#i had a third one lined up but my self restraint was fierce

[solar-halos]

oh my god i almost forgot it was mood board monday. since this is on such short notice i couldn’t do a fic rec board and just did it for everything good happens after midnight aka the fav fic i did for odesta week (ft johannie)

[espressokiri]

Burn

Sanzu Haruchiyo x Gn!reader x Haitani Rindou

In which reader finds Sanzu acting out of line with another woman 

Warnings: Infidelity, Mentions of Sanzu cheating,Torture (not detailed), Toxic relationship, Slightly suggestive.

Genre: Angst? I honestly don’t even know what this is.

Notes: Why do I go crazy whenever I write for Sanzu?

Hurt me and tell me there’s no going back

Burn ‘till I’m screaming “I’m sorry my love!”

Burn me and curse me, I need you like that

Everyone is well aware that jealousy is an evil green monster. A green monster that manifests all the unwelcome thoughts and push it through action. Sanzu was not new to the feeling of jealousy, especially when it came to his significant other, but he was also very reckless and unpredictable. His motives set to action before the thought even processes, he was a broken man who resorted to the unhinged mind for comfort, finding peace in his violence as it was all he had ever known.

Y/n, on the other hand, was not far off from the pink-haired male. Y/n became who they were from the negativity that surrounded their being, being pushed and prodded into someone who their younger selves would not believe was them. Someone their childhood self would fear. It wasn’t an ideal lifestyle, no it was far from that, but the satisfaction that came from looking at the fear instilled in the people who wronged Y/n was priceless. They found calm in holding the power over people, finally speaking up and not settling for satisfying someone else.

Two unhinged individuals finding solace in each other, with a third rational one grinning from the sidelines as he enjoyed unleashing chaos between the couple.

Rindou was someone who was calculative and manipulating, he was well in touch with his thoughts and emotions. What he wanted is what he will get, and what he wanted was to see the annoying pink-haired business partner get his well deserved punishment for shooting first and acting later during their recent ‘business trip��.

Rindou smirked from behind Y/n as he gazed upon Sanzu tied to a metal chair, rough ropes binding him together and preventing him from moving, a dirty rag gagging him. If looks could kill, then Rindou would be six-foot-under with the burning glare shot at him.

“After all we’ve been through, Haru. I expected a bit more restraint from you.” Y/n hummed, brandishing their favourite blade, inspecting it as they paid not an ounce of interest in the tied up male. “Sweet Rindou over here had to go through all that trouble of seeing me throw my anger tantrum when he told me what you’ve been up to.” Y/n pouted, pinching Rindou’s cheek softly as the lavender haired male shot them a seemingly innocent smile.

Sanzu’s muffled yells could be heard as he tried to protest, wrists rubbing raw against the rough bindings. “Tch.” Y/n clicked their tongue as they stood in front of Sanzu, twirling the blade between their fingers, “you better speak complete sense or I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to speak again.”

Y/n placed the tip of the dagger right under the cloth, making sure to nick the bit of skin as they sliced the cloth off. Beads of blood began to appear on the now cut skin. Sanzu spat out the rag and ground his teeth together as his glare was settled onto the younger Haitani who seemed a bit too happy with the scene.

“Ah-ah, why’re you looking at him when you are to speak to me?” Y/n glared as they used the dagger’s tip to tilt his chin up to stare at them. Sanzu gulped, slight fear shredding through his body as he is well aware he had fucked up big time. “I love you, Y/n.” 

A harsh slap sounded the room they were in, Sanzu’s head thrown to the side as a cackle was heard from Rindou, “how pathetic of you to spew such words when they specifically told you to explain your actions.”

Rindou slung an arm around Y/n shoulder and Sanzu’s eyes burned fierce at the touch, “get away from them.” He grounded out. Rindou raised an eyebrow, “or what? Isn’t Y/n all about an eye for an eye? Let’s say we teach him a lesson by busying ourselves with... other activities, hm Y/n?”

Y/n caught on to Rindou’s act and leaned against him, keeping an eye on Sanzu as he begged Y/n with his eyes alone. “I do believe in that, yes. Let’s recall the saying, hm?”

“An eye for an eye,” Y/n hummed, tracing a finger over Rindou’s jawline as they eyed his lips before darting back into his eyes.

“A tooth for a tooth,” hand slipping onto the nape of Rindou’s as they tugged at the ends of his hair, eliciting a groan from the male.

“A hand for a hand,” lips grazing as a wicked smile threatened to take over Y/n, Rindou seemingly entranced that this was reality as their lips locked. Y/n taking initiative and licking his lower lip, enticing him to let them in and do as they please.

“A leg for a-” pulling away and trailing their hand down Rindou’s chest, Sanzu had interrupted and begged Y/n to stop. 

