of the men was dressed in a military uniform, he eyed me curiously when I stepped in. the rest of the men were all dressed in black suits, possibly backers of the project. And there in the back was the man from outside. 

I found a seat next to Peggy, right in front of the window.

Right where I could see Steve. 

“Colonial Philips,” Peggy said, acknowledging the man in the military uniform. He responded with a curt nod. 

Down on the floor the doctor had a microphone and began speaking. Everything he said went in one ear and right out the other. Nothing he said made any sense. All I understood was that they were testing out some sort of super soldier serum, which was exactly what Peggy had told me earlier.  

Something that sounded impossible. 

They strapped Steve down to a table and injected him with something. Just a regular shot it seemed. Blue liquid was injected into him from several different vials. Then he was encased inside a pod that almost seemed like a cocoon.  

Steve’s screams filled the air, ripping right through me as I sat in the box. Peggy stood abruptly from her seat next to me, her face full of concern. 

“Shut it down!” she yelled. I clenched my fists around the sides of my chair, watching the others, who didn’t care if Steve lived or died. To them he was just a lab rat. 

Doctor Erskine moved to shut of the glowing machine when Steve’s voice stopped him. 

“No! I can do this!” 

But he can't. 

He can't. 

But he was still trying. 

More screaming.

Then it was silent. 

My body moved on instinct, almost smashing my face against the glass to try and get a good look at what was happening. I was just barely able to see the pod through the thick smoke that filled the room. I could see the slight glow it let off moving through the gray. The pod opened, smoke billowing out in every direction. 

When it cleared and I could see Steve again, I was sure I was imagining things. The man that emerged from the pod could not be him. Swept up in my own wonder, I was mindlessly carried back down from the viewing room.

Steve was being held up on either side by Doctor Erskine and Howard, as people began to crowd around him. Peggy and I were forced up to the front, standing just before the man who no longer resembled my brother. 

He towered over me. His arms were bigger than my head. I couldn’t believe this was my brother. I had lived with him for the entirety of my twenty one years, and I didn’t recognize him standing in front of me. 

“How do you feel?” Peggy asked. 

“Taller,” he answered. He was at least a foot taller than he had been not twenty minutes ago. He was given a shirt, which he put on quickly. Despite the fact that he was now in top physical shape, it seemed he had retained that bit of him that was always uncomfortable with who he was. 

“I can’t believe-” I began, and quickly cut off. 

Upstairs, in the room I had been in just minutes ago exploded into flames. Steve threw his arms around me and threw me to the ground, him close behind, making sure my entire body was shielded. It’s something he would have done before, it was just more effective now. 

A shot rang out, followed by screams. 

And the next thing I saw was Erskine falling to the floor. 

The man from outside the antique store was holding the gun, and my gut feeling had been realized. This was all wrong. 

This was getting worse than I imagined. 

I realized how much worse when Steve ran after the man with the gun. His actions would make him a hero, avenging his fallen friend. He was risking his life, and knowing Steve, he wouldn’t try to keep himself out of the crossfire. Bucky wasn’t here to save him anymore. He was going to have to learn to do it on his own. 

[makeste]

KHR 065: Motivational Tomatoes

Before we get back to the action, this chapter featured the first-ever character poll results, and do you know who got first place?

That’s right! This is the one and only time he will ever make it into the top two, let alone beat out his beloved boss (and it wasn’t even close). The rest of the character poll results are here, for anyone who enjoys these things and feels validated (like I do) when other people also like their fave.

Moving on to the chapter!

I can’t believe Gokudera fucking died right when he was voted the most popular character in Japan.

THIS WAS A COMEDY MANGA

Honestly, it’s fascinating to see Tsuna freeze up in a situation like this. I think it might be the only time it ever happens? Before this arc, he had never been in a situation this bad. And after this arc… well, we all know he’s a bit of a changed man after this arc.

But for right now, he’s useless! At least he doesn’t just straight up abandon Gokudera, though.

This would be a great time for a really handsome fellow to make a flashy entrance.

I honestly don’t know how this smiling idiot never made it to #1 on any of the polls. Criminally underappreciated. Who do I have to fight to get him the respect he deserves.

On a side note, Tsuna’s expression when Yamamoto is going “WHE-W” is legendary. It’s such a perfect “Ohmygod what just happened… am I dead??!” look. No, Tsuna, you’re alive! You were saved by this fucking guy who’s got the best timing since the fucking T-rex at the end of the first Jurassic Park.

I can’t really blame the school, given that half its student body is currently laid out missing all their teeth. If anything they should have been closed to begin with.

Those girls from the previous chapter are just walking all over the damn town complaining about this fight. Bless you, girls.

I freaking love how Yamamoto hears “kid in a fight” and immediately thinks, “Gokudera.”

NOOOO MY LITTLE BOY [PETS HIS HEAD] [CALLS 911] [CALLS SOCIAL SERVICES] [ADOPTS!!] [KNITS HIM A WEASLEY FAMILY SWEATER!!!]

DAMN IT LOOK AT HIM JUST LYING THERE QUIETLY WITH HIS WRIST ALL FLOPPY AND HIS HAIR IN FRONT OF HIS EYES FUCK ME

Fortunately, Yamamoto knows how to express this exact same mood, but with like 1000x more aggression.

I’m not sure when exactly I started shipping 8059, but I do know that if I wasn’t already, after this panel I was all aboard that ship ready to never set foot on dry land ever again.

Also, Yamamoto is so fucking awesome Jesus Christ.

WHICH MAKES IT SO MUCH BETTER!!!

Also, later on in this chapter there’s a scene where Yamamoto cheerfully refers to it as “the mafia role-play” yet again, but you are kidding yourself if you think there’s any chance that this little murder butterfly, freshly emerged from his natural born hitman cocoon, actually believes it’s a game after this scene. GOKUDERA DYING IS NOT SPECIAL EFFECTS. I 100% believe he’s only playing along because it’s simpler that way.

Look at this idiot. Word of advice: if Yamamoto ever looks at you with that sort of expression, YOU FUCKING RUN and don’t look back. Better yet, don’t hurt his boyfriend in the first place and it won’t come to this.

ARE YOU WETTING YOUR PANTS YET CHIKUSA??

HE’S SO ANGRY sob I’m living for it so much! Also, of COURSE he’s number two on the list. Of course he is. Second only to Hibari. At least Fuuta fucking appreciates how amazing he is.

Let’s be real, he just knew Yamamoto was ready to kick his ass from here to ten years in the future.

SAVE HIM OH MY GOD!!!

CUT TO NAMIMORI JUNIOR HIGH

This makes me wish we could have gotten some sort of really tense, Godfather-esque hospital fight scene at some point in the series. I would have enjoyed that.

Anyhow, interesting that they have no problem sending the characters to the hospital in later arcs, even when it’s arguably just as dangerous (most notably during the Inheritance Arc, when someone had obviously tried to kill Yamamoto, and was still out there). So clearly, Gokudera only gets sent to the school in this instance so Shamal can be there to remind us all how useless he is. Even though he does save Gokudera’s life by treating the poison. I GUESS.

That’s going to go over real well.

Gokudera’s life in a nutshell.

I freaking love how Bianchi is constantly trying to pick a fight with Yamamoto Takeshi, the world’s nicest human. I like to think it’s because she already knows he’s going to marry her brother one day.

Yamamoto’s Chopper-esque deer-in-headlights look needs to be framed and put on my wall.

“Did you think we were done with the angst?” Amano asks, a sadistic gleam in her eye.

I was actually praying that we weren’t! And my prayers were answered.

YES TSUNA, BEAT YOURSELF UP OVER IT. LET THAT GUILT FLOW THROUGH YOU. LORD PLEASE LET NO ONE COME AND RUIN THIS WONDERFULLY ANGSTY MOMENT.

WHY CAN WE NEVER HAVE NICE THINGS IN THIS MANGA

Is he a lizard? Is he a caterpillar? Where did he come from? Why does he exist?

These are things we don’t question. Just accept and move on.

WE REALLY COULD HAVE USED YOUR HELP WHEN GOKUDERA WAS FUCKING DYING

“The most terrible of mafia criminals”, oh and also, later on, a bunch of (mostly) innocent kids whose ancestors once casually made a deadly and irresponsible bet. (I say ‘mostly’ because Kaoru was guilty of ATTEMPTED MURDER. NEVER FORGET.)

This is officially the first mention of the Vindice, though. Sure would be hilarious if these guys ended up being the final villains or something wild like that.

Yes, of course they’re the same person. Why would Reborn randomly be telling you about two completely unrelated Rokudo Mukuros?

OF COURSE THEY’RE IN THE MAFIA. WHERE ELSE WOULD KAKIPI BE HAILING FROM. THE INTERNATIONAL YO-YO FEDERATION? YOU REALLY THINK THE IYYF HAS IT IN FOR NAMIMORI STUDENTS FOR SOME REASON

Nah it still counts as mafia.

Hey, it’s Mukuro! What an elegant transition.

[INSERT NEYMAR JOKE]

Mukuro goes on to act really callous here, but take note of that “!” bubble above his head when Chikusa flops to the ground. Is he just surprised, or is could it possibly be… concern????? I honestly don’t know, so let’s just say it’s both, with him then proceeding to go all-in on the show of amused apathy right afterwards to hide it.

Oh yeah and he’s also excited because Chikusa’s finally gotten them a lead.

Were you seriously going to eat your friend why are you guys such shitheads in this arc.

I guess… he’s got a lot of faith in Chikusa, at least? Man, compared to this, Gokudera suddenly seems amazingly well off, even with his lack of a hospital, his doctor that doesn’t treat men, and his sister who’s more likely to kill him than cure him.

Reborn, please talk some sense into this spiraling young man who needs to be dragged into his leadership role of destiny by force if need be!

In all fairness, he doesn’t know he’s going to be a fucking superhero by the end of the day.

At any rate, Reborn is not the only one who thinks it’s finally Tsuna’s moment to shine!

I would kill to see one of these reports from Reborn to the Ninth. Tell me someone has written a fic about them. I’m obsessed with this.

