#how its nothing but disappointments and misery one day after another. and almost always self inflicted. yay

[the-kipsabian]

im really just struggling at this point again to think that i can do anything with writing. or that im any good at it, that the things i make are any good or worth anyones time. that what little i manage to push out rn is even worth the effort of even making

[obeiii-mee]

So, I finally finished part 2 for the original ask. I’ve had a bit of trouble with writing the twins because I think this would affect them particularly bad. I hope you enjoy all this angst, cuz I sure as hell didn’t im fucking sobbing alright?

Pt. 1

Enjoy!

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The Brothers Reacting to MC sacrificing themselves to bring Lilith back, Part 2:

Satan:

-Satan felt like the stupidest demon in DevilDom. He was supposed to be the intellectual, the logical one, the one with more than a few spare brain cells to work with. And yet he never twigged there was anything going on with you. The signs were all there. You had asked him for very specific book recommendations for the past few weeks, about the Celestial Realm and the full power of souls. He even let you borrow some from his own collection without giving it a second thought!

-In hindsight, your goal was very obvious but at the time, he hadn’t even stopped for a second to consider it. It just didn’t seem like something you would be capable of doing. But you did. Of course you did. You were the most driven human he had even met. You managed to live for a full year with seven of the most dangerous demons in hell and make pacts with them no less, so anything is fair game when it comes to you.

-Lucifer and Lilith found him in the library, like usual, reading what seemed to be a very graphic book on different wars that took place in the human realm over the centuries. What can I say, the man wanted to know more human history for your sake. He was one of the few brothers who hadn’t even noticed you were missing and never thought anything was amiss. Sure, he missed your presence but the cynical fourth born isn’t exactly paranoid.

-Now, if it was Lucifer alone that had come to check up on him, Satan would have been very tempted to just ignore him. But obviously he noticed a slightly smaller, less threatening figure next to him and he forced himself to look up from his book. Lowkey hoping it was you because he often complained his brothers got to spend way too much time with you. Satan and Lilith technically never met, face to face. However, I like to think that since Satan was born out of Lucifer’s wrath, he has a small connection with his memories and therefore Lilith. After all, Satan was the only one that never participated in the war or actually fell down as angel.

-He never met her before. Yet he immediately recognised her as she came in. She had every trait you would expect an angel to have. Except she wasn’t an angel anymore of course. She was dead. Or at least supposed to be. Lucifer just stood in the doorway as she approached him. Lilith fidgeted in front of him as she tried to come up with the right words to introduce herself.

-“I’m really happy to actually-“

-She didn’t get to finish because Satan had embraced her almost immediately, almost like he was on auto mode and couldn’t help himself otherwise. She welcome the gesture, glad their first meeting wasn’t as awkward as she had predicted it would be. The eldest brother was watching, slightly in awe because, as far as he knew, the only person he had ever hugged before this was you.

-Of course, the spell had to be broken. Lucifer knew better than to step in and allowed his sister to explain. Satan was going to have a bad reaction nonetheless, but he might become even more aggressive if it was him delivering the news. Lilith never had to deal with this particular brother of hers or any of his fits but somehow, it was like she knew what to do.

- Their sister did her best to explain it to Satan as calmly as possible, as if that would make much of a difference. Satan remained oddly quiet throughout all of it, showing no reaction besides a neutral one. Lucifer found this strange. Yeah, his brother/son was usually the silent type, the sort of demon to think, not speak. But he expected some sort of emotion in there. Anything, really. Anger definitely. Maybe sorrow and misery. But not this.

-Lilith noticed the shaking before even Satan did. His body had just started convulsing on its own as he processed the idea of you laying there, unmoving and cold; dead. He involuntarily clenched his fists and he had to sit down before his legs gave over. Lucifer was still outright confused while Lilith struggled to soothe her brother. He hated feeling like this. All vulnerable and weak, like the skies of hell will fall on him and crush him. He was Satan for fuck’s sake. He was probably considered the most fearful creature in all of existence. He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

-But of course he did. You were always able to do that to him, bringing out that soft side of him he never knew he had. Or at least refused to acknowledge he had. The funny thing was, since you were the one being subjected to that side of his, he didn’t mind. Because you are MC, a literal ball of sunshine. Nothing him and his brothers deserved but you were still willing to spend time with them. The least they could have done was to protect you.

-They couldn’t even do that

-He couldn’t even do that

-Satan is even more retreated now than before, more hostile toward his own brothers and basically everyone else. He will snap at anyone for very minor reasons and lock himself up in the library even more than usual. Anything to get his mind off how much he must have disappointed you. It hurts too much to even hear your name being spoken. God forbid they choose another human to come down there as an exchange student because he will unleash all of his wrath on them on your behalf. How dare some lowly human try to replace you? He’s more prone to fits of anger now too. Long gone is his self control and calmness.

-The one person that understood him was dead. The one person he allowed himself to be close to and genuinely kind to was gone forever. Satan will never get over this. Or the fact that you were smiling so brightly before you died.

Asmo:

-He’s just so sick of it. So so so sick of it. So sick of watching everyone he cares about either die or get taken away from him. If he was a mortal he would have probably gone crazy. Maybe he already reached insanity and just didn’t realise it. After all, everyone has a breaking point, even demons. And once you go beyond that point, your whole world will shatter.

-To him, it seems almost impossible that just that morning he had seen you at breakfast, laughing along with his brothers and overall just being the intriguing, silly human you were. You were right there! Right in front of him, talking to him like it was any other day. And now he has to deal with the unbearable fact that he will never hear your voice again.

-Asmo was out, hanging out at the Fall as usual, when he realised he had missed several, frantic calls from Mammon, who at that point wasn’t aware that you were long dead.

-He brushed him off, initially, thinking his brother was just having another one of his melodramatic moments. So the fifth born went around Majolish, basically buying everything he could get his hands on to ignore the uneasiness creeping up on him. He could feel something bad was happening. He just didn’t know what.

-At this point, he was a bit unsettled which is very unlike him. He is pretty optimistic as a whole so seeing him so startled and on alert was a sort of disturbing sight to see. Lucifer called him after lunch and told him to come home. Normally, Asmo wouldn’t have taken his older brother’s words too seriously but hearing his strained voice on the other side of the phone forced him into action.

-He rushed home, faster then he had ever done before., because let’s be honest, he prefers being outside of the house more often than not. He searched for you everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found. However, he bumped into Lucifer and Lilith in the middle of the upstair’s corridor in his frantic search for you.

-Unlike his brothers, Asmo noticed Lilith immediately, way before he even acknowledged his brother. It was such a shock to him that he thought for sure that he was hallucinating, though things like that never happened to him beforehand. Asmo stopped breathing for what felt like centuries because he didn’t want to raise his expectations, he didn’t to be disappointed if Lilith truly wasn’t there and he was just making her up. He didn’t want to deal with the grief once again.

-However, Lilith remained exactly where she was and flashed him one of her brilliant, warm smiles that he had loved so much back in the Celestial Realm. That he, on more than one occasion, tried to copy because he wanted to have as much in common with Lilith as possible. He wasn’t imagining her and the moment he realised this, he threw himself at her, the worry of his hair being ruined long forgotten and now his only concern was that she would dissipate in thin air.

-Lilith did not yield and embraced her brother, she gave enough hugs today to last her a lifetime but she couldn’t be happier to see her beloved brothers again. It took every ounce of strength on Lilith’a part not to burst into tears from both joy and sorrow.

-Lucifer hated this. He hated having to cut in the happy moment and lay down the bad news. But he had do it. Because no one else would. He was the eldest. He was responsible for everyone. A sadist he may very well be, but it absolutely destroys him to see his brothers suffering from such extreme distress. He told Asmo everything as bluntly as he could, thinking that ripping the bandaid straight off would result in a better outcome.

-It did not.

-Mammon’s reaction to your death was expected, but Asmo’s took both Lilith and Lucifer by surprise. They didn’t expect him to be as emotional as he ended up being and both of them handled it awkwardly because the Avatar of Lust was usually such a confident and admirable creature, it felt weird to see him act in such a way. He fell to his knees in a moment of pure despair and cried enough tears to drown himself in them later. He sobbed for a long time and did not stop immediately, instead going through several stages of weeping, from hiccuping to panting and then back to crying. It was an endless cycle of sadness.

-Lilith half carried half dragged him to his bedroom, while her other brother watched, a bit mesmerised. Asmo usually loved having company and now that his sister was back, he 100% needed it but at the same time, he wished to remain alone for a while. It would be painful but he needed to gather his feelings in one place before he could even put together a conclusion on how he was feeling. So they both left and with the door closed, all the air seemed to suffocate him and drag him into endless despair.

-Asmo received a lot of damage from your death, changing his personality very abruptly. Compared to his brothers, his change in attitude is not so subtle and now he basically hates anything that reminds him of you. He no longer enjoys hanging out or clubbing at the Fall or even go shopping anymore unless it’s necessary because those were things he used to do with you! And now, they seemed so pointless he often wondered what was the point of actually doing it. The only sort of satisfaction he gets is being in your room because if he closes his eyes, just for a moment, he can pretend you’re still there with him, whispering words of comfort to him.

-Yes, he still has one night stands and tries to seduce people left and right but it’s a sort of distraction more than anything else. He doesn’t do it out of need anymore, but out of desperation to get you out of his head. He’s also been sneaking to the Human Realm a lot as of late, as if hoping to randomly bump into you up even though it’s not possible and he knows it. He’s just torturing himself further. Hopeless. Just hopeless.

-You made him feel so much more than just Lust. And now that he had you, even if it was for just a short amount of time, Asmo knew he would never feel that way to anyone ever again. He would never fall in love with anyone ever again.

-He knew the risks of getting attached to a human. He knew how much he would suffer in the end. After all, humans are mortals, they are not destined to live for long. And yet he went and did it anyway because you were too amazing to ignore. You gave him something he never realised he yearned for and you left before he could reciprocate.

The Twins:

-Neither Lilith nor Lucifer was surprised to find the two of them together, relaxing in the attic. It’s common knowledge at this point that the twins have a hard time being separated. And especially more so than before after the whole attic incident, which concluded with them refusing to leave each other’s side. Usually, you were with them too, of course, for good measure. Obviously, they weren’t able to find you anywhere like everyone else. Belphie got tired of searching and just suggested that they go upstairs and that eventually you’ll joking them.

-Lucifer was, understandably, extremely worried at how the twins would react to all of this. Just seeing their adored sister in the same room as them would be more than enough to cause them to malfunction. But if he let them know that you died mere hours ago? And for smuggling Lilith’s soul back into existence no less? It would be chaos. At least with his other brothers, their reactions he could more or less predict. But the twins were slightly different. Especially Belphie. You can never really tell what goes on inside his head.

-Beel noticed his sister before Belphie did. He was so taken aback, he tumbled backwards and off the bed, accidentally dragging his twin with him. It was quite a comical fall actually. Lilith would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the circumstances. She missed them, of course. Truth is, she missed all of her brothers and their memories back in the Celestial Realm. It always hurt so much to think that she could see them but never really interact with any of them. Except through you since you were heir in a way.

-Beel was a mess, first of all. You can easily imagine the distress he was in at the sight of his little sister. His dead little sister. Dead because of him. It might’ve been centuries since Lilith fell from the heavens and got transformed into a human but he continued to carry that burden with him because how could he not? He should’ve been able to save both Lilith and Belphie even though, logistically speaking, it would’ve been impossible. He saw the despair in her eyes right before she disappeared below the clouds. That image had and will haunt him for the rest of his eternal days.

-He was on his knees before her in a split second, grabbing the hems of her sleeves and sobbing into them as if the whole of DevilDom was about to crash down on all of them. Beel was yelling incoherently, switching between begging for forgiveness and stuttering mid sentence, unable to get the rights words out. The whole mansion was filled with his distraught weeping and he just couldn’t stop.

-His sister knelt down and embraced him, almost awkwardly because of the position they were in, as she began crying as well. Out of exhaustion more than anything. She’s dealt with so many breakdowns in one day that she couldn’t handle holding her emotions in anymore. With the death of her descendant and the sorrow of her brothers, she wished from the bottom of her heart she had just stayed dead because everything would have turned out alright that way.

-Belphie was more cautious. He stood at the back of the room, watching as his sister hugged Beel and sort of held him in a way that would quieten him down. Careful. He casted Lucifer a glance, as if to ask “what the hell is going on?” before once again staring at the ridiculous sight before him. Usually, he wasn’t one to look to his eldest brother for help. There was some dangerous hatred he harboured for him deep in his heart after all. But he was so confused and conflicted, he couldn’t fight the urge to seek guidance from him.

-Lucifer didn’t know how long it had been since he last saw his youngest brother be that openly vulnerable. It felt like an eternity now, to be honest. He was like a rock hard, clamped sea shell since their fall as angels. He walked over to him and placed his hand on Belphie’s shoulder. For the first time in millenniums, his brother didn’t try to swat it away.

-“Lilith is back.”

-That was all he needed. Those three words. As soon as Lucifer finished his sentence, he ran straight into his siblings who were still crying on the floor. He almost bulldozed them over if it wasn’t for Beel’s strength. The youngest landed on top of them, almost starting to cry as well. Beel, seemingly tired himself out so much that he went a bit limp in Lilith’s arms, still gripping onto her for dear life as if she were on the verge of disappearing again.

-“MC is dead.”

-It was a horribly timed moment to drop that bomb in, to be fair. Lucifer tried saying it as casually as he could but he could hear his own voice crack and see his own hands tremble. His mind was focused but his body had betrayed him. The twins were so into the moment, so glad to see their sister after all this time, it was almost like they didn’t hear him. So he repeated the statement, this time in a more composed manner. Belphie immediately reacted. He got off his siblings and straightened his back, glaring at Lucifer in shock from the other side of the room. Beel stayed where he was, but craned his neck to gawk at Lucifer, who was standing solemnly, waiting for the predicted chaos. Lilith closed her eyes and winced.

-Beel was in outright denial which was surprising. He wouldn’t, or rather refused, to accept that you could be dead. I mean, the idea itself was propestrous, right? You’ve almost died once and you managed to outdo death. Or more accurately, your future self did. You could do it again, couldn’t you? Just the image of you laying dead somewhere was enough to send him in panic and another, this time almost silent, meltdown. He seized fistfuls of his hair and pulled, as a method of escaping the pain that came with the thoughts of you and death being correlated in any way. If Lilith’s death wasn’t enough to push him over the edge, this sure as hell was. Could demons go insane? Probably. Beel certainly felt like he was. Even with Lilith there comforting him, he had the impression he couldn’t stand or even look up from the floor.

-Belphie didn’t make a move to aid his brother or help his sister. He stood, teeth gritted and jaw clenched, staring at his oldest brother with an odd gleam in his eyes. For a few moments, he was motionless. Then, he turned on his heel and marched out of the attic, slamming the door behind him so hard that the whole room shook. Lucifer didn’t try to stop him. It would be meaningless anyway. He wouldn’t listen to him. And his sister was still occupied with Beel, who kept mumbling with tears trailing down his cheeks about everything being his fault and not being there when he should have.

-The twins did not even go through the same stages of mourning their brothers did. Beel was dealing with the grief of someone incredibly close to him by eating even more than he normally would, causing his siblings quite a bit of concern. But they couldn’t argue much. He was the epitome of gluttony in the end. Belphie didn’t change much in terms of his daily activities. He slept as much as he could during the day. And at night, he stargazed as he always did. But more bitterly than usual, despising the fact that he wasn’t going to enjoy another starry night with you ever again. He didn’t blame you for dying. He was angry you left and to do something so stupid as bringing Lilith back in return for your lost soul. He was angry you couldn’t be selfish for once and let yourself be happy with them.

-He was angry at Mammon too. He learned he was supposed to be with you earlier that day. He wasn’t. And now the two aren’t speaking. For some reason, he is slightly upset with Lucifer too but that is only because he was the one who delivered the sad news. But most of all, he was very furious with himself. Because he promised that he would never let anything happen to you again after the whole choking incident. He swore on his honour as a demon to protect you and he couldn’t.

-Don’t tell him they’re bringing another exchange student in. He will kill them. He 100% will kill them. He doesn’t want to replace you. And neither does Beel. He would probably eat the new student within a few minutes. But it would take a while until all of that is sorted out. After all, even Diavolo himself is bound to be mourning in his own way. Not like you were meant to know, but you were definitely the favourite child exchange student.

-It wasn’t fair you had to leave. It wasn’t fair that you didn’t even get to say goodbye. It wasn’t fair that the three of you couldn’t spend more time together. Beel won’t be able to ever taste your cooking again and Belphie won’t have anyone to cuddle with in the morning and be generally lazy with. And again, they had even more of a reason to curse their father for ruining the one good thing that’s happened to them since their glory days as angels.

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

-The 7 brothers will continue to grieve your death for the rest of eternity, be assured. Their sister just as much of course. And at some point, the whole of DevilDom had to in a way as the prince himself wasn’t his usual, peppy self. At least Lilith’s presence had a calming effect on them but not one that could compare to the trauma of knowing you were truly gone. They would wait and with time, there will be healing.

-Except time doesn’t heal anyone’s wounds. It just teaches them how to deal with the pain.

——————————————————————-

This took so much longer than planned, Jesus Christ! I guess I was really unhappy with it at some point and gave up, then sort of rewrote it which took a while. And now it’s done! I’m sort of proud on how it turned out. A bit cliche but I feel like it created the right atmosphere. Also, the last quote above is a favourite of mine that I thought would be a good idea to add in.

The twins are joined because I thought it would not only save time but also make more sense since the two are together almost all the time. Hope no one is upset I didn’t do the twins separately, it would’ve taken even longer then!

To add, 1,080 followers???? Wtf, I haven’t even posted anything in a while, thank you so much! You’re all too nice istg.

@doggonudez asked me to tag them in this post, so I hope this actually works lmao.

Al~

[thesunsetmeansgoodbye]

Alcina Dimitrescu & Mother Miranda

For her, Mother is this scripture she meditate day and night even if she's no merely answer for her mother's kept prayers. Perhaps, almost..

Alcina silently watch Miranda read the files of her recent experiments, the priestess seem to frown inside the golden mask.

“Basically, some died and the rest turned into Moroaică”.

“Yes, Mother Miranda”. She droop her head aside, the hat hides the sight of her Mother.

“I should’ve known. Next time you waste my time, make sure it’s worthwhile. I had enough of your failures, when you supposed be not.” That's all she heard before the older woman takes its leave. And right now she needed a drink.

__

Another meeting takes over, Alcina sometimes would catch her mother's eyes closed and looking tired. When she open snap them there this no emotion holds it. Lips secretly pressed to each other, she listens to the discussion like an obedient daughter she always were unless Heisenberg nerved to piss her off.

She hates when Mother favors the other lords whom she considered below to her and Mother Miranda, she hates this unnecessary siblings, they barely interact with each other and she would rather it stay that way.

“I put end to this meeting now, all of you may take your leave.”

Every single one leaves the decrepitude church, Alcina caught the glimpse of her Mother and Donna. She looks like assigned to a task but why only give it when the meeting is done? Alcina could only groan. Mother did not assigned her to anything, did she not trust her anymore?

__

She follow her mother for everything she ordered her to, even in the things beyond her will. Her recognition means so much for her and from that she will do anything, giving all the colors for all the portraits she needed; a masterpiece to offer her Mother. Just, one perfect vessel.

Despite the devotion she holds to the older woman, there's this one exception, and she be willingly fight the world for her three daughters, just like her Mother.. and she hopes, the edge point will not reach where she needs to break an agreement to the priestess when its already her daughters involved.

“Mother?”.

She gently caress the hair of her youngest that was the head is on her lap, gentle smile formed from the ruddy lips of the countess once soon turn into frown, when the thought came of Mother Miranda doing the same thing on the countess like the daughter she always claim Alcina is to her. But it is a thought that is unlikely to happen.

__

When Miranda visits the castle once in a while, Alcina decorates the table with expensive fine china and foods all for her mother of course along with her famous wine. Even though Mother Miranda looks not to enjoy any of it more than the reports of experiments she overnight do in the dungeons that often ends to be just nothing but a defect.

When they were settled in their table, Alcina couldn’t stop talking like a child who keeps narrating of how great their day went to its parent. She even brought up some memories she cherished from her once human life, her being a singer and her passion for it but Mother just seems to tolerate of all her talks without uttering a single word back and only emptied her own glass of wine and after the feast the priestess would immediately takes its leave. On the other hand, Alcina only smiled helplessly.

__

Mother Miranda given her everything, the comfort and answers in life. Given the things her true mother couldn’t and her father would never granted. He never wanted a daughter anyway. She secretly suffered in her noble branch but it’s all over now.

And even Mother had given her all of this, she somehow long for an affection of a parent, something that her wine couldn’t remedy.

She tucked herself onto the large bed, as the same time, she murmured some words of comfort for herself some she could remember her true mother used to say to her, it was hesitant but soothing enough. Tears run from the golden sun eyes.

__

One meeting, she didn’t noticed any signs of its usual intimidating presence of her Mother, her aura seems to radiate happiness she never saw whenever she was with them. Happiness arouse in her too, she wonder what is the reason behind the bliss visage.

“I’m glad to inform all you that I found the perfect receptacle for our dear Eva,”

Eva. Her true child. Mother Miranda told them she have found the perfect vessel to resurrect her child, not to mention that fact its already dead over a century now. She dared not to speak and get any further in her Mother's bad side. She just sit and listen and only speak when ordered or allowed to.

“That's a very pleasant news, Mother Miranda.”

“Indeed, fiica mea.” She placidly smiled at her, and it warms Alcina's heart.

__

To every task she was assigned to, she do her best not want to dissapoint her Mother. There's no doubt she would do anything, remain to be her Mother's favorite even if she will have to fuel the fire of her mother roasting the other lords.

“B – but, Mother–“

“Stop the attempts to gloss over your failures Moreau, there's no merit it could do upon you, “ The fish man seems to crestfallen from the words but she just stared, after all, she have no care about them but Miranda and her daughters.

Meanwhile, she looked at Heisenberg who seem on other hand was close to scoffing.

“Hah, that really comes from the person who was also covering up his mistake.”

“Pardon?”.

He pinched his nose, before to speak

“You're just flawed as this grotesque freak! Even worse, so stop self-proclaming yourself to Miranda and keep referring us as a failure when it does also count you as one. Fucking accept it!”

“You– take that back you wrenched!”

“Silence!”.

Both of them retreat, but the palpable tension lingers.

“There's no better than another. You all disappoint me in all ways.”

__

Hate was born for her Mother's dead daughter, she thinks that this is all her fault and she question why the priestess couldn’t just, move on. Why was it always her? Why can’t Mother see her another daughter, that's right in front of her: alive and well, who would be willingly to fill the loss if needed. She often calls Alcina her child and daughter but neither the words felt like were stuffed. Now she sounded like a child, but she couldn’t resist no longer.

“Why isn’t always not enough?”. Her teeth gritted between the words of her misery.

__

After she had received her Cadou, Alcina's world began to only revolve of her Mother and following experiments in her dungeon. The cold wind and the flakes from the snow wrapped around her when loneliness and insecurity rose inside her well-being as if wants to make the situation for her worse. After all this time, it will always be Eva who occupied her Mother’s most chapters and she didn’t even bother to look over the pages were Alcina is in it, cursive beautifully written that soon tainted by her own sly tears.

For her, Mother is this scripture she meditate day and night even if she's no merely answer for her mother's kept prayers. Perhaps, almost..

__

She would sometimes pay a visit to her oldest sister Eve, when there's leisure time just to sit beside the grave without words store to utter for the tomb. Mother did not considered to forbid her adopted children to visit the grave, she even neither said anything about it so the other lords she assume didn’t know where it was in the first place.

But mother doesn’t have to know her visits or will she ever care?

She barely knew what would say to the dead, she did know no single prayer. She didn’t even met the child that was taken too early, was she anything like Mother? Is she like anything template of Mother? Or perhaps her father?

“You must had grown beautiful just like our Mother. C– could you tell Mother not to be too hard on me, when you resurrected again? Soră mai mare..” Because even, she could handle all the pain does not mean she deserves it, right?

She made her way to leave as she gets back to the castle.

Mother Miranda sends her a letter once in a while, when she was not able to come to the castle herself because of her research. The letter contain often of must attain task and criticization. She’d pick up some red pen, aimlessly drawing circles on the back of the letter; frowning. It took her some time before she full the entire back of the paper.

__

She stopped at the peak of the castle, above her was the sky painted in its greyest shade. She started to shred the paper, the pieces season on the white covered ground. She barely see it land because of the height.

“I've had enough of this".

__

No! Her daughters.. now gone! That damn Winters! Those three bugs who keeps alive her barely beating heart, taken away from her! How!? How could Mother allowed this to happen? Where is she? The roars of the dragon in its hinted despair did she not heard!? Out of all men she's the only person who can understand, it hurts.. so much.

Yet, no presence of power from the Mother she knew stop the gravity of her downfall.

__

She is confident to think she's her mother’s favorite but she might hinted it wrong however, the proof of the blessing she casted upon her among the others. Castle, eternal life, obedient daughters did she not? How come she couldn’t accept the affection Alcina returned? Wasn't it enough to cease her mother's insurmountable grief? For a child that was no longer here, she barely tolerate all of it.

She sit and watch her.

“Remember from whence you came".