Y/n sighed and shot an unamused look at the now teary eyed male who’s bottom lip wobbled, a slight satisfaction came across them as they grinned at Sanzu, “not so fun when it’s your partner with another now is it?”

“I got jealous.” Sanzu confessed, keeping eye contact with Y/n who had now crossed their arms and raised an eyebrow, urging the male to continue.

“Rindou had gotten a bit too close to you recently and you were giving him all the attention, I reacted without thinking.” Sanzu looked away, unaware of how Y/n would react as they were a wild card.

“Rindou was doing it to rile you up because you ruined a mission of his. Guess where that lead you?” Y/n sneered.

“I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me!”

Y/n rolled their eyes as they levelled themselves with the tied male, “swear your undying loyalty to me.”

“I am yours, forever and always, till the day I die.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Sanzu’s eyes widened as he stared Y/n’s figure in disbelief, flinching as each word hit him like a dagger, “your words mean nothing when you’ve gone and done the deed.”

“Mark me, burn me, do as you please! I am yours!” Sanzu exclaimed, ice in his veins as he feared losing Y/n.

A cruel grin plastered Y/n’s face as they confirmed Sanzu’s pleas, “anything?”

“Anything!”

The raw screams emitting from the male had the member’s of Bonten flinching as they imagined the worst, they were aware of the unhinged couple and their fights. The result almost always being Sanzu kneeling and getting punished for whatever they were arguing about. This was no different, except perhaps this punishment seemed more intense than what they were prone to.

A pale faced Rindou had come out of the room, figure stumbling as his eyes were blown wide at the scene that was displayed to him prior. Sure, the kiss the two shared may have been the best one the younger Haitani has experienced, but the person behind it was not to be messed with. The rest of the Bonten member’s leaned in closer to hear what Rindou had to say as the male opened his mouth.

“I’m glad I’m not dating that sadist.”

[madfatty]

the finn nelson agenda - an mmfd  fic #27

Long time, no see. I come bearing gift.  Consider this my woefully inadequate attempt to distract you for a few moments from the shit-show that is now.

The plan is for this to be one of eight or nine stories about Finn falling for Rae, as told by the people who watched it happened. The collection is tentatively titled, ‘Why Are You So Blind?” and this one is from Finn’s POV.

What I’ve learned is that I can’t write it in the order that it ought to be read, so they’ll go up as they’re finished (if they’re finished). This is probably third or fourth from the end, so for the time being, we’ll pretend it’s a stand alone.

My thanks to the most lovely and much missed @bitchy-broken for planting the seed and my dearest @slitherouter for listening to me read it in many of it’s various forms and for the words that inspired both me and the title

..  my secret agenda is actually just to sit in your room and show you my favorite songs while you explain different things you have on your wall or your desk to me

Things Finn Nelson says

(a thing that Shiri said. I mean, *GAH* right. I love her SO much.)

Ta very much to @late-to-the-sexy-party for her thoughts and enthusiasm.  Big love and thanks to the wondrous @endemictoearth for giving it a twice-over and the benefit of her talent and experience. She made it infinitely better. Thank you, my gorgeous.  

And finally, thank you dear reader, for giving this a go.

the finn nelson agenda

It’s one of those lazy, late summer days he’d spent all term daydreaming about, slouched in the back corner of some classroom, tapping out bass lines on his desk or scribbling band names and song lyrics all over his binder.  Staring out the window while elaborate fantasies built of music, football and girls, all vividly drawn, played out against the white noise of his reality. He feels the waste of it; counting down the seconds to the end of the hour, the end of the day, the end of school.

None of that matters now.  There are still weeks left of the holidays and each day is filled with even more promise now that Rae’s around. Days like today. While there are thousands of elsewheres he imagines himself being between nine and three during term, today Rutlands will do just fine.

All his mates are here, there’s tunes and booze and a sense of time being stretched out and suspended in the liquid amber of the golden afternoon. It’s almost perfect. The only thing missing is the girl. And fingers crossed, she’ll be here soon too, because Finn’s beginning to realise things are just better when she’s there.

Where was she though? He’s been a twitching mess the whole time they’ve been here, checking his watch every few seconds, never registering the time, but still feeling the drag of it.  Not toward the end of something now, but the start.

Ever since the party, he’s tried to find time every day to get her on own, but it isn’t easy. She’s quickly become the centre around which they all revolve, so competition for her attention is huge. This means he spends a lot of his time waiting to share hers. He prowls an invisible periphery, ever watchful for his chance. They don’t come up nearly as often as he’d like so he’s had to get creative.  

Now, depending on how late he gets in from a long day of almost being together, there’s a new nightly ritual he follows; home, a quick shower and something to eat, then he makes a mug of tea and a cosy nest and dials her number with shaking hands. The last of his preparations is pressing ‘play’ on the carefully curated backing tracking for their conversation while he listens nervously for her to pick up.  