Twelve hours?? Geez no pressure.

100 YEARS WORTH OF TOMATOES.

Tsuna. Now you gotta.

Now you really gotta.

Haha. The Ninth is sitting there at his desk like, “What should I say to motivate him? How about tomatoes? Everyone likes tomatoes. But just in case, I’ll also threaten to kill him if he says no.”

As we all know, at this stage of his development, Tsuna is fucking great under pressure, so he immediately pretends he hasn’t heard anything, screams that it has nothing to do with him, and runs off in a panic.

Which is actually exactly what he needs to do to end up getting a reality check!

NO IT’S NOT

This is exactly why Reborn is the tutor and the Ninth is just the old guy with money. “Rather than seducing him with tomatoes, I’ll just remind him that no matter what, he can’t escape this shit anyway, and if he sits around and does nothing he’s fucking screwed.”

Like, it sounds cruel, but it’s exactly what he needs to hear. Along with this.

Things I love:

Reborn’s complete faith that deep down, Tsuna already knows the right thing to do.

Reborn understanding that there’s a layer of fear/panic/anxiety that he has to cut through in order to get to that essential core of Tsuna. (I mean, that’s the very concept of the Dying Will bullet right there.)

Reborn knowing exactly what to say to activate that inner strength.

Tsuna’s scared-but-resolved face when he thinks about Ryohei and Kyoko and Gokudera.

The fact that Kusakabe is included in the montage (s-sob).

One day I will write an essay about how I believe that this single sentence sums up Reborn’s entire endgame for Tsuna in a nutshell. And when I say “endgame”, I mean endgame endgame. As in BOSS endgame.

Seriously, he’s known from the start that this is what propels Tsuna. Not fame or power. Not even “purer” abstract concepts like ~the greater good~ or ~doing the right thing~. It has to be personal; it has to be his friends, his family, someone that he cares about. Because he is thirteen, and still self-centered, and so right now, something like this is the only thing that can break through that layer of teenage apathy and reluctance. The threat has to be real and close and tangible, and it has to be personal.

And even later on, when he’s matured a bit more and is saving the future and junk, this is still the key motivator. Tsuna has so much potential to be a force for good and light and hope in the world. But if you want him to be a damn hero, you have to give him someone to save.

OR JUST GIVE HIM TOMATOES

Look at the gritted teeth. It’s working.

This is Tsuna’s equivalent of that Yamamoto rage face earlier in this chapter. Look how different it is. I love this about Tsuna.

HIBARI WASN’T ACTUALLY THE MAIN CHARACTER, THOUGH

Reborn! Tell him!

MOSTLY DEAD IS SLIGHTLY ALIVE!!!!

Half an hour after being killed, Gokudera returns good as new! Reading this chapter for the first time, ten-years-ago makeste breathes a sigh of relief that her favorite character isn’t going to get left out just when the series is finally having a real fucking arc. We got our angst and the happy ending too! BOOM, did it, had it both ways no regrets.

[INSERT MONTY PYTHON REFERENCE]

YAAAAAAY

YOU KNOW FULL WELL IT’S NOT

AND MY AXE

AND JUST LIKE THAT HE’S FUCKING DEAD AGAIN

This may just be the greatest sequence of entrances in history.

Back when they had so few fighting characters that they needed to toss in Bianchi as a fourth. Those were the days.

You shall be the Fellowship of the Rings… wait, no, that’s next arc.

I don’t know why we needed a fucking roadmap to understand this plan of “we’re going to their hideout”, but okay.

OHO, INTRIGUE

It’s Fuuta!

That’s right, friends! In addition to Hibari Kyoya, Mukuro has also kidnapped an eight-year-old. He’s so evil!

…But redemption is coming for you, you pineapple-shaped kufufuing motherfucker. Just you wait.

[tumblunni]

Also yeah while im on the subject

I really hate fantasy settings where magic is limited by biological sex. Because usually its used to enforce some sort of stupid gender stereotype that the writer believes is "biologically innate" rather than predjudice, by making up a world where it actually is biologically innate. Or its like "oh but women cant do those jobs" but again, a made up excuse for it to be LITERALLY TRUE. And usually they either dont even touch on the subject of trans and gay people (since it often conflates heterosexuality with gender...) or else it actually does bring it up and just creates a cavalcade of even more everything-ism...

Like i mean i love the game Jade Coccoon and considering it came out in the early 2000s i can understand it being more sexist, and its supossed to be a dark game anyway and a lot of the societal structures in Syrus Village are meant to be wrong and evil even if the characters act like its the way the world should be. The villain of the game is basically the toxic atmosphere of your shitty town and their paranoia of things they don't understand. Tho that means the player kinda has no motivation to finish it cos the main conflict is also saving those same villagers from dying and theyre all fucks. Anyway i'm going offtopic! What i mena is that i dont think it was a particularly sexist example of the inexplicable gender segregated magic trope. But just cos its a fave game of mine im gonna pick it to talk about anyway. Hope i dont sound too negative on it, cos seriously i love it loads!

Ok so to use Jade Cocoon as an example, here its a thing that only men can be cocoon masters and only women can be nagi. Tho it also gets a bit complicated because nagi is also an ethnicity as well? Its kinda like being romani, they're a race of displaced people who travel the world giving their magical services to other countries while searching for their lost homeland, which you end up finding at the end of the game. So yeah its extra weird cos male children of the nagi race are born with no powers whatsoever and cant even become cocoon masters, yet they get the ruling position in this homeland place? Like thats a better metaphor for how christian societies work, honestly!

Anyway im going offtopic again!

Basically, cocoon master = adventurer dude who catches monsters, nagi = magician who purifies those monsters so you can use them in battle. So when you catch stuff it becomes an inventory item rather than being able to use it on your team right away. And also nagi women can fuse monsters together to make super badass new ones and basically the gameplay system works really well to make you believe your wife is absolutely necessary to your quest and you would die without her, even if she cant fight. And honestly its actually kinda romantic! I just wish it wasnt presented as this weird sacred heterosexuality arranged marriage nonsense where all women are physically unable to go to a dungeon and all men are physically unable to not fight every day. Or at least thats how the powers work and if you try and step out of that role you fuckin die. Like it would be romantic to have a couple of a battle partner and a supporter magician if they actually chose it, yknow?

And whats annoying is that they actually do bring up the subject of people defying gender roles and canonically state that you not omly die but bring a curse upon everyone and are hated forever. They dont mention trans or gay people, instead the excuse is that a man loved his wife so much that he tried to learn nagi magic to lift the burden from her. Cos oh yeaj women get 'punished' by god for doing this magic?? Cursed tattoos all over their body the more they use it, and everyone hates them and eventually they turn into a fairy and forget they were ever human. And in the japanese version you can actually fight other nagi women who met this fate, theyre just another monster that you can fight and capture. They were censored in english cos they looked like really racist stereotypes of black women! Ugh! So yeah anyway nice straight husband is punished by the magic straightness enforcing rules of the universe for loving his straight wife too much. So what is the even point? If a man tries to use nagi magic it creates the "black cocoon" of cursed doomness and blah. Literal punishment for not conforming to gender. Damned if you do, damned if you don't!

Anyway this setting always made me wonder about all the stuff it just glosses over with this implication that every one of these relationships worked out fine. Like even before we rub lgbtq topics all over a retro videogame, there's a lot of logical holes! Like seriously how many of these arranged marriages ended up loveless or abusive? How many women just didnt want to stay confined to one room forever and not even have anyone look at them because their magic markings are shameful yet its also shameful not to want to do it?? How many men were terrified of going out on this advebture fighting literal demigods sent by heaven to punish humans? How many of them just had no ability to fight and died immediately because of shitty traditions, while perfectly qualified women had to sit there and watch it happen? What if there werent enough straight men and women of the same age and people were forced into gross pedophilic shit or other horror scenarios just cos there has to be this one magical straight couple or the village dies? Whenever theres this stupid gender magic its ALWAYS portrayed as idyllic and never failing ever, unless *gasp* people dont follow the gendrules...

And then SERIOUSLY do no queer people exist in this universe?? Man i'd be so interested in their stories! I actually had an oc idea of a self insert version of me as a travelling merchant. Because maybe what if nonbinary people could do both sides of the magic at once and thus adventure alone without being tied to a village's straight marriage system? So i'd just go around purifying monsters and then be a place you could buy new and rare mons from other villages without having to catch them. Maybe an easier way to get the super rare drop fusion materials for tiger pattern and stuff? And like seriously itd be good to have a character to talk to who agrees that your village is made of assholes. I cant say its bad writing cos it was clearly intentional, but they shoulda at least put a bit more incentive to keep playing even if you didnt care about these people. Also it would help plug the plothole of how a village even survives if it doesnt have the required people to form this magical straight marriage. Have some mysterious enby avengers who travel all across the world and save everyone regardless of country! All we ask is you buy some of our lovely souveniers! Maybe a pet patalchu for your family? Seripusly why dont they ever show anyone using the purified monsters for anything other than fighting the unpurified ones? You'd think they'd be really useful in repairing the village and guarding the walls and like..regular industrial jobs. Help the place actually advance and not have to live day to day on scraps,bickering amoungst themselves as the monsters grow ever closer to breaking through. Hell, you could even have them help spin the cocoons for other monsters! If this magic only depends on having a dick or not, then cant we just dress up some animals in the magic straight marriage outfits? XD

And like aaaa man im getting so emotional just imagining a trans woman who's constabtly told she will literally bring about the apocolypse if she tries to fill the female role in this ritual. And then one day she tries to spin the magic silk and she thinks she's committing the ultimate sin and they were all right. But the magic responds to her touch, and she makes a spell more beautiful than any other woman in the village! It would probably be harder for a trans man cos the magic doesnt have so much of an immediate proof like that. Just going out and winning a fight with a monster can be called "dumb luck", and knowing these assholes they'd probably keep calling it dumb luck even after the thousandth time you save their life!