[sassyhobbits]

Rowaelin college AU pt2

i recently reblogged an older oneshot of mine (you can find it here) and some people said they wanted a pt2. You can probably read this as a standalone, but enjoy!

~~~

There was nothing more euphoric than the moment you finished your last final.

Except maybe that first shot you take to celebrate.

Rowan Whitethorn had already experienced both that day.

The hell of finals week had finally come to its end. The hours upon hours he spent in the library with his peers had paid off. He had felt confident about every exam he had taken. Even statistics. He and Aelin had really focused in and refused to leave her dining room table until they thoroughly understood each and every concept.

Usually, Rowan detested studying. But, studying with Aelin was bearable. Almost enjoyable, actually. As enjoyable as looking at equations and cursing out Excel could be.

But what made it worth it was the fact he got countless hours alone with Aelin. 

After their almost-kiss two months ago, they never mentioned it again. They had slipped back into their roles as friends, determined to keep it that way. Though Rowan knew it wasn't what he really wanted.

It seemed his feelings for Aelin had increased ten-fold after that moment. His eyes were always on her, doing whatever it took to wring smiles and laughs out of her lips. He found more and more ways to spend time with her. Asking her to proofread an essay, more and more study sessions, bringing her a ridiculously sweet coffee that she loved and saying that the barista has messed up his order but in reality, he got it just for her.

He was completely, utterly, enthralled with Aelin Galathynius. Her fire, her spirit, how she was always burning so brightly.

Even now, in a crowded, noisy room, all Rowan had eyes for was her.

In celebration for the end of finals week, Dorian Havilliard had invited a shit-ton of people over for a house party. He was more Aelin’s friend than his, but they got along well enough. 

The house was filled to the brim. Dorian had no problems using his father's copious funds to buy an obscene amount of booze and such knowledge tended to draw a crowd.

Rowan knew Aelin loved parties. He was less of a fan of them himself, but she asked him to come. So he did.

It was packed and loud. Music blasted over tall speakers, people cheered and shouted and laughed over it. There were a group of people in a game of beer pong, which must have been good if their screams were any indications. People were doing body shots of the kitchen island, others making out in the corner.

Rowan was lounging on a couch, sipping at a beer, thankful that Dorian didn't buy the cheap shit. He knew he should be up and socializing, but he was too preoccupied. By Aelin. More importantly, who she was talking to across the room.

Rowan had met Chaol Westfall on a handful of occasions. Aelin had introduced them. She, Chaol, and Dorian had all gone to the same highschool. Rowan had known they were all close, but he hadn't known how close exactly until Aelin let it slip that she and Chaol used to be involved. She had explained it was short and doomed from the start, but still… watching them talk now set Rowan’s skin on edge.

From his spot on the couch, Rowan had the perfect view of the two of them. Aelin was leaning against the counter, plastic red cup dangling from her fingers. She looked beautiful tonight. She had left her golden hair down, letting it spill in thick waves down her shoulders and back. She was dressed simply in a black, cropped tank and what he guessed must be expensive jeans. Aelin always had sophisticated tastes. Her face was tilted up at Chaol, the two of them sharing a laugh. 

Rowan ground his teeth and took another sip of his beer. Aelin had said she and Chaol were better off as friends, but they were standing with such an intimate sort of casualty that it drove him up the wall. And when Aelin placed her hand on his upper arm… gods, Rowan could barely watch.

Thankfully, he was distracted from his self-imposed misery when someone plopped down beside him. Rowan glanced to his left, finding Aedion settling back with a beer of his own. 

"Hey man," Aedion said before glancing towards where Rowan had previously been looking. His turquoise eyes, identical to Aelin’s, turned back to him. “You ever gonna ask her out?”

“Who?”

“Aelin. Who else?”

Rowan choked on his beer, quickly managing to regain control over his breathing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aedion rolled his eyes. “Come on, Rowan. It’s obvious that you two are into each other. It’s exhausting watching you two dance around it. So ask her out already.”

Rowan looked at his roommate incredulously. “Are you serious? She’s like your little sister. I figured you’d be telling me to fuck off.”

Aedion threw his head back and released a loud bark of laughter. “Aelin would castrate me if I ever tried that, as she phrases it, territorial bullshit. She’s her own woman capable of making her own choices, including those about who she dates.”

Rowan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The main reason he had never made an advance on Aelin was because of his friendship with Aedion. But hearing his explanation about it now… Aelin would berate him to no end if she found out. It wasn’t like her to let any man get in the way of a decision she wants to make.

“I… I just need the right time,” Rowan said pathetically, not knowing how else to express himself.

“Well, I don’t mean to rush you,” Aedion drawled, swinging his gaze back towards Aelin and Chaol stood. “But Aelin likes you a lot. I suggest making a move before she settles for someone else.”

He was right. Rowan knew deep in his gut that Aedion was right. Aelin would never wait around, putting her life on pause, waiting for another man to act. She was proactive, she was strong. It would do him good to remember that. 

Rowan set his jaw in determination, gulping down the rest of his beer and pushing to his feet. He tried his hardest to ignore the grin of satisfaction Aedion sent his way as he strode across the room.

Rowan tried his best to gracefully maneuver through the crowd, not wanting to get himself into a fight now that he finally decided to act. 

He finally made it to the kitchen, coming up upon them. Aelin spotted him first over Chaol’s shoulder, her face breaking out in a wide, bright grin.

“Rowan!” she greeted. “There you are! And just in time to meet Yrene.”

It was then that Rowan noticed the woman who had come up and pressed herself against Chaol’s side. She was a stout girl, golden brown skin splattered with freckles and a head full of righteous curls.

“Nice to meet you,” Yrene said, jutting out her hand. “I’m Chaol’s girlfriend.”

Rowan took her hand, trying to not let his surprise show. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Aelin nudged Yrene with her elbow playfully. “She finally managed to escape from her pre-med work and have some fun!”

Yrene rolled her eyes in good fun. Rowan could tell it was something she probably heard a lot. Pre-med majors did have absolutely packed schedules.

Of course Chaol had a girlfriend and Rowan had stressed himself out over nothing. The gods decided he needed to learn some humility after letting himself stew in jealousy.

Rowan looked back to Aelin, placing a hand on her lower back before he could think better of it. “Can I talk to you for a bit?”

Although she looked a bit confused, Aelin nodded. She knocked back the rest of whatever the hell was in her cup, tossing it into the trash, before reaching down and taking his hand. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. It’s too damn loud in here.”

Rowan didn’t object as she began tugging him by the hand through the house, expertly weaving through the crowd. She shouted a quick hello at Dorian when they passed him. He seemed very content, though Rowan wasn’t exactly sure why. Manon Blackbeak was perched on his lap and although she was beautiful, she was terrifying. Dorian didn’t seem to mind.

Aelin eventually tugged him through the front door, into the blessedly cold and quiet air. She brought them over to his car, leaning her weight against it as she turned to him. Rowan was disappointed when she dropped his hand to cross her arms over her chest.

“What’s up?” she asked casually. 

“I have something to ask you.”

Aelin quirked a brow. “Is something wrong?”

Rowan sighed. He was going about this all wrong. “No. Nothing is wrong.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You’re acting really weird, Rowan. Did Aedion say something stupid again? Or did one of those asshole footballer players do something wrong because I swear I will knock them on their asses so hard and-”

Rowan acted without thinking. He lunged forward, cradling Aelin’s face between his palms and crashing his lips against hers. For a beat, Aelin was frozen in surprise. That short moment was the most terrifying of Rowan’s life, not knowing if he had made the right choice… but the next moment, Aelin practically melted. He heard her sigh against his lips, her hands snaking up his arms until they wrapped around the back of his neck.

Rowan tugged her closer, relishing the heat of her body against his.

For so long he had wondered what it would be like to kiss Aelin Galathynius. The reality was better than anything he could have imagined. 

He parted Aelin’s lips, kissing her deeply, hoping he could convey the months of emotions that had been building up inside him that were finally coming to the surface. 

Eventually, after what could have been seconds or hours, they slowly pulled away from one another. Rowan’s lips still tingled in the aftermath of the kiss. He opened his eyes, finding Aelin’s eyes still softly closed. She released a short breath before those stunning eyes were finally meeting his. 

“Oh,” she whispered. “Alright.”

“Aelin…” Rowan murmured. “I really like you. I have for a long time. And I’d like to take you out sometime.”

Her lips spread into a slow smile. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

“I shouldn't have waited so long.”

“Damn right,” Aelin grumbled, rolling onto the tips of her toes and kissing him again quickly. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get out of here.”

“Any ideas?”

“Well, Lysandra is staying with Aedion tonight so I have the apartment to myself,” she said, lips curling into a wicked smirk. “And there are some things I’d like to see if they’re better in real life than in my imagination.”

Gods, was Rowan lucky.

He kissed her one more time, feeling her smile against his lips. 

He never would have guessed how wonderful this moment would feel, finally admitting his feelings to her, knowing she returned them. He had been such a fool for waiting so long.

But now that Rowan had Aelin, he would do everything in his power to make her the happiest woman on this planet.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​

[queenofgoats]

Dandelion Fields  | Imagine making a deal with Crowley himself

Summary: Desperately you are ready to give everything to get your life back on track. So you stand in the middle of nowhere on a crossroad. Ready for the deal of your life... more or less.

Characters | !no pairs! : Crowley x Reader (gender not mentioned)

Word Count: 1.820

Warning: angst, alcohol, flirtations and words = just spn ;), no cheesy romance stuff A/N: Hello dears, welcome to my second supernatural fanfiction! I had so much fun with the last I had to write again. Since I feel so comfortable with our King of Hell it also had to be him again. And because I miss him pretty much.English isn’t still my native language, so I hope it’s readable. Feedback is always welcome. Have fun! :)

The starry sky spread out directly over you - ice cold and clear. Not a single cloud covered the night scene. If you had been paying attention in astronomy, you might have recognized more than just the big dipper. Now you were overwhelmed by a sight that you otherwise knew fleetingly from books or films.

In your life before you have never felt so small as you did in this moment. A breeze played around the hem of your clothes and surprisingly you shivered. You threw your arms around yourself, irritated. Involuntarily you looked around. Field over field. Far off the beaten track. Just you and this crossroad. The rustling of the grass reached your ears. Somewhere in the far distance a little brook ran its way, softly babbling.

Just you and this crossroad. And the suddenly cold summer night. You have never experienced such a drop in temperature. No longer only shivered from the cold, but also slightly from fear. With a queasy feeling in your stomach, you looked down at your feet. You were standing pretty much exactly on the hole that you just shoveled.   Just a few minutes ago, with shaky hands, you had buried a small box with contents that seemed strange even to you. And now you waited. What exactly did you not know. Not even if you wanted something to happen.

A tired sigh escaped your lips. You didn't know how long you really stood on this deserted crossroad. At some point you gave up waiting for the unknown and stomped back. Your heart weighed as heavy as your head was empty. Did you feel disappointed? Or relieved? In any case you didn't know, but the queasy feeling in the stomach area remained.  

When you arrived back in civilization, you stopped for a moment. You looked thoughtfully down the street that led you home. Your stomach petrified. 

Almost hastily you turned around and found yourself in a corner pub. Actually, you only knew this from passing by. You've never even given a thought to step foot in it. And yet you stood here now. Apart from you, there were only a handful of people who thankfully just minded their business.

You choose a quiet corner. Less smoke. And you were less on the presenter. The waitress kindly handed you the drinks menu, which you sank into pretty quickly. You felt strange. You alone in a pub? At this time? Another sigh. Today seemed like a strange day in general. After all, that thing in the field ...

Something interrupted your train of thought. You felt someone sit down at the table with you. Frightened you threw the card back and there he was. He looked like a... cuddly businessman? Your own thoughts irritated you. Your lips moved hesitantly to say something, but the well dressed middle-aged man cut you off the unspoken word: “Please excuse the delay. My employee is...” he paused for a moment and wiggled his fingers in the air thoughtfully. He rolled his eyes barely noticeably: “...lost. Your job is now a matter for the boss himself.” His voice was smooth, deep, but incredibly warm and gentle. The question mark on your face grew and grew. Again you started to say something, but this time the waitress got in your way: “Hello dears, what can it be?” At first you wanted to ask her for help, whether the bizarre man, but this look he gave you made you order a simple beer. Something in the back of your mind told you it had something to do with the box in the field. Your curiosity was aroused.

“Erm. Well. I...” you stammered picking up the shards of your flying thoughts “Do we know each other?” Your voice, however, was just a croaking whisper. The person opposite in the perfectly fitting suit smiled softly. “Crowley’s my name. Pleasure to meet you. And if I remember correctly, that's yours, right?” With one hand he takes the box you just buried from the inside pocket of his jacket. While he elegantly pushed them onto the table, some earth trickled down. Your eyes got big. Very big. "What? How? ”you heard yourself gasping for air. “The Make A Wish Foundation is here, ta-da.” In disbelief you stared at the, no YOUR box directly in front of you. It was impossible.  

Fortunately for you, the long-awaited beer just came for you. The first sip was long and necessary. Your head shook itself in disbelief. You put the glass back down with trembling fingers. "No." it muttered out of you. A warm hand fell on yours. He barely touched you and still it calmed you down a bit.

Crowley looked at you insistently: “Something is bothering you pretty hard, right? Well, sometimes good things happen.” Wrinkling your forehead, you looked at him, literally sank into his eyes. You felt really comforted by now. Although you didn't actually know him at all. “And I’m good things. So, hello darling.”, a warm smile laid on his lips. “Like the fairy godmother?”, you asked. He just winked at you.  

There was silence for an uncomfortably long moment. You didn't really know what to say. The whole situation was so unreal. Absurd. Your gaze wandered between Crowley and the increasingly empty beer around. Again and again you started to say something, but the words were missing. You had so much on your mind and yet you just weren't able to articulate any of it. And despite everything it felt very, very wrong. Somehow. Deep down in your guts. Like a big life changing mistake. You decided to ignore that.

Crowley leaned back against the wall, relaxed, slowly sipping his drink. Sometimes he gave you quiet glances out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to let you consciously wrestle with your feelings. When he put his now empty glass on the table and ordered a second round, he leaned close to you: “I may be wrong, but there is surely a reason why you originally called me. Or not?" You felt caught out. "Sure." you said shyly. His body so close to you made you visibly nervous. Your cheeks literally glowed.   "Hey." he whispered in a soft voice "Relaxe, Birdie." His hand gently brushed your cheek until it paused on your chin. He gently forced your face in his direction: “I’m the fairy godmother, remember?” You laughed softly and leaned lightly into his hand. For a short moment you closed your eyes, just wanting to enjoy his presence a little, before you took his hand back down. "Crowley," you began hesitantly. "please be honest. What exactly does it get for you? " A small twitch of the corner of his mouth caught your attention. There was nothing sweet or mischievous in there, it was terrifyingly cold. Just a millisecond and a bloodcurdling shiver ran down your spine. Deep to the bone.  

"Good point," he agreed. “Karma isn't exactly known for paying an appropriate commission.” At his words he raised his eyebrows almost outraged. "... and who can live just with air and love, huh?” Crowley interrupted when the next drinks were brought to you two. "Cheers." he toasted you. "And where was I? Oh yes ... the payment. " Loaded with self significance, he took a long swig from the new glass. He also slowly took it off again. Did he play with you? Kind of like a mouse under the deadly kitten paw. “I’m going to visit you in ten years, and then...” “...you want my firstborn?” you tried to hide your nervousness. He waved it off: “Hell no! What am I supposed to... No. In 10 years your soul will be mine. I think it's a very fair deal. At least you get out of your little misery that way." He knew exactly what got you out on the field. Silence.  

Your fingers clamped tightly around the glass, distressed you stared into the drink. Your soul? The grip tightened so that your knuckles appear whitish. Your soul? Never you thought about anything like this before. Let alone whether something like this really exists. “My soul?” you finally bumped. Crowley seemed unimpressed. "Your soul," he repeated. With a chalk-white face you leaned over to him: "Are you the ... the devil?" “Of course not, no. And we don't say the D-word here! " Your gaze wandered back to the bottom of the glass.  

“Birdie, this is a great deal. Just think about it. In 10 years you can make your big dreams come true. That's a damn long time.", he seductived you. You winced and looked at him sideways. Was that it? A good deal? But hey after all, there was still a reason you stepped to the crossroad in the first place. Took a deep breath. And breathed out again. "OK. I'll do it, ”said in a voice you would like to have heard way more convinced. "Hmm." Crowley sighed winningly. "So we'll get into business then." Concerned you looked around the bar and the other guests: “And how does it work? Do I have to sign something? Not with my blood!" “No, my love. A deal like ours is traditionally sealed with a kiss. " You swallowed hard. "So?" Has Crowley been this close to you all along?  

A new level of nervousness was reached. You quickly raised your forefinger and reached for your glass, only to empty it in one go. Unfortunately, beer wasn't exactly the perfect choice to spontaneously drink courage, but it had to be enough. You put the glass down a little too hectically so that it fell over and rolled over half the table. Crowley caught it before it could fall off completely. Laughing softly, he looked at you: “Don't worry, I won't bite. Well... at least if you don't want to." “Huh.” you bumped. Your gaze rested on his typically British narrow lips, while he did not take his eyes off you for a second. Your faces were only a few inches apart. His warm breath brushed your skin. Your teeth were buried in your lower lip. For a moment you paused again. "You like it to make it dramatic, aren't you ?", Crowley sighed, almost annoyed.

In the end, you packed all your concerns in a bundle and swallowed them without further down, just like the beer. Your eyelids closed on their own and the head tilted slightly to one side as your hand rested on Crowley's shoulder. The centimeters became millimeters. Even without direct contact, you could already feel his lips, which instantly melted in yours. This touch. That smell. That kiss! You leaned in a little more, intensified it.

Unfortunately it didn’t last long enough for you, because Crowley slowly broke the kiss. "Birdie, it's been a pleasure doing business with you." You opened your eyes again and you could swear that they briefly flickered blood red. Just for a blink of an eye.  

"See you in 10 years."

[goodlucktai]

i’ll find a ring if you’ll find a shaded tree

good omens pairing: aziraphale/crowley word count: 3203

read on ao3

x

There were plenty of ways Crowley might have imagined his afternoon going, if he had spared the idea any mind. It’s miserable out, the sky sponged gray all the way across with heaving rain clouds, so one could safely assume it would be an afternoon spent largely in the warm indoors until his dinner date with an angel later in the evening.

This assumption, if made at all, would be markedly dashed (pointedly, even, with a fat red marker and a pair of eyebrows raised above the clipboard as if to say ‘you really thought you’d get away with a quiet day in?’) by said angel himself.

The door jumps open, locked at all times but never at all for Aziraphale, and then closes again with two identical slams. There’s a brief stutter to Aziraphale’s hurried steps as he presumably tries to adhere to politeness and toe off his brogues in the foyer without losing any forward momentum.

“Crowley! I’ve been calling you, your stupid answer-thing is full!”

In the time it takes Crowley to sit up from his boneless sprawl on the sofa, Aziraphale is there in all his pale creams and butter yellows, as well as a criminally soft dove gray sweater vest Crowley gifted him four Christmases ago.

He’s lovely, as always, and there’s a happy, squirmy little creature in Crowley’s chest stirred to life by his voice and proximity alone; but he’s wearing a look of wide-eyed panic better suited a man at the wrong end of a firing squad, and working furiously at the signet ring that’s adorned his pinky since the actual beginning of time.

“Angel? What’s-- “ Crowley seizes up in some alarm when the angel keeps coming, piling onto the sofa with such disregard that Crowley has to either yank his knees up to his chest or lose them. “Oi!”

“Give me your hand,” Aziraphale whispers furiously, like a man afraid to be caught speaking in church. He catches hold of Crowley’s wrist, pushes the ring onto the traditional finger, and goes on, “Do exactly as I say, and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t ask questions.”

There is absolutely no way Crowley can abide these terms. If the threat of Falling wasn’t enough to keep his mouth shut in the Beginning, an Aziraphale-brand snit certainly won’t be, so-- just as soon as Crowley can get his jaw to stop hanging open, and kick his backfiring brain back into operating speeds, and do anything besides sit there and ogle Aziraphale’s ring on Crowley’s finger-- then there are absolutely going to be questions. Loads of them.

However, beating him to the punch, is the flashbang arrival of an Archangel.

Gabriel, to be precise.

Aziraphale tenses. Crowley’s hackles go up in as textbook a Pavlovian response as there’s ever been.

He feels his skin spring to scale, sharp canines lengthening, and the way the room swims into fuzzy, heat-based vision means his eyes have probably gone all yellow, too.  

‘And die already,’ Gabriel had said, to Aziraphale’s precious form. ‘Die already,’ like it was the last revision on an audit report and then he could clock out for the day and call it a job well done.

For what he would have easily-- casually-- taken from Crowley, there isn’t an end in sight to this wounded rage.

“Alright, dearest,” Aziraphale murmurs, putting a hand on the small of Crowley’s back. It’s so quiet there’s a good chance Gabriel can’t hear, and even with the thrum of nervous tension in every inch of Aziraphale’s corporeal form, he spares Crowley something soft. “It’s alright.”

“So this is where you’ve run off to,” Gabriel says, looking about in open distaste. “Who decorated this place, anyway? I love the empty space, don’t think I like the color.”

It’s the light pressure of Aziraphale’s hand on him keeping Crowley pinned to the sofa, and only that. He’s as good as chiseled from stone, mouth open only slightly to track Gabriel’s scent, to show off his teeth.

(He does make a mental note to change everything about the flat Gabriel even halfway approves of. No, scratch that, he’s starting over completely. He’s moving to Chelsea. Fuck you, onion eyes.)

“Well, I had to see it for myself,” the unwelcome creature goes on cheerfully. “Not that we didn’t believe you, Aziraphale, just that-- well, you’ve fudged the truth a bit before, haven’t you? No, don’t look like that, it’s forgotten!” He waves a hand over his shoulder, carelessly. “Let’s leave the past in the past, or whatever it is they say, I don’t know. And with Her approval, there’s not much room for argument from me is there?”

He laughs, inviting them to share in the joke. Aziraphale doesn’t even smile, and Crowley is actively waiting for Gabriel to come two steps forward and one to the right, where he would be just out of the way of the coffee table and well within striking distance. Aziraphale’s fingers bunch in the back of Crowley’s shirt as if to say ‘don’t you dare’.

“To think, we assumed you were fraternizing with the enemy all this time when you’ve actually been in love! There’s nothing wrong with love, is there? That’s as holy as it gets!” He sounds like a kindergartner describing their parent’s job exactly as it was described to them, with all the confidence and faculty of someone who has no idea what the words coming out of their mouth even mean. He either has no clue how to read a room or he’s bluffing his way through this uncomfortable situation like a pro. Clapping his hands together in a self-satisfied way he adds, “Make sure you save us a table!”

“It’s going to be a private affair, I should think,” Aziraphale says stiffly. “Close friends and family only.”

“Probably better that way, not too crowded,” Gabriel agrees with a commiserating nod. It’s as if Aziraphale slammed a door right in his face and he just chose not to notice. He turns to leave, and pauses, turning his hat in his hands. “I have to say, Aziraphale, I really am relieved this whole thing got straightened out. I thought you had lost your way.”

It’s an unexpected moment of sincerity. Aziraphale blinks, but Crowley isn’t so easily won.

“After six thousand years of making his life a misery, you want to extend the olive branch now? Now that you know he won’t drag you down with him?” Crowley bares his teeth. “How’s that for unconditional love?”

If a single lunch date at the Ritz watching Aziraphale eat both his and Crowley’s own vanilla custard and listening to him complain about some obstinate customer or another would cost Crowley absolutely everything, he would pay it. He would be a fool not to pay it. He can’t imagine the audacity of six thousand years wasted. All that time, all those angels were free to know Aziraphale, free to love him, and they chose not to.

As happy as Crowley is to fill that space, to take that spot, he’s angry it was ever left empty to begin with.

Gabriel is watching him with an expression that can’t decide whether it’s more startled or annoyed. Aziraphale’s free hand finds one of Crowley’s, working it free of its fist and threading their fingers together. His thumb rubs at the patch of shining black scales just under his knuckles, soothing. It’s as if he’s loosing plates of Crowley’s armor one by one, the way he did in Wessex once after a round in the tiltyard. He doesn’t speak but his body says hush.

Crowley bites the inside of his lip, so hard it almost draws blood.

“She said we could stand to learn a thing or two from you,” Gabriel says. It’s not so much annoyance as it is scrutiny, but that rankles even more. “I wasn’t sure what She meant before, but it’s love isn’t it?” He says it again like an animal mimicking a human word. The sound is almost right, except in its lacking of all meaning. “Demons aren’t supposed to know it, but you do.”

“Well, look at the time,” Aziraphale says loudly, not even pretending to look round at a clock or Crowley’s watch. “I can’t believe we’re nearly late for our appointment. I guess you’d better go, Gabriel.”

Gabriel lights up with the manic eagerness of upper management that every hourly employee knows to dread. “Would you mind giving a seminar? We could arrange a day-pass for you, and cater lunch! Aziraphale would like that, I’m sure. Just look at him.”

Aziraphale doesn’t react, but it’s a studied non-reaction that means the barb hit home. Oh, that complete and utter git.

Gabriel takes two steps forward and one to the right. Crowley watches with animal stillness as the archangel rounds the coffee table, saying something about PowerPoint presentations. He’s going to bite. One good snap. It’s Gabriel’s fault for coming over this way. You don’t just invite yourself into the snake’s den, do you? Not without a nasty repercussion, at least. And besides, Crowley’s not even venomous today. Probably.