Even then, he has to share her with her family. The sniping and the bickering between her and her mum, the deep warm tones of a hesitant male voice, a rumble in the background.

He can hear the life she complains about going on behind her, crowded and noisy and messy; the chaos and the lack of privacy, he can’t help feel how much he wants to be in the middle of it.

What he’d really like is to show up at her door with a bag full of music and a couple of sneaky cans of lager. He’d happily listen to her mum bitch about the ladies she works with at the hospital and watch football with Karim or help out with the birds if it means that eventually, they can escape upstairs to her room, because even though Finn’s only really been to her house the once, (if you didn’t count the apology), he likes it there. Finn’s got a secret wish; to sit in her room, sharing his favourite songs while she talks about her books, and her posters and all those weird little toy things that cover her desk. He wants to find out about all of it. To know everything about her.

However, despite his best -obvious, desperate - efforts, she hasn’t taken any of the heavy hints he’s dropped to ask him over again, so he’s going to invite her ‘round to his. He’s going to ask her today because he wants so badly for her to come and fill his house with her smile and her smell and her stories and yeah, to make some stories of their own.

He’d tried again, last night at the pub. Just as they were all getting ready to leave, with his heart in his mouth - ‘cause that’s always where it is when Rae’s around, when it’s not in his eyes or on his sleeve, - he’d stuttered out an offer to collect her this morning. His plan was to get there super early so they could just hang out on their own. He’d been prepared for her ‘no’ but it didn’t stop the curl of disappointment when she gave it.

Sometimes he worries that that night at hers didn’t mean as much to Rae as it did (hell, still DOES) to him, that it was just a random kindness, not the revelation that he’d felt, and to her he was just a guy having a bad night that she’d taken pity on. Other times, he believes she can feel this thread between them too. A delicate thing but he thinks it’s getting stronger, can feel it getting tighter somewhere around his ribs.  No longer nothing, but not quite the something he’s hoping for.

Finn doesn’t want to test that thread, in case he tugs too hard and it snaps. He can’t help feeling that he needs to do something though, because it doesn’t matter what Archie says about it, there’s this niggle inside him that says all it would take would be for Archie to finally decide that he really did want her, and with the crook of his finger, Rae would come running.

He’s separated himself slightly from the others, coiled up tight in the shade of a nearby tree, his back to the bark, the pinch and bite of it through his t-shirt not enough to distract him from his vigil.

Cigarette butts lie in an untidy circle around his feet.  His ears are straining past the drone of the radio and the fat buzzing noise of insects, tuning out the prattle of the others for the first sign of her. Her name caught up in the pulse behind his eyes.  Everything is so loud inside his head.

He’s about to risk asking Izzy for a third time if she’s sure Rae knew exactly where they’d be when Rae appears. The anxiety of her absence is replaced with the relief of her proximity. The physical response is exactly the same. The next breath he takes is easier than the one before.

He doesn’t care what it looks like. It’s not enough to be near her anymore; he can’t bear any distance between them.  It makes him brave. Or crazy.  

Without consultation, his body moves with deliberate intent. He turns the music up, up, and reaches for another can, trying to fill his belly with something other than butterflies, hoping that his counterfeit swagger hides the jelly of his knees.  Finn lets himself fall – continue to fall, he’s been falling for a week, pushed from a plane without a parachute – to land beside to her.

He must have lost his mind. It’s the only way to explain his behaviour.  He’s got her pinned to the ground from shoulder to ankle like some sort of lunatic but that’s not the insane part. No, the insane part is his brain trying to convince him that if he doesn’t grab hold of her hand like he so desperately wants to, she won’t notice that he has her pinned to the ground from shoulder to ankle like some sort of lunatic. For fuck’s sake, it’s screaming, don’t hold her hand because then she’ll know. Like that’s where all his subtlety would disappear. He holds fast to his wrist, pinning the would-be offending hand to his chest; a single idiotic attempt at self-restraint.

It’s all he can do to lie here, outwardly calm while inside he’s vibrating so hard his teeth are rattling, his heart bouncing so fiercely off his ribs any minute now he’ll come loose from the ground. His tongue lies thick and useless in his mouth, dry despite the beer.

He hopes his deafening silence reads like casual confidence to her.  

The weight of the sun and the heat from the ground beneath him, simultaneously seeps in and rises up to meet in the middle of him. Yet neither burns him like the length of her body under the press of his arm and the cage of his legs.  A sheen of sweat covers his body, caught between his skin and his clothes. It tickles along his hairline, behind his ears and slides down the sides of his neck.

Everything inside the moment is sharp and highly defined. He can feel each breath that fills her lungs. Everything outside of a three foot radius blurs in his field of vision. It’s coming in waves, all at once and he doesn’t know which bits to savour, which bits to focus on and what to put away for later. He has to keep sneaking looks at her just to make sure this is really happening. Rae on the other hand, has her face turned skyward, barely acknowledging his presence, unmoved by the miracle that’s changing his life.