And man, i wonder how gay relationships would work in such an annoyingly strict system of enforced heterosexuality? Would it be like the magic isnt REALLY gender locked at all, and it can just be any couple with either partner taking either role? Or would it be that it is one magic per gender but the bigoted villagers were wrong about it being impossible to do things without both? Like maybe when you're going into battle alone as a single cocoon master you cant fight without catching other monsters. But when two cocoon masters love each other their magic is amplified and they become able to like.. I dunno.. Imbue each other with elemental strength so they can fight the monsters hand to hand? Cos really the elemental system is the only reason you cant do a no monsters run of the game as it is. Maybe since they cant purify monsters but they can still catch them, they equip the monsters as sort of a power rangers transformation? Or socket them like materia on their weapons? Or just if the world was less segregated into tiny sexist racist villages they could simply buy the purification coccoons from another local nagi, and villages without a coccoon master could buy the services of travelling ones. Oh, and maybe two nagi lesbians could be even more badass! Cos if they can only purify and not fight, maybe their double purification is so strong that they can just straight up walk into the forest and monsters don't attack them. They dont even need to do the full spell, they can calm a beastie's rage just by holding out their hand and patting it on the head. So they coukd be infinately more effective and not have to just tenporarily clear single travelling routes of a few monsters, but actually work towards slowly purifying the entire forest and creating a peaceful land again. Tho i mean the game did have a unique atmosphere with the whole 'no hope of ever beating them' aspect. It was unique to see a society formed around the idea of never going into forests or you Die. But magical lesbians and their family of a million pet dragons is honestly better!

And uhhhh ive gone all offtopic now and i camt stop thinking about how much i love magical lesbians with a million pet dragons

The End

[pikachumaniac]

Halves (Gladio x Ignis Fic Preview)

Slowly making my way through my newest fic, which is a fairy tale-esque story featuring magical!Ignis (but isn’t he already so magical, my brain whispers) and skeptical!Gladio. Here is the first scene, which probably also features stupidly numerous!typos and horrific!tense changes because it’s been a while since I’ve written in past tense.... (unless you count boring legal papers, sob).

Gladiolus Amicitia woke up to the ringing of chimes.

The sound was beautiful, a gentle, melodic hum that reminded of a cool breeze and his sister’s laugh. It immediately put him on edge – neither of those things belonged in the house in the middle of town, not when the constant presence of too many people stifled the air, and not when Iris had left a week ago to escape the memory of their dead father. He would have done the same, except someone had to put their father’s affairs in order, and the least he could do for his sister was take on that unpleasant task.

None of that, of course, explained the chimes. Instinctively, he flung his hand out to grab for the knife he kept next to his bed (a good soldier is always prepared, his father had liked to say), only to slam said hand into a wall that was definitely not supposed to be there. The impact reverberated through both the room and his bones, and with a pained grunt he drew his hand back towards him, staring at a wall made of wood rather than the cold stone of his ancestral manor.

He was still staring at the wall when someone said, “You need to keep calm, if you do not want to open your wound again.” The voice had a peculiar accent, which heightened the soothing tone. Gladio was familiar with that tone; he used it all the time on wild animals, right before he slaughtered them.

If that wasn’t enough, the words seemed to trigger a blinding pain in his gut, and he gritted his teeth as the memory of what happened came flooding back. A wild garulessa, separated from her young and driven half-mad by the loss, determined to take her anger out on anyone with the misfortune of crossing her path. Ordinarily, Gladio would have been able to take her out easily, but his own losses still weighed heavily on him and he had been just a step too slow, and the next thing he had known was a sharp agony in his side.

He should have died then, and he was sure he would when the beast had turned back and charged at him. He couldn’t do anything but brace himself, his greatsword lying just out of arm’s reach and his hands soaked in blood as they tried to keep his own guts in. At the last second, he had closed his eyes and apologized to Iris for leaving her so soon after their father had… only for his apology to be cut off by the garulessa’s scream.

When he had opened his eyes, the beast was on her side, a long spear driven clear through her convulsing body. But what had really caught his attention was the man standing between them, the long, lean line of his back to Gladio and slender fingers curled around twin daggers.

“There, there,” the man had murmured kindly as he kneeled next to the garulessa, and he was still making those soft, comforting sounds when he drew one of those daggers across her throat. Gladio, whose every breath was already awash in his own blood, had choked at this newest outpouring of blood, and the last thing he had seen before passing out was the man turning to stare at him with bright green eyes.

Those same eyes were now fixed on him, and it did not escape Gladio’s notice that the man was using the same tone he’d used right before slaying the garulessa. It was not the only thing he noticed. The man walking towards him had sandy brown hair that was swept up, and his silver glasses emphasized his elegant features. Gladio might have gone so far as to call the man beautiful, if not for the green eyes that were a little too bright, and the ears that came to a distinct point, and the fact that he was no man at all but-

“Fuck,” he said hoarsely. “You’re a fae.”

The fae didn’t even blink at being found out, although the soothing tone was quickly replaced by a decidedly patronizing one. “Well, at least we can be assured that your eyes are working.”

Gladio struggled to sit up so that he could assume a defensive position, a task easier said than done given the pain in his side and the fact that not so long ago, he’d been close to dying. Shit, given how he’d been able to inspect his own insides, there was no way he should be alive, unless….

Unless the fae had saved him.

He immediately dismissed that possibility. The fae had been humanity’s enemy for no less than two thousand years, and everyone knew that those creatures of magic were as cruel as they were corrupt. His father had warned him of their kind, and then his father had died on the battlefield to protect his family, another victim of the violence between man and monster. That violence had intensified as of late, ever since the new Chancellor had taken over, introducing strange new technologies to deploy against the fae. Even in their town, far from the heaviest fighting, there were increasing talks about conscription, which had sent Iris into a panic – they had already lost their father to the fae, and she was not prepared for the possibility of losing Gladio so soon as well. It hardly mattered that he had trained for years, preparing to do his part in the desperate battle to save the world from magic’s scourge; she knew, better than most people did, that all the training in the world could not guarantee one’s safety.

As aptly demonstrated by the fact that at this very moment, face-to-face with the enemy, he barely had the strength to raise a hand and snarl, “Stay the hell away from me.”

The fae stopped, his own hand mere inches away from Gladio’s wound, which seemed to pulse in agonized anticipation. He was so close that Gladio could see gold flecks in his eyes, and drown in the rich, complex aroma of dark coffee that seemed to cling to every inch of the creature’s skin. Lips pressed thin, the fae stared at him, and asked, “Exactly what do you think I intend to do to you?”

“Is that supposed to be a trick?” he growled, as if the answer to that wasn’t obvious. “You’re a fae.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time around,” the fae replied with a touch of impatience, one eyebrow raised as the creature looked down at him. “Although you are only half-right, with respect to what I am.”

Gladio stared at him, not quite able to understand what the fae was saying. Was he seriously suggesting that he was only… no, that was impossible. “Like hell you are.”

Despite the vehemence of his denial, Gladio couldn’t stop the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. He knew such doubts were ridiculous because everyone knew that humans and fae didn’t interact, except when they were trying to kill each other. He couldn’t imagine any human tolerating a fae long enough to… to do what was necessary to bring a half-breed child into the world.

Then again, everyone also knew that a fae would rather kill a human than speak to him, yet here they were. Talking. Almost civilly, even. Although that might have more to do with the pain of the near-dead experience than anything on the fae’s end.

The fae sighed in soft exasperation. “I think I would know better than you what my own heritage is, but believe what you want. It is of no concern of mine.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Did you have somewhere else to be?” was the tart response, before the fae gestured lazily at the door. “Because if so, you’re welcome to leave whenever you wish. Although I doubt you’ll get far with your intestines barely staying inside your body.”

His intestines agreed mightily with that sentiment, but Gladio wasn’t about to be fooled by the fae’s apathetic attitude. It had to be an act, as the creatures were well-known for being liars, so he decided to test just how far the fae was willing to take things.

“Fine,” he said as he stood, at which point the agony in his side multiplied a mere thousand-fold. He had completely blacked out before he had finished toppling to the ground.

The next thing he knew, he was being peeled off the soft rug by deceptively slim arms, and could hear the fae muttering, “Honestly, do none of you humans have any sense? One would think your mortality would motivate you to take better care of yourself.”

He tried to fight back, but his body was far less interested in pulling away from the comforting warmth of the creature helping him back onto the bed than standing up for itself, and then it was a lost cause entirely the moment he was tucked back into the cocoon of warm blankets. The fae’s expression was a mix of impatience and bemusement as he stood back, arms crossed as he asked, “Now will you listen to me and stay in bed?”

Already Gladio’s eyelids felt heavy, his ill-advised rebellion having sapped what little energy he had left. It didn’t stop him from saying, “It depends on what you want from me.”

The fae sighed again. It reminded him of the sigh Iris made when she was getting a headache because Gladio was being stubborn. “What makes you think I want anything from you?”

“Because you’re a fae.” Because that’s what they did, manipulating and killing and taking, and this one pretending to be kind wasn’t going to change any of that.

It wasn’t going to change the fact that his father’s blood was on their hands.

“That’s three times you’ve said that, but that is still simply a fact, not an explanation.” Before he can protest, the fae’s hand is on his forehead, and the touch is so gentle that it would have lulled the most vigilant warrior into a false sense of security.  “Just go to sleep. Maybe you will wake up with more sense.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he replied, trying to keep his eyes open because the sudden wave of exhaustion had to be the fae using magic against him.

But Gladio was too weak to resist its seductive pull, and the last thing he heard before drifting off was a grim chuckle. “That’s the first thing you’ve said all day that has made any sense, human.”

[alexiela73]

Hi I’m just really upset right now and your blog always cheers me up. I was wondering if you could do a fic where reaper’s s/o loses a friend because they annoyed them too much and s/o has been apologizing profusely but nothing worked. Just need someone to be there even if that person isn’t real.