At the last second, Aziraphale bullies him back against the sofa with angelic strength, an arm pinned across Crowley’s chest like an iron bar and his own body blocking access to Gabriel’s. Crowley hisses at him and pushes ineffectively at the solid weight of him, but he might as well have been pushing at the side of the bookshop for all the good he was doing.

“I really think,” Aziraphale grits out in the ‘we are very much closed for the day, no more sales I’m afraid, please make your way to the exit’ tone Crowley is intimately familiar with, “that you should leave now.”

“Al-right,” Gabriel says in his obnoxious accent. He looks disappointed, but bounces back too quickly for Crowley’s taste. “I’ll get back to you on that seminar. Maybe we can chat at the wedding!”

Aziraphale only sits up when Gabriel is well and truly gone, straightening his vest with unhappy tugs. Crowley remains coiled against the arm of the sofa, seething.

“Should have let me take off his arm, ” he mutters. “A hand at least.”

“It’s simply not worth the paperwork, my dear.”

Something’s wrong with Aziraphale’s voice. It wobbles a bit, in a way that sends alarm bells ringing in every square inch of Crowley’s form, and when Crowley leans forward to get a good look at him, sure enough-- there are tears in his eyes.  

The anger deserts Crowley as deftly as the light of the Host once did. Color returns to his vision, fangs retracting back into only slightly sharper-than-human canines, and the hands he reaches for Aziraphale with are smooth and scaleless.

“Angel,” he says hopelessly. “Hey, I’m sorry. I won’t bite anybody, swear.”

Aziraphale chuckles a bit, accepting the hands that curl around his own and squeezing Crowley’s fingers in turn.

“It’s not you who needs to apologize. I can’t believe I’ve done this.”

“The wedding sham?”

True, Crowley’s heart knocks a little harder against his chest than it has any right to at the idea of-- marrying Aziraphale, being married to him. There’s a ring on his finger and he can’t even think about that without a giddy, champagne-bubbles feeling making a nuisance of itself in the unguarded part of himself that’s been a lost cause since Eden. But…

Aziraphale nods, miserable. “They came to the bookshop to offer a performance review. A performance review, of all things, after a year-- anyway. Naturally, they want to know how we escaped their judgement, and all those clever lies we thought up just weren’t doing the trick, and Sandalphon started talking about going round to yours, and I-- panicked. I couldn’t let him-- “ He takes a fortifying breath, grip on Crowley’s hands tightening to the point that a mortal’s bones would have broken. “I made up some fanciful story about a union. I believe I called it a marriage of true minds,” he adds with a half-smile, and seems galvanized at Crowley’s amused snort. “Michael tried to call my bluff, had me sign the form and submit it right there with the four of them as witnesses, and…”

“And it worked,” Crowley surmises. He taps the back of Aziraphale’s hand with his thumb and tries not to think about ineffable plans or inscrutable mothers. He almost manages it.

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale whispers. “I knew it would work, I knew it would. I’ve known for… a long time. Since Hamlet, at least.”

Crowley feels himself go red, and abruptly can’t make eye contact anymore. It’s really quite something, to suddenly have to address the elephant that’s followed you room to room for roughly four hundred years. He gives a tentative tug at his hands, and Aziraphale absolutely does not release him.

“Please look at me, Crowley.”

He almost can’t. He certainly doesn’t want to. He’s babbling, he realizes with vague horror, saying something along the lines of, “It’s a human thing, Aziraphale, they made it up back when people first decided they needed heirs to inherit houses, you were there, we tried to talk them out of it.”

Lunch dates at the Ritz. Picnics in the park. Warm evenings in the back room, dozing under piles of worn quilts on a worn tartan sofa, the hearth left empty because fire in the bookshop makes Crowley twitch and Aziraphale can read him like any one of his precious books. Sharing chilled white wines and heady reds, cherry cordials that leave smudges on Aziraphale’s lips, thousands and thousands of years of stories they both remember a little bit differently.

It’s good. Better than Crowley knows how to ask for. He can’t stand the thought of losing it.

Fingers touch his chin, gently, and guide his face up.

“And furthermore,” Crowley insists hysterically, “it doesn’t have to change anything. You were clever to come up with it, and if it worked that’s even better, and we can just go through the motions, an addendum to our Arrangement. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Aziraphale says, “My darling, it means everything. Of course it does. Only this isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

His voice is tinged with tears again, but they seem borne of frustration rather than hurt. Crowley risks a nervous glance at him, heart surging up hopefully like some sort of stupid buoy.

“I wanted to do it properly,” Aziraphale is saying, brow furrowed, mouth all puckered. “You deserve champagne and flowers, all that fuss you pretend to hate. I see you get all misty-eyed at proposals, even ones on television commercials.” Crowley squawks, outraged at the flagrant slander, but Aziraphale goes right on, “There’s a meteor shower coming up that’s supposed to be the event of the century, and I had-- it was, I had everything planned. Your ring isn’t even ready yet. This is all horrible.”

Crowley stares at him. He thinks maybe he’s supposed to say something into this silence, but for the life of him, he’s got nothing. Aziraphale’s ring seems to burn on his finger. After the seconds melt into minutes, Aziraphale looks at him. His expression recycles its defeat into concern.

“Crowley? Sweetheart, what is it?”

The endearment sends a shiver all the way down Crowley’s spine. He opens and closes his hands like lobster pincers, to be certain he’s not gone actually paralyzed, and still Aziraphale doesn’t let them go.

“You said,” he says intelligently, and then doesn’t know where to go from there. “It wasn’t a lie?” he tries again, in a rather small voice.

“The marriage?” Aziraphale searches his face in the manner of a grad student desperately searching the footnotes of an incomprehensible text. “Of course it wasn’t. A fake marriage certificate would hardly have been approved by God.”

Crowley tries to say something and only manages to come up with a squeaking sound. Somehow, it betrays him entirely, and Aziraphale’s eyebrows come together.

“The proposal is meant to be a surprise, but I would have hoped we were on the same page with the engagement.”

Before he can make sense of literally any one thing about this situation, brain still struggling to jump the hurdle of the word ‘engagement’ in regards to them, Crowley finds himself so wholly embraced that he’s practically hauled into Aziraphale’s lap.

He sputters, puts up a token protest, and goes absolutely pliant when he feels lips against the crown of his head.

A halo used to rest there, shining like anything, but a kiss is much better.

They’ve kissed before, when it was culturally appropriate and even a few times when it wasn’t, but something is different about this time. Namely, that Aziraphale kisses him again, on the forehead this time, and then again on the bridge of his nose, and then again on the cheek, and then again right on the corner of his mouth, and Crowley is almost ready for it when their lips slide together, his breath almost doesn’t hitch when Aziraphale kisses him like they do in romance films, like he means to never stop.

They part because Crowley’s lungs have forgotten they don’t actually need air and because Aziraphale seems to want to gaze at him.

“I know I’ve said it before,” he says. “I know you heard me.”

‘They’ll destroy you.’

‘That was very kind of you.’

‘I won’t have you risking your life.’

‘I forgive you.’

‘To the world.’

“I heard you,” Crowley says, because he did.

He always heard Aziraphale, even when Aziraphale had no clue he was calling out. He heard ‘oh, you silly idiot’ and ‘you’re not as funny as you think you are’ and ‘please come in, please convince me to let you stay’ in a sidelong glare or the roll of his eyes or the downward turn of his mouth when they stood by the shop door.

And every lunch date at the Ritz and picnic in the park and evening in the back room was stuffed full of ‘I love you’s. A tartan quilt and an unlit fireplace and a cherry cordial, passed from an angel’s fingers to a demon’s mouth, were quiet, secret ways to say what it wasn’t always safe to say.

“Me, too,” he whispers.

“My Crowley,” Aziraphale says affectionately, another way of saying what he’s been saying for years, “I know.”

Desperately trying to get his footing back, Crowley rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand and sits back as far as Aziraphale’s arms will allow him to go.

“I still want that proposal,” he informs the angel. “During the meteor shower. With all the fuss you promised. I’ll be sure to act surprised.”

Aziraphale smiles at him. “You can’t act to save your life. I see right through you, you know.”

But that’s hardly Crowley’s fault. Six thousand years of being known would give away anybody’s edge. He rolls his eyes, and settles into where he’s obviously meant to stay for awhile, looping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

“The act is for everyone else’s benefit, angel. We know better, don’t we?” Crowley grins, crooked, and thinks of apples and flaming swords, freely given. “We always have.”

[fruitpunchninja101]

Slow Dancing In The Dark

Characters: Hanji Zoe x Levi Ackerman

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Rating: T

Here’s part 1 of my gift for  LeviHan Eggscghange 2020 :) I hope my dear giftee enjoys this.Part 2 will be out in a couple of days!

You can also read this on AO3

 @levihanweek

Working for Sina Industries has always been a life long dream for Hange.As a wide eyed child,she would always watch live broadcasts of their space launches and tell herself one day shes gonna be there.Standing in mission control smiling as she watched one of her creations get sent to a different planet.Armed with a degree & a determined heart,she applied as an engineer.You could imagine her disappointment when she was crammed into an 8x12 cubicle in the basement to design and develop circuitry which their boss greedily takes credit for all the damned time.She's pretty good at keeping a front that shes a pretty chill with all her bosses bullshit but she finally lost it when he started harassing a temp.Hange bravely spoke out and got into a heated argument with her boss.She got supended for a week after that.

It took almost six months before she was promoted to another 8x12 cubicle.Only this time,shes moving up on the infamous 17th floor.The place where they flung all the adept yet problematic employees.Its pretty much the same,shitty boss,intricate work but now on a higher pay grade and a lot more hearsay about her reputation.Its not so bad though,despite the lack of recognition and grueling work hours she met a handful of wonderful coworkers who shared the same pain.

Mike and Nanaba were sort of the required stable couple of the group.She met them a month after the big promotion when she caught them making out in the copy room.She's probably standing there for an entire minute awkwardly making fake cough noises to alert them of her presence.Enter Erwin Smith,he casually strode up by the couple and grabbed the box of printer ink Hange desperately needed.He's like freaking Captian America & Superman combined except he has a mind of a slytherin.Not that it was a bad thing.

And then there's Levi,The crabbiest member of their little group,Mr.I-look-very-angry-and-irritated-all-the-time-but-inside-lies-a-total-softy.He’s a clean freak who befittingly,is a sanitary engineer.Rumors say that Levi had tendencies with violence and had to be sent at 17th floor for precaution.There used to be a time when they didn't get along.She'd been very welcoming towards him but hes always been aloof and cold.She didn't mind it at first,but after a while it kinda got into her nerves.Til that christmas party back in 2017,where she had a few drinks and sort of confessed that she liked him and it really bummed her out that he didn't feel the same way.For the first time,she saw something other than disinterest and irritation on his face...she saw confusion.He asked her what shes on about,then reminded her that he just made her chocolates for valentines day when she won't shut up about craving something sweet.He doesn't do that kind of shit just for anyone and after that,hange was pretty sure they've become best friends.

Their friendship was forged in companionship in misery but as time passed they became her second family.

One of the things that Hange looked forward to is hanging out with them every Friday night at a dive bar a few blocks away from their office where they get shit faced and let off some steam from their work.Hange was preoccupied with the jukebox when Mike arrived with his arm slung over Levi dragging the smaller man into her space.”You'll never guess what happened.”The man announced and before she could answer the man screamed."Someone got asked for a date!"

"Ohoho!Whos the lucky girl?"Nanaba came out of nowhere carrying two mai tais and handed one to Hange before heading over at Mike's side.

"Petra Ral."Erwin chimed cooly while sipping a glass of scotch.His blond hair still laid perfectly even after a long tiring day at work.

"From PR?Holy shit!Good job!"Hange said slapping Levi’s shoulder hurting her hand in the process.The man didn’t even falter from where he stood,all he did was stare straight at her before scowling."It's not a big deal.”He said settling his gaze on his side.

Hange smiled.

He’s shy.Levi Ackerman is actually being shy about getting asked out by an adorable strawberry blonde colleague.Isn’t that precious?She’d never seen him like that before.Heaven knows how much she wanted to tease him about his situation but she can clearly tell by the way he clenched his jaw and the deep creases on the space between his brows that if she says anything,he'd run straight to the wall to escape,cartoon style.

Mike started telling the story and Levi sneakily started edging towards the exit.Before the questions came flooding in,Levi was already gone.

“I think I should follow him.“Hange announced.

"Try to convince him to go out with Ral!"Mike shouted which prompted Erwin to take his drink away from him."I think you had enough."

"Goodluck!"Nanaba raised her drink at her.Before helping Erwin keep Mike's drink away from him.

#

Hange found Levi brooding on the sidewalk while smoking.”Can I get a light?”She asked.

“Its cold.”He said,which also translates to she should go back inside or she’ll catch a cold.Levi’s nice like that,it took everything in her to hold back and not make a snide comment.He alwas hated it when he gets called out for being considerate.

“So Petra Ral huh?”She started.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“We don’t have to,If you don’t want to.”Hange calmly took a box of cigarettes from her pocket and stood a bit closer to him.

“Good.”He said before tossing her his lighter.

Hange bit her lower lip to stifle a smile and Levi was already armed with his grumpy face.He's getting a little agitated.She let the silence drag on for a while as she started to giddily shift from where she stood.Unable to contain her curiosity.

“But its Petra Ral...The Petra Ral!Our company sweetheart.”She exploded.

“I barely know her.”

"Isn’t that what dating is for?!Besides,She probably just needs to get dicked down."Hange said casually."Go for it!Have a little fun.What’s there to lose?"

"Yeah well...I don't think I could."Levi started bouncing his leg.Is he nervous?Agitated?Both?It seemed like he's trying to say something.

“Levi,you know we wont judge you if you’re gay right?You don’t have to hide it from us.”

“Why would I be hiding that if I was?”

“Then what are you nervous for?"

“I’m not nervous...I.."Levi paused as if he's considering if he should tell her."I haven’t...I...”

“You're acting like you've never been out on a date."she said.

Levi visibly stiffened and averted her curious eyes.From where she sat,she could see how levi clenched his jaw and feel him hold his breath.No?It cant be...

"Oh.Its been a while for you huh?like 6 months?"She tried to take a wild stab but was met with silence.Hange sobered."You’ve never been on a date before?"she repeated a little louder than she meant to and not soon after she found Levi's hand over her mouth.

“You wanna scream that a little louder?“

“EVER?!”She peeled his hand off her face and asked.

“Tch.I dont need this.“Levi rolled his eyes and started leaving but hange caught his arm.

"Hey!I'm sorry.I didn't know.Its nothing to be embarrassed about.Its just,its a little uncommon you know.I'm really sorry.I didn't mean to be a dick.”

She assumed that its not because of the lack of people who wanna date with him.Believe it or not,this whole quiet mysterious guy persona is a total chick magnet.She even had several people from the office ask about him every once in a while.So what happened?Is it trauma?Is he aromantic?Holy shit!How could she be so insensitive?

“Stop looking at me like that.”He frowned.Snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Sorry,I was just thinking...”

“Don’t think of anything.Just mind your own business and let me be.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I let you be?”

“A good one.And stop drawing conclusions!I can practically see the thoughts up your head.I'm not anything I just...dont know how.”

“why are you so intent on giving up?!I thought you like her!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh please Ackerman!How can you not?She's the perfect mix of adorable,kind,fiesty and beautiful...she’s perfect for you!”

"What do you want me to do?"he asked,in his how can I make you shut up tone.

"What if I help you?You could...I dont know...practice with me?I could help you with the whole dating thing!"Levi looked at her as if she grew another head.Honestly shes just happy he didn't look disgusted with her proposal.He gave her a once over before pinching the bridge of his nose.She knows this maneuver.Its the what-have-i-gotten-my-self-into or holy-shit-am-I-actually-considering-this move.“Are you sure about this?”He asked.

Hange made a gesture of crossing over her heart and raising her right hand up and levi scrunched his brows together.

“Quit downplaying this.I’m serious.”

“I wont offer it if my not 100% I’m serious. The last guy I went out with was a total disappointment and Petra deserves better than that.You know she helped me last Christmas...”

“Yeah,yeah she helped you change your tire."He supplied,refraning hange from tellong the story again.

“And in exchange I'm gonna help you be more fun and well rounded for your date!It's the circle of life!”Hange enthusiastically smiled.

“Alright.How do we start?”Levi asked.

"Ask Petra to reschedule your date for next week,Then we can take the whole week to practice."

#

The harsh sun bore down on Levi as if reminding him never to indulge Hange with her antics again.Aparrently,she found Petra's online journal and identified that she had two dream dates.One is a carnival date (which explains why he is standing in line for cotton candy out in the middle of the goddamn afternoon.) and the other was spending an evening at a local jazz bar in the city.

Levi doesn't know how she successfully lured him out.You see,he liked his comfort zone and for some unknown reason Hange always challenged him to take a step out of the little box he created around him.And although there are times when she proved that taking a risk was worth it,Levi never really appreciated getting stuck in very shitty situations like now.He doesn't know how she seemed fine with all these shitty conditions.Maybe because she's been busy talking about her new droid remodel.

"Hey Levi are you listening to me?"

"Yes."He said exasperated.

"What was I saying then?"She folded her arms and raised her brows,challenging him.

"You're planning to replace fiberglass with aerogel as insulator on your next shitty droid."He said which earned a bright smile from her.Tch!He rolled his eyes at that and stepped forward after the couple infront of them was served with an unreasonable amount of cotton candy.

"I'll get the giant sunshine surprise."Hange said and the vendor then started shaping the cotton candy into a big daisy.Hange looks absolutely delighted.

"That will be 50 dollars."The vendor said offering his open palm to him which prompted him to turn towards Hange."Oh!let me get my wallet!"Hange started going though her bag and for some reason he felt chills run through him.WheN he raised his head,he noticed that people around them started glaring at him.Oh great he forgot!He's in a fake date.He assumed people still think he's obligated to pay.Tch.So fucking primitive.Although he's never the guy who gave much fuck about what others think,he didnt want people to think Hanges being mistreated.Begrudgingly,he paid for the goddamn cotton candy.Hange took that opportunity to talk about how expenses should be handled during dates,she personally likes going dutch but immediately started going on about some studies that says women generally like it when the males carries out the expenses.

Hange's like a battery that never runs out of energy.She wanted to ride every possible attraction from the carnival!Beads of sweat are starting to form on her forehead but she never seem to notice,he started leading her to a park bench to rest for a bit.He appreciated how much she prepared.She was very keen on citing the psychology articles and some magazines she read to help him be better at dating.He doesn't even know why would anyone even exert that much effort for him.

She really is something.

He pulled out his handkerchief out of his pocket and started gently dabbing it on her forehead.

She smiled.

#

Hange didn't really need to teach him much.Despite the seemingly abrasive qualities Levi possess,the man is a very courteous guy.He said thank you,please and treated the park employees with respect.Shes pretty sure he wouldnt have much trouble impressing a girl."You never told me why you've never been out on a date."She started.

"I was never asked."Levi shrugged as if telling her its no big deal.Hange was shocked at his honesty but appreciated his straight answer.

"Based on my observations today I'd say all those girls that didnt ask you out missed out on a good time."

"Tch!Quit bullshitting me."

"It's true!You diligently listened to my stories, joined me riding all the  and most importantly,you bought me an unreasonably overprized cotton candy."

Levi let out a soft chuckle at that and Hange immediately panicked.This is the first time she ever made him chuckle and goddamn it was glorious.It's like his features lit up and made him look years younger.She had to bit her lower lip to sort of calm her wild heartbeat.They stayed seated on the bench for a while when Levi surprisingly asked her to walk around some more.As they started to amble along the park,an idea popped on her head.

#

Her hands gently crept on his wrist and made way to cup his hand "what the..."He glared at their joined hands,but didn't find the need to pull away."You're sticky."He remarked

"Does sticky hands really matter if youre holding hands with your crush?"She asked.He kept his eyes on her and he saw blush creep up to her face."I-I mean not me...I meant Petra...which is basically me because im her placeholder at the moment and..."

"Hange."

"Hm?"

"Shut up."He slipped his Fingers against the gaps of hers and continued wandering around the park.

[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 19. Chapter

After saving Alex’s life Malachi leaves him alone to stew in his misery for a couple of days before finally punishing him for his escape attempt.

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Content warnings: victim blaming, victim self-blame, punishment, restraints, abuse, blood, knife, cutting, marking, captor bonding

Tagging: @galaxywhump @slaintetowhump @whumpsideblog @frnkieroismydaddy @u-n-o-f-f-i-c-i-a-l @thewhiteraven73 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes @ariirenn @ohmywhump

It all was his fault, Alex thought, motionlessly gazing up at the canopy. There were two hundred fourteen stars embroidered onto it in total, he’d counted them numerous times in the last couple of days. He didn’t know how long exactly it had been since Malachi had left him alone, the hours and days blended into each other while he was unable to motivate himself to do anything. It was all his fault.

He’d been so stupid, falling for Darerca’s trap – and attempting to escape in general. If only he hadn’t tried to run, if only he hadn’t picked up the iron nail in the first place. He should have ignored it, just been a good pet and resisted the temptation. Why had he wanted to escape in the first place? It didn’t seem to make sense anymore, looking back now everything had been perfect before.

While other human pets were neglected and tortured daily, he’d been treated so well and had been given anything he could have wished for. A luxurious accommodation, comfortable and fine clothes, delicious food, entertainment in form of books and games, as well as lots and lots of attention and affection. Malachi had visited and talked to him every day, allowed him to enjoy the fresh air and the sun outside, petted and even kissed him… Malachi had loved him.

But then he had ruined everything. He had been so stupid and clung to thoughts and ideas he didn’t need. He’d thought he had to escape, thought he had to go home to be happy, but only now recognised the happiness he’d had right where he was. He was so, so stupid. Malachi hadn’t even punished him, hadn’t thrown him into a dungeon or done as much as hit him. He’d just left. And somehow that hurt more than anything else he could have done.

What if Malachi didn’t want him anymore? He’d been so proud and happy with him before, but now he had ruined that. Now Malachi was betrayed and disappointed by him, so much so that he couldn’t even stand to see him anymore. Maybe he was already looking for a new pet, one that would be better and properly appreciate what he did for him. Tears welled up in Alex’s eyes, why, just why, hadn’t he just been good?

It all was his fault, and he was so stupid. He was still in his room with all his things, but he could barely motivate himself to get up. Everything around reminded him so much of Malachi, the sitting pillow where he’d fed him, the dressing table where he’d spent hours making sure Alex looked his best, the books he’d gifted him, the couch on which he had cuddled and kissed him… He missed him.

He missed their conversations, the pets, their walks, the feeling of being taken care of and loved… He wanted Malachi to come back and comfort him, to hug him and tell him that he was forgiven, that he still was his darling pet and always would be. He loved him. His neck felt so weird without his collar, he really regretted taking it off, it only reminded him again and again that he had been bad. The only comfort he had came from the faerie food, and so he did nothing but eat, lie around and wait.

When Malachi eventually came back he found Alex curled up in his bed, looking sad and lonely. In his lethargic state it took him a moment until he noticed the Fae standing in the room. His eyes went wide, and he let out a soft whine, he wanted to beg for forgiveness and tell him how much he missed him, but nothing came out.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like to come here, looking forward to pampering my sweet pet after a gruelling meeting, only to find the room empty?” Malachi began quietly. “The door unlocked, and your collar discarded on the floor… everything looked like someone had stolen you. I was scared, little human, so scared for you.”

Alex looked down, he hadn’t thought of that, now he felt even more guilty than before.

“Luckily, one of my servants informed me that they had seen you walking into the forest alone, and so I immediately hurried after you… just to think of what could have happened if I’d arrived only a moment later…” Malachi shook his head. “You were on the ground, broken and bleeding… without Lady Áine’s expertise I might have lost you. How could you do that to me?”

Alex’s eyes watered again, he felt so bad. “I’m – I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have left, it was wrong and bad and I’m so sorry,” he babbled. “I – I never meant to scare you, I wanted to leave a note, but I didn’t have anything to write, I’m sorry.”

“A note?” Malachi raised an eyebrow. “What would you have written?”

“I, I wanted to write that I’m sorry that I can’t stay, that I need to go back to my friends, and that –“ Alex broke off, then continued. “That I – that I love you a-and always will remember you.”

“If you love me, then why would you leave?” Malachi asked, and Alex cowered under his cold tone.

“I thought – I thought that it would be the right thing, but it wasn’t, I know better now, it wasn’t, I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry. Please, please forgive me. I – I won’t ever try it again, I promise. Please, Malachi, please. Please forgive me.”

He looked up at the Fae with pleading eyes, trying his best to convey the guilt and sorrow he felt. Malachi regarded him silently for a while, then sighed.

“I want to forgive you, pet,” he said, sounding tired. “I really do. But you were very, very bad, and I cannot overlook that so easily. Not only did you try to run from me for the third time now, but you also fell into Darerca’s trap and almost got yourself killed. I want to forgive you, but there needs to be adequate punishment before I can. You understand that, don’t you?”

Alex swallowed. “Y-yes.” He understood, but that didn’t take his fear away. “I understand, I need to be punished – Please, Malachi.”

Malachi nodded. “Very well.” He walked closer to the bed, and with the familiar flick of his wrist a bundle of cloth appeared in his hands. “Take off your tunic, please.”

The order both scared and excited Alex. On the one hand it meant that Malachi still wanted him if he bothered to discipline him, but on the other he was very frightened by what that would entail. Would he cane him again? It had hurt a lot the last time, but only temporarily with no lasting damage. If that was what it took for Malachi to forgive and love him again, then he could take it.