He’s filling up with her. His head, his heart, his bones. Every nerve is exposed. It’s all stinging nettles and ants itching under his skin.

He couldn’t have stood if you paid him. Dizzy from the blood roaring in his ears before it raced south.

She hasn’t pushed him away.

What would she do, if he just stopped thinking and did what his body was screaming out to do; if he rolled over and covered her body with his own. What would she say? If he gave in to the impulse and kissed those maddening pink lips, lush and full, and coaxed her sharp acid tongue into his own mouth, to taste the sweetness he’s seen her gift to others?

What she must feel like under the long cotton sleeves of her shirt, and  what might that do to him; finally touching her skin. He’s never fantasised about forearms before, or calves or even feet. Her pale wrist under his thick fingers, or the crook of her elbow beneath his lips.  The curve of her shoulder, the tip of her ear, the back of her knee. To see and touch and memorize. To know if his hands have guessed the way of her correctly.

Lying here, so close to everything he longs for, his thoughts slide inevitably to those most recently taken up residence in his brain, a divine carnal loop he indulges in almost hourly, the heavy press of her breasts against him, the torment of that smug mouth around his cock, the taste of her cunt, should he ever be blessed enough to be invited.

He has to stop that line of thought before his body gives him away. Before he can’t help himself anymore and he takes hold of her hand and places it on his hardening cock – do you see now? This is what being near you does to me. This is me, all the time, thinking about the back of your neck and the length of your leg and what sort of knickers you’re wearing or if you’re wearing any knickers at all. Look at me Rae, I’m trying to tell you that I … that I’m a mess about you. My head and my sheets and my record collection. The smell of green apple makes me hard, costs my dad a fortune at the green grocers. I can’t sleep, can’t leave myself alone, imagining your hand down my pants, your tongue in my mouth, the sounds that you’d make with my fingers inside you. I… I… Even in his own head he can’t say the word. Even he knows it’s too soon, but… Like is not enough, although he does like her. Desire is a stupid overused word, a song lyric that rhymes with ‘fire’. Want. He definitely wants her.

Can you see, Rae?

He can’t tell which one of them is trembling.

She still hasn’t pushed him away.

She’s quiet. He doesn’t like it as much when she’s quiet; it makes him nervous. Everything about her makes him nervous but at least when she’s talking, he has some idea of what she’s thinking and right now he needs to know what’s going on in her head. So he asks.

Her answer makes him laugh. It’s not exactly what he was hoping for until she laughs too. It’s treacle over his jangled nerves. They take the same breath and he feels her relax beneath him, which is when his brain detonates.

With the shittest timing in the world, Chop’s hissing Kendo’s name.

Kendo’s a mate of Chop’s older brother Robbie and a wannabe hard man.  He’s also a prize dickhead but that doesn’t stop Chop trying too hard to look cool in front of him, although Finn can see he’s shitting himself in case Kendo makes him look like a twat. Right now, Finn thinks Chop’s doing okay on his own on that score.

Rae stiffens. She sits up and Finn can’t help but follow, caught up as he is in her gravitational pull. All the ease from a few seconds before is gone. Everything that’s said in the next two minutes sounds like it’s being spoken underwater because Finn can’t focus on anything but the distance she’s trying to put between them without physically moving.

The damage is done by the time Kendo finally slithers off, dragging the corpse of the mood he’s killed behind him.

Finn’s still up in his head about how he’s going to get Rae to lay back down with him or if that moment’s gone for good, so he’s not really listening when Chloe asks her question. He says ‘yeah, course’ two seconds before his brain catches up with his mouth and just as he’s trying to scramble back from his offer, Rae’s telling them she can’t go. The ground drops out from under him and his heart is flailing, doing a Wile E. Coyote over his gut.

Wait, wait, a minute ago we were on our way to perfect. Fucking Chop. Fucking Kendo. Fucking fuck.

He’s reeling but before he can find a way to get them back to where they were, a shadow falls over them and Chloe’s voice, brittle and insistent.

“Rae, can I speak with you? Privately.”

Fucking Chloe.

For a moment hope soars because he can feel Rae’s reluctance to move but it’s only for a moment; she’s pulling away now and she’s taking all the warm and the hope with her. He sits there among the shattered bits of the beautiful bubble they’d been floating in, with his unasked question filling up his throat and his eyes closed because he can’t stand to watch her walk away.  

[lynne-monstr]

Four Days

Written for Tentacletober day 22: Tie up the Tentacles

ao3 link

It takes four days to find Magnus, and they’re the worst four days of Alec’s life. Four frantic, blood-soaked days.

“Where is he?” Alec demands. His seraph blade is sunk deep in the shoulder of a man he’d sat in a clave meeting with only yesterday.