Hello, sweetheart. I am suppose to be going to bed right now so I can work my double shift today, but I would like to try and help so we’ll see how this turns out, okay? Again, please feel free to message me if you’d like someone to talk to

Also, we’re gonna call this friend ‘Opal’. No offense to anyone named Opal, and certainly no offense to Pearl and Amethyst from Steven Universe (you SU fans know what I’m talking about)

For a moment, it felt like the earth had fallen away from you. Clutched in your hands was your phone, and you stared down at the device in what started as disbelief and shock before it slowly morphed into grief, denial and utter emotional pain.

This kind of pain was rather intimate. Like a betrayal, one that felt like it could rip you in half. It was the kind of pain you felt when you lost a loved one, someone who had been there for you for a very long time. Someone you felt very close to and thought that you’d probably have for the rest of your life.

The cause for this pain was a text on the screen, sent by the one you considered one of your best friends. It has been a solid ten years since the two of you met. In a way, the two of you had been a lot like siblings. After meeting in middle school, the two of you had been as thick as thieves. When one family went out, the other bestie went too.

Yet in the last year, you felt like there was somewhat of a rift forming between the two of you. Instantly you had tried to mend the gap, trying to spend time with Opal and talking to them when you could. Yet Opal no longer had seemed interested in half of what the two of you did. Opal no longer tried to initiate contact with you and her replies seemed rather half-assed.

You tried telling yourself it was nothing. The two of you were still friends. It wasn’t necessary to be together all the time for that to be true….yet… the text before you told you that all your efforts to keep the friendship going apparently had been wasted.

‘I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you anymore. Your annoying and honestly rather boring. I’ve moved on already and I don’t need you anymore. It’s time you moved on too.’

Short and simple, at least. In a way, you wish it had been longer. You wish you knew exactly when the relationship had started to fall apart. Or that you’d known a way to mend it. And yet, in the same sentence the woman who had been your best friend had said you were annoying and boring.

I…I annoyed her too much, you thought distantly, this is my fault. This has to be my fault. But maybe if I just…

The moment you had a solid thought in your head, you started typing. You ignored how the front door opened, your rather emo boyfriend kicking off his boots and growling as he headed for the kitchen with a swish of his coat.

Gabriel Reyes, also known as the Talon operative Reaper, has been your boyfriend for the last two years. It was an odd relationship in the beginning, but despite his gruff attitude and wicked temper, you’d matched him well and kept him in line. The two of you loved each other, and it had made you so happy when Opal had approved of him…

“What’s going on?” Reaper growled, walking into the living room and seeing the pale color of your face as your fingers frantically ran across the keys of your phone.

“J-Just a minute, okay-” you started to say, and hit send. You ended up sending Opal a long message about how you were so sorry for upsetting her, how you were willing to do anything to make it better. Surely she would understand and give it another try once she read it, you thought.

Frowning, Reaper took off his mask and set it on the side table before walking over to pick up your cat off the DVD player. It was a small, fluffy black cat named ‘Phantom’ and despite his aversion to cats and anything breathing, he and the cat had bonded instantly.

Staring at your phone, you chewed on your lip, hopeful. Opal was reasonable, a kind person…she would understand…she would…

The phone vibrated in your hand, and the message popped up on the screen. For a moment you stared eagerly, and then once more you felt hollow at you read the text.

‘I said leave me alone! Why won’t you just go away?’

Heart thundering in your chest, the phone slipped from your fingers and immediately you covered your mouth with your hand. Tears had already filled your eyes and were pouring freely down your cheeks and you trembled violently.

Reaper caught sight of you and literally dropped Phantom. Striding over in three long steps, Reaper scooped you into his arms without a thought, his face stone cold as he realized something or someone had made you cry like this. What hurt more was the pure anguish in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, y/n,” Reaper asked, voice rough but edged with concern as he cradled you, sitting on the couch with you in his lap.

You couldn’t stop the tremors, your arms wrapping around yourself and you struggled to breath properly. All you could think of was what you had done wrong. How you had managed to fuck it up so badly. Opal was so important to you and you’d driven her away.

“O-Opal said s-s-she....” you whispered, but you couldn’t make the words come out. All that escaped your lips was a choked sob before you buried your face into his chest.

Picking up your phone delicately in his claws, Reaper studied the texts he saw and after a moment, his lips curled into a snarl as he crushed the phone in his grasp with as much ease as if he’d crumpled a paper. It filled him with rage and a protective urge to nestle you into a cocoon of blankets so that he could hold you and keep you safe from harm.

You didn’t care that he’d just destroyed your phone. Opal’s last messages were practically burned into your memory. Even though technically she had died, choosing to stop being friends with you after so many good years, years that could have kept going, hurt so much.

Friendship didn’t come to you easily...obviously, since you had driven away the one close friend you had. But it was important to you still, and you had wanted desperately to make it work. You were tired of losing people you loved. Why couldn’t you just do it right?

“Stop it,” Reaper said quietly, cradling you close in his arms. “I can see the little gears turning your head. You can’t blame yourself for her. You didn’t do anything wrong, y/n.” At this point, he had realized shooting things wasn’t going to make you feel any better.

Oh, it would make him feel better. But it wouldn’t stop the sobs and it certainly wouldn’t stop the hurt you felt.

Shaking your head slowly as you cried, you could barely find the breath to talk. “I-I m-m-m-must h-have. I-I’ve been...a-a-annoying h-her....a-a-and p-pestering h-h-her...I c-c-couldn’t e-even keep h-her...I-interested in o-our f-f-friendship,” you whimpered, clutching onto him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to will the pain in your chest away but it burned like a brand, and you knew it would sting for a while yet.

“You did nothing wrong, damn it,” Reaper growls, and a claw cups your face tenderly, lifting it to look up at him. “You are perfect. You didn’t do a damned thing wrong. I don’t want to see you blaming yourself over this, because she isn’t worth your tears,” he said seriously, thumb brushing across the arc of your cheek, his eyes studying yours.

Sniffling, you didn’t know if you could believe him. But looking at him, staring into those familiar eyes and that handsome, scarred face..having him there holding you was the only thing that made the pain lessen a bit. 

“It....It j-j-just h-hurts...s-so much...,” you whisper, wondering if he thought it was stupid for you to cry over Opal breaking up your friendship.

But Reaper didn’t. Like you, he had lost an important friendship too. Of course, it had been lost in a much different way...but he knew what it was like to need the person who was once a best friend to them. He knew what it was like to miss someone who was once close. 

Pulling you tighter into his arms, Reaper rested a cheek against your forehead, rocking you slowly in his arms. “I know,” he said quietly, voice softer then before. “I know, baby. It’ll be okay.”

Reaper wasn’t much for comforting, but he tried. You were the only thing that made him feel normal, and you were the only person he couldn’t stand to watch hurt in any way. So he would try, for you. If only to see you smile again..

Resting your head on his chest, the two of you stayed there together for a long time. Reaper let you cry. It was necessary, and he was sure you’d cry again once or twice. It was hard losing someone important. 

But he was determined to support you every step of the way.

[thiamlife]

Thiam (or any m/m pairing) for the song "Escape" By Kehlani? Pining and/or oblivious Liam could be a thing. Idk how this works I've never done an ask lol