He was confused when instead of commanding him to kneel on the floor Malachi spread a white linen over the bedsheets and then guided him to lie on his stomach. His anxiety only increased as Malachi unfurled a soft rope and used it to tie his wrists to the ornate headboard.

“I – why – why are you doing this?” Alex stammered, pulling at the rope. It held tightly but didn’t cut in or chafe his skin.

“Shh, pet, relax,” Malachi murmured and gently stroked over Alex’s tense shoulders. “This will help you keep still.”

That didn’t reassure Alex one bit, and only made him wonder what it was the Fae planned on doing to him that he wouldn’t be able to hold still for. He’d managed to stay in position quite well during his last punishment, and now he doubted that he would get away with just a caning this time. Twisting his head he tried to keep Malachi in his sight, and his fear increased even further when he saw the object Malachi took from a velvet cloth.

It was a beautiful dagger, its golden hilt artfully embellished with patterns and gemstones, and the gleaming blade looked dangerously sharp. Alex turned and whimpered; his thoughts suddenly dominated by the knowledge that Malachi had killed his last pet. And killing someone with a dagger was quite easy. Undeterred by Alex’s fear Malachi climbed onto the bed and sat on the backs of his thighs, effectively pinning him down.

“Wha-what are you going to do?” Alex asked, unable to stop his voice from shaking.

“I am going to punish you,” Malachi said calmly. “Given the nature of your misdeed, it seems only fitting that it should double at giving you a permanent reminder of who you belong to, so that you won’t ever forget it again. And to achieve that, I will use this lovely dagger to carve my crest into your beautiful skin.”

Alex gasped and pulled harder at his bindings, he had seen Malachi’s crest many times before on the Fae’s signet ring, and so he knew that it would take many cuts to form the stylised rose blossom.

“Please – please, don’t,” he begged, not only was he scared of the pain it would bring, but he also didn’t want the scars.

Malachi clicked his tongue. “Hush, pet. Didn’t we just agree that you deserve to be punished?”

“Yes, but –“

“Exactly,” Malachi interrupted and carefully dragged the dagger over his back as if he was debating where to place the mark. “Now tell me, pet. What is it that you are being punished for?”

Alex swallowed. “For – for trying to run – please, Malachi, please, I’m sorry –“

“Good. About the diameter of my hand should suffice, I think.” Malachi seemed to have selected his left shoulder blade, and Alex tensed when he felt the tip of the dagger getting into position. “Please try to keep still, I would hate to cut wrongly and mess up the pattern or hurt you seriously. You are allowed to be as loud as you need, though.”

With that he pressed the blade down and slowly set the first curved cut. At first it didn’t feel like much, but then Alex gasped at the searing pain and tears shot into his eyes. Malachi didn’t give him any respite and quickly added another cut, causing Alex to whimper. He kept his hand steady and moved the dagger slowly through Alex’s skin, keeping the cuts shallow as not to cause any sever damage, but deep enough to bleed and scar.

Soon Alex began to cry and sob, whimpering and screaming at every new cut, unable to stop himself from squirming and pulling at his bindings. Eventually, Malachi had to press Alex down into the bed by his shoulder to keep him still enough while he thrashed around helplessly, and mercilessly continued carving his crest into Alex’s skin. Blood ran down Alex’s back, soaking into the linen sheet beneath.

“Shh, darling, you’re doing so well,” Malachi praised. “You look so beautiful like this, absolutely perfect.”

“Thank – Thank you,” Alex sobbed, the pain was so intense he could barely think straight.

“You’re welcome, love – don’t worry, we’re almost done now.” Malachi placed the next cut almost gently, and Alex screamed.  

It felt like ages had passed when Malachi finally put the dagger down. Alex lay limp on the bed, crying miserably into the pillow. Malachi stood up and untied Alex’s wrists from the headboard, then gently wiped the blood from his back.

“Beautiful,” he sighed, admiring his handiwork. “Absolute perfection. Oh, it looks even more lovely than I imagined, it’ll be so pretty once it scars.” He sat down on the side of the bed and smoothed his hand over Alex’s head. “And you took your punishment so well, I’m very proud of you.”

Alex turned his head to the side, peering up at Malachi through red-rimmed eyes. “Does that – does that mean you’re forgiving me?”

Malachi smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “Yes, sweetheart, you are forgiven,” he said, and gestured for him to come closer.

If he wasn’t crying already, Alex would have started doing so just from relief. Ignoring the burning pain in his back he quickly scrambled over and pressed himself against Malachi, wrapping his arms around his middle and holding on tightly. He didn’t ever want to let go again. Malachi hugged him back and ran his hands all over his body, carefully avoiding the pattern of raw cuts on his shoulder blade. Still crying Alex snuggled closer, and breathing in Malachi’s comforting scent he finally felt safe.

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 13  (Calum Hood AU)

I MADE SURE to stay just barely tipsy through the night.  I knew how I got when I was drunk, and tonight I didn’t want to lose control.  Too many things were on my mind, and I knew even the cocktail in front of me would fail at clearing my thoughts.  But I made sure to wipe all preoccupation from my face; Hannah needed to have a good time, and I would deliver it to her.

While I was almost sober, she was rip roaring drunk.  I had to haul her off of quite a few tabletops in fear she’d fall over and break a bone.  She was sloppy and sad and sucking down fruity martinis like she was a thirsty traveler in a dry desert, and I didn’t have the heart to stop her.  If I were her, I’d be devastated too.  I knew it was possibly self-destructive behavior, but I’d had my own fair share of that as well.  So I stayed by her side, vigilant and ready to jump in at a moment’s notice if she needed me.

Dropping her head lazily onto her hand, Hannah pouted at me.  “Scarlett,” she slurred, clumsily reaching out to grab my arm.  “You need to go.”

“What?” I questioned immediately, pausing in my absent-minded stirring of my drink.  “What are you talking about?”

Hannah shook her head, hair falling in front of her eyes.  “No, not leave.  Go.  Over there.”  She lifted a shaky finger and pointed somewhere in the crowd of bodies in the center of the club.  I couldn’t decipher her target, and frowned.

“Han, I don’t--”

“Scarlett,” she interrupted.  “I’m talking about going over where that guy has been staring at you for the past hour.”  I tracked her gaze and followed her pointed finger until I caught sight of him; tall, with messy brown hair and stubble.  He was in a cluster of other guys, his friends presumably, but every now and then his eyes drifted over to me.  When he caught me watching him, he smiled, flashing a row of perfect teeth.

I groaned, turning back to Hannah.  “He’s definitely cute, but I don’t want to leave you.”  It was more than that; I was scared to at this point.  Who knew what trouble she’d get herself into.

Hannah sighed loudly.  “Scarlett, I don’t think I have a boyfriend anymore.  Normally when I’m single, I can’t keep my hands off people.  But seeing as I can’t even see three feet in front of me, you need to pick up the slack.”

My brows furrowed, and I took a sip of my drink.  “Are you saying you want me to get with that guy for the both of us?”  

“Yes,” Hannah exclaimed, shaking her fists in victory.  “Go get some, for my sake.”

As I licked my lips, considering her demand, I thought about Calum.  More particularly, the way we’d left things at the house.  I was mad at him for saying what we did was nothing, but then he wasn’t thrilled that I was going out.  What did all of it mean?  Was he thinking about me right now, wondering if I was doing what I’m about to do?  Should I do what I’m about to do, if I would rather do it with him?

Hannah’s pleading eyes gave me my answer.  And besides, knowing Calum he probably didn’t care at all.  So I stood up from the table, downed the rest of drink, and strided into the throng of dancers.

I pushed through the crowd, worried for a second I wouldn’t be able to find him.  But then my eyes locked with his clear blue ones, and my stomach flipped.  Cuter up close, I thought approvingly, my smirk growing as I approached him.  His friends saw me and gave him a clap on the back and a round of cheers before backing off to let us talk.

When I finally reached him, I crossed my arms and quirked one eyebrow.  “My friend just informed me you’ve been watching me for a while.”

His smile was sheepish, illuminated by the roving rainbow lights above us.  “She caught me.  But can you really blame me when you look like this?”  His compliment sent a flush to my cheeks, and I started to feel the cocktail working its magic as my brain became fuzzy and my smile clumsy.

“I guess not,” I replied.  At that moment, the song switched into one I recognized, and I closed my eyes blissfully.  It was slower, with a sultry melody that dripped into my veins.  “Oh, I love this song.”  It reminded me of being at school and going to big parties with far too many people.  My hips swayed naturally to the beat, and when I felt hands gently fall onto my hips my eyes snapped open.  The guy had moved closer to me, holding my waist as his head bent low.  Grinning, I wrapped my arms around his neck and we moved together, his hands grazing lower until I felt them on my bum.  I giggled, moving my hips in tune and throwing my head back.

“I’m Scarlett,” I added.

“Nick,” came his response just as the song switched into a much livelier one.  

I lost track of how long we danced, all of my focus on Nick and his hands and his smile.  I definitely wasn’t drunk, but the world had a funny glow to it all the same.  I felt comfortable and confident here with him, two things I almost never felt with Calum.

Shut up, I reprimanded myself.  Why can’t you just forget about him?  Somehow Calum always crept up in my mind just when I was feeling happiest.  He had some sort of power over me that I hated; just once, I wanted to be free of his oppressive stare.

What are you saying? came another little voice in my head, the one that actually liked being with Calum.  Guilt flooded through me as I remembered the events and revelations of the day.  Calum pouring his soul out about his family, the kiss I gave him by his car, the way I’d never felt more connected to someone in my life.  Maybe I was the bad guy in this story, seeing as I had left him.

The war of perspectives waging in my brain was suffocating.  Did I like Calum, did I hate him.  Did he hate me, did he secretly need me.  It was all too much, and I found myself sighing.

Nick looked down at me in concern.  “Everything okay?”

I shook my head, sobering up after a long night of dancing.  “It’s nothing, just...I totally forgot about my friend.”  It wasn’t the true reason for my change in mood, but I did completely forget about Hannah.  My eyes scanned the perimeter, finally locating her at the bar as she tried to convince the bartender to give her another drink.  She was so wasted he was definitely not going to budge, and I saw the frustration clear on his face.

Turning back to Nick, I placed my hand on his chest.  “I think I have to go,” I admitted regretfully, but he grabbed my arm to stop me, bringing his face close to mine.

“Come home with me,” he whispered, and my heart leaped in my chest.  The idea wasn’t unappealing, and for a brief second I imagined what it would be like to go home with him.  But worry for Hannah superseded any desire, and I shook my head.

“I really can’t, she needs me right now.  But trust me, I want to.”  I thought that was the end of it, but then Nick pulled out his phone.

“Let’s just put a pin it, then,” he offered with a smile, and I pursed my lips in amusement.  We exchanged numbers, and before I left I planted a long kiss on his lips that would definitely keep me on his mind for a few days.

Weaving through the club, I reached Hannah and tapped her shoulder.  She flinched, clearly disoriented and out of it.  When she saw me she raised her empty glass.

“Scar, tell this guy I can have another drink.”  The bartender looked about ready to throw her out, and I set him an apologetic glance.  Taking her by the arm, I led Hannah towards the door despite her protesting.

The wait for our uber was long and cold.  A chilly night breeze had my teeth chattering, but Hannah seemed so intoxicated she didn’t even feel the cold.  She just wobbled next to me, groaning about her headache and the bad aftertaste of the fireball shot she’d done.

“Do you feel any better?” I asked, hoping our night out had served its purpose.  Her frown was evident as she shrugged, eyes glassy with either tears or alcohol.

“It felt good in the moment.  It always does, though.  And then the moment ends.”  Her words were short but they carried weight.  I understood her completely; I felt similarly about Calum.  When I was with him, I never wanted to leave.  But when we were apart, there was nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.

When we slid into the backseat of the uber, I had the sudden urge to confess everything to Hannah.  Tell her about my three kisses with Calum, how he spent the night, how he whisked me away when Ashton turned on me.  I needed to tell someone, or else I’d lose my mind.

Luckily, Hannah provided the perfect segue by asking, “So why didn’t you go home with that guy?  He was hot.”

I bit my lip, deciding to just dive in.  “I wanted to, but...someone else was on my mind.”

This peaked her interest, and Hannah twisted to face me.  “Who?  Not Jeremy, right?”

“No way, I haven’t though of him in forever.”  I took a deep breath.  “No, actually I was thinking about Calum.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and her jaw dropped.   “Really?”

I nodded shyly.  “Yeah.  We’ve actually kissed a few times, and once he even slept in my room.  But every time things are good between us...they go bad.”  It felt good to get this off my chest, even if Hannah was so drunk she might not remember it tomorrow.  In a way, I would’ve preferred this.

She considered the explanation for a second.  “I knew there was something weird between you two,” she remarked.  “Calum was just so...odd whenever you were around.  Normally he’s an asshole, but with you it’s like a whole new level.”

“Tell me about it,” I murmured.  “It’s exhausting.  I just want him to decide if he hates me or not, because this back and forth is too much.”

Hannah nodded, leaning back and exhaling deeply.  “I don’t know if Calum has ever been able to figure out what he wants,” she confessed.  “He’s been through so much, I kind of just let his bad attitude slide.”

“But I want to help him.  Letting him wallow in his misery isn’t doing any good.”

Hannah laughed shortly.  “Calum hasn’t let anyone help him his whole life, good luck cracking that shell.”  She must have detected my disappointment, because Hannah added, “But who knows?  You might be the first to do it.  I say you’ve got a pretty good shot.”  Her smile was warm and comforting, and I leaned against her arm.  I didn’t know whether I would keep trying to help Calum, honestly.  It might not have been worth it.

The house was dark when we got back.  Michael’s car wasn’t in the driveway next to Calum’s mustang, and when we got inside there was a note saying Michael and Luke had gone to Ashton’s for the night.  I hid the note from Hannah, who hadn’t noticed the missing car, and gave her a tight smile as she went down to the basement.

Blowing out a sigh, I leaned back against the kitchen counter.  I was pretty much sober again, pouring myself a glass of water to wash out the last remnants of alcohol from my mouth.  I kicked my heels off and yawned, reading 2:24am on the small oven clock.  

Just as I placed the empty glass in the sink and decided to head to bed, Calum appeared by the kitchen entrance.  My heart clenched at the sight of him, wearing joggers and a gray shirt.  He looked wide awake despite the time, and I knew then I was in for a long night.

“Look who’s back,” he commented icily, hands resting in his pockets as he leaned against the wall nonchalantly.

I kept my expression neutral as I answered, “Yeah, Hannah was pretty out of it so I thought I should bring her home.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he sneered.  “You’re such a great friend, letting her get shit-faced and then bringing all the broken pieces home.”

Sighing, I fought against my instinct to react harshly.  That’s exactly what he wanted: a reaction.  But tonight, I would not be giving into him.  “Look, Calum, I’m sorry I left so suddenly before we got a chance to talk, but I did it for Hannah.  She needed me.”

His smirk soured into a glare.  “What makes you think I wanted to talk?  I have nothing to say to you.”  His arms crossed defensively as the air got tenser by the second.  

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I pushed off the counter to take a step forward.  “Okay, if you didn’t want to talk to me why did you look so pissed when I was leaving?”

“I wasn’t pissed.”

“Bullshit,” I refuted, folding my own arms now.  I wouldn’t let him lie about what I knew I saw; he didn’t want me to go, but I needed to know why.

Calum just scoffed.  “No, you’re bullshit Scarlett.  Your obsessive need to know everything and try to help everyone is bullshit.  I don’t care what you do, because I couldn’t give less of a shit about you.”

I swallowed roughly, already feeling moisture build in my eyes.  Don’t let him see you cry.  Pulling my lips into my mouth, I fought to keep my composure.  “You know Calum, a lot of people put up with your shitty attitude.  But soon you’re gonna drive everyone away when they don’t feel like dealing with you anymore.”  For emphasis I brushed passed him, stalking up the stairs and tugging at the tight, uncomfortable fabric of my dress.  I was hot and irritated, and needed to unwind alone in my room.

But footsteps behind me alerted me to Calum’s insistent following, and I whirled around before entering my room.

“What?” I demanded.

He scowled down at me, his towering frame suddenly very intimidating when it was so close.  I felt the emptiness of the upstairs without Luke here, and with Hannah all the way downstairs Calum and I were truly alone.

“My attitude might be shitty, but at least I don’t drive everyone insane with all the lying and the stupid good-girl act.  I think people are gonna get sick of you far sooner than me.”  His words were clipped and cruel and they dug deep, but not enough to truly hurt me.  Instead, I retaliated by pulling my phone out and dialing the newest number added to my contact list.

“Oh, really?” I countered.  “Let’s see how sick of me Nick is.”  At the sound of another guy’s name, Calum tensed, and I felt a rush of evil satisfaction.  The phone rang a few times, obviously going to voicemail since it was so late and he was probably asleep.

Smiling darkly, I spoke into the phone, “Hey Nick, it’s Scarlett.  The girl you couldn’t keep your eyes off of at the club--or your hands.”  A vein in Calum’s neck twinged, but I kept going.  “I wished I could’ve taken you up on your offer to go home tonight, but things got in the way.  How about we try again tomorrow night--dinner, a movie, whatever you want.”  I made sure that last proposition was bathed in innuendo, and luckily it hit Calum right where I needed to.  He looked about ready to smash my phone into a million pieces as I wrapped up the voicemail.  “Anyway, give me a call when you get this.  I’ll be waiting.”

Just as I hit the end call button, Calum eliminated what little distance was left between us as his chest pushed me against the wall.  I inhaled sharply, surprised at the sudden movement.

I could barely see his dark eyes in the pitch black hallway.  “I hate you,” came his voice, deep and resonating.  My lips parted, soft air exhaling as my breath quickened.

“Good,” I murmured, gaze flitting down to his mouth.  “Because I hate you too.”

The last word had barely been uttered before his lips crashed into mine.  This was a far different kiss than the one we’d shared in the parking lot of the diner.  That had been gentle, intimate, full of feeling.  This was hot, rushed, and dripping with desire.  Anger fueled our bodies and lit us on fire, the passion between us born from hatred.

Calum’s lips were rough on mine, and he wasted no time in driving his tongue against mine.  My fingers gripped his curls, pulling slightly and eliciting a slight groan from his throat.  He tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth, a sort of pleasurable pain I’d never felt before.  His hands scorched up my sides, practically burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress.

Wrapping my leg around his waist, I felt his hands hitch under my ass as I moved my lips across his face.  I found a spot below his ear and focused my attention here, sucking and nipping and licking until I heard the sounds of pleasure rumble in his throat.

In a swift motion, he gripped the back of my thighs and brought me towards the door of his bedroom, pushing through and slamming it behind him with a deft kick of his foot.  I had no time to register my dark surroundings before I was hurled onto the bed, my dress bunched up at my hips.

Calum’s large frame loomed before me in the dark as he crawled up the bed, settling between my legs as I wrapped them around him.  He reconnected our lips for a moment, and then moved to explore the skin on my neck and collarbone.  My breathing was erratic as I felt his tongue swipe out against my skin, love bites being littered across the creamy white surface.  His hands ran up my thighs, pushing the dress further up until I was sick of the garment altogether.

Gripping the back of his neck, I pulled his head back to mine and whispered, “Off.”  It took him no time to react, and as I leaned up he practically ripped the dress off of me, the zipper surely breaking in the process.  He threw the dress off to the side, landing in a heap of fabric.  Once my body was freed from the cover, his eyes greedily roamed across my chest.  I hadn’t worn a bra, now only clad in my panties.

Calum ducked back down, kissing down the swell of my breasts until his lips found my left nipple.  I moaned as he began licking at the sensitive bud, his hand working to massage my other breast.  My back arched into his mouth, hands dragging across his still clothed back and impatiently pulling at his shirt.  He leaned back so I could rip it off, eyes glinting in the darkness.

His tongue lashed against mine as we kissed again, my breasts pressed against the skin of his chest.  I felt his leg dig between my thighs, brushing against my thinly covered core and making me whine.  Calum heard the noise and leaned back, shifting so his hand could drift down my body.  It skimmed across my breasts, the dip of my stomach and finally stopping at the band of my underwear.  I sucked in a breath, anticipating what was to come.

I felt his fingers ghosting up my thighs, my pulsing heat so close to his touch.  His index finger dragged across my covered center, making my hips shift towards him.  He was teasing me, hovering above my lips as he stopped kissing me and danced around the one spot I desperately needed him to touch.

I didn’t know how much longer I could take his feather-light touches, and was about to complain when all of a sudden my panties were pushed to the side and his fingers finally traced my slit.  A string of moans fell from my lips as my hands gripped the sheets, and I cried out when he sunk a finger into my slick folds.  He circled his hand, pressing his thumb right on my clit.  My whole body jumped at this, heat erupting from the bundle of nerves he had complete control of.  I couldn’t control the sounds leaving me as he pumped his finger harder, using his thumb to expertly circle my clit until I was an unraveling mess.

“God, Calum,” I breathed, eyes rolling into the back of my head.  He added a second finger, stretching my core deliciously.  My fingernails dug into his bicep, surely leaving marks.  But this only quickened his movements, and the waves of pleasure began to cascade over me.

With one final flick of his thumb on my clit, I was gone.  The burning in my stomach erupted into fireworks as euphoria pulsed through me, causing me to cry out in ecstasy.  I rode my high all the way through, feeling Calum’s fingers work me until I was finished.  When I’d recovered from the orgasm, he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips, glistening with my arousal.  As he wrapped his mouth around his wet fingers, I felt myself getting turned on again despite my release, and I channeled this into confidence.

Flipping us over so I was on top, I pressed a light kiss to Calum’s lips.  My legs straddled him, and I moved down until my hands gripped the waistband of his joggers.  I watched his face the whole time, taking in his wild eyes and panting breaths.  I pulled the sweatpants down until he could kick them off, and ran my hands up his legs until I reached his boxers.  An unmistakable bulge had grown underneath the black fabric, and I trailed my hand over it, making him suck in a breath.

Grinning in the pitch black room, I kissed up his chest until I reached his jaw.  I felt his heaving chest under my palm, and brought my hand lower and lower until I grazed across a thin line of hair leading into his briefs.  I sucked on his neck, expertly running my hand across his growing mound and causing him to jerk at the sensation.  I was teasing him just the way he teased me, skimming under the band of his boxers before finally letting my hand disappear into them.  

His length was long and silky, and I felt his impressive size with my fingers.  Calum tried to suppress the groans rising in his throat, but when I wrapped my hand around his cock he couldn’t resist letting a groan leave his lips.  I pushed his boxers down slightly further, letting his stiff erection spring free.  Moving my lips to his mouth, I swallowed his moans of pleasure as I pumped his cock.  I collected the moisture at his tip and used it to slide my palm up and down, creating a rhythm that had his hips bucking in pleasure.

“Fuck,” Calum swore, hands tangling into my hair as his body reacted to my hand.  I let my fingers massage his tip, his cock twitching and his brows knitting.  He grew stiffer and stiffer as he neared his end, and as I grazed the base of his length near his balls he moaned, punching the sheets beside me.

Another slick pump and he was done, white release shooting out onto his lower abdomen as curses tumbled from his mouth.  I rubbed him down from his orgasm, pausing our kiss as I held my face above his.  My eyes met his, seeing how blown out his pupils had gotten.  His parted lips reached up to meet mine, and I met his body willingly.  

He reached an arm out over the bed, fishing for something on the floor as he used another hand to reposition his boxers.  I saw him grab a towel and swipe it across his stomach, tossing it over and rolling onto his side to reattach our lips.  My head was buzzing from my high, my whole body bathed in the aftermath of what he’d done to me.  We were both only wearing underwear, but I didn’t care as I laid on top of him, breasts flush against his skin.  

Eventually our kiss slowed, ending with a final press of my lips to the corner of his mouth, and I watched his eyes flutter closed as he pulled the blankets over us.  I fell asleep with my hand on his chest, his arm under my head, entangling our bodies in a way I never wanted to undo.

[prophezeiung]

ways of realizing that you’re falling in love with your best friend pt. 1: the murdering of his girlfriend a holden vaisey x pollux parkinson drabble @vorhersage​

A young woman had been killed, murdered in cold blood, the papers said. Whatever noteworthy family members she had left behind were not only, understandably, in mourning, but also desperate to find whoever was responsible for this tragedy and hold them accountable. Among them were her sister, Ophelia, who some people claimed had gone a little insane over this loss; and her boyfriend, Pollux, who wore the darkest shades of black and the hardest facial expressions in the weeks after her death. Among them was her killer. Holden Vaisey, this killer's best friend, had watched the events unfold like the one-man audience at the enactment of a drama. He had missed most of the lead-up to this breaking point, by his own volition, but he had been there when she had died. He had seen the desperation creep into her eyes the moment she realized that she had put her trust in the wrong person, and the gravity of this mistake. He had seen it leave her eyes as well, along with every last glimmer of life at one stroke of his best friend's hand. The months that had led up to this moment had been agonizing to watch, but now his front row seat was paying off. He supported Pollux fully in this decision, not only because their relation had become more than a nuisance to Holden, but because he thought it better for Pollux to rid himself of this unsustainable foolery. He surely would have helped out, had Pollux himself not come to the conclusion that entertaining a charade like this was anything but beneficial to him. Taking matters into his own hands had proven to Holden that Pollux, when it came down to it, was still the man he took him for. They had not talked about it, Holden hadn't known the plan or if there even was one, but he had sensed it, the stern determination and the cool composure that had taken over his friend, and he had felt at ease, just as much as if he had taken this life himself.

Somebody who did not know Holden Vaisey might see this: A deeply disturbed man reenacting the traumas of his youth. An affinity for the violent things in life born from the foreignness of affection and devaluation of empathy. An untrue self-image through distorted reflection. The physical denial of feeling — quite literally the drowning of emotions to the brink of extinction, self-torture under the pretense of betterment. Somebody who did not know Holden Vaisey might also see this: A love, like a flame, obsessive, hungry, scorching and selfish to the core, yet oxymoronically sacrificial. The sickening satisfaction over the misery of somebody else, only unusual and therefore more twisted in the context of their mutual and exclusive love. The routined incomprehension and denial of either.