“I told you, I’m not in the Circle. I don’t—” The man screams as Alec twists the blade. He must see death in Alec’s gaze, because he shudders like the coward he is. “I don’t know,” he finishes, his voice weak and thready.

He’s lying. Hiding behind the persona of an aging clave paper-pusher. Alec knows better. “You must think I’m stupid. We both know the Circle is old news.”

Once, that would have been cause to celebrate. Not anymore. In the wake of Alicante’s new Downworlder policy, a new group had risen from the ashes of the old, determined to go back to what they referred to as older and better times. The Foundation, they called themselves. Alec can still remember the shock when he read those words in his daily morning briefing, his surprise only eclipsed by how unsurprised Magnus was to hear the same news.

‘There will always be people that hate me and mine, simply for who we are,’ he’d said. There was anger in his eyes but also resignation.

Alec hated it, and it only spurred on his drive to end this new threat.

And now this same group had abducted his husband. As far as Alec was concerned, they shouldn’t be worrying about Downworlders. They should be worrying about Alec.

Yanking the knife from the man’s shoulder, Alec puts it to his throat. “Where is Magnus Lightwood-Bane?” He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked that question, but he’ll keep asking it until he gets what he wants.

The man screams himself hoarse but eventually he gives Alec the information he needs.

.

Alec takes the elevator down to the very bowels of the clave headquarters where Alec himself works.

His hands are still red, but it’s a dry, flaky red. Closer to brown. It won’t impede his ability to draw a blade or to handle his bow. He wipes them on his suit, uncaring that the expensive fabric is ruined beyond what even magic can do to repair it. Magnus had given him that suit to mark his first day as Inquisitor. It's a harsh reminder that Magnus has always been there for Alec, but when Magnus needed him, he was alone.

Bile stings Alec’s throat and he swallows it down. The clothes don’t matter. Only Magnus does.

Room B-39117 is locked but Alec has a key he’d taken from a Foundation member days ago. His thigh still stings from a phantom slice he healed with an iratze after that particular fight.

The key opens the door.

Alec barely sees the contents of the room, other than to confirm it’s safe to enter. He’s too focused on the surgical table in the middle of it. Or more accurately, the figure strapped to the surgical table.

He’s across the room before he even has time to think. “Magnus!”

Magnus is laying on the table, tied down with a set of six point restraints on his arms, legs, thighs, and chest. The table is wide like a bed, and fanning around him like a peacock’s tail is every single one of his two dozen tentacles, each of them bolted to the table at multiple points along their lengths with a set of thick metal rings. One or two of them are still struggling but the rest are lifeless in their bonds, as if they’ve accepted their inability to break free.

Magnus’ eyes are unglamoured. And looking at Alec. “Alec?” he asks. The edges of his voice are heavy, a little slurred. From drugs or exhaustion, Alec can’t tell.

He cups Magnus’ cheek, leaning down to peer into his eyes. It’s harder to read them without the glamour. Alec’s still getting used to deciphering Magnus’ moods in the slit of his pupils rather than his more human looking features. “It’s me. Can you walk? I’m getting you out of here.”

Alec looks around the room, something he admittedly should have done before charging in. There has to be a set of keys somewhere or a control panel to the table.

“No.” The firm denial brings Alec up short. “Go home, Alec.”

Alec whirls around. Is this some kind of joke?  A trap, most likely, but it doesn’t matter. “Not without you.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, and if it isn't for the sterile room and all the restraints Alec could almost imagine they were bickering back at home. What to have for dinner, what movie to watch, whose book is better, who would win in a fight of runes versus magic. For two people who loved each other so much, they had so many things they didn't see eye-to-eye on. It was exhilarating.

In the next instant, Magnus face contorts into a look of fear. “Alec behind you!”

Alec whirls, bringing his blade up just in time to deflect a seraph sword that would’ve taken his head clean off, wielded by an older woman with a frown as fierce as her swing. He throws himself to the ground at the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

A knife shoots past above him, thrown by a second attacker he doesn’t get a glimpse of. A third person runs into the room, a man with a short blunt nose who’s almost as tall as Alec himself. Alec has just enough time to plan his attack when—

Angry red magic sizzles in bolt from behind him, throwing the first attacker into the wall. She slumps, unconscious.

Not missing a beat, Alec engages the remaining two in combat. No sooner does he block the first punch when another burst of magic takes out his tall attacker. It doesn’t take Alec long to defeat the third and last. The three were well trained, but Alec has been living in warzone during his time in New York. There’s no comparison to a cushy life in Alicante.

Finally, when the room’s clear, Alec has a chance to look over at Magnus.

Magnus, whose hands are free and still wreathed in red battle magic. He’s still flat on his back, tethered to the table by his tentacles, but despite that, there’s a victorious glint in his golden eyes. With a quick gesture, he frees himself from the straps around his chest and thighs as well.