Escape - Kehlani - Request

~~~~~~~~~

All sense of time had long left him. He was caught in thecontinuous circle of waking, gasping for air, and running through the cold darkhospital until his heart was ripped violently from his chest. Some days Taradidn’t even let him leave the morgue, others she would let him wander thehospital aimlessly, whispering his name from some dark corner teasing him. Henever knew what he was going to get when he woke up desperately pulling airinto his lungs, never knew how long he would have until the inevitable painengulfed him. Some days he didn’t even feel like trying and just sat there onthe floor waiting for her to come crawling to him, which she seemed to get lesssatisfaction out of but came nonetheless. It was an endless cycle until onetime something changed.

“You ruined EVERYTHING.” He had, but there was no point inthinking about all of the wrong that he had done. He couldn’t take it back nowand he already had his sister reminding him of how big of a piece of shit hewas every time he woke up.

 He woke up panting like usual, but the familiar damp chillin the air wasn’t there. And that’s when he heard the voice again.

 “God I wish you were still here so I could beat the everliving shit out of you.” The voice growled. He would gladly accept the beatingover his personal hell. Anything, even some pain, was better than this… it hadto be.

 “No one trusts me anymore.” The voice sounded defeated,close to breaking. Before all of this Theo probably wouldn’t gotten off on it,but now it was different… he couldn’t describe it but he didn’t like the sound,he didn’t want to hear this person’s anguish. As if on cue, he heard his sister’shollow voice echo through the halls. But he wanted to listen to the voice somemore, it was mesmerizing and strangely soothing.

 “I don’t even know why I’m here, you probably can’t evenhear me anyway.” And then the warmth was gone making him shiver against thecold air that assaulted his skin once again. He didn’t even make it to the doorbefore his sister materialized in front of him doing what she did best. Theodidn’t black out like normal, this time he faded away slowly, hearing a beaten downbut honeyed voice whisper through his fraying mind.

 The customary cycle continued and Theo had almost forgottenabout his angel of warmth, thinking it must have been a figment of hisimagination, until he woke after a rather drawn out hunt, feeling the heatblanket him and it calmed his harsh breathing.

 “You said once that I was stronger than I looked.” The voicequietly rang out, making him jump as he wasn’t ready for it. “Maybe in strengthbut you failed to see how weak my mind was. Or maybe you did see it and that’swhy you chose me to attack Scott.” Liam? Liam was his angel of warmth? Liam wasthe one visiting? What in the actual fuck?

 “You used me, and I let you.” His voice cracked, thick withemotion. Fuck. Where was Tara? He couldn’t take this. The little angry wolfthat he had somehow caught feelings for, the one that he had promised himselfhe would take care of when he finally had the pack, was the one that he endedup hurting the most. He stood and ran in to the dark hallways that he hadbecome so intimate with.

 “Tara! Tara come get me!” He ran aimlessly trying to findher and Escape the sound of Liam’sbroken voice at the same time. But since it was hell, of course he wouldn’t getwhat he wanted.

 “My own fucking girlfriend sometimes even looks at me like I’mdangerous.”

 “TARA!”

 “You did this, Theo. You broke me and my pack. And then youleft me here with no way to fix it!” Liam’s voice started to get angry and Theowelcomed it. He didn’t know if he could bare the sound of Liam’s voice catchingas if he was crying again.

 Theeoooooooo. Yes,yes she was back. “Tara!”

“Never did I think I’dwant you.” Wait, what? Theo froze in his tracks. “You left me here, ALONE,to deal with everything.” Liam wanted him?

 Theooooooooo. Waitno, he had to hear the rest of this. He turned to run in the other directionbut spun to find the grudge looking girl behind him, already thrusting her handin his chest. He dropped to the floor urging himself to stay awake but he feltthe cold start to creep over his skin again.

 “Can’t believe I came back here.” Liam’s voice faded,sounding far away and then the cold fully enveloped him as the last of hiscoughed up blood dribbled from his mouth.

 The cycle repeated but this time Theo knew the angel ofwarmth was real. Every time he woke, he waited for the soothing heat to hit hisskin and was sadly disappointed each time it was slapped with briskness. On therare occasion that he did wake up to the calming balm against his skin, hehappily stayed tucked inside the morgue waiting to hear Liam’s voice. Sometimesit came and others it didn’t. But he knew that if he was warm it meant that Liamhad come to visit him, giving him some solace, so he couldn’t be too upset whenhe sat in silence.

 He began to welcome getting killed because each time he died,it meant that there was a chance he would wake up in his little wolf’s warmth.He wished he could see him, wished he could apologize for everything that hedid, wished that he could comfort the only person that he had come to careabout. He knew know just how badly he fucked up in his quest for power, he lostthe one thing he ever truly valued: belonging. Theo knew he belonged with Liam,the two of them just had something that couldn’t be ignored. He hated when Liamleft. Most of the time the boy would get sad and it made Theo feel like an evenbigger piece of shit, and then other times he would leave without a word,taking the heat with him and immediately opening the floodgates for his sister andher sword of an arm to rush back in.

 Before he knew it, more often than not he would wake fromhis violent death cocooned in the heat that Liam had created in his otherwisefrozen hell. Liam would talk about his day and tell him things that he couldn’ttell anyone else. Like when he described what his IED felt like to him and howbeing a werewolf intensified it or when he talked about how much he lovedHayden but he didn’t know if he was IN love with her… which made him very happyeven though he was stuck in hell and Liam was free to roam the earth to search for someone else. He sulkedover the last thought for 6 cycles in hell because Liam hadn’t been back tovisit so soon after his last confession. Knowing Liam, his little wolf probablyfelt guilty for actually voicing his own feelings instead of letting the otherstell him how to feel.

 Which was a whole different conversation in Theo’s mind, ifhe ever got out of hell, he was going to have a serious problem with Liam’spack based purely on the fact that they were suffocating him. Honestly, whyelse would the beta climb down in the tunnels to talk to a most likely deadperson locked in the ground? Point in case.

 A few more cycles came to pass and Theo had started to getworried that something was wrong until he woke up in the familiar embrace ofwarmth and sighed in relief. He waited for Liam to start babbling on abouthistory or lacrosse or *snarl* Hayden but the baby wolf stayed quiet. He wantedto scream and yell and ask what was wrong but he knew Liam wouldn’t hear him.He had tried it once and his voice went unheard to everyone but Tara, who tookhim away from Liam quicker than usual so from then on he just stayed silent.

 He felt the warmth begin to fade and looked down in sadness,Liam hadn’t resided long today which must have meant he had a bad day. And baddays usually meant that he sometimes would take longer between visits. Theofelt the melancholy feeling spread through his body before the warmth returnedand then faded again. It kept going like that for a while, confusing Theo withthe yoyo effect it was having on his body. Was Liam pacing? That could be theonly reason to explain the drastic change to the temperature along with Theo’smood every few seconds. Until it stopped, finally fully warming the air in thesmall room.

 “I’ve been trying toput it all into words.” And then the temperature fluctuation was back,taking Theo’s heartbeat along for the ride. Liam’s anxiousness was seeping intothe room and Theo started to choke on it. “I know why I’m not in love withHayden.” Theo’s froze, his breath hitching in his throat, as heat poured in theroom now making it almost uncomfortable. “’Cause,baby, I’ve been falling for you.” Theo’s wolf and coyote howled inside him,pushing at the skin to be let loose so they could try to find their way to Liam,but they were locked inside of him as hell seemed to have a special kind ofmountain ash just for him.

 He barely had time to enjoy what he had just heard, for hissister appeared in that moment looking more menacing than normal.

 “He can’t have what doesn’t belong to you.” She snappedbefore she plunged her hand in Theo’s chest and ripped his heart out. But forthe first time, Theo withered away in warmth, feeling the love of his littlewolf surrounding him and making it easier to pass peacefully.

 The next cycles were grueling, Theo had lost count of howmany there were since Liam’s last visit, and Tara had been relentless. Stillseemingly mad about what Liam had confessed and how it had made Theo feel.

 But he finally woke up to his favorite feeling. The feelingwas fleeting. Theo could tell immediately that Liam was pacing and that morethan anxiety was leaking through their strange connection.

 God little wolf, what’swrong? He thought to himself, not daring to open his mouth and alert Tara. Hefound himself pacing in the cramped morgue, on edge because he couldpractically feel the same sentiment in Liam. The pacing stopped and so did his.

 “There’s something weird going on. People are disappearingand there’s these puffs of green smoke and something about a Stiles… I don’teven know if that’s a person or a thing…” Liam trailed off and Theo felt everycell in his body freeze. The Wild Hunt.Oh shit, fuck, shit. Liam run away, runfar far away! I can’t let you loseyourself looking for me!

 “Theo what do I do? I know you would know what to do, youalways had a plan.”

 Yeah my plans alwaysinvolved me escaping danger, NOT RUNNING IN TO IT LIKE YOU AND YOUR STUPIDFRIENDS DO. Theo was freaking out and he began to walk the halls of thehospital, searching for a way to get out for the millionth time but this timehe felt a little more urgency. Please don’tget taken, please don’t get taken. He repeated while kicking doors open andshoving things out of his way.

 “Can we escape?”Liam’s voice sounded far.

 The electrifying warmth was gone almost instantly after hekicked open the door to another empty room. Only it wasn’t empty anymore, therestood Tara ready for the kill. His last thought before drifting off to deathwas Little wolf.

 The rounds came andwent, each one without Liam’s warmth left Theo more and more hopeless. Liam hadprobably been taken and now he was stuck to live in biter hell without hisdaily dose of heaven to keep him going. Theo went through the motions, nolonger caring about the pain Tara inflicted on him. The sun was gone, givingway to a moonless night, and leaving him with the truth: he was no one and hehad no one.  That thought plagued himeach time he woke up and each time Tara put him down.

 One cycle he woke up feeling the warmth he had come to cravebut knew there was no way possible that he was actually feeling it. Looks likeTara had found a new and more effective way to torture him. Until the heatstarted to become a little unbearable, as in it was scorching. Theo wiped atthe sweat dripping off his forehead but his hands only came back with the blacksoot from the ground that had swallowed him whole.

 A loud crack sounded and he snapped his head up look at the ceilingwhere a visible shattered line now sat. The temperature kept rising with eachtile that the crack broke through until it covered the whole space above hishead. Theo was panting, the heated air too thick to breathe, and he thrust ahand up trying to protect himself from the blast of blue light that showereddown. When his hand went up he suddenly felt a dash of cool air and solidcement.

 He immediately grasped at the ground not wasting anothersecond in case this opportunity was time sensitive, and pulled himself roughlyup the cracked concrete until he was standing in the tunnels where it allstarted. His animals rejoiced and pushed forward illuminating his eyes andallowing his claws and canines to spring free from containment. Standing in frontof him was Hayden and his angel, holding the sword he never wanted to seeagain.

 He had gotten him out, his little wolf had got him out ofhell and was so happy that he couldn’t keep his animals from lunging at him andpushing him against the nearest wall. Only realizing how it must have looked aggressiveto them when Hayden snarled and told Liam to send him back.

 “No!” He growled at her before turning to face Liam. “Please,Liam please, don’t make me go back.” He looked into the ocean blue eyes he hadbeen picturing every time Liam had come to visit him and pleaded.

 Liam opened his mouth and Theo was actually too terrified tohear what he was going to say so he said the first thing that popped in to hishead. “I heard you!” He yelled and Liam looked at him confused. “I heard you…every time you came here… I heard you.” He whispered and watched Liam’s eyes widen.

 “Alright, that’s enough, Liam let’s go.” He heard Haydencall out from behind him. He growled but searched Liam’s eyes, looking for allof the sentiment his little wolf had said to him over the past however manymonths.

 Liam’s mouth opened and closed a few times before heactually managed to get words out. “It’s okay Hayden, just give me a minute to explainwhy he’s here to him. We’ll be right up.” He said quietly dismissing her andTheo let his tense hold on him relax a bit.

 “I heard you.” He whispered again.

 “You heard me?” Liam asked, completely dumbfounded.

 He nodded. “You kept me sane even though I hate to know I made you crazy for myself.”He said sighing and leaned his dirty forehead against Liam’s.             

 “Okay what the fuck is this?” Hayden’s annoying voicesounded in the tunnel. Theo’s senses had been blocked for so long he hadn’teven sensed her still standing there while Liam seemed to be too lost in thefact that Theo was actually standing in front of him to notice that she hadn’tleft.

 “You’re still here,” Theo snarled not breaking the contacthe had with Liam until the last second when he whipped his head to face her, “Why?”

 “Liam is-”

 “MINE.” The menacing word left Theo’s lips and it was pureanimal. He felt Liam thread his fingers in to his clawed ones and he squeezedhard. He had been through hell and now nothing was going to take his warmthaway from him. Nothing. Liam squeezed back and then whispered in his ear soonly he could hear.

 “Let me talk to her… she won’t listen to me if you’re here.”Theo shuddered as his warm breath tickled his ear, he forgot what it felt liketo be touched without pain. The hand holding didn’t count because they currentlyhad each other in a death grip, which with their strength was enough to snap afew bones. Theo sighed and slowly released his hand, sending a warning growl tothe girl across from them.

 He looked back at Liam and narrowed his eyes. “Five minutes.I’ve been stuck down there for god knows how long,” He said silently tellingLiam what he really meant was he had been without Liam for too long, “fiveminutes. That’s all I can wait.”

 “What are you talking about?” Hayden inquired but Theoignored her and walked off, giving Liam the space he asked for. He heard themstart to bicker and Hayden telling Liam to put him back in the ground. Hefocused on putting one foot in front of the other so he wouldn’t go back andrip her heart so she got a taste of what he had been going through.

 He wandered aimlessly in the familiar tunnels, brushing hisfingers along the cement walls that used to be his home. Thinking about allthat he had done resulting in his inevitable trip to hell. He had to bedifferent this time. He had to be better, not just for him, but for Liam. Liamneeded him and he’d be damned, no pun intended, if he fucked it up again.

 Just as he finished promising himself to really try at beinggood he heard footsteps echoing off the walls. Whoever it was they wererunning, and he prepared himself to see Hayden turn the corner with the swordto put him back in the ground. Instead, the sight of a shorter boy with blueeyes that he had fell in love with while locked in hell filled his eyes. Theystood there for a second just staring at each other, taking in the reality ofboth being there in the flesh.

 Then both of them were powerfully striding towards eachother, stopping only when they were standing chest to chest with theirforeheads pressed together again.

 “You’re really here.” Liam breathed wrapping his arms aroundhim and burying his face in Theo’s neck.

 “You brought me back.” He said nuzzling him in return. Theystayed like that, locked in their embrace, for a few moments before a sharpsting hit Theo’s neck and he jumped.

 “Ow, what the fuck!” He yelled trying to pull back but Liamheld him tightly in his arms and murmured in his ear.

 “That’s for leaving me in the mess you created.” Theonarrowed his eyes, two could play that game. His canines dropped and he brokethe skin on Liam’s neck miming spot he got bit, causing Liam to yelp.

 “That’s for leaving me in hell so long.” He retorted. Hefelt Liam’s lips brush softly at the spot he had just bitten.

 “I’m sorry.” He whispered and Theo returned the sentiment,kissing the skin softly and then apologizing.

 They both pulled back looking into each other’s eyes and slowlyleaning forward, meeting with their lips softly and unsure at first, but itquickly morphed into a battle for dominance.

 “If you two are quite done, there’s people with creepyleather faces making people disappear into green smoke running around town andtaking our friends.”

 Theo pulled away and sighed angrily. “She’s still here… why.”Liam sighed as well but then chuckled.

 “Because we save people, it’s what we do. That includes younow.”

 “Joy.” He replied sarcastically.

 “You can always go back to hell if you’d rather not help. Iknow I wouldn’t mind.” Hayden commented.

 “Let’s go before I make HER disappear.” He growled takingLiam’s hand, feeling the well-known warmth surround him.