Holden Vaisey himself was happy. Not the pure, unadulterated form of happiness, the innocent joy that grows rarer with wisdom, nor the twisted schadenfreude, the malicious pleasure at others' despair. He was simply and wantlessly content. It did not matter that someone had died and that consequentially something had to die. Things were like they were before, or soon they would be. He had not cared at all for this phase, this short-lived phenomenon that had been his best friend's relationship, and so it was good that it was over.

He didn't know how it had started, and he wanted and didn't want to understand it in equal measures. The less he knew the better, it should seem, but the material with which his mind filled in the gaps was at times just as unsavory as the sting of the truth, if not worse. He caught himself asking Pollux to decide in his favor time and time again, a little private experiment conducted in order to measure how invested in their friendship he should remain: "Stay a little longer?", "Are you coming?", "Any plans for tonight?"

The girl — rather than a woman, because they too barely were men — was secondary to Holden. They had met before, of course they had, whoever met Pollux would subsequently meet Holden as well, but she had instantly fallen in the same category that Holden filed most acquaintances in: Useless, uninteresting, unimportant. She was but background noise to him. The more surprised he was when Pollux began to seek her favor. She was not plain aesthetically, but she lacked even a spark of charm to Holden, and beyond that, she represented the class of leeches and lowlives that neither of them had ever paid much mind to, as well as political opinions that should alert even Pollux' sense of self-preservation. She was not only their inferior, she was their opposite. And yet Pollux spent every moment he could afford by her side — time that had previously been reserved for Holden, because of course they spent every spare minute of their life together. It was elemental to their bond. It was all they knew.

Someone who wasn't Holden Vaisey might have seen this: Jealousy.

Pollux Parkinson had withdrawn his attention slowly but noticeably, and even someone like Holden, who took the only meaningful bond he had for granted — because since he was born until now, it always had been granted —, noticed. When the unthinkable suddenly becomes reality, the first natural reaction is apprehension. When the only stability suddenly becomes unreliable, the first natural reaction is wariness. When the source of mutual trust is suddenly opened to a stranger, the first natural reaction is reticence. So Holden had just flashed his bloodhound growl grin and let Pollux believe that nothing had changed. He didn't let him know how unbalanced he became when Pollux went to spend time with his lover, he didn't show his disdain for his new strange lifestyle, he didn't express his doubts over how this choice would affect either of them. They barely spoke about her or Pollux' feelings, and Holden was quite happy with that.

He did not understand what they meant, anyway. The love that he had seen was this: A thoughtless devotion that made you blind and deaf to the world. The sacrifice of freedom and rationality. Bitter disappointment and lifelong aching for a never-real fantasy. It was this: Weakness. He didn't claim to know it, neither to want it, nor to understand it. But what he had seen of it did not match what he knew to be true about his best friend. The Pollux that he knew was clever, alert, rational. He was strong. To Holden's mind, it was easier to believe that what Pollux claimed to be love was false than to believe that his view of him was. The possibility that there were things that transcended previous beliefs and devotions lay so far outside of his reach that it wasn't even within sight. Any dark inkling that the person he'd known his entire life and was confident he knew by heart had a side that to him that was unknown and incomprehensible was buried as quickly as the victims of the manhunts that Holden conducted with increasing frequency. With or without Pollux, though more and more without.

Finally Pollux had seen how vulnerable he had made himself, how he had lost control, and so he had taken it back by force. Given her what she deserved. To Holden's eyes, it had been long overdue. The only consequence of Pollux' decision to kill this alleged love of his that Holden cared for, then, was the relief he felt at the prospects of things going back to how they were. Pollux had, to him, changed beyond recognition, but not beyond reversal. Whatever this girl had done to him, he had shaken it off, and even though Holden presumed that some of it might preoccupy him for another while — Pollux had always been the quieter of the two, and neither of them had a habit of prying innermost thoughts from the other —, nonetheless this choice must surely mean that he had found closure, or was confident that he would.

Someone who knew Pollux and the thing most important to him might see this: Two lovers, heartbroken, torn apart by the expanding gap between their two worlds. Doubt, rearing its ugly head for the last time, so strongly this once that the bond that had always managed to squash it before now snapped under its heel like a twig. The admittance of a true nature, supposedly, against all previous efforts of salvation, and the destruction of any proof that there had ever been such.

Nobody, not even those who knew Pollux and the thing most important to him, would see this: Two lovers, oblivious, each breaking their own heart and turning away from help and each other. Love masked as habit, desire masked as codependency. Knowledge of one another, so intimate it might predict actions even before they are initialized, yet an intentional blindness towards the most basic psychological processes, their own and the other's.

That Pollux was keeping his distance even after the deed was done and the circumstances had shifted back to something familiar was always part of the equation. Holden knew his friend, and he was patient with him. Not the calculating patience he had for everyone else, people that he expected to gain something from and would therefore suffer through their antics if the price was right — no, for Pollux he would wait, however long and for whatever reason. In this case he knew what he would win from it, and it made him display an almost childlike anticipation that grew with every day, but it made no difference. Holden was certain that, sooner or later, Pollux would return to his old self, return to him.

Because in turn, nobody knew what Pollux Parkinson meant to Holden, not even Pollux himself. It was this: Glue that held together something irreparable. A silver lining for someone irredeemable. An extension of himself, as irreplaceable as a limb and as vital as an organ. A mirror, and at the same time, guidance. The promise of safety, taken for granted and the only reason why his world didn't collapse daily.

Had he been provided with this clear-cut definition, cold as steel, and asked, was it love? The answer would undoubtedly be yes. But a man who let a sick mind decide over a healthy heart would never consider that it was able to love when he had decided long ago that he didn't subscribe to this strange concept. No, the admission to anything but self-sufficiency would certainly crumble the so carefully constructed self-image.

For a person so keen on controlling every single aspect of their presence, Holden paid very little mind to the routines pertaining to his best friend. Whatever he felt like doing, he just did; Pollux understood, he was the same. There was no reason to overcomplicate matters that so smoothly ran on their own. If a future without the other was impossible, why bother trying to live any other life?

[seblore]

everyday i wake up and you still havent posted your evermore rant </3

there u go boo 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

GDBDNSKDJHHDDNDS GIRL................ ok so i very cleverly avoided ranking folklore because every song REALLY HIT and the whole album was just SO.. SO.. yeah. i can however rank miss evermore. i dont want to compare the two album i do not get the point in that. both give off really different vibes. now what i will say is with folklore, AS AN ALBUM, it is just a master masterpiece. The songs flowed amazingly with each other and really held you close the entire first listen. at least thats what I felt like <3 with evermore however, the individual songs are OMG!!! THERE IS LITERALLY NO SONG I DONT LIKE FROM ANY OF THE TWO ALBUMS. but as an album on the first listen i did feel a bit disconnected from evermore which didnt happen to me with folklore. why i think that might’ve happened is BECAUSE taylor is just so brilliant m8.... the MASSIVE contrasting emotions between the songs was too much for my little brain to handle.

Ok so now that’s out of the way dhsjsk time for rankings :) i have no idea where im going to put each song im just going to make it up as we go <3 ill ALSO give you my fave lyrics from each if I remember it <333 (oh and also you’ll notice marjorie isnt here. im sorry but i never listened to it after the first listen because it hits a little too close to home and i dont want to unpack all of that now im sorry! it is a beautiful song)

14. Closure: she popped off <3 she really said dont treat me like a situation that needs to be handled 💃🤙💯 a beautiful song with beautiful lyrics HOWEVER its the first song i couldnt connect with thus it’s down here BUT I STILL WOULD LISTEN TO IT ON REPEAT THO... the last in my ranking but still fucks 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ thats taylor swift 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

13. long story short: i have never been in a relationship ever BUT GODDAMN ‘pushed from the precipice, clung to the nearest lips’ hdjsksksjjddjnBbdns jddd ubebs!:!?:?:$3&39383$hzjs WOAH.... and this bitch really summarized the full 2016 drama with long story short it was a bad time. HILARITY. yeah not much to say here tho this is just the ‘at least one mandatory song to shake your tits to on each ts album’ song of evermore <3 and always remember that if the shoe fits walk in it TILL YOUR HIGH HEELS BREAK WOOH ANDIFELLDOWNTHEPEDESTALRIGHTDOWNTHERA—

12: dorothea: making a lark of misery :D RENt free. i had to listen to ‘if youre tired of being known for who you know you know youll always know me’ 113 times to finally understand it tho 😐 some of us are stupid and illiterate have you ever thought about that miss swift???? anyways TINGTINGTINGINGINGING THE STARS IN YOUR EYES SHINED BRIGHTER IN TUPELO <33333 such an innocent feel good song I LOVE!!!!!

11. ivy: the goddamn here and the hush of mirrorball ARE THE REASON IM STILL ALIVE 😽 another lyrical masterclass <3 ‘id live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time’ IS2G!!!!!!!!!!! anyways what if you cheated on your husband with me and i cheated on my husband with you and my pain fit in the palm of your freezing hands 😳 JK JK 😅 unless...... 🤪😏 hdjsks yeah this song is magnificently cursed and i am in love with it 🧎‍♀️

10. tis the damn season: this song is august but the other side of the coin. august but four months later. AUGUST SLIPPED AWAY LIKE A BOTTLE OF WINE- THE HOLIDAYS LINGER LIKE A BAD PERFUMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE... she sounds so pretty goshhh! ‘time flies messy as the mud on your truck tires NOW IM MISSING YOUR SMILE hear me out we could just ride around and the road not taken looks real good now’ is on repeat in my mind. and as always the bridge ::::::::::::::.............:::::::::::::: how does she do this everytime. ‘and wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles im faking’ 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ after every ts song i listen my expectations about true love grows exponentially and my chances of finding true love falls exponentially simultaneously ADIEU.

9. willow: she really took the invisible string quartet and put it in huh..................... FUCKED IN THE HEADDDDDDDDDDDDDD. what can i say <3 its just such a pretty song <3 hashtag gorgeous hashtag i cant say anything to its face. WRECK MY PLANS!!!!!! WRECK IT BITCH!!! ‘wait for the signal and ill meet you after dark’ LOVE STORY WHIPLASH. also mate i cant even focus on the song she looks SO GOOD in the music video i—

8. happiness: !!!! what can i say.... one of the best songs of the album hands down. lyrical masterpiece AND musically rich. she really logged into tumblr dot com and typed out ‘THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU’ AND ‘THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOU’ ARE IDEAS THAT CAN COEXIST and logged off...... h8 her and her insanity. the one word i have to describe this song is: picturesque. tis a picturesque song <3 oh and dfbhhffcbhDDVHHTRSDVJK when i heard ‘i hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you’ i audibly GASPED and then she says ‘no i didnt mean that sorry i cant see facts through all of my fury’................. i fell out of my chair. IT FELT LIKE AS IF SHE HEARD MY GASP AND TOLD ME SPECIFICALLY THAT NO SHE DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT... anyways yeah. ill write an article one day named THE SWIFT DECEPTION OF TAYLOR about how she keeps writing songs with deceptive titles and this will be the opening case 😈🤙 also the fact that this is one of my faves and i put it in number 8 says a lot......

7. evermore: i havent recovered from ‘motion capture. put me in a bad light’. i mean come on the whole goddamn song is a lyrical masterpiece. ‘writing letters addressed to the fire’. IS SHE OK!????????????? i think tf not. beautiful song beautiful arrangement. iver sounded really good too. and lol lol rofl WOOFWOOFbarkbark ‘HEY DECEMBER GUESS IM FEELING UNMOORED’ unmoored definition from google dot com: no longer attached. she doesn’t go back to december anymore. about2 faint oml. long story short: i did not survive. THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE........ what i felt with this song is that she took the quarantine sadness we all felt at least once this year and made it into a masterpiece of a song. couldve been easily the top song on any album except this. no i will not elaborate <3

6. no body no crime: i cannot believe. she teased us with a musical number. this woman teased us with. a musical number. I THINK SHE IS WRITING A MUSICAL BUT I JUST CANT PROVE IT! when she wins that tony 16 years later call me prophetic xoxo. anyways yeah she literally wrote this to flex her storytelling abilities. send tweet 🐥

5. cowboy like me: YEEEHAWWW I’LL BE HONEST WITH YOU I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FULL SONG SOUNDS LIKE I JUST HAVE THE BRIDGE ON REPEAT!!!! OMFG!!! the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. AAAA!! ??? STFU. IM NOT EVEN TALKING ABOUT THE LYRICS MATE THE WAY ITS SUNG!!!!!!! GUT WRENCHING! the best bridge she has ever written musically. i cant stop listening to it. REALLYYY DID BELIEEEVE I WAS THE ONEEE. STORIESSS ABOUT WHEEEN YOU PASSSEDDD THROUGHH TOWN. y e l l. and then she hits me with ‘now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon.’ L ???? M !!!!! A $$$$$ O “”””” i had to pause it and sit there for 10 minutes to take in what i had just heard. case closed critical hit sustained yeedhawd.

4. tolerate it: i cried. the only reason it’s not 1 is because it hurt me too much. WHAT THE FUCK YOU MF YOU ASSUME IM FINE BUT WYD IF I BREAK FREE AND LEAVE US IN THE RUINS???? TOOK THIS DAGGER IN ME AND REMOV— m8 this physically hurts me everytime. if its all in my head TELL ME RN. aghhh aRghhhhhhh. pain. and lol she broke down sleep to its bare essentials ‘breathing with your eyes closed’.

3. ??? coney island: i know it’s a bit of a controversial top three but WHO CARES 🕴this is solely here for ‘AND IM SITTING ON A BENCH IN CONEY ISLAND wondering where did my BABYy GO’ im shaking. my bed is shaking. my body is shaking. my pupils are shaking. THE WAY SHE SINGS IT OH MY GOODNESS ME i have to lie down gimme a sec. ‘and if this is the long haul howd we get here so soon 😟’ SCREAM. and when i was hearing it for the first time and she said ‘sorry for not making you my centerfold’ i was like yeah and?? so what?? and then she hits me with ‘over and over’...... so she didnt make him/her/them her centerfold over and over !!!!!!! she is sorry she didnt do it over and over!!!!!! mannn.... the chorus.. i shall not speak. i am held at gunpoint i CANNOT SPEAK. the bridge tho dhdnsksksjsb I CAN SPEAK AND I SHALL SPEAK. BITCH WENT OFFFFFFFF. <3 this is the apology she deserved from her exes which she never got so she wrote it herself. podium. grey skies. birthday cake. ACCIDENT. im laughingggggggggggg <///3 and yeah so overall it is a really yummy song with yummy vocals and yummy arrangement 9/10 would recommend. also!! life lessons kids life lessons. disappointments? SIMPLY CLOSE YOUR EYES AND PRETEND YOU DO NOT SEE IT YAAAAAAAAAS

2. gold rush: ETHEREAL!!!!!! The last time i felt like this™️ whilst listening to a song was with mirrorball <3 the production of this song omg omg omg LOVE 💃 but what propelled it to number two status was the ‘i dont like slow motion double vision in ROSE BLUSH/ i dont like that falling feels like flying till the BONE CRUSH’ imagine how fucked in the head a person needs to be to rhyme rose blush with bone crush. yeah i have nothing more to say really this song is extremely gorgeous and ‘eyes like sinking ships on water so inviting i almost jumped in’ / ‘walk past quick brush’ ?:!:!&:8483 F A V E <33333 and the transition transmission transfusion from ‘... gray old tea cuz itll never be ᵍˡᵉᵃᵃᵃᵃᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʷⁱⁿᵏˡⁱⁿᵍᵍᵍᵍ’ MADAME

1. champagne problems: are we surprised? ARE WE REALLY SURPRISED? when listening to new albums i normally listen to it at one go in order. i stick to that rule. HOWEVER after many years of my solid album listening self made rule tm i finally broke and immediately replayed this mf song after listening to it once. ‘you had a speech, youre speechless/ love slipped beyond your reaches’???? stfu???? VILE. PUNISHABLE. DEROGATORY. and welp the entire bridge ...... .... ........... what can i say. And the parallels to miss all too well??? WHAT WAS THE REASON???? your SISTER splashed out on the bottle- left my scarf there at your SISTER’s house 😐 she’ll patch up your tapestry that i SHRED- maybe this thing was a masterpiece till you TORE it all up 😐 your MOM’s ring in your pocket- your MOTHER’s telling stories bout you on the tee ball team 😐 November flush and your FLANNEL cure- PLAID shirt days and nights when you made me your own 😐 wHAT A SHAME SHE IS FUCKED IN THE HEAD IS2G........... and also why would she not rhyme POCKET with LOCKET?????? why with wallet???????????? slant rhyme why????????????? AND THE NOTE THIS MF SONG ENDS ON..... FUCKED IN THE HEAD

THATS IT. i really sat here and did this for the past 2 hours huh...... hhdjsms anyways LONG STORY SHORT: I HATE ONE INSANE WOMAN AND HER NAME IS TAYLOR ALISON SWIFT. GODSPEEED 🏃‍♀️

[looselucy]

The Only Living Boy in New York

June 14th – Harry’s POV I awoke from a restless sleep, my eyes uneasily meeting another murky morning in New York, my entire body burdened with a brazen ache. It was clear that misery loved company from the way that it clung at my side, dug its claws into my skin. I was exhausted.

In recent months, I’d gotten into the habit of instinctively turning to gage of the other side of the bed, and even though I’d been in New York for almost three weeks, and I hadn’t shared a bed with her for over a month, I still hadn’t managed to break the habit of turning to see Alfie every single morning. Coming to my senses and finding my bed empty didn’t seem to be getting any easier. Already exasperated, I turned again and reached for my phone which lay on top of my bedside cabinet to check the time, disappointed to have once again stirred at such an early hour. “For fuck sake.” I huffed, craving more sleep. I had to literally drag myself out of bed and into my bathroom, my eyes barely open as I leaned and turned on the taps to fill up the bath, leaving the water running and heading to the living area of my apartment, coffee feeling essential. I wasn’t sure why I’d ever thought that being in New York would make anything better, because it never had. All I’d known for sure was that I wanted to get out of Rosebury, start afresh, try to put that phase of my life behind me, and New York felt like the only real option I had, somewhere with enough distance but somewhere I was familiar with. I’d really thought that I would feel better once I was there, once I was settled. I didn’t. As I filled up the kettle with water, a loud buzzing noise interrupted me, someone ringing my buzzer from the street downstairs. I frowned at the idea of company, not just because I didn’t desire it but because of its unfamiliarity. I headed towards the door, pressed the button to speak between systems. “Hello?” I groaned. “It’s Liam, buzz me in.” I did as I was told, not saying another word before I pressed the button to open the door and allow him into the building where I lived. Liam was my agent. He’d been my agent for years. Liam spoke directly with galleries and clients and buyers and he was the reason my art had done as well as it had. He was alarmingly good at his job, meaning the work of a young boy just out of university had been seen as something truly special. I so easily could have been dismissed at such a young age with such little experience, but Liam had managed to make my name for me, make sure I could live a life that was far more than comfortable. When I so easily could have been shunned, Liam made it so that I was respected. I had a lot to thank him for. It took him some time to reach me due to the fact that I lived on the top floor of my building, overlooking Central Park, a few doors down from the studio I had for my art; somewhere to feel creative and somewhere I’d open up and use as a public gallery, occasionally. I’d told Liam I was back in New York around a week earlier, but he lived in the UK most of the time. I’d known it wouldn’t have been too long before he showed up, got me back into painting and selling. It was inevitable. I made us both a coffee and turned off the running water for my bath, and by the time he got there and knocked on my door, I actually felt quite good about seeing him again. It was nice to see someone I knew, a face that felt friendly and welcomed. It had been too long. “Morning!” He greeted cheerily when I opened the door. “You’re up early.” “I had an early flight. Slept all the way here. How’s things?” “Uh… Fine, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He looked as composed and well-dressed as he always did when I saw him. I’d never seen him wearing anything other than a suit; always different, always perfectly fitted and pristine. It didn’t make sense to me that he’d just gotten off an eight-hour flight, but Liam had this certain quality about him, this poise, something that assisted with his selling techniques. He was always professional. “Sure?” “Yeah. Yeah, fine. I uh- I made you a coffee. How are you?” “I’m good, cheers. Glad to see you. Glad to have you back in New York.” “Mm.” I tried my best to sound even slightly enthusiastic, but it didn’t play. I wasn’t happy there. And I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t ever feel happy anywhere. “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to move back here.” “No?” I grumbled after taking a hefty sip. “No, I mean… The last time I spoke to you properly, you seemed really settled. Happy. You were in the countryside somewhere, right?” “Yeah. Up North, a place called Rosebury.” “What changed? I mean that was… a couple of months ago?” I didn’t know what to say. I liked Liam, and he’d been in my life for a long time, but we weren’t close. We were barely friends, really. He didn’t feel like someone I could share with, not that sharing ever came easily for me. I couldn’t begin to explain how my feelings had altered since I’d spoken to him on the phone that day, mere hours before my brother broke into my home. “It was… It was just time to move on.” I sighed, not willing to discuss it. “Since you’re here… we should talk work. M’gunna start painting again, sell some new stuff.” “And the Blood Sun?” He asked. I went quiet for a while, staring at him as I thought about that painting, thought about what I wanted, how it made me feel. “I… I wanna focus on new stuff right now. I can’t even think about the Blood Sun at the minute, because… The thing is, I don’t wanna paint with blood anymore.” The look on his face after I’d said that was proof that our relationship, however friendly, was strictly business. He seemed shocked, maybe even disappointed by me saying I no longer wanted to paint with blood. It was my niche, it was what had gotten people so interested in my work, a large reasoning behind why my stuff sold for as much as it did. Liam was thinking business, and me not using blood had the potential to drive down prices, which meant he earnt less. As understandable as it was, I couldn’t help but wish for more. I thought about Alfie, how she had only cared about me, my health, what using blood was doing to me and how vital it was that I stopped, found a different way of expressing my feelings through my art. She didn’t look at it as an expression, she saw it as me hurting myself and nothing more. I’d finally started to see it the same way. “Right. Okay… Shit.” He sat himself down on the stool beside him. “Are you sure? It’s a major selling point.” “One that involves… self-harm, to put it bluntly. I don’t wanna do it anymore. I can’t.” “Okay, yeah. Well… I mean, since you’ve had a break, maybe we present it as like… a new era.” He spoke his thoughts as they came to his head. “Maybe… think of something new. A new style. A new addition. Something almost to… replace the blood, y’know?” “Right. Okay, yeah.” “Different styles, different techniques. A new method. Let’s keep people interested, that’s the main thing.” “Agreed. M’glad you… get it. M’glad you understand.” “As long as you can think up something new. You got any ideas?” “Uh… Not really. I dunno, I guess I’ve… not been in that much of a creative headspace recently.” When I’d moved to Rosebury, I’d made a purposeful and conscious decision not to paint, pulling myself out of that mindset in order to save my sanity, hoping to heal. Despite a minor setback when I’d gone to New York at the end of February, the only other time I’d allowed myself to paint was when I was with Alfie, which was carefree, fun, something I didn’t really need to think about. She helped to make something that once made me miserable into something that felt good, for the first time in years. It was hard to feel creative without immediately linking that with pain. It was hard to think about Alfie without immediately linking her with pain. “Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually.” He got back to his feet, walking around the kitchen counter and approaching me, routing through his pocket. “Y’know James Caine?” “Uh… I dunno, I don’t think so.” “He’s an artist, he lives locally. Recently moved here from Manchester. He’s good. He’s talented. I work with him and he wants to meet you.” He handed me over a rather tattered piece of paper with an address scribbled onto it, my brows low as I took it from his hand before looking back up to him. “Why?” “Because you’re Harry fucking Styles.” He leered. “He likes your stuff. He wants to talk art, work, what it’s like here, how to build his name up. He’s having a party tonight, and he asked me if I could get you to go.” “M'not really… in a party mood.” “I wouldn’t expect anything too wild. Bunch’a creative types, artists, sellers, y’know.” “Mm.” If anything, that put me off even more. When I’d last been in New York fulltime, my whole life seemed to centre around events like that and I’d always hated them. There was such a lack of honesty in those rooms and within those people, too many pretences and false personalities that people created as though they thought it would suit their career, forcing who they thought they should be. People were pretentious and arrogant and self-obsessed, and it was always something I’d hated about my job and the little quirks that accompanied it. “You should go. I think it’d be good for you. Get talking about art with some interesting people, you’ll think up something for your new work in no time, I promise.” “Fine.” I sighed despondently, placing the paper down on the counter. “I probably won’t stay, but I’ll go for a while. See if it helps.” “Good choice. Right, I’ll see you there then! I’ve gotta go, I’m meeting some people. Gotta cram in as much work as possible whilst I’m here.” “How long are you here for?” I asked as I approached my sofa, resting against the back of it and folding my arms. “Couple of weeks, then back to London.” “Well… I’ll try and think something up before you go.” “Nice one.” He nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you tonight.” He was seconds away from leaving, opening the door before I managed to spit out my question, nervous and ridden with fear. “Do you know any therapists?” I rushed, speaking so quickly that what I’d said was unclear to him. “What?” He turned around to face me. “Do you… Do you know of any therapists?” I paced myself, my throat feeling swollen, almost choking over the words. “You wanna see a therapist?” He asked. “Yeah. I think… Yeah. I-I thought I remembered you saying you once saw someone, but-” “I did, but not here. It was back in the UK, a long time ago. I saw a woman called Dr Jackson for… almost two years.” “Did it help?” Whenever the mere thought of therapy had introduced itself to my mind before, I’d completely shunned it. I’d been dubious about how talking was supposed to help in some way, it hadn’t made sense to me. Talking had never felt like any sort of solution, but somehow, over time, Alfie had changed that. She encouraged me, supported me, helped me to articulate times of my life that I hadn’t been able to communicate efficiently, things I had never really spoken about. She made me realise that talking really did have the power to help, the power to change things in a positive way. I didn’t want my past to keep holding me back in the way it was. She’d helped me more than I could even begin to understand, but it hadn’t been enough. I could tell by my recent actions and feelings that it wasn’t enough. I knew something wasn’t right, and I so badly wanted to fix it in any way I could. “She really helped me, yeah. She was amazing.” Liam said. I wanted that. Needed it. As wonderful as she’d been, Alfie was not a therapist. There was only so much she could do. There was only so much I had allowed her to do. My emotions had been undistinguishable for quite some time, not at all limited to but largely surrounding how I was feeling about Alfie. I missed her so much. I was sure I’d done the right thing, but it didn’t make it any easier. I was just so sure that in the long run, I wouldn’t be any good for her. I didn’t want her to love me, because I was completely convinced that I was a bad omen, that I’d ruin it and hurt her and it would break the two of us more than it already had. I was not in the right position to give her everything she deserved. I wasn’t the right person to do that, no matter how much I wanted to be. Trying to explain that to her didn’t really feel like an option, because she’d have fought it. She would have fought for me and us and it would have hurt so much more than it already did. Being without her was killing me but it had to be that way. Jack was right. It was better to get out, save myself from as much pain as I possibly could. So once again, I’d chosen against talking, because I couldn’t. It was like my body was physically fighting any attempt I could make to tell her exactly how I was feeling. Instead of talking, explaining myself, I’d been blunt and hurtful and I’d lied, because I thought it would be easier for her. In a way, I wanted to give her a reason to hate me, to be angry and frustrated, anything to stop her from loving me. Anything to make it easier for her. We weren’t right for each other. Or at least, I wasn’t right for her. She had brought so much light into my life that I’d began to fear the dark, dread how things would be without her, and I was right to. I couldn’t stand the thought of her just waking up one day and realising she’d be better off without me. I felt too vulnerable. No one I’d ever cared for that much had stayed in my life. How could I expect her to be any different? I put the power back into my own hands thinking that would help, but the longer we were apart, it seemed my theory wasn’t panning out. I had no idea what might help me to heal, but seeing a therapist felt like a good place to start. “I’m sure there’ll be a lot of good therapists here.” Liam continued, covering my contemplative silence. “Just look around. Don’t think that… the highest price means the best therapy, because it doesn’t. You can sit across from some people and realise instantly that they see you as a job. Find someone who cares. Find someone who honestly wants to help, not someone who sees you as work. Yeah?” “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it. See you tonight.” “Yeah.” With a smile, he finally left my apartment, leaving me on my own with my thoughts once again. I practically downed the rest of my coffee before heading back through my bedroom and into the bathroom, filling up the bath the rest of the way before undressing, testing the waters, messing with my phone to play music through the speakers I had installed around the flat, and then finally climbing in. I became accustom to the heat quickly, steam rising around me as I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in before submerging myself completely, imagining myself in the lake just outside of Rosebury. The sound of The Only Living Boy in New York playing became distant, unclear, somewhere between soothing and utterly unbearable. I listened to it on repeat for the next hour.