“I should have known,” Alec said, a smile growing on his face as he makes his way over to where Magnus is prone. When he’s again beside the bed, he leans in and kisses Magnus. This is real, Magnus is here and safe. And apparently able to free himself the whole damn time.

“You let yourself be kidnapped.” It isn’t a question. “That’s why you wanted me to leave.”

Magnus presses his lips together. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I know you must have been worried sick but they ambushed me and it was the best opportunity I was going to get.” He shrugs, then winces as it pulls at the nearest restrained tentacles. “You heard the intel about the Foundation just as I did. They’re planning something big. This was the easiest way to get answers.”

He makes another gesture with his magic, this time towards his tentacles. And frowns when the restraints don’t loosen. He tries again, his elegant gestures turning sharper with each failure. Alec doesn’t need to be an expert in reading his cat’s eyes to know Magnus is concerned by this development.

“I was afraid of this,” Magnus mutters, more to himself than to Alec. He rolls halfway onto his side, his hands roaming up and down one of his tentacles, but no matter how much he tries to coax the restraint open, it remains stubbornly closed.

He turns his head to look up Alec. “It appears I’m a little stuck.”

The tip of the tentacle closest to Alec wriggles in its binding. It looks so sad like that, caged and unhappy. Alec couldn't ignore it if he tried. He brings his hand within touching distance and immediately, it rubs itself against his palm like a pleased cat. Alec can’t help petting it a little. Magnus’ tentacles crave affection as much as Magnus himself, only they’re a lot less shy about showing it.

“So this was your plan?” Alec asks, eyes sweeping over the bound tentacles keeping Magnus on his back. An unlocking rune fails to work and Alec busies himself making a circle of the table, looking for anything like a key or a control panel that would release Magnus.

He can hear Magnus huff. “If you hadn’t knocked that last one unconscious, I could’ve taken his memories and used it to get out of these things.” He turns his eye to gaze mournfully at the slumped figures along the far wall. “Unfortunately, that’s no longer an option and I don’t particularly want to wait for them to wake up.”

“Oh so it’s my fault.”

“Well, you are the one who interrupted my interrogation.”

Alec looks at Magnus, his dirty clothes and greasy hair. The angry red marks on his wrists where they peek out from his shirt cuffs. “Your interrogation? That’s not what it looks like from here.”

A cloud passes over Magnus’ face. “Then you’re not looking hard enough. I’ve been playing war games since before your grandparents were in diapers.” The storm passes as quickly as it came, leaving Magnus with a self-satisfied smile. “If you must know, I got everything I need from them to stop their latest plan. And while I would have liked to stick around another day to make sure I didn’t miss anything, that’s no longer an option. So, if you wouldn’t mind lending your assistance, I’d like to go home, have a steaming hot shower, and hug my husband.”

“That sounds nice,” Alec says, his hand finding its way to Magnus’ face. It’s a little selfish, how he lingers to stroke Magnus’ jaw with his thumb, the way he always does whenever his words stick in his throat. The warmth of Magnus’ skin is a much-needed reminder that all the worst-case scenarios he’d spent days imagining are nothing more than bad memories.

Focus. Once he frees Magnus he can do all the touching he wants.

Alec inspects the metal rings binding the tentacles. They’re snug, each one pressing into the skin of the tentacle. In the middle of each ring is a line of raised dots, around the size of a pencil’s eraser. Almost as if they’re the base for something on the inside of the ring. Something keeping Magnus from pulling out of the restraint like he should’ve been able to do easily.

A creeping horror comes over Alec.

His hands curl into fists at his side. “Magnus, are these. Are these…are they hurting you?”

Now that he’s looking for it, he can see the lines of distress across Magnus’ forehead and around his mouth. There’s a tension in his muscles that speaks of long-lasting pain. Each new drop of knowledge beats like a drum against Alec’s head. He needs to get Magnus out of here now.

“It’s fine, Alec.” Of course, Magnus could read him just as well as he can read Magnus.

Alec struggles to control his expression but all he can think about is how many of the little metal rings are biting into Magnus’ flesh. The tentacles have some small level of autonomy, but they’re part of Magnus. Whatever they feel, he feels.

“Magnus? Have you been wearing these the whole time these people—” Alec practically spits the world. For all Shadowhunters talk about being descended from angels, he’s come to realizes some of the worst monsters are the people he grew up thinking were the good guys,“—the whole time they had you?”

Magnus doesn’t answer and that’s answer enough. It only spurs on Alec’s determination to get him out of this place and make sure it’s shut down for good. A quick search of the room doesn’t reveal anything that can help. What’s worse, he can’t get into the computer equipment without risking triggering a failsafe and leaving Magnus trapped for good. He tugs at his hair. There must be something he can do, something that can help but he can’t think of it.