~~~~~~~

Hiiiiiii! Lyrics used are in bold. I hope you like it @i-am-a-hopeless

XO - K

[wordsablaze]

Bittersweet Musings

Alec loves their relationship but unfortunately, reflecting can sometimes cause more pain than an actual wound... Or the one where Magnus is injured in battle and Alec can't help pessimistically thinking of better times, written for the malec hiatus exchange!

A/N: I believe it’s safe to post this here now so here ya go! (italic is flashbacks)

Everything had been going well.

Alec and Magnus had received a distress call from Simon and Raphael, not long after the two vampires had set out to gather information on the pack of werewolves repeatedly threatening to attack Luke.

Naturally, both Magnus and Alec had internally grumbled at the thought of cancelling movie night but grabbed their coats, their weapons and magic at their disposal within seconds. It had just been a regular battle, full of demons and dust – as well as the small addition of werewolves - with Alec and Magnus fighting beside one another, seraph blades and flames working together. It had just been their regular routine… until one of the werewolves' demons had managed to sneak up on them.

Neither Alec nor Magnus had noticed the surreptitious creature slowly inching towards across the battlefield, taking advantage of shadows and clouds. Just as Magnus had fired at the rogue werewolf heading towards Alec, said shadowhunter had briefly left the warlock's side to save Jace from what would have probably been certain death.

Of course, that was the pivotal moment.

As soon as Jace gratefully smiles through gritted teeth and a wave of relief washes over Alec, he hears something he'd rather not: Magnus' cry.

As much as he tries to stifle it, Magnus can't help crying out when the poisonous tip of the demon's tail pierces his skin. Alec watches in mute, frozen horror as more and more of the weaponised tail digs itself into his skin, until the sharp appendage has travelled all the way through his body. It may have been the blink of an eye for others, but for Alec, it's seconds full of eternities, all full of a pain he can't name.

He remembers the time he'd been worried about something piercing Magnus' skin…

"Alexander?" Magnus calls from their study, his voice quiet and yet the brightest one Alec's ever heard and ever will hear, he's sure of it.

"Yeah?"

"How do you feel about sushi?"

"What?"

"How do you feel about sushi?"

"Who's that?" Alec asks, then curses himself when he hears Magnus laugh.

"The food, love, the food."

Alec groans in embarrassment, giving up on his book and pulling himself to his feet, his eyes immediately drawn to Magnus' warm smile as he opens the study door, folding his arms. "Sushi's great, I guess."

"Great! Do you want candlelit or movie night?"

Alec frowns for a second, then realises what Magnus is asking and something inside of him – most likely his heart - melts. "You're making dinner?"

"There's nothing to say we can't have it for break-"

Before Magnus can finish his sassy remark, Alec walks forwards and presses their lips together as softly as he can, for only the briefest of milliseconds. As expected, Magnus blushes and smiles, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he goes silent.

"Movie night sounds great," Alec whispers, stepping back to go finish his book and let Magnus work on the spell his last client had asked for.

Unfortunately, he fails to see the little box behind him and crashes into it, sending the little needles showering down, a few of which land on Magnus. Most of them bounce off but one lands directly on his arm, piercing his flawless skin, and he flinches, pulling the sharp object out and rubbing his arm.

"I'm sorry!" Alec bursts immediately, kneeling down to see if his warlock is okay.

"It's only skin-deep, don't worry, sweet pea."

"Are you sure?" Alec asks, carefully picking up the other needles and sliding them into the little box before any more harm can come to them.

"Absolutely," Magnus assures him.

"Still, I'm so-"

Now it's Magnus' turn to interrupt his boyfriend's sentence with a kiss, silencing his apology with an act of love. Alec smiles as he pulls back, sharing an exasperated look with Magnus and then glancing behind him before standing back up this time.

"The protagonist's sister dies at the end!" Magnus calls as Alec is leaving the room.

"Magnus!"

"I'm joking, I've not even read it!"

Alec shakes his head fondly, the sound of their simultaneous laughter echoing like soothing background music. The harmony of their laughter is always sweet enough to make him grin like an utter fool but, for the sake of their love, he doesn't even care.

He doesn't recognise the sharp, anguished scream that escapes his lips when he watches the demon's tail suddenly jerk forwards, eliciting another pained cry from his beloved, and then rapidly retreat so that the demon can fly back to attack someone else, as if it hadn't just dared to touch the high warlock of Brooklyn. He does, however, recognise the weak moan that slips from Magnus' throat as he starts to slump towards the ground.

Alec has never been more thankful for his speed rune.

Alec catches Magnus just before he hits the ground and injures himself further but there's no way to stop the sheer amount of blood escaping the veins it should be flowing through. Before he can help it, he's choking back a sob, wrapping his arms around Magnus and praying to everyone who'll listen for him to be okay.

The population of the world may as well be two at this point because Alec suddenly can't remember anyone except the person in his arms.

"Magnus, please- I, I can't- you can have my, my strength…" Alec rambles, blinking furiously.

He sits with Magnus between his knees, the warlock's head lying on his shoulder and his back leaning diagonally against his chest. He wraps his arms around Magnus' shoulders, trying to cocoon his boyfriend in a healing embrace as if the pure love of a hug can somehow make everything better. If only.

Magnus smiles, wincing, but each acute inhale sends jolts of fear straight through Alec's hope and he can't help his face crumpling as he tries to have faith.

"Al… Alec…" Magnus whimpers as his eyes flicker between gold and brown. If losing control of his glamour wasn't bad enough, Magnus calling him 'Alec' is a red alert to say he's getting weaker.

"Mags… please, no- come on…" Alec bites his lip, desperately staring at the kaleidoscope of his beloved's eyes. Hee always loves Magnus' eyes but this isn't why he usually sees those alluring colours…

"Freak!" someone calls - someone who must have the sight because there's no way they could have seen them otherwise.

Magnus and Alec both jump, Alec instinctively going to stand in front of Magnus like a human shield. He glares at the man scowling in their direction. "Something wrong?"

"There's something wrong with your boyfriend's eyes!" The man spits.

"They're just contacts. Honestly, are you blind or something?" Alec asks coldly.

The man's eyes widen and he holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, man, I didn't know. I just thought his eyes were freaky!"

Alec's jaw clenches and his hands form fists as the man carries on explaining how weird Magnus' eyes would be if they weren't contacts and only a soft, familiar hand on his shoulder stops him from actually lunging forwards.

"Have fun at the party, dudes!" The man chirps as he carries on walking, having assumed everything without letting either of them talk or even noticing that one of them was attempting to stop the other from killing him.

As soon as he's gone, Alec whirls round and places his hands on either side of Magnus' face, staring into his eyes until the rest of the world fades away. "He was wrong, you know?"

"About the party?" Magnus asks, the strain in his voice suggesting that he isn't as unaffected as he's trying to be.

"Magnus…" Alec sighs softly.

As per a silent request to Magnus that only he could have deciphered, the two of them are able to stand beside their sofa within a few seconds, at which point Alec gently pushes him to sit on the sofa and kneels on the floor in front of him.