“You’re Harry Styles, right?” A little dazed, I looked up, gaging the boy ahead of me. I knew it would only be so long before my solitude was spoilt, but I suppose it was to be expected at such an event. The party had been even more agonising than I’d predicted. James, the boy who was hosting, was new to the area and relatively new to the scene that came with his career, and not only was he milking it, but he was putting on a show, building a character before my eyes. I’d met him briefly when I first arrived, but hoped to speak to him a little more before the nights end, advise him to stay true to himself, not to get lost in all the bullshit and be who what he thought others believed he should be. If he really wanted to talk to me about work, that would be the only honest advice I could give. I’d been there a few hours, only really sticking around to be polite and possibly hoping for a bit of inspiration, but that would have been difficult given I hadn’t even bothered to talk to anyone. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that someone had approached me. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” I sat upwards on the sofa, changing my poise to speak to him properly. “Shit, I’m a huge fan. So good to meet you.” He offered his hand, and I took it. “My name’s Zayn.” “Nice to meet you.” I managed to smile, sort of comforted by his familiar accent, his demeaner. “You an artist?” “Graphic design.” He told me, sitting down beside me on the sofa. “I work on a lot of book covers, posters, advertisement, that sorta thing.” “Nice. You live here?” “I do. And what about you? I’d heard you lived here, but then according to the grapevine, you haven’t been around for a while.” “No, I uh… I moved back to the UK for a while.” “So that’s why your gallery hasn’t been open? I’ve been dying to see your stuff in person.” “M'gunna open again soon. M’just trying to… gather my bearings a bit. Get used to all… this again.” I huffed, gesturing vaguely to the room. He chuckled in a way that suggested he knew exactly what I meant and agreed entirely. “You don’t sound overly impressed.” “Am I that obvious?” I turned my head to him, smiled. “I get it. I feel the same way. I’ve known James for years, and the first thing he spoke about with me tonight was how much his latest piece went for. His new apartment. How fake he thinks everyone else is.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s mad how quickly people change.” I sat forward, still with my eyes on him, a huge smile on my face. I liked him instantly. “What was your name again?” “Zayn.” He answered. “Genuinely, it’s good to meet you. It’s good to talk with someone who… I dunno. I feel like we’re on the same page. I don’t get that often. Not here, anyway.” Just as we were about to really get talking, a rather large group of people approached us, some of them heading towards him, others coming up to me, tearing us away from our talk. There was a mix of people, some that I’d met a few times before, others completely new faces. Zayn got to his feet to greet them properly, whereas I basically retracted back into the chair, overwhelmed by their company, anxious and claustrophobic. They all sort of spoke around me, through me, at me. There wasn’t even really a conversation to join in with, it was all just noise. One of the many things I’d loved about being in Rosebury was the sense of community and family there. When people asked of your wellbeing, they actually cared to know the answer. They were kind, considerate, down to earth, genuine. I understood why my mother had always been so fond of it there, so drawn to that place. I cleared my throat, looking up to the people around me and spotting a girl who was staring right at me, my mind taking the few seconds to place her. And then she smirked, and I knew. She pushed through the crowd, drawing herself closer to me even though I’d dropped eye contact as quickly as I could, desperate not to talk to her. “Hi, Harry.” She leered as she got to me. “Y’alright?” I grumbled. “It’s been a long time. Too long.” She was someone I used to sleep with before I moved to Rosebury in August the year before, our companionship so casual and empty that I hadn’t even bothered to tell her I was moving away. I hadn’t seen her since, and I was glad of it because I knew exactly what she’d be like. She took her place beside me, immediately putting her fingers in my hair, her touch unwelcomed and cold. I really didn’t want to see her. She was so abrasively forward, unashamedly attempting to rekindle a flame that had barely existed between us in the first place. I knew I’d see her eventually, but I’d been absolutely dreading it. I didn’t look directly at her, my jaw tight as I cringed over her touch. “Please tell me it’s true you’ve moved back here.” She leaned close to me, whispering in my ear. “Unfortunately, that’s true.” I seethed, tilting my head the other way, but it didn’t stop her. “I don’t think it’s unfortunate. I think we should pick up where we left off.” My stomach was literally churning with every word, every sultry touch she inflicted upon my body. All I could think of was Alfie. All I could think about was how different it might feel if she was the one running her fingers through my hair, whispering in my ear, how it would feel to have her body that close to mine. I craved to once again experience the feelings I used to get when I was with her, how it felt to hold her, be held by her. But I knew that even if I was with her then, it wouldn’t be the same, not after everything. The day before I’d left, when she came to my place, touching her and being around her just seemed to fucking hurt more than anything else, like I was grasping hold of a memory, or a concept of something and someone I wanted so badly but didn’t deserve. Every overwhelming sensation that used to burst through my body when we touched was gone. Those butterflies she used to create, those beautiful butterflies had stopped fluttering, as though someone reached right into my gut and ripped them out one by one. I would have still taken the agony of Alfie’s touch any day over the way I felt then. “I don’t think so.” I answered bleakly. “C’mon, Harry, I’ve missed you.” She pouted. “We were good together.” “We weren’t together.” “You know what I mean.” She shrugged. “Do you need me to elaborate? Remind you of some specifics…” She trailed her hand to my chest, reaching through the gap at the top of shirt to feel at my skin. I closed my eyes, my nostrils flaring as I tried to keep myself together. “No. I don’t-” “I know you hate nights alone. Let me keep you company.” I turned my head to look at her, be sure that she could see the unyielding look in my eyes, that she would have no doubt at all that I was being entirely truthful about my intentions, how adamant I was that I’d rather be on my own than ever have her in my bed again. But she didn’t even give the chance to speak before she rapidly leaned into me, put her lips on mine. My eyes gripped shut as though I was fighting physical pain, but for a second, I kissed her back. It was a mere moment, a blip of time and thoughtlessness, but I kissed her back. Maybe to test the waters. Maybe because of my hopeless need to feel something, anything. But it was only for a second. Then I pulled away, taming myself as much as possible before I spoke, making sure that I didn’t yell even though that was exactly what I wanted to do. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.” I wheezed. Whatever that kiss had made me feel, it wasn’t something to be desired. I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t in right frame of mind to be with anyone, even if it was without feeling or meaning. My kiss still belonged to someone else.

June 15th It was 4 AM when my phone rang. That was the first thing I did; check the time. With my eyes barely open and my head blaring, I looked to see the hour before I looked to see who was calling me, worried that I may have overslept and wasted most of my day. But it was early, too early. I didn’t even look at my phone, I just picked it up, not fully conscious as I attempted to answer it, hoping it would be a brief exchange with whoever was trying to get in touch with me at such a ridiculous hour. “Hello?” I just about spoke. “Shit. I didn’t think about the time difference, shit. Sorry.” I recognised Louis’ voice, my eyes opening. “Louis?” I began to sit myself up. “Yeah, sorry, I should’ve waited. I didn’t even think. I just…” “What? What is it?” I rubbed my eyes. “Is everything alright?” “I… I think you need to come home, mate.” My exhale was a heavy one. I think I’d sort of been expecting one of them to call in an attempt to coax me back there. They hadn’t been happy when I’d told them I was leaving. They’d wanted me to stay, for me to be happy, and I’d left them all without giving them more of a chance to talk things through with me. I purposefully avoided them after I’d broken the news, and I knew they’d have much more to say. They really did care about me. That’s why I thought he’d called. “I can’t, Louis. I-” “No, you need to. I know how much you fucking care about her, and she won’t call you herself, so-” “Wait, what? Is it Alfie?” I whipped my head up, suddenly wide awake. “Are you talking about Alfie? Is she alright?” He took a few seconds, his heart so heavy I could literally hear its burden over the phone. And then he told me. “Alfie’s mum died.”

[bytheangell]

i am so in love with time travel fics so if it's not too much trouble can you please write something re: sad!past!magnus (maybe TID-era, or anything really) somehow winding up in the present day, and finding out that he's gonna be ok, he's gonna be so happy with his husband and children (if you want to include the book!malec kids here) and family, and the world might not be perfect but it's going to be better than he thought it could be

Believe in All the Possibilities (Read on AO3)Magnus just wants a carefree night of music, perhaps a bit of dancing, and most definitely more drinking than would be strictly advisable in his current emotional state. Maybe, if he still feels awful enough by the end of the night, he can end up in a den of questionable moral offerings on the shadier side of London. Who knows where the night might take him?

Instead he finds himself staring across the room at Camille, dancing far too close to be publicly decent with her current conquest. That’s all they are, he reminds himself, but it doesn’t help, not when he was in her arms not that long ago (had it been weeks? months? what’s time to an immortal, anyway?). Not when she’s the reason he’s drinking his heartbreak drink alone at the bar in the first place. He watches her for a while, losing track of time (has it been minutes? hours? time matters so little these days…). It’s the amount of time it takes to drink two bottles of whiskey, he can measure it that way. He thinks he might just continue for the rest of the night until Camille meets his eyes, winks at him, and then pushes her suitor against a wall to shove her tongue down his throat and run her hands down the length of his body and-

He needs to leave. 

Magnus pays his tab and walks out of the party, doing his best not to look back. He almost manages it but steals one last glance, not sure if he’s more or less hurt by the realization that she isn’t even watching him for his reaction, now entirely lost in the arms of her new lover. It isn’t a comfort to remind himself that he probably means nothing to her because that’s only a reminder that he meant nothing to her, too. 

He doesn’t have a place in mind when he opens a portal. He’s only just polished up with Henry a more stable way of opening portals for Shadowhunters to use, with runes drawn intricately around where they wish to form it to channel the magic needed. The one he opens now, fueled only by his own raw power, could be considered a prototype at best. It’s unstable and unpredictable without the runes to ground it, but hell, he’s feeling more than a little unstable and unpredictable himself. 

Magnus knows, deep down, that this is a mistake. The first rule to using a portal is to have a clear picture of where you’re going, but instead he steps into it with only one thought in mind: Take me somewhere I can be happy. I just want to feel okay again.

London vanishes behind him, and everything goes black. 

—

By all accounts he should be dead. Or in limbo. Or some horrifying combination of both.

Instead, Magnus finds himself blinking his eyes open from darkness to take in the scene around him of a city that is most definitely not London. There are street lamps lit along the– no, not lamps. The light coming from them isn’t fire. They’re electric. In fact, electric lights seem to be everywhere, despite the lightbulb barely being functional in the richest of areas testing out electricity in 1878. 

But that’s not the strangest thing. Magnus takes a few tentative steps towards the street only to jump backwards at the speed of the… well, he isn’t sure what the horrifyingly fast cart that passed him is exactly, but he knows that one more step forward and he would’ve been underneath it. Sobering up much faster than he’d like, Magnus starts to realize that however improbable the idea is, he has to face the facts that add up around him. He appears to be in the future - at the very least an alternate timeline, one far more advanced than his own. Regardless, either should be impossible. 

And the most distressing realization (as if all of that isn’t enough) is that since he has no idea how he managed to get here, he isn’t entirely sure how to get himself back. 

If he even can. 

…if he even wants to. 

After all, the past holds little for him outside of disappointments and broken promises. He can hardly find joy in his work at the moment, the one thing he’s consistently turned to as a source of pride and solace, so why bother going back to a life destined for solitude and misery? 

But first things first: he needs to figure out exactly where he is. It takes a bit of poking around and more than a few heavy American accents telling him in no uncertain terms not to so much as look at  them, before he gets the answers he’s looking for. It’s New York in the late 2010s, a little over a hundred years ahead of where he came from. 

But why here? Why now? 

Those questions are answered when he backs up quickly to narrowly avoid two children who turn the corner and nearly run directly into him, followed by the voice of someone calling out after them. No, not someone - that’s his voice. 

“Max! Rafe! This isn’t a game tonight, okay? Something’s wrong and I need to test the wards before you can go inside.”

Magnus glamours himself immediately, pressing up against the side of the building to let them pass while  listening in on the middle of a conversation this future version of himself is holding with a very tall, very attractive Shadowhunter. 

“-I don’t know, Alexander. But something feels off with my magic, like I can sense too much of it? I can’t explain it, but I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong before you and the boys come up.” And then he’s gone, vanishing into the apartment building while the man named Alexander waits on the sidewalk with two children, one warlock and one shadowhunter. Magnus knows because of the runes and blue skin he can see just beyond their glamours; glamours which are good enough to fool mundanes but not strong enough to block out skilled warlocks who are looking hard enough. The children must be keeping their own glamours up rather than relying on ones put on by the two adults. Impressive, especially for children so young. 

The warlock boy starts to poke small jolts of magic into the Shadowhunter boy, who looks about two seconds away from stabbing the warlock boy in the arm with his stele if he doesn’t stop. Magnus has the sudden impulse to give away his own hidden position to stop them but Alexander is already on top of it.  

“Max! No magic on the street, you know that. Rafael, please, if you break another stele this month Izzy’s going to kill both of us. Just stand still for two minutes while Papa checks the wards.” 

“Alright, Dad,” the children say in unison.

And that’s when Magnus realizes. These aren’t just people his future self is working with, or bringing here for a social visit. These are his children. And Alexander is… well, if Dad and Papa weren’t enough, one glance down at the wedding ring on the Shadowhunter’s finger is all the answer he needs there, too. Magnus can sense the magic there, his magic there, laced with more protection charms than should reasonably be contained in an object so small. 

The future version of himself comes back downstairs looking more confused than ever, and just for confirmation Magnus’ eyes immediately drop to the matching wedding band on his hand, standing out in its simplicity compared to the rings surrounding it. I’m married. And more than that, married to a mortal. A Shadowhunter. “Everything’s fine. C’mon kids, grab your things before we drop you back off at the Institute with Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Simon for the weekend.” 

Magnus follows behind as they go upstairs, the wards letting him pass without incident as they’re keyed to his own magic, after all. He’s careful to stay out of the way as he remains hidden from view, listening to the sounds of laughter as the children pack clothing into a bag and his future self enjoys a glass of wine with his husband, eavesdropping on their conversation while he looks around the room at children’s artwork and smiling family photos, feeling the warmth that radiates from this nontraditional family. 

“Once we get back to Alicante I have three meetings, one with Consul Penhallow,” his future self sighs. “Remind me again why I let you talk me into the High Warlock position?” 

Alexander laughs. “Talk you into it? As I remember, the moment you heard Alicante was getting one you practically demanded to be the one to, how did you put it?, ‘put the Clave in their place once and for all’?” 

Magnus nearly chokes on the air he’s breathing. High Warlock is one thing, it’s an honor he’s always dreamed of. But High Warlock of Alicante? It sounds absolutely absurd and he can hardly comprehend the idea of it. Downworlders are barely allowed to exist in the same rooms as Shadowhunters, let alone exist as any sort of authority in their sacred country. He’s broken from his thoughts by his future self speaking again. 

“Yes, well, I also remember the job coming with the clear perk of moving to Alicante with my husband the Inquisitor, so-” 

Magnus watches them smile at one another, leaning in to kiss. It’s a short one, quickly interrupted by a flying pillow and the laughter of children. Soon both wine glasses are magicked away and both his future self and Alexander are each grabbing a child, spinning them before pinning them to the ground, tickling them into submission. 

Suddenly Magnus realizes why he’s here, why now. 

This is what he wanted. This is where he’s happy. 

There is so much love in the room it’s practically palpable. He’s married to someone he clearly trusts, someone he doesn’t believe will hurt him or leave him, because he knows himself. He knows how impossible the idea of finding someone like that feels right now, and how important this Alexander must be for him to go against everything he’s resolutely resigned to in his own mind and allow him into his life in such a monumental way. And a family… as impossible as marriage seems to him, the idea of a family isn’t even up for consideration. This sort of life - settling down, unconditional love, contentment, happiness - it isn’t meant for him. It never has been, and he never thought it would be. 

Until now. 

When his future self opens a portal to the Institute they’re going to drop the children off at Magnus instinctively follows close behind, still glamoured, coming out of the other side and into the New York Institute just as it closes, like it knows to wait for him. The children immediately run into the arms of another Shadowhunter, a woman this time, and then the man beside her. A vampire, who is casually coexisting in the inner sanctum of the Shadowhunters and friendly with his future children. 

“Simon!” The young Shadowhunter boy, Rafe, nearly shouts. “I got my speed rune, I bet I can beat you in a race now!” 

The vampire - Simon - laughs. “Oh yeah? We’ll have to see about that…” 

Magnus almost feels guilty for intruding on these moments. He knows they’re not for him, not yet, but he can’t help himself when Alexander and his future self say goodbye shortly after and he’s ducking quickly behind them into another portal, this time coming out somewhere entirely unfamiliar at first. It takes a few moments before the scenery around him registers. 

Alicante. 

He recognizes the demon towers, can feel the strength of the angelic power around him from both the concentrated amount of Shadowhunters and the adamas veins that run beneath the city. He’s immediately uncomfortable, an instinctive sense of unease coming from so much as stepping foot upon the City of Glass… but not his future self. 

He watches his future self visibly relax the moment he steps foot out of the portal and onto the ground of the park below. Can anyone portal into the middle of Alicante at will now or is it just him, Magnus wonders idly. Exactly how much have things changed? 

…exactly how much of that is, potentially, because of him? 

Magnus follows his future self and Alexander down a path he realizes was picked deliberately for the portal to open up at. The pair take their time wandering down it, hand in hand, talking and catching up on each other’s days. Alexander mentions Catarina and Magnus feels his heart swell at the knowledge that they’re still friends, even now. Maybe everyone doesn’t leave him in the end after all. 

When his future self and Alexander finally reach a building that’s most likely their home Magnus decides not to follow them inside. He’s seen enough: enough to know that he may never stop watching this version of his life if he doesn’t leave soon, and more than enough to know that running away from the life he has now is no longer what he wants, not when he has this to look forward to in the end.  It might not be what he thought he wanted out of life, but maybe it’s exactly what he needs.

Magnus feels a lightness in him he didn’t imagine himself capable of just an hour ago. Hope, the smallest seed of it, rests firmly within him after the sights he witnessed tonight. He just has to let it grow, nurture the idea that things may seem bleak now but they won’t be forever. He has proof of that now, a reason to believe that he’s more than just someone to be used and discarded. That one day he’ll find a love powerful enough to see him marrying a Shadowhunter, taking on a job title he never could’ve imagined existing let alone holding personally, and raising a family to come home to at the end of the day. Loved. Accepted. Content. 

Before he came here he simply wanted to dull the ache and numb himself to any feelings at all; now he finds himself overwhelmed by too many emotions to count, and he couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

This may all be his one day, but first he has to get here. Once he’s certain he’s alone he conjures a portal of his own, picturing London and a life that’s only as meaningful as he chooses to make it.His life no longer feels like an inevitable sentence to play out but rather a glowing future that’s his for the taking. ‘Take me home’ he thinks with surprising fondness as he takes his first step towards that light.

[imagine-loki]

Till We Meet Again

TITLE: Till We Meet Again

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 18/?

AUTHOR: marvelgirlonamarvelworld (side blog)

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being mesmerized by a girl whose eyes remind him of the Bifrost

Imagine that Loki would visit you when you were a child, persuading you into mischief and cheering you up with his magic tricks, you assumed he was imaginary. 

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: angst, whump, language, not much really. Just a transition chapter

A/N 2: Alas! a new chapter! So I decided to merge a one-shot I’ve been working on with this new chapter. Thank you all for reading!!! I deeply, truly appreciate it :’) as always, feedback’s appreciated!!

-

Clouds.

    Alabaster gaseous matter formed with every trembling exhale. A ghastly thing that soon withered to a dark null. One which became part of the cold nothingness the fallen Icarus prince found himself surrounded by. 

    Cold damp stone met his aching palms. If once such low temperatures had no stir to his being, now it sent pangs and jolts through his blood. The bitter cold seeped through his pores and into his decaying soul. 

   The fallen prince, with his innocent eyes now bloodshot, endeavored to push himself from the damp floor yet his strengths betrayed his crippling will. Right away his torn gold-plated chest hit the cold ground as all air inside his lungs was no more.

    “Allfather…” he sobbed, failing to swallow the lump, as a loose tear allied with his weakness, “Father…why have you abandoned me?” The single pearl of salt danced down his cheek while his stare remained on the black stone ground; while his hands continued to struggle to at least be on his knees. “Why…” his ghastly face contorted. Another lament betrayed his lost facade of vain and might. “Why have you left me, father? Why have you abandoned me, mother?”

    His words still echoed. The resounding ‘No’ before letting go. Yes. Before letting go. 

    Loki had fallen. Fallen so suddenly, so haltingly, so briskly, so gracefully. 

   Unmade in the process, his broken body and exhausted mind traveled through space, journeyed through time.

   Fell and landed on a field of cold and clouds and shadows. Of watching eyes whose bodies remained embraced by the darkness. Of distant screams and wails enticed by mistress torture. 

    What a misfortune. 

   Another moan ripped away from his throat. One which became a breath of strength to his soul.

   Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, his palms pushed his body off of the ground. Yet his arms did not move at all. Nothing happened, his body remained prostrated. Loki could not feel his limbs, could not feel the rest of his body at all. His body was numb. Dormant from the fall.

    And his blue lips quivered. Trembled as a ragged wail burned his throat followed by hiccups and suffocating sucks of air. His forehead pressed against the cold stone ground. “I could have done it…I could have done it. I could have done it.”

    His head remained bowed down, tears blurring and blinding his sight; facing the grim ominous dirt embodying his downfall and misery; letting loose trembling strands of coal hang and stick to his forehead while his decaying body broke in ripples of sweat that frostbit his bones.

    The young prince cried, sobbed and trembled before the black starless sky; before curious eyes guarding and waiting. Fisted the dirt, tasted his own blood, heeded the distant cries and screams caressing his spine, recalled it all yet ignored it all. 

    “I could have done it…” his jaw clenched and ached. The pounding inside his head bloomed and magnified it all through his body. 