“Alec. Alec!” Magnus’ voice snaps him back. Magnus has his palm outstretched. “Did you really think I’d come here without a backup plan? Get your blade out.” He wiggles his fingers in a way that leaves no doubt what he’s asking.

“Are you sure?” It’s a stupid question but Alec asks it anyways. He’s had enough conversations with Magnus to know the basics of magical theory—tipsy conversations over wine, hushed whispers tangled together before sleeping, even casual chats when they have the occasional free afternoon to meet for lunch.

Blood augments magic. Especially demon blood. And Magnus is part greater demon.

“I can do it myself if you prefer,” Magnus says, not unkindly.

Alec shakes his head. He knows how to make a clean cut, so sharp and fast Magnus won’t even feel it until it’s over. “So you do need me to escape,” he teases. It’s a shoddy attempt to lighten the mood but it works.

Magnus glares from where he’s lying down, but it’s more fond than truly annoyed. “This is certainly less painful than the alternative,” he allows.

Alec imagines Magnus using his teeth on himself, or trying to cut his hand on a random sharp edge of the table, and hides his wince. The life they choose to live is a dangerous and often painful one but that doesn’t mean he ever wants to think of Magnus in pain. He’d whisk Magnus away and hide him in comfort forever if he didn’t think Magnus would hate him for it. Or even allow him to do it in the first place.

Instead, he takes Magnus’ palm in his hands and presses his lips to the center of it. Unsheathing his blade, he slices through the skin he just kissed.

Magnus doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all other than to crane his head and stare at the blood welling up into a small pool in his palm. He swipes it up with the fingers of his opposite hand and draws a sigil Alec doesn’t recognize on the metal table. The angle he’s lying down at obscures his vision of what he’s drawing but it doesn’t seem to matter. Magnus moves as if he’s done this a thousand times before, so familiar with the components of the spell that he doesn’t need to look at what his fingers are doing.

It’s not that Alec forgets Magnus is a powerful warlock. But Magnus so often throws around his magic for nothing more than minor conveniences that it’s easy to forget Magnus isn’t just a charismatic leader with an easy smile who can throw around the occasional fireball in a fight. There’s a depth of knowledge beneath his kind eyes, accumulated over centuries of living. Alec wonders how much of Magnus’ magic he still has yet to see. Is there enough time left in his mortal life to possibly see it all, or is there’s so much that it can’t be filled in a lifetime?

The air grows heavy, like they’re deep underwater. A high pitched ringing noise tickles Alec ear and then—

It all stops.

Magnus sits up, his tentacles waving freely in the air around him. “Much better,” he says. He rolls his shoulders, craning his neck from side to side as if he’s stretching for the first time in days. Which, he very well might be.

There’s the hint of a strain in his voice but Alec doesn’t call him out on it. He also doesn’t help Magnus as he gets up from table, though he keeps a close out in case he falters. There are certain things, Alec has learned, that Magnus prefers to do himself. Especially when they’re not in the privacy of their home behind Magnus’ wards.

Alec’s fears are unfounded and Magnus is steady on his feet. They leave that horror of a room behind but as they sneak through the myriad of corridors and elevators between them and the surface, he can’t help but notice the tiny, dark puncture marks circling each of Magnus’ tentacles where the metal bindings had cut into him.

They must hurt, but they don't seem to hinder him in combat, Alec learns when they eventually need to make their way out by force. Fighting alongside Magnus is as easy as curling up on the couch with Magnus, as easy as breathing, as easy as the things they do together in the bedroom behind closed doors. The move in perfect synchronicity, switching off between their respective long and short range attacks, never falling into a predictable enough rhythm for their enemies to get the jump on them.

The moment they’re home, Magnus sags, his tentacles pulling tight to his body.

Acting on instinct, Alec gets an arm beneath Magnus’ shoulder and guides him to the couch. They settle there together, Alec with his arms around Magnus, Magnus with his tentacles around Alec. A pained hiss escapes from Magnus as the movement jostles the tentacles’ injuries, but when Alec goes to move away they only hold him tighter.

“I’ll heal them later,” Magnus says. “Can we stay like this?”

It’s as close to admitting exhaustion as Alec is going to get from him.

Tomorrow, they’ll need to drag themselves back into the world and deal with the information Magnus risked himself to acquire. They'd already done the most critical part when Magnus used a last burst of heavy magic to send his findings to both the clave and the warlock council. It's only a matter of time now until both their organizations are clamoring for interviews and debriefings and all the rest.

But that’s a whole morning away and Alec currently has other plans.

He kisses the tentacle draped across his shoulders, turning back just in time to catch a kiss from Magnus himself. A peck on the lips that turns heated. Alec sinks into the kiss, surrounded by Magnus at every part of his body.

“Jealous?” Alec asks, once they part, his eyes dancing with laughter.