"Magnus, I love you." Alec doesn't even hesitate to say it, the sofa luckily being low down enough for him to be almost at Magnus' eye level.

Magnus hums, a smile flickering on his face. "I love you too, Alexander."

"No, listen to me," Alec gently orders, "I adore every piece of you and that includes the pieces others don't understand. Just because he couldn't accept your eyes doesn't make you a freak."

Magnus' smile is much more genuine by now, and he pulls Alec up to sit on the sofa beside him. "Thank you."

"Now, it's a little dull in here," Alec says, apparently ignoring the bright blue sofa they're sat on and the paintings of autumn leaves on the walls. "How about you light up the room with those golden eyes?"

Magnus laughs and lets his eyes flutter shut for a second before taking a deep breath. Instead of opening his eyes, however, he moves forwards and attacks Alec with a warm embrace, the two of them falling sideways and rolling off the sofa. They land with Magnus on the carpet, Alec lovingly looming above him.

"Magnus!" Alec giggles.

"Alexander," Magnus mimics, his arms wrapped around his shadowhunter.

Alec smiles into Magnus' colourful eyes and gently kisses the warlock's nose, yelping as he retaliates by rolling them over. "You are the best shadowhunter I've ever met."

Alec blushes, because of both the sudden adrenaline rush and the compliment. Magnus winks, grinning slyly. "And, for the record, I also think your eyes are a masterpiece I would happily sink under."

"Oh, by the angel…" Alec pulls out his stele, then remembers that an iratze won't work on a warlock and kisses Magnus' forehead, biting his bottom lip to stop his sobs.

He tries to make Magnus comfortable, one hand wrapping around Magnus' nimble fingers. "Please, Mags, use my strength, please!"

He can feel the meek pull of Magnus' magic but he knows that not enough is ebbing away for anything to happen. It's a vicious cycle, needing strength to take someone else's strength. It's a torturous cycle and Alec can't do anything to stop or hinder it.

"Magnus!" Alec can hear the desperation in his voice but he doesn't care; he can feel the blood escaping Magnus' wound as if it were his own soul being soaked up by his black institute gear.

Magnus coughs, but each one stops halfway as if he can't draw in a breath. Every time his breathing stops for even a millisecond, Alec's heart plummets and he can't hear anything but the broken pulse of his favourite warlock.

"C… Cata…" Magnus croaks then groans and buries his head in Alec's jacket.

Alec's confusion only lasts a millisecond before he realises what Magnus means – even in imminent danger, their almost psychic connection is practically perfect – and he finds a way to reach his phone, already dialling.

"Pick up pick up pick up!" Alec chants as the phone rings, his memory betraying him with a painful parallel.

"Don't you dare- No, Alexander, do not pick-" Magnus is cut off when Alec, against his wishes, lifts him up.

"Pick me up, did you say?" Alec teases, spinning around as Magnus stifles a shriek, his arms around Alec's neck and his eyes closed.

Alec grins to himself and carries Magnus through their apartment. At one point, he pretends to slip and Magnus yelps, his grip on Alec tightening as if magic had suddenly ceased to exist. Not that Alec is complaining.

"I'm not going to drop you!" Alec laughs as Magnus pulls back slightly, his natural eyes glowing with adrenaline, ire, and endearment.

"I hate you," he mumbles in a way that suggests he does the exact opposite.

Alec chuckles and pretends to drop him again, watching Magnus' eyes widen with alarm as he yells, "Alexander!"

"Yes?"

"Put me down and I'll show you yes!"

"What does that even mean?" Alec asks, unable to stop his laughter.

"It's a work in progre- Alexander!" Magnus' voice rises half an octave as Alec fools him for the third time.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" Alec giggles, letting Magnus down in front of their bed but then trips and falls forwards, pushing them both down.

"Oof!" they both gasp simultaneously, rubbing their foreheads and wincing.

Alec can see himself in Magnus' eyes as he leans on his elbows to avoid further injury and he grins at how flushed they both look. He leans down and gently kisses Magnus' nose, laughing brightly as Magnus then kisses his nose in turn. Lacing their hands together, he pulls both Magnus and himself up, the two of them stumbling as they trip over each other's feet.

"You're ridiculous," Magnus whispers.

"You owe me an ice cream," Alec replies smugly.

Magnus rolls his eyes but nods fondly. "If it's an ice cream you want, an ice cream you shall get."

"Where are you?" Catarina asks as her greeting; she must have sensed there was an emergency. If he was in the right state of mind, he might have thanked his past self for making sure the ID on Catarina's phone flashed as absolutely urgent if called with his institute number, but he's too caught up in his bleeding boyfriend to remember that.

But as Magnus whimpers softly, the grip on Alec's hand weakening, he forgets how to form a sentence.

He forgets that anything but the two them exists, and he drops the phone, shifting position enough to place his hand on Magnus' perfect cheek, trying his best to smile. Magnus' gaze catches his for a moment and the two of them find the strength to hold it for a few seconds before Magnus jerks, gasping in a fresh round of pain.

"Oh no…" Alec mutters to himself as he sees the wound start to faintly glow. Painful glowing on a battlefield cannot be a good sign.

"Alec!" someone calls, and someone else picks up the phone. Someone has a quick, sharp, rushed conversation and someone tries calling his name, but he doesn't pay attention. How can he focus on anything when the most important person in the world might be dying?

"Magnus, please, hold on, please-" Alec whispers, pulling the warlock closer and hoping, praying with every scrap of faith he can muster.

There's a small part of him that senses the wave of magic, the literal sparks in the air, the arrival of someone who possesses enough magic to create a portal, but most of his brain is preoccupied with hoping he won't have to attend a funeral anytime soon, and trying to figure out a loophole for possible death.

"Magnus?"

"Alexander?"

"What will you do when I'm gone?"

"What?"

"I want you to promise me you'll take care of yourself an- and find someone else to, someone else to make you smile when- when I can't d-do it myself."

Magnus is in front of Alec in an instant, his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay, love?"

Alec opens his mouth to reply but only a small sob escapes and his lower lip trembles as he tries to hold back the rest of his emotion. Within seconds, Magnus has enveloped him in a warm bear hug and the two of them are soon wrapped in the fluffiest blanket known to exist.

"I- I'm sorry, I-"

"Shhh," Magnus soothes, "you're allowed to cry."

Alec sniffles and burrows his face into the crook of Magnus' neck, his shoulders shaking as he wraps his arms around Magnus as if the warlock had randomly turned into a personal teddy bear. Magnus just smiles sadly and kisses the top of Alec's head, holding him tight and murmuring any poems he can remember.

It's almost an hour later when Alec's sobs subside and he looks up at Magnus with a teary smile. "I love you."

"I love you more, Alexander," Magnus whispers, leaning forward so their noses brush.

Alec giggles and meets him halfway, his eyes brightening as the two of them take part in the softest nose battle known to man. Of course, Magnus lets him win, whatever that means, and Alec ends up smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he bites his lip. None of his attempts to stifle joy work, however, and Manus beams at him. "There's that precious smile!"

"Magnus…"

"Don't you 'Magnus' me, Alexander. I will fight for that smile!"

"You're so dramatic!" Alec groans.

"I've waited a long time for a smile like yours and I think a little exaggeration is more than necessary." Magnus raises an eyebrow.

Alec smiles again. "Thank you,"

"Of course!"

"No, I mean… thank you for waiting," Alec corrects, his voice quiet.

"Alexander, my darling, I would wait every lifetime for you," Magnus declares and  Alec's face flushes as red as the warlock's ruby ring so he avoids talking and simply leans up to kiss Magnus' chin.

"Alec!"

The sharp, magical cry of Catarina manages to penetrate his downward spiral of diminishing hope, and he looks up to the blurry figure of a blue and white smudge.

"Oh-" Catarina cuts herself off, trying not to swear as she sees the wound.

"Help," Alec manages before he has to bite back a sob, trying not to focus on his stained, red hands and the metallic scent of blood.

"What did this?" Catarina asks, as her hands start to glow.

It's not even a second before the glow from her hands reaches Magnus' skin and he jumps, softly moaning and trying to move away, towards Alec, before going still. Both Catarina and Alec freeze, their eyes wide and panicked, but they sigh in relief when Magnus exhales weakly, both still confused but no longer hopeless.

"That's not meant to happen," Catarina says before worrying her lip. Alec thinks he hears over people try to input some advice but he can't bear to listen, tightening his hold on his beloved.

"I have something for you," Alec declares as he walks into their apartment.

Magnus manages to grin and fondly shake his head at the same time, planting a quick kiss on Alec's cheek. "Please don't tell me you found a turtle too?"

"A- a turtle?" Alec asks, bemused.

Magnus sighs with relief, "Oh, thank goodness. I've had four stray turtles put under my charge already and I think Chairman will take my eyes out if I announce the arrival of anymore."

Alec makes a note to ask about that later and pulls the peculiar bag from behind his back as he winks. "I need you to trust me."

"Of course," Magnus answers without missing a beat.

Something flutters in Alec's heart but he just smiles and places his hand over Magnus' eyes as an unspoken order to close his eyes. Once he can be sure Magnus isn't watching him, he opens the bag and stifles another laugh before placing the borderline pretentious hat on the warlock's head.

Magnus stiffens for a second. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Maybe?" Alec grins as Magnus opens his eyes. He laughs as Magnus walks to the mirror and stares at his reflection as if contemplating the existence of hat-makers.

"Alexander… I think we need to talk about your fashion sense…" Magnus says finally, one hand tentatively poking the abundance of oversized flowers resting atop his head. "I actually quite like it."

Alec can't help his voice rising an octave as he asks: "You do?"

"Nope." Magnus grins and the hat's on Alec's head before he can react.

His jaw drops in mock horror. "Magnus!"

"What? You look cute!" Magnus coos, miming a camera and winking with his natural eyes, something that he knows will both drive Alec mad and make his heart melt.

"I dare you to wear it all of tomorrow!" Alec blurts smugly, folding his arms; Magnus' nose scrunches up as he rolls his eyes and reluctantly nods in agreement, apparently unconvinced by Alec's fashion sense and accessory choices.