   Once again he was nothing.

   Loki had no wings. No form to soar high into the night. Poor thing, they’d been clipped, plucked mercilessly. Left his bare back bleeding raw. And it would only get worse from there onward, yet he knew not of that at all.

    But it mattered naught either. 

   For his claws remained sharp. As sharp as his silver tongue was. As swift as diamonds cutting through glass. Blood forged. Disappointment sharpened. Ready to be drawn. Anxious to slash. Hungry to bury themselves in the ferrous fine crimson wine. 

    For many names he’d been called. And relentless was one.

    With every movement and flection, his bones trembled. With every weary heartbeat, his strength almost gave in. But now he was sat against a pillar whose tallness appeared infinite. His reddened eyes could see it all now, crystal clear and realized…death was lurking about.

    His eyes drifted to the void space, deep down hoping to notice a sign. A raven flying through the gray clouds, a flash of light contrasting with the black, a shooting star…even a spark of colors resembling those of an opal though he didn’t know why. 

    “He…Hei…Heimdall…” Loki called upon the watcher and protector of the realm he’d known as his homeland. “Heimdall.” Hope tainted his hoarse voice. “Open the Bifrost…” another tear allied with fright and rolled down his pale sunken cheek. “If you can hear me. If you can…see me. I beg you bring forth the Bifrost.”

    All noise withered down to a hum. And like a child anxiously awaiting to wish upon a rain of shooting stars, Loki continued to gaze up to the night with his heart thumping and his mind buzzing, already imaging the familiar blinding flash. 

    “Please…”

One heartbeat.

    Two heartbeats.

    Three heartbeats. 

    Space remained black.

    “Heimdall?” His hand raised to grasp the distant night and swallowed his pride and continued to call. “Mother? Please forgive me.”

    It was a matter of patience, had to wait, Loki told himself still clinging to the thinning thread. After all, he was far from home, lightyears away from all known, a million heartbeats away where he belonged.

    Yet the waiting was never-ending.

    Minutes lost their shape, elongated and transitioned to countless bitter cold nights. 

    Loki was alone, forgotten, weakened and helpless. Easy prey, the crawling thing. And he couldn’t help but squirm and weep silently from the fear.

    His head remained against the pillar and wept his strength away as the shadows danced and took form. “Please…somebody…”

    Oh, how he wished his seidr reserves did not empty, did not waste away in healing all that which could not be remedied. To have enough magic to create a little white bird, a beautiful rarity, to send smeared in his blood with a message within its bones. A sign, a feathered warning…to not be forgotten.

    “Please,” Loki closed his eyes, already sensing foreign stares peer upon as distant bickering reached his ears. “Please. I pray to thee. Allfathers rejoicing in paradise Valhalla, have mercy on me. I beg please, hear my plea.”

    Loki wished to open his eyes, desired to acknowledge his future captors stalk towards him with snarling creatures prowling beside. Yet the overbuilt exhaustion, the suffocating stillness of the disappointing nights forbade him to; the resurfacing screams and uproars of disembodied suffering voices triggered his self-preserve mode. And thus he sought refuge in his mind. Retrieved to the safe heaven where he would remain intact, safe from it all till his strengths came back. 

    Loki allowed himself to be carried by them, to his downfall, to his unmaking and reshape. Allowed his body to be kidnapped against his racing heart and screaming conscience. For even he obeyed his instincts, his fighting would be futile.

    Yet his racing mind was quieted upon the shrieking BOOM! of thunder striking the land…

    “Argh!”

    Loki sat upright, mad thumping heart against the back of his wide eyes, his throat drowned in hushed sobs and hiccups. He was nothing but a trembling creature; heaving frightened to death, clinging to nothing but his deceiving head.

      “Thor?” He called for his brother.

    Alabaster clouds still danced about before vanishing into furniture in the blink of watery eyes. And Loki couldn’t help but shakily exhale upon realizing his conscience’s own deceivings. It had been a dream. A nightmare.

    His eyes wandered on further, not trusting his own convictions, afraid this too was a dream within a dream. Though he realized he was in the same place he had been yesterday; sitting on the couch, with Luna’s sketchbook on his lap, downstairs..waiting.

    Yes. Loki was truly there! The living room was where he headed after the shocking discovery; where he impatiently waited for Luna’s return yet she never did.

    Oh, dear gods! He was safe, away from the gates of hell.

    Dusk crept through the windows. Clouds covered the skies.

    Had he really slept his day away? His floating ponder made him blink multiple times before standing and stretching. He winced at the cracks of his bones and stings on his back; the position he’d drifted to slumber wasn’t the most comfortable, and neither was Midgardian clothing.

    Like muscle memory Loki flicked his hand, expecting for the light to flicker to life; completely forgetting the nothingness he’d been left with until darkness prolonged. Disdained, he pursed his lips and made his way to flick the switch on himself.

    Much to his disdain, he had not much to do but continue on with the wait. It was exasperating, the silence was too loud yet too quiet at the same time. He could not leave and roam around for his only shield was this home. Step out that door and most likely he’d be detected by the world; by the Allfather if not by Heimdall. And he could not allow that. His whole plans revolved around his apparent death.

    The big reveal was not due yet.

    Shivers rippled through his spine, traveled through every nerve, swam away in his veins as he walked up the stairs, as the flash of his nightmare played before his glare. It was sickening to remember. A nightmare.

    Now that irrational side on him lost appealing. 

    His limbs went limp and froze in front of Luna’s bedroom door, cursing himself between hisses and ragged breaths. Oh the grand epiphany that’d fallen upon himself.  He’d been an idiot. A fool.

    Snapping from his dawning, Loki pushed the door and meandered through the dark and into the bathroom. 

    Ah, glutton. Bit more than he could chew. 

    He wondered how she was. He hoped that Luna would soon return. Having her away from him made him uneasy, rendered his conscience to grow loud with reproaches and worries for failing to protect her as he’d vowed to do so if something happened.

    Loki knew the apology was imminent although he’d pledged against it. Never say never, however. Should’ve known better. If Loki wished her to not leave, that was the remedy; one which was not enough. He knew Luna like the back of his hand, thus acknowledging he’d have to do much than simply ask for her pardoning. 

    Clothes lay neatly folded by the sink, and soon the tiled space was fogged by crystal mist from the warm artificial stream.

    His built figure stood there under the warm embrace of the water, silent, glistening thus enunciating his paleness and markings; at peace yet in an anguishing haze. Loki’s mind kept dwelling between past, present, and future bearings with the scepter being a common denominator.

    Yet he’d managed to bury it all, to forget in order for his nightmares to cease hunting again. It’d been nights, days, weeks since he’d dreamt a bad dream. Yet…There was no room for coincidence, no loose strings, nothing; that after discovering his scepter lay at arm’s length all ghosts from the past fluttered to life.

    The soft scent of blooming flowers danced through his nostrils just as the foam on his body washed away by the clear stream. Somehow, also carrying away part of his ailing. 

    The artificial rain ceased. Refracting beads of water rolled through his naked chest and fell from his raven hair as a white towel covered his lower half. The cool tiles against his feet sparked goosebumps to race along his spine.

    Again he walked from the light into the dark. And a sudden flash of a memory surfaced before his eyes, perhaps a second epiphany, of him as a child once frightened by the lack of light. Always seeking the comforting warmth of his mother’s arms.

    Oh, how Loki missed Frigga, and wondered…was she aware of his apparent death? Had she mourned as little as the Allfather or as much as his brother had presumably done?

    Funny how his fear became his comforting mantle from the scorching lights, from the true enemies disguised as lambs.

    Shadows took form and elongated as Loki reached the closet and opened it. A pair of jeans and a black tee were his outfit. 

    He wondered now when Luna had purchased them, or to whom this changes of clothing belonged to in the past. Yet he made no fuss of it as the soft fabric slipped against his scarred flesh; unbeknownst to him, inner jealousy had already been irked by it regardless.

    Trailing back to turn off the light of the bathroom, his foot stumbled against a soft surface that soon slid across the floor and laid by the doorframe. Right away his emerald glare discerned it was a book.

    Surprise incarcerated his breath in the confinements of his chest as he picked up the familiar worn out hardcover and peered at it in detail. Musky green. Torn out edges. The familiarity of the runic scripture on the spine of it made his heart stop beating right before speeding mad.

    Who knew of all places Loki had searched for his favourite book of spells, which he had lost years ago, he would come to find it in this home? Of all places! What were the odds?

    The odds, however, were the little girl he had once befriended.

    “Little thief,” Loki muttered and smiled warmly.

-

Meanwhile,

Somewhere in the outskirts of New York City.

    “Nothing?” The sound of silence vanished by Matt’s ponder from across the table. His voice was no more than sound waves sheathed by pure boredom, and borderline exasperation intensified by the many rounds of caffeine ingested through the over twenty-four-hour fruitless searches. 

    “Nada,” Luna responded while rubbing her eyes and drowning out a yawn. The computer screen displayed in a hideous yellow font at the center of the screen a ‘No Match’ sign which made her mentally roll her eyes. Of course she would find nothing.  Political high ends would have interest but not the guts to steal the suitcase from the tower. 

    “Are you sure?” He asked from across the table with his face hiding behind the laptop screen.

    “Yes.” Luna groaned as the blinding white lights from the ceiling glared and reflected on the thick glass covering the wood beneath it.

    Stalling while incriminating the world was easy. Annoying but easy. Mantled her with the illusion of past normalcy, a mirage of how things used to be.

    No doubt Matt believed her words; although, the discrepancy he’d found her at home and not at the Tower was quite startling. All in all, on the other hand, Luna had some Loki in her, no doubt some of his trickery was bound to stick; make a fool think the sky is green when in reality…it is neither blue nor green.

    “I’ve gone through every file, nothing stands out, no solid match,” Luna made eye-contact with Matt. “But I don’t doubt the possibility it might have been one of these people. I mean, if what you say is true that whatever’s inside that suitcase is worth so much…” she snorted and hand gestured to his once upon a time friend, “it could’ve been any of the people we’ve played. Any who realized they were double-crossed by us.”

    “But nobody knew this intel,” Matt replied and brushed his hair back exasperatedly. “Our circle is tight, Luna. We’re a small group. And we’re running out of time.”

    Her eyebrows creased and fell silent momentarily. Luna was meticulously working her angle, but Matt was no idiot. And that made the game all the more difficult.

    Apparently, the so-called client/engineer had handed him a deadline. Yet Luna was more than aware it was them, the ones at the higher ranks of the chains. They were breathing down his neck.

    “Hey, we’re not the only ones who play underground,” said Luna while sipping from her cold-brewed coffee before freezing her actions and quickly lowering the cup from her lips; the memory of just where she was and with whom placed her cautious side on high alert. “We’re not the only ones who break the rules to get what we want, Matt. Regardless whether it is for the good or bad.”

    Luna watched as Matt scratched his chin, deep in thought while she studied his sun-kissed features. 

    To her, there were no indications the order to have her killed came from him. The car accident was not his doing. As belittling as it sounded in her head, the brown-eyed was no more than a pawn, a disguise. And she couldn’t help but pity the idiot.

    Unbeknownst to her unconscious, she was excusing his doings against her by telling herself the retrieval of those traffic cams were just orders from above. Call it fear to loose yet another somebody or denial to acknowledge his betrayal. 

    A chuckle disrupted the momentary silence in the small conference room the two had been in since yesterday; catching up on things, though Luna knew it was all half-truths. His focus was now on her face whose exhaustion was reflected in the unusual paleness and clouds on her eyes. 

    “What is it?” He said.

    “I think we’re making a big deal out of this,” Luna fiddled with the pulsing opal hanging from the delicate silver chain around her neck. As much as the thumping took her aback, for the stone had never done such thing before, she pushed the nagging thought aside. “What if it was SHIELD all along, which for some reason, moved the suitcase and we’re here like idiots searching for nonexistent ends?”

    “It wasn’t them.”

    Luna’s smile faded away upon the echo of an accentuated third voice in the room. And her stomach sunk as she turned to face the entrance, at the far right, where two familiar figures stood.

    This wasn’t good.

    This was so not good.

    Luna was a gaping fish. Wide-eyed and barely mustering a stuttered ‘long time no see’ as a greeting towards the two that’d tried to take her out. The twins.

    The two were a mirror with a slightly altered reflection of one another. Wanda’s expressive round eyes contrasted very much with Pietro’s downturned glare. It was one of the few differences between the twins, aside from the obvious ones such as height and dye of hair.

    The hushed unintelligible whispers were soon to make themselves present as the ginger tried to glimpse inside her mind.

    “Luna,” Wanda greeted her and smiled a smile which did not reach her eyes where her annoyance waltzed. “Good to see you’re back! And I still cannot read your mind…”

    Pietro, on the other hand, was a stark contrast to the stiffness of his twin. Somehow he seemed laid back, more so than before; acted like one of those foolish casanovas who would oftentimes get the girl with every twirl of his boasts and jokes. Eccentric quicksilver who had once caught her eye once upon a time. 

    He was good at disguising his emotions.

    “Luna,” Pietro grinned and winked.

    Idiot, Luna thought as her eyes drifted to Matt.

    “I called them in to help after the accident,” Matt explained, blatantly noticing her surprise before turning to the twins. “Please tell me something good you two.”

   Matt drifted his attention to the twins who shared a serious glance between them, no words were spoken but that of their telling eyes. Such action which Luna could only define as a quirk of theirs for their silence was quite nerve-wreaking. 

    As if they hid something, knew something Luna was oblivious of. And in her overbearingly hyperactive and paranoid mind, their silence foretold nothing yet everything. And if it was the latter, to flee from the chaos that would ensue would be difficult.

    One to three was not a good ratio.

    “All we can tell you is SHIELD did not move the suitcase,” Wanda deadpanned, thus shutting any possibility to lead the search in another direction.

    “How are you so sure?” Luna dumbly asked. She already knew the answer.

    Wanda glanced at her with that same twinkle of annoyance towards her person. “Because I read their minds, saw them.  Every single one. Even your so-called friends’.”

    Luna did not know how to react. Her face could only be described as a poem whose allegory was too difficult to understand. For although she knew that’d be the ginger’s answer it still surprised her the staggering hatred dripping within her statement. 

    Then the shocking question Luna had failed to ask herself about the twins struck her with might: Why? Why agree to carry out the dirty work for them? Why? How grand was the reward for carrying out such a thing? Why?

    Luna blinked once, twice, thrice hoping the sudden surface of anger and perplexity withered from burning her chest. “Excuse me, what?”

    The jester twin standing beside the ginger huffed and chuckled, crossed his arms as those silver eyes twinkled with amusement. Pietro was reliving a memory.

    “Okay,” Luna tilted her head and rested her right palm on the cold surface of the table. A nervous smile formed on her face as she tried to maintain that annoying facade of obliviousness. “Is this what you mentioned to me on our way here? That something went down over there but things got a little out of hand?”

    “Yeah,” Matt nodded and gestured with his hand. “That’s what I was talking about.”

    “Well, what exactly happened?” Luna questioned.

    “In short…uh,” Pietro stepped in, “Matt sent us to the tower, told us the suitcase was in the lower levels, we searched…and searched and searched,“ the silver-haired pointed out, keeping count with his fingers, “and found nothing. Then Wanda decided to change tactics buuuut…”

    “Please tell me you didn’t bring out the Hulk,” Luna’s eyes squinted and pursed her lips. Deep down squirming at the memory of the green giant and his eyes with a ring of scarlet. The amount of suffering, desperation, anger, and fear reflected in them haunted the corners of her memory to this day.

    Luna pitied the giant as much as she feared his fury. She wondered how Bruce was doing…

    “Okay. I did not think through my idea,” Wanda nodded and pursed her lips. “But I was not planning on leaving that tower without information. Now would you like to know what I saw in your friend’s head as I was searching for a lead?”

    The wicked grin plastered on the witch’s face made all Luna’s hairs stand on end. 

    “Thor?” She mumbled. The blond’s name pierced her chest. Her truer friend. The one she betrayed far before it all had gone to hell. 

    And thinking about it…Luna concluded she deserved all the shit raining down on her for stabbing an individual with pure intentions. 

    “I…I don’t think…,” chills and sparks caressed and clawed her spine as it planted the seed of discord; the bloom of curiosity.

    “Or I can show them to you,” Wanda offered with a twinkle in her eyes as the familiar murmurs in Luna’s head took force. “See for yourself his fears.”

    To lose you, his friend. Oh, and how much jealousy! To see you have no eyes for him!

    Luna closed her eyes and sighed, holding back, hiding it all in the depths of herself. Yet the pangs and clenches of her heart made swallowing the lump of guilt painstakingly difficult. And it was no help the ire of fire, towards Wanda and her own self, scorching her bones to brittle stone.

      Her lips curved and opened her eyes, forcefully showing a smile through her annoyance while shutting her mind. “I think I’ll pass. There are far more important tasks at hand right now, right Matt?”

    “True,” the brunet shook his head absentmindedly, thumb holding his child and curled pointer finger against his lips. Deep in thought. “But now that we’re mentioning him, when was the last time you two spoke?”

    “We haven’t talked since I went home, why?” Luna spoke right away. Perhaps too quick for her sake. Lying still remained somewhat of a weakness for her.

    Unlike Loki…but that was another matter on hold. Luna didn’t let his memory cave in for the remainder of the time being. Not yet.

    Matt remained silent, and so too the twins who sat three chairs away from him. His eyes were half-lidded as if to discern between an image blurring by the distance, thinking, planning.

    “I thought he’d be mother-hening you these two days,” Matt acknowledged. “Has he tried to get in touch with you?”

    “No?” Luna answered. “Before I left he said they were shortly leaving for a mission but didn’t tell me when they’d come back. I just figured he was still on that mission to this day, but I guess not.” Luna crossed her arms and puckered her lips while reclining against the desk chair. “Now with the whole mind-reading thing and whatever else went down…I doubt he’ll have the time.”

    And it’s not like Luna would be able to anyway. After all, Thor and the others had suspicions she’d gone missing. That she was taken by those that’d upraised hell on the tower.

    Matt locked eyes with Luna as his hand rested on the table, “I think you should call him. Keep in touch. Don’t go awol on him for too long.

    “You think my silence would raise suspicion?” Luna cocked her brow curiously. Although she already knew Thor wouldn’t bring her name to question.

    “Not necessarily,” Matt said, “but I want to rid of the possibility anyway. You’re our front still. Their distraction and our insider.”

    Luna tilted her head ever so slightly, mentally refusing what Matt was proposing. “Right.”

    “What the hell, you know what?” Matt jerked his head and hand gestured, “Why don’t you call him now? The sooner the better.”

    Luna bit the inside of her cheek as the desire to laugh in his face grew. If he only knew she could not…

    Trying to get in touch with him was a resonant ‘NO’. Not only because Mr. Nosy Laufeyson had declared they now relied on the element of surprise, but also and most importantly because Luna had no face to ever look Thor in the eye anymore. Guilt now forbade her from doing so.

    “Well. I don’t have a phone. It got destroyed. You know…in the accident.” Luna stammered. 

    She watched as Matt reached for his back pocket and placed a phone on the table and slid it across. Its screen already unlocked by his fingerprint, already waiting for the number to be dialed. “You can use mine.”

    Luna stared at the device. “Matt…” she reproached.

    What the hell was Matt and the twins playing at? Luna wondered. 

    Was this some kind of test? She asked herself.

    “Tony won’t be able to trace it back.” He asserted and smiled. “Call him.”

    “Don’t you think they’d be a little busy right now,” Luna questioned yet it was no more than an excuse of refusal in disguise.

    Matt huffed and silently chuckled, “Luna, it’s you who’s calling. He’ll definitely make time.”

    Luna parted her lips, hesitating, feeling all stares on her and making her a helpless child again. Small, frail little girl. 

    The defeat was inevitable. To do as he said was the only way and Luna was more than aware. To continue building up to excuses would bring no good end but that of being discovered. 

    Thus, with cold sweaty palms, and feeling the opal pulsating faster, she reached for the mobile and dialed the number she’d memorized before raising it to her ear.

    The beeps were soon replaced by an all too familiar robotic voice, JARVIS, who solicited her name and whom she desired to communicate with.

    “Thor Odinson,” Luna responded as her eyes focused on the darkness of the table while she waited for the three familiar beeps. Usually, when she called, that was how long it took the Norse god to reach the phone an answer.

    This time, however, there was nothing but one single beep. Right away his gruff voice showered her ears which made her heart rattle inside her rib cage.

    “Luna?! Is that you?!” His voice tainted with hope and weariness. “Luna?”

    And all Luna could do was bite her tongue. Swallow the lump. Stop herself from ending the call and throwing the phone before breaking down. 

    The desperation in his voice was too much. A stab, a strike to her soul. Tainted it black.

    “Hey… it’s me.” Luna built up enough courage to speak and hid her heartbreak behind a weary smile for the prying eyes. Hid all her ailings behind a voice of normalcy, a pitch higher. 

    A broken sigh echoed through the line. And Luna could already imagine the glassy baby eyes and broken smile on him.

    Luna wished to say ‘I’m sorry’. To confide in him just as he’d done before with her. To tell him he was the only one who had been true, honest, pure. Yet cowardice and her alliance made her repeat the same thing:

    “It’s me.”

.

.

A/N2: this story is flopping but I am determined to finish it regardless!

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6570 Chapter: 8/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 8

If you had asked him even yesterday Madara would probably have said that he never expected to find out what a sleepy tessen fan looked like. Sure he knew that even as inanimate objects his fellow residents here at the castle did need to sleep but they did so in the royal apartments, one of the few areas he still had yet to go back in to. And besides that the only living tessen fan he knew was Mito and she was a woman who clung to her poise at every minute of every hour. Seeing her sleepy, in his mind at least, would be like seeing Tobirama sit in the middle of the floor to start crying.

Yet there she was floating in to the room with her painted eyes half-lidded and her thin lips opened for a yawn while Hashirama flustered along the ground beneath her. Behind them Tobirama slinked in as best he could with cloven hooves in place of feet.

“Why does Hashirama look so panicked?” Madara asked him quietly. He was fairly sure he already knew the answer and though he hoped it wasn’t true those hopes were dashed by the sad red eyes turning away from him.

“He fears for his wife. She is…not well.”

“You mean she’s sick?” It said a lot that his tone was almost hopeful but again he was disappointed.

“No, she is not ill. She is tired. It has come as a shock to both of us.” Tobirama fell in to stillness and closed his eyes, visibly attempting to rein in his emotions, and Madara couldn’t blame him. He hated that his guess was right. This was the last thing he wanted for any of the friends he’d made here.

Keeping a weather eye on her floating form as she took over the cooking, he allowed himself to be shooed away to go sit on Tobirama’s other side. “She’ll be okay though, right? I see her every day and she’s never shown any sort of…tiredness.”

It took his companion a while to answer. In that time Madara watched as Mito sent her husband apologetic yet muted smiles to which he responded by attempting to wring his hands together. Even the way she drifted through the air seemed almost listless, weaving side to side rather than her usual straight lines, movements sluggish where normally she zipped from place to place with an effortless decorum. How a fan managed to affect decorum he couldn’t say but it was one word that always came to mind whenever he watched her working.

“Her pain was kept well hidden from us all until today,” Tobirama murmured eventually. He couldn’t seem to look at anything but the floor, each word a low rumble so as not to drift across the room. “She is tired, as are we all, but I did not realize she had given up on hope after all this time. Of us all she has always seemed the strongest. Now she feels that with you and your brother here she need not worry for her husband and she has lost the strength to keep herself awake. It won’t be long.”

“Until?”

“She will fall asleep,” was the simple, heartbreaking answer.

Madara didn’t need more than that to understand. She would fall asleep as so many others had and become nothing more than another object in the cavernous halls to sit still and collect dust. Just thinking about how devastated Hashirama would be by her loss made him shudder and push the image from his mind, snagging Tobirama by one wrist and turning to pull him from the room without warning.

“You are not responsible for this,” he hissed the moment they were alone in the hallway. When Tobirama flinched he knew he had hit the mark.

“It is I that keeps them all trapped in this–”

“No, it’s that crazy witch lady who trapped you all here. Maybe they don’t quite agree with how you feel but not one of them blames you for it.” He nearly growled with frustration to see the other wrinkle his brow with disagreement.

Still not lifting his eyes from the floor, Tobirama ran a hand through his wild hair, stopping when his fingers ran in to one of the horns growing out the top of his head. He paused to trace the ridges with disgust shadowing his face. “If I were a stronger man I would have freed them from this hell decades ago. If I were still a man at all.”

Disgust turned to shock when Madara punched him square in the chest. With the sheer size of his current form the blow did very little but it was enough to break him from his thoughts and force his gaze up to see that Madara was angry. Not truly angry in the sense that he was offended in any way but there was certainly a good heavy irritation building up inside him after going over the same words again and again with no progress. Utterly done with having to repeat himself, Madara reached up and snagged a fistful of the man’s collar to pull him down so their faces were of a level, staunchly ignoring the fact that he only succeeded because Tobirama followed the motion probably out of pure disbelief.

“I’m gonna say this again and you’re gonna clean the shit out of your ears and listen this time,” he growled. “You are a man. And a damn good one. You can have all the pity parties and magic tricks you like and that won’t change anything. You’re a human with human feelings and just because they hurt doesn’t mean you get to run away from them!”

“Madara…”

“No! Shut up! You think I didn’t feel like a monster when I figured out our parents abandoned us? You think I didn’t feel like an unwanted burden not good enough even for the people who made me? Well I got over it! And you’re just going to have to get over this!”

“It is not as easy as–”