"You will, won't you?" Alec taps a foot.

Magnus sighs, "You know I will… but only if you wear it for the rest of today!"

"But we're going to watch that new film!"

Magnus just flashes him an innocent smile. Alec groans in frustration but he can't argue with the sparkle in Magnus' eyes so he just grumbles and walks into the kitchen to grab an apple, inwardly smiling to himself as he hears the bright laughter behind him.

Alec has no time to even think before the three of them are moving, flying, travelling through a portal back to Catarina's apartment. Alec and Magnus fall in a heap of blood, sweat, and tears mixed with sobs, desperate hopes, and love.

"Alec, try to keep him awake!" Catarina calls as she dashes into the other room, grabbing bottles and various other things as she goes.

"Mags, hey, are you awake?" Alec asks softly, unsure of what to do; he tries to nod encouragingly as Magnus' eyes fly open and he weakly nods, trying to muster a smile but not doing very well in convincing Alec that he's not in immense pain.

"Oh, by the angel, please- just, just hang- just hang on for me, please?" Alec mumbles, swallowing the anchor of fear rising in the back of his throat.

"Oh, Alec…" Catarina sighs as she reappears, but her sympathy is overtaken by the medical side of her mind, and she quickly checks Magnus' pulse before taking a deep breath and starting to chant.

She falters when Magnus' breathing hitches but Alec nods at her, encouraged by the soft glow of just about everything around them. Licking her lips, she continues muttering rapidly, her voice tripping over itself and her words blurring together like trees zooming past a car window on a country lane late at night.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Alec questions as he sees Magnus holding out his hands.

"Apparently I've committed some kind of crime," Magnus answers dryly.

Alec frowns to himself. "What?" he asks, having wanted to spend the afternoon cuddling in front of a fire or someplace just as cosy.

Nobody offers an explanation as they snap the bracelet onto Magnus' wrists and Alec darts forward to steady the warlock as he buckles under the sudden loss of his magic. Making his mind up, Alec turns to the other shadowhunters. "I'm coming with you."

They just shrug, apparently not bothered too much and clearly just following orders they don't understand, and Alec grins, his arm around Magnus more for the sake of it than for supporting him.

"Did they say anything about where we're going?" Alec asks the car they're in starts moving. Apparently, a portal had been out of the question so they were taking a mundane road in a mundane vehicle.

"No."

Magnus puts his head on Alec's shoulder and Alec rests his on top of Magnus', the two of them humming in harmony. They've gone through the entirety of the latest album Magnus had shown Alec before the car suddenly speeds up and sharply turns, sending them both crashing into each other.

"Ouch!" Magnus exclaims loudly, just to spite the shadowhunter driving.

Alec rubs his head as he pushes off the window and stares at the green blur outside the window. "Are cars built to go this fast?"

Magnus glances outside only for a second before shaking his head. "Not really, no…

"Well, that's not worrying at all…"

"I wonder how bad my crime is," Magnus says, "for us to be bending mundane laws."

"Oh, it's so bad."

As soon as Alec says that, Magnus' eyes focus on him like a spotlight. "You know what I've done?"

"Of course, everyone does," Alec replies nonchalantly.

Magnus' eyebrows fly upwards as he thinks through what he could possibly have done; Alec can't help feeling quite happy with himself to finally give Magnus a taste of his own medicine.

"Okay, you win… what have I done?" Magnus asks, his curiosity stronger than his competitive side.

Alec clears his throat rather dramatically. "You've stolen my heart."

Magnus stares at him blankly for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he processes Alec's joke.

"You're an idiot!"

"You love it," Alec grins.

"Of course I do, you're my idiotic shadowhunter," Magnus laughs.

If anyone with the sight had been staring into the car, they would have seen two utterly unamused shadowhunters sharing an exasperated look and turning the radio up to drown out the cheesy jokes that seem to come hand in hand with a relationship. Of course, they might also see the couple sat in the back, totally immersed in said relationship and oblivious to anything else.

"Magnus, please…" Alec whispers as softly as he can, resting his forehead on Magnus' sweaty locks. He tries to focus on the way his colourful hair still somehow looks like it belongs in a magazine instead of worrying about how alarming his breathing is becoming.

Catarina pauses only to exhale and gulp in some air before chanting at eight hundred and fifteen miles per hour, her eyes closing as she concentrates; Alec just stares in awe.

"Alexander-" Magnus breathes before stiffening and stilling.

"NO!" Alec yells, his eyes widening and his gaze travelling to the still-muttering Catarina. "No, no no no no no, NO!"

His eyes have started to fill up with unauthorised tears at the thought of never having properly said goodbye when Magnus abruptly jerks, coughing and glowing.

Alec and Catarina are both blown backwards as Magnus seems to literally brighten brighter than any light known to any species, and Alec has to shield his eyes to avoid potentially becoming blind. They both start to cough as they pull themselves up and wince at the intense glow still threatening their vision. That doesn't, however, stop Alec from rushing to his feet and immediately stumbling to Magnus, incoherent versions of the warlock's name escaping his lips.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Alec groans as Magnus repeats his newest pet name.

"Because nicknames are fun!"

"Why don't I call you anything other than 'Magnus' then?" Alec asks, his eyes then lighting up mysteriously.

"Oh no… I know that look…" Magnus sighs, already knowing that Alec is one hundred percent planning something but not too worried because trust is a thing they both believe in.

It's only five minutes later when Alec calls: "Hey, cupcake, can you come here a second?"

Magnus' entire face scrunches up as he lets the new pet name sink in and Alec's plan dawns on him but he does as Alec asks, walking into the study.

"Yes?"

"You're not busy, are you, honey?"

"No…?"

"Kiss me?"

Magnus blinks.

"Aw, come on, babe, it's a simple request."

Magnus can't tell if Alec's smirk or his words make his heart melt but, either way, he has to mentally reboot to fix his composure.

"Are you alright, sugar?"

"That's it, this is over before it begins!" Magnus exclaims and lunges forwards.

Soon enough, his fingers are brushing Alec's sides and they're both laughing as they try to tickle the other. Magnus holds his poker face for a little bit longer than Alec, who's almost immediately gasping and trying to form a single word. Unable to avoid Magnus' hands, he's got no choice but to laugh and to try forming a protest as he succumbs to hysteria. He ends up emitting a jumble of sounds that all vaguely resemble 'Magnus' but could easily be mistaken for gibberish.

"Are you satisfied, sweet pea?" Magnus asks, breathless, as he pulls back, his smile way too innocent for someone who's done what he has.

Alec sucks in a breath as he glares but then nods slowly. "Alright. You win, muffin."

"Alexander!"

He sighs in relief when he catches sight of Magnus sitting up, clearly dazed.

"Magnus!"

Magnus looks up sharply, and his confusion expression morphs into a grin as his eyes lock with Alec's. "Alexander?"

"Oh, Magnus, I thought you were dead!" Alec breathes, wrapping his arms around and practically folding himself around Magnus.

Magnus gasps but closes his eyes with a smile. "I'm still here, not to worry."

"You absolute… stupid… hairdryer!" Alec sobs into Magnus' shoulder.

He hears Catarina snort behind him but dismisses the realisation, his mind preoccupied with how close they got to being taken away from each other. He doesn't even realise that Magnus slightly shifts the two of them so they're not in danger of smashing the coffee table in the centre of Catarina's room, especially since it's currently littered with powders and bottles and everything else magical they'd required.

"Alexander?" Magnus murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you," Alec replies, knowing exactly what Magnus was trying to articulate because he's thinking the exact same thing.

"Aku Cinta Kamu."

Alec's never been so happy to hear those words.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and rests his forehead on Magnus', letting their eyes stay locked onto one another. Their noses brush as they both shut their eyes, relieved beyond belief.

"This is cute and all but can you take this somewhere a bit… safer?" Catarina sounds both sassy and awkward as she points to the table full of potentially life-threatening substances.

"How did you get a hold of the blue-?"

"Ah, ah, ah. Let's not name it aloud." Catarina winks before putting her hands on her hips. "And for the record, I will personally kill you if you scare us like that again."

Magnus smiles sheepishly but both Alec and Catarina can see it's still smaller than usual. Alec swallows the lump in his throat and finally, finally acknowledges that there are others aside from Magnus in the world.

"Thank you," he says to Catarina.

"What he said," Magnus jokes, but Alec can practically see the exhaustion written in his expression and decided to bypass the humour, going straight to the concern.

"Can we-?"

"Yeah, you guys know where the guest room is," Catarina interrupts before he even needs to ask.

Alec can't help thinking back to the last time they were here when Magnus had dragged them to a party for Catarina's rose bush. He smiles at the thought and asks: "Do you still have that rose bush?"

Catarina's confusion lasts only a split second before she laughs and nods. "Of course, it's on the balcony. I can never throw away a plant that's been blessed with a Bane party, now can I?"

"That'd be a tragedy," Magnus winks.

"You're a pair of idiots," Catarina sighs, rolling her eyes. She picks up the most dangerous-looking vials before walking to the door, where she pauses and turns back. "I expect breakfast to be made in the morning?"

Alec watches the two of them interact and can't help wishing that he and Magnus could make the same stupid jokes and share the same traditions but then Catarina leaves and Magnus drops his powerful veneer to reveal someone who just almost died and he realises that the two of them have something much better: honest, genuine, open trust.

"Are you okay?" Magnus asks softly.

Alec has to blink several times before he registers the question. "I don't know… you almost died. You weren't breathing… Magnus, I… I can't live without you."

"Oh, Alexander…" Magnus doesn't try to tell Alec he shouldn't say such things because he knows it applies to both of them.

"I need you alive," Alec whispers so quietly that even Magnus, who's practically conjoined to him at this point, can barely hear it.

Instead of saying anything, Magnus pulls Alec closer and the two of them share an understanding silence that isn't really a silence because they're murmuring 'I love you's but it still counts as a silence because they love each other and that's all that matters in the moment. In the end, despite both of them dying, whether it be emotionally or physically, they're alive with each other.

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