With a snarl Madara cut him off again. “You might not think so but it really is! You have had a hundred damned years to wallow in your little pity party but it needs to stop! You think you did a terrible inhumane thing. Fine. So make up for it! Atone! It if makes you feel better you can abdicate the throne and run away to live the harrowing life of a peasant. I know a stable you can help me muck out. But for the love of all the gods just- would a monster feel the guilt that you do!?”

Tobirama had no answer. He seemed a little too busy gaping with his jaw hanging loose and from this close Madara couldn’t help but note that it was a startlingly adorable expression on him. Actually there were several things he had the chance to notice now. With the height different between them he’d never seen Tobirama’s face in such detail but from merely an inch or so away he could see the exact garnet red shade of his eyes, the soft almost peachy pink of his lips and the frown lines around them. Twisted his features might have been but there were enough hints towards the handsomeness his true self would wear that Madara very nearly blushed.

Since he was still more angry than anything else he did no such thing. He did let go of the clothing in his grasp, awkwardly smoothing it out in apology when Tobirama failed to straighten right away.

“You’re so caught up in what you see in the mirror,” he continued, “that you can’t see what’s actually on the inside. If you looked at yourself like I do you wouldn’t see a monster.”

“Peace,” Tobirama breathed, holding up both hands in surrender.

“Oh believe me, I’m feeling mighty peaceful right now.”

His companion let out a single humorless puff of laughter. “Indeed. Madara…the way you speak of me is…I am glad you came in to our lives. I’m glad to have known you. The things you say mean more than I can express and I don’t think I could ever repay you for the kindness you have shown me.”

“It’s not kindness, its basic human decency.” Madara sniffed haughtily.

“There are many who would not offer even that. I…”

Seeing Tobirama hesitate was odd, enough so that Madara felt almost obligated to put him out of his misery. The man needed to hear these things but every time he tried to bring them up he found himself incredibly weak to the flash of vulnerability that followed his words. Confident that Tobirama would think on what he said, he awkwardly patted one massive arm and cleared his throat.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I yelled, you’re obviously already stressed about the situation.”

“No need to apologize, you were in the right to stop me from spiraling in to a darkness that would help no one. That is not what I had intended to address however. I wished to tell you, ah, how I feel.”

“God, please, no.” Madara retracted his hand to slap it over both eyes. “Don’t get touchy feely on me, I’ll break out in to hives.”

“Oh.”

When he peeked Tobirama looked so downcast it sent a wave of guilt burning through his gut and Madara hurried to balm the wound he’d just made. “We’re friends and I know you appreciate me, I swear I do. I just, ugh. You don’t need to compose sonnets or anything about it okay? I’d burn up from embarrassment.”

“Friends, yes.”

“Right.”

After staring at him for a long time with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher Tobirama took a deep breath and let it out slowly before indicating the door back in to the kitchen. “Shall we rejoin the others?”

“Are you alright to go back in?”

“Yes, I should attend to my brother and his wife. It is only proper that I offer what comforts I can.” His words were stiff with what Madara could only assume to be some embarrassment of his own. That was understandable. Madara himself didn’t deal very well with the shameful disaster that was expressing himself so he could hardly blame anyone else for the same struggle.

The kitchen, when they entered, was filled with silent tension that even Kagami seemed unwilling to break. Madara would be tempted to check the boy’s temperature if he thought wooden soldiers could have a temperature. Did their animated chattel bodies have any physiological human characteristics? Something to ask about. At the moment he kept his focus on the way Hashirama had settled himself on the edge of the kitchen counter with the stubborn expression of a watchdog. If he still possessed muscles and feet Madara could only imagine they could have been spread to set himself in an unmovable stance much like young village lads playing tackle ball games in the fields.

It was easy to understand his concern but it was also quite easy to see the tightness of Mito’s illustrated lips. She looked much more alert now, thankfully, and did not seem to appreciate her husband’s stubborn hovering. Knowing that increasing the tension would not do anyone any good Madara stumped over and unceremoniously scooped a protesting Hashirama up, carrying him along to find a seat where he usually did.

“Madara, my good man, I must insist you return me to my station!”

“Your station is off to one side admiring her ‘pretty folds’ and completely missing the dirty implications of your own words.” He gave his friend an unimpressed look and poked him until he fell down on his backside. On the other side of the table Tobirama held one hand up to cover a weak smile.

“I would never make lewd observations in public!”

“That you know about,” Madara grunted.

He accepted the smile Mito gifted him when she brought his salvaged breakfast as the gratitude it was meant to be and said nothing further, listening with only one ear as Hashirama went off on some rant about respecting the fairer sex and maintaining decorum. Anyone who skidded around corners so fast they crashed in to walls on a weekly basis had no room for lecturing about decorum.

Breakfast was delicious, though for once he neglected to say so. No way was he admitting that Mito’s cooking really was that much better than his own. Izuna, on the other hand, had no qualms about loudly declaring how glad he was to avoid eating his big brother’s cooking again after so long without. The comparisons he made were less than flattering despite years of his compliments for the chef. Madara made sure to give him a hefty swat on the back of his head on the way to wash his dishes in the sink. No matter how many times they assured him that none of the dishware they used had ever been a reanimated human he simply couldn’t bring himself to leave them dirty.

Just in case.

The possibility of Mito’s declining mental state seemed like a family matter so Madara was well prepared to drag his brother away once they had both taken care of their dishes and probably lock themselves away for some quality time of their own. He was more than a little startled to have Hashirama invite them to join the castle residents for the day, spending time together as one big happy group. A rarity and an honor. Madara accepted the invitation easily and, with Izuna trailing along behind curiously, he walked next to Tobirama in companionable silence as they all made their way up a floor to gather in a lovely sunroom he’d never seen before, darker now as the afternoon faded but the fire Hashirama lit gave off enough light to admire rich furniture and tasteful décor.  

Since half of their little gathering didn’t exactly take up much space the three of them without any bulk all settled on a low table centered in the middle of the seating area, Izuna carefully draping himself over a massive armchair while Madara settled next to Tobirama on a small couch. Considering how much furniture there was about they didn’t really have to sit together but it felt ridiculous to have all three of them with bodies spread out when it would be much easier to converse if they were all closer. And if he happened to enjoy the rather pleasant scent of sandalwood coming off of his friend then that was for him to know and hopefully no one else to find out. It was his own business if he made sure to angle his body to lean a bit more towards the opposite side of the couch where every shift and movement of Tobirama’s body sent another waft of pleasant aromas through the air. His friend must have bathed before dinner as well.

For the most part conversation stayed light as everyone tried to keep their mind off of the way Mito wasn’t quite as interactive as she might normally have been. While she could never be described as exuberant neither was she the type to withhold her opinion if she had one but today she offered very little, resting quietly on the tabletop and looking as though she would dearly have loved to fold up her ribs and rest.

Hating the guilt that shadowed Tobirama’s face every time he so much as glanced in her direction, Madara did what he could to keep the conversation going between them even when the rest of the group branched off on to other topics. Distraction was not allowed. If he had to be the center of Tobirama’s focus for the rest of the day he would even if he didn’t see himself as all that interesting. Luckily for him it was never very hard to keep the other’s attention.

“You never ride them?” Tobirama asked after listening with a muddled frown to a description of how Madara spent most of his days back home.

“No, they’re not mine.”

“But you are caring for them, do you not take them out for exercise in a yard or field?”

Madara lifted one eyebrow. “It’s an inn tavern, you sheltered noble. I just watch them while their owners get drunk and then I have to let them go again to carry the sodden asses back home.”

“Well that strikes me as incredibly dangerous. One should never travel whilst inebriated.”

“Have you ever been inebriated?”

“Such things are unseemly,” Tobirama sniffed. When his eyes opened again it was to peek and make sure his brother wasn’t listening. “However I must admit that, yes, I have experienced it and did not understand the attraction. The devils of drink were always more Hashirama's vice, not mine.”

“Weak stomach?” Madara nodded sagely.

He delighted in the bitchy look that earned him. For a king Tobirama had some excellent bitch faces.

“I will have you know that my constitution is far above average.”

“Oh so you’re an expensive drunk then. I can get that. Didn’t want to waste the money it takes to get you plastered?”

Tobirama’s face pinched even tighter. “For your information I was indeed in charge of the royal coffers and not once was it ever a concern whether or not I was spending too much on such frivolities as alcohol! I have some decorum!” He paused to visibly compose himself, then added in a flippant tone, “Unlike some others here.”

It took effort to clamp his teeth down on the gleeful snicker that wanted to escape.

“You trying to say something?” Madara demanded instead, valiantly holding in his laughter.

“Why, I would never raise such implications against your person – unless you deserved it of course. Should I direct my inquiries to your sibling?” Tobirama cast his gaze across the room to where Izuna had kicked his feet over one arm of the chair and tossed his head back against the other arm with raucous laughter. He smirked openly when Madara scrambled to wave both hands forbiddingly without drawing too much attention to them.

“Don’t you dare!” he hissed.

Tobirama hummed and settled back in to his seat a little more firmly, a silent declaration that he would have mercy this time.  “Perhaps it is best I determine my answers from the source, as it were. I don’t suppose you would care to join me for a nightcap?”

“Eh?” Spinning his head around to check the window, Madara frowned. “It’s not really night yet.” When he looked back Tobirama was giving him a look that said he had definitely missed something, though he had no guesses what that something might be. A nightcap was supposed to be a drink at the end of the night as far as he knew. Something to end your day with. He was pretty sure. It was one of those words that no one down at his end of the social totem pole ever used.

“You interpret the word too literally. I meant only to invite you to my room for a drink.”

“What, trying to get me drunk? Is that your way of throwing a challenge?”

“Ah, if you choose to see it as one.” Tobirama shook his head as if disagreeing with himself but before Madara could question it he affected a smile and added, “Any time with you is time well spent. Even if you do insist on hearing only the spaces between whatever meaning I am attempting to convey.”

Madara gave him a funny look, to which Tobirama lifted one eyebrow, a challenge asking him to refute such claims. He really wished he could but as much as he always enjoyed a good argument he really wasn’t clear on what he was arguing against. It felt like lately he was always missing something whenever he spoke with Tobirama – which was pretty much every day. The more time they spent together the closer they became and the cycle could only wind inwards infinitely. But if sharing a drink at the end of the day was what he wanted then Madara certainly wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t often he got to enjoy a mug or two, not usually able to afford it, and when he did it was almost always the swill at the end of the barrel after the innkeeper finished serving his ‘more important’ guests.

Plan in mind and determined not to make a drunken fool of himself too easily, Madara gave his companion a friendly shove before lifting his head to respond when Izuna called him from across the seating area. He was easily drawn in to a debate over whether the cloth produced by a spinning jenny could really be the same quality as one produced by a team of workers spinning by hand. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how far behind the times these folks were and how little they knew of the world’s latest technologies.

The silly debate ended with Hashirama demanding that Izuna craft a spinning jenny for him to try for himself, to which Izuna responded by nearly falling off his chair with laughter and holding out both soft-palmed hands.

“You think I’m the worker of the household? I’m an invalid, your highness, I haven’t done much more than simple house chores since I was a boy.” He seemed quite pleased with his excuse too. Madara grumbled just loud enough to get his point across the room but his brother ignored him. “Even if I was I wouldn’t know how to make one for myself.”

“Oh. I rather thought…hm.” Hashirama didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, a little consternated, a little confused.

“Thought what?”

“It was my thought that if one understood how to use it then surely one must understand how to construct it.”

Madara relaxed from where he’d been about to burst in to laughter in case Hashirama made some dumbass comment about the entire working class sharing skills. That was just the sort of empty-headed assumptions he was used to hearing from nobles but he should have known to expect better of his friend. Not that the assumption he did end up making was all that much smarter.

“The improvements he has made continue to impress me,” Tobirama said quietly and Madara didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was watching Izuna.

“No kidding. Thank you again. For helping.”

“You need not thank me.”

“I do need to. You can’t know…well I guess you can know what it’s like to lose a brother. We already had to bury the rest of our siblings but I don’t have to bury him and that’s thanks to you. I owe you everything.” His cheeks were burning by the time he’d finished saying his piece and Madara considered giving Tobirama another shove to bring the mood of their conversation back out of the seriousness he’d just dove down in to.

Thankfully Tobirama seemed to recognize what he needed. “If you absolutely must pay recompense then I shall consider your acceptance of my offer for a nightcap as such. Mayhap I truly will get you – ah, what was the term you used? – plastered.”

Madara roared with mirth to hear such a colloquial term from the fanciest idiot he’d ever met. His laughter caught the attention of Hashirama, who he then had to explain to what it meant to get plastered. The conversation turned then to include the entire group as they all traded embarrassing stories about each other under the influence of alcohol or other accidentally ingested substances. Most of the latter were stories about Tobirama stumbling out of his laboratory to report on unknown reactions with new chemicals. Madara liked those ones, although he didn’t appreciate Izuna’s lurid descriptions of the few times he had stumbled home from the inn after being allowed the dregs of his so-called betters. The one story about Mito and her bloomers, on the other hand, he found particularly amusing.

Even more amusing was seeing the stars in little Kagami’s eyes and watching Hashirama awkwardly try to talk him out of the idea that he too wanted a good drinking story when he was finally able to grow old enough. High moral values were difficult to impart with Izuna egging the poor boy on from the sidelines.

Such antics eventually led to the end of their evening all together, Mito shaking the stupor away long enough to scold her husband for encouraging Kagami towards such raunchy behaviors and refusing to hear anything about him being the only one trying to protect the child. When she expressed her fatigue Hashirama's face fell in response. In an instant he was up and fussing around, encouraging her to bed and bidding the rest of them a good night. After watching them go Izuna’s mood seemed to have dimmed as well. Before long he was scooping up Kagami and trotting off with the toy soldier in tow, murmuring together like co-conspirators on their way out. Madara wondered if his brother planned to let the boy sleep in his bed for the night and what might happen if Izuna rolled over in his dreams. He would need to stay alert for screaming.

“It seems we have been abandoned,” Tobirama observed to the otherwise empty room.

“Time for that drinking contest you were calling for?”

“Have a bit of class, I pray.” Sticking his nose in the air, his friend affected the snootiest expression he’d ever seen, clearly exaggerated for comic effect. “To waste such fine sake on something as crude as a contest to see which of us may imbibe more! Heavens forbid.”

“Oh quit being such a ponce!” Madara told him.

Watching Tobirama preen to have amused him with a good joke was hilarious, though he opted not to say anything. Embarrassing the man could only end in having any offers of alcohol revoked and Madara found that he was quite in the mood for a few drinks. Magnanimously choosing to be merciful, he instead waved for his friend to lead the way and followed with giddy anticipation, curious to finally have his first proper look around the royal apartments. He knew someone of Tobirama’s station probably had an entire set of rooms to himself so they were most likely just moving to a different type of sitting room but he could guess that it was still quite an honor.

As they shut the door of the sunroom and set off down the hall he turned to his friend with a curious expression. “Wait, we’re drinking sake? That’s supposed to be rice wine right?”

“Indeed it is. Have you never had the pleasure?”

“No. Usually all I have is whatever beer gets leftover in people’s mugs at the end of the night. Already paid for, you know? The innkeeper would never give me anything for free and I don’t usually have the money to spare for being choosy.” He shrugged because that was the way of things in his life and there was little point in getting all riled up about it.

Turning a corner brought them past a window, light from the rising moon flickering across the deep creases between Tobirama’s brows where he had pulled them in to a frown. “How very uncharitable of him. You deserve much better than the leftovers of men who could never hope to be your equal.”

“Damn, back at it with the flattery.” Madara tossed his hair over one shoulder. He noted the way Tobirama’s gaze followed the motion though he didn’t think much of it since the man was probably just wondering what it would be like to have so much hair thick and heavy on his own head. A lot of people asked questions about his hair. Not many of them were very happy with the honest answer that he had grown it out mostly by accident at first and then because he was stubborn in the face of so many people telling him to cut it. Apparently he needed to have some kind of important motivation or something to make it understandable.

“Would you have me be unflattering?” A few beats too late Tobirama finally replied.

“Can you be?” he asked skeptically. “You’re not too much of a prissy royal to mince words with a commoner like me?” The grin he threw was more of a challenge than if he’d tossed a gauntlet on the floor between them and words could not express how thrilled he was when the other took that challenge.

Drawing himself up even as he drew the tapestry out of their way to invite Madara in to the royal apartments, Tobirama affected a mocking glare. “You look death’s head upon a mop stick you foppish, cow-handed gasser. Do you think me uneducated in the lower speech?”

The only response Madara had to that was to throw his head back and wheeze for air, shamelessly holding on to the other’s arm to keep himself upright. Never in his life had he heard something so nonsensical yet delivered with such unadulterated bitchiness. Something told him that none of those insults were in any way related to each other but relevancy was hard to focus on when he could barely think passed how utterly ridiculous it all sounded. Old timey insults were hilarious. Hearing them out of Tobirama’s mouth only made them so much better.

It wasn’t much farther to where they were going but they spent the rest of their walk trading insults that only grew more and more absurd as they went. By the time they stumbled in to a lavish sitting room they were ready to fall over in a dual fit of the giggles, although Tobirama somehow managed to retain a small bit of decorum even in this. Madara was starting to think he would have to challenge the idiot to a mud wrestling competition or something just to see him act entirely like a normal person.

“Right!” he declared as soon as he’d caught enough breath back to form words. “Where’s this sake you were talking about? I’d love to wake up tomorrow and whine about a hangover.”

“If you disrespect my vintage so I may be tempted to defenestrate you.” Tobirama lifted one eyebrow warningly.

While Madara tried to work his way through whatever ‘defenestrate’ was supposed to mean Tobirama stepped over to a side table and removed a small set very similar to something the innkeeper had brought out only once when a military captain happened to pass through their small village and demanded the finest services the poor could offer. Madara hadn’t liked him much but he could remember being very curious of whatever clear booze had been poured for him.

The set of dishes laid out before him was a hundred times fancier than the one at the inn, he could tell that at a single glance. Black lacquered porcelain with fine gold filigree forming what he could only assume was a house crest on each, a matching decanter and a tray with gold trim to carry it all, it probably cost more than the collective entirety of Madara's possessions both here and in the village. He kept his hands carefully by his sides at he leaned closer to admire the craftsmanship of each piece. But when he sat back and looked up he noticed Tobirama watching him expectantly.

“In this weather there is little need for the sake to be chilled elsewhere, as luck would have it.” His tone was casual, if a little impatient. Madara nodded slowly.

“Didn’t know it needed to be cold.”

“Some are served chilled, others served hot. This here is perhaps my favorite. I’m glad of the opportunity to share it with you.”

More curious than ever, all Madara could do was nod again. “Cool. Share as you like.”

A long pause stretched out for what felt like forever in which neither of them moved and he tried to figure out why Tobirama had offered the sake but wasn’t actually moving to serve it. It took a couple minutes before finally the man rolled his eyes with all the drama his brother usually managed and carefully stepped over to fiddle at the delicate ceramic with his thick clawed hands.

“What?” Madara demanded. “You’re looking at me like I’ve done something wrong. I’m just sitting here!”

“Precisely. When sharing a drink one is expected to pour for one’s betters.”

“Ooh, you saying you’re better than me?”

“I never said such a thing.” The serene tone of his voice was a dead giveaway but Madara refused to laugh just yet, clinging to his pretended offense.

With arms crossed he stuck his nose in the air and declared, “You inferred it!”

“One implies. It is up to the recipient to infer, though what inferences you make are surely beyond my control. Heavens forbid I ever claim to understand how a mind such as yours might work.” Tobirama, unfortunately, was much better at playing snooty. No doubt a lifetime of practice was no blame.

“I want to say you just implied that I have a crazy mind but I can’t quite parse it out because you always talk so damn fancy!”

That finally broke his friend. A smile cracked Tobirama’s stern expression and Madara pumped both fists in the air with triumph, eliciting a low chuckle. “Pour the drink, you hooligan, before I am lowered to doing so myself.”

“Now that’s something for the heavens to forbid or whatever.”

Since he had already won Madara figured it wasn’t losing in any way to let himself smile as well as he snatched up the chilly decanter and poured them each a dish of the clear liquid he had only seen once before. Being made of rice he would have thought their little farming village could make this stuff in abundance but for the fact that all of their rice went to paying taxes and supporting the lord of the closest town since technically he owned their land.

Actually, he realized, even more technically Tobirama probably owned the land, though likely no one remembered that.

Clinking their glasses together was a much more delicate affair with such small dishes than he usually witnessed in the rowdy tavern and despite his care Tobirama still rolled those pretty red eyes like he’d done something country bumpkin again. Madara ignored him, tossing back the drink in one mouthful. His abilities had been questioned and he was determined to make a good showing of himself.

Of course, because that was just his luck, he was spluttering and coughing in the next instant as the rice wine burned his throat and his eyes began to water, one fist coming up to pound his chest as though he could beat the sensation back out of himself.

“That stuff has a kick!” he wheezed, much to Tobirama’s obvious amusement.

“It would not have affected you half so much if you were not such a boor as to pour it down your gullet like goat’s milk. Fine sake is meant to be appreciated, not guzzled.”

“A little warning would have been nice!”

“Had I given you warning,” Tobirama murmured, “that would not have been so funny.”

Madara opened his mouth to retort and cut himself off with another coughing fit. He wanted to be annoyed but he also had to admit that he would have done the exact same thing if their positions were reversed. In light of that he grunted and pounded his sternum a few more times without saying anything. He could almost breathe again by the time Tobirama settled next to him on the couch with delicate movements, ever so careful not to spill a drop of his own drink.

A quick look around told him that they didn’t necessarily need to sit right next to each other. Just like the sunroom, there was plenty of furniture here and they would have able to hear each other just fine from different seats. Madara neglected to say anything. Sitting together like this gave the room a much more casual and intimate air so it felt less like dining with the king and more like drinking with a friend. He wondered if that was Tobirama’s intention but didn’t ask, content with the mystery. Instead he reached to pour himself another cup and listened to his friend go off on a lecture about how it was polite to offer one’s companions a refill when one wanted some for themselves.

Several cups later he had convinced Tobirama to give up on the idea of proper manners but he had also somehow managed to lay sideways on the couch with his legs tossed over the arm and his head pillowed against one of his friend’s thighs. Every time Tobirama looked down he began mumbling about propriety again, which for some reason struck Madara as the funniest thing. He kept imagining some highborn lady walking in on them and fainting to see them being so familiar with each other. A few times he imagined Hashirama doing it and that was even better.

“I don’t think I can get up,” he confessed after struggling to reach for the sake yet again and failing to even reach the table. “Might have to just pass out right here.”

“Scandalous,” Tobirama murmured, though it really didn’t sound like an objection.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out too,” Madara noted. He giggled under the squinting eyes that tried to glare him down yet only managed to focus somewhat to the right of where his head actually lay.

“I will have you know that I am per-fen-ec-tally fine.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment while Madara tried to work his way through that.

“What?”

“I’ll not be repeating myself. I am not sure that I could, in fact, as memory seems to have abandoned me. What were we talking about?” Tobirama raised his head again only to drop it back against the couch where one could only assume he was watching the ceiling spin in circles. At least, that’s what Madara was doing.

Wriggling a bit until he’d found a more comfortable position, Madara closed his eyes to block out the world. “I think we were going to sleep.”

“No. No! I had something I wished to discuss with you! Something of utmost importance!”

“Can it wait until we’ve slept?”

“I…yes, alright.” The sheer defeat in Tobirama’s voice in addition to the bone-melting exhaustion of both their bodies was enough to have Madara giggling again, albeit very weakly. Now that he’d said he was tired it was like sleep had grown claws and sunk them in deep, pulling, pulling him down when he was too weak to resist.

Humming pleasantly, turning his face to burrow against the warmth pillowing his head, Madara gave a few sleepy mumbles that might have been translated in some languages as a sort of goodnight. Tobirama mumbled something back but sleep must have gotten its claws in to him too and they were both fading fast. Whatever he said was lost to the ceiling and the uncaring shadows that cradled them deeper in to the night.

A moment later the room was silent but for the even breaths of two men prepared to regret their choice of pastimes come morning.