“Of myself? Hardly.”

Magnus leans in to kiss him again and the tentacles wrap snugly around them both.

[silyabeeodess]

FusionFall Writing Prompts: Oct. 2019, Prompt #2: Part 5 (END)

Part 4: https://silyabeeodess.tumblr.com/post/188659341724/fusionfall-writing-prompts-oct-2019-prompt-2

The next time Silya opened her eyes she was facing a wide, empty sky.  At first, most of the sounds that reached her ears weren’t very distinct—they all seemed to muffle together in an incoherent racket—but she could make out the striking, white lights of the streetlamps lined on both sides of her. She still couldn’t move much and her head was throbbing.  Nevertheless, she just counted herself lucky to still be in one piece.  

She was just one in a long line of rows of people; most lying on their backs on mats, all gathered in the heart of Tech Square.  Having blacked out, she didn’t know what happened, but enough people had been injured that they’d already filled one of the large awnings used for outdoor meetings and were setting people down in the grass.  Scientists, medics—even Plumbers, based on their uniforms—were checking up on the wounded or talking amongst themselves, armed to the teeth.  Nanos of all types stayed close to their IE Donors, waiting for them to wake up.

Silya didn’t see her Him or Aku nanos anywhere, but one glance to her side pacified her worst thoughts. There was her belt, with two of the three nanochips attached to it blinked on to indicate that they were safely inside. As for her third nano, she found Aoi lying sprawled overtop a medkit within arm’s reach, half-asleep.  He looked like he’d been through the fire himself, beaten and scuffed.  She could’ve scolded him: He knew that his best chance of recovery was to go inside his nanochip for a good, long rest.  Still…

She had to bite her own reluctance, her skin flaring in alarm as she rolled to her side and weakly reached out for him.  She knew it was safe, but her body still remembered the flames.  Nevertheless, she patted his head, watching as the blue wisps trickled through her fingers like smoke.  Aoi mumbled in his sleep, curling around himself.  She gave him a tired grin.  You did alright, you little demon… she wanted to tease him.

Better than alright.  Despite how awful she felt, from what Silya could tell he had centered his flames around her soul enough to spare her physical self from serious harm.  She wasn’t so sure that even the real Demongo would show that level of control—not for any lack of skill, but a lack of care.  Aoi admired that creep and had adopted a lot of his mannerisms the instant he’d been created.  She’d seen the panic in his eyes… It must’ve taken a lot of restraint to withhold his fire like he did.  For not the first time, she was glad he wasn’t actually as much like his original model as he wanted to be.  

One of the medics soon noticed she was awake, helped her sit up, and gave her some kind of tea.  She didn’t ask what it was or where it came from: It tasted awful and she got the feeling it had some otherworldly origins. All Silya wanted was a briefing on the situation:

Fusion Fighters had fought against each other all across Tech Square: The free against the possessed. Early on, someone with ties to the Plumbers had quickly contacted their associates to have them rush to the scene to fight off the Ectonurite takeover.  Meanwhile, research participants like herself had battled to regain control of their bodies, but each passed out soon after and were unable to join the fight.  At large, their nanos had shielded them and helped liberate others, just like how Aoi did for her.  While Dexter’s and Mandark’s teams restored the power, the Plumbers attacked immediately upon arrival. Together, they were able to either destroy or capture the Ectonurites by tricking the last ones to come out of their hosts’ bodies and intensifying the lighting systems all across the area—however, they were still scouting to see if any of the ghosts lingered around.

Craning her neck over to the fountain, Silya could see the pair of boy geniuses scrambling to give commands to their robots and the busy scientists.  She also noticed the large pile of Spinal-ARCHs that surrounded them, only then realizing that her own was missing.  She sighed.  It was necessary to destroy any trace of the recent update to ensure the Ectonurite DNA was removed.  If it wasn’t, that sample would just allow the aliens to take over Fusion Fighters again. Unfortunately, it probably meant that everything else would be set back as well.  Albedo was the one who helped the scientists create the update: If he had sabotaged them, then he wouldn’t have made it so that the DNA could be cleared easily.

Silya pressed a hand to her pulsing temple.  Now, they were all back to square one again.  She was going to miss control over those wings…

“Where are they?!”

An enraged shout bellowed over crowd, dulling the noise to a hushed murmur.  Everyone looked around, bewildered, but it wasn’t until they noticed a trio of Plumbers escorting a much smaller figure as it charged through the sea of bodies.  Azmuth… Silya didn’t need to know why the Galvan was there: She was just glad not to be on the receiving end of the sheer rage that oozed around him.  Small as he was, you just didn’t mess with a man who could create a bomb from practically anything and then strap it on your back before you could blink.  

She felt pretty sorry for her employers though.  Even they looked a little nervous about the tiny fury approaching them.  All eyes on them, Dexter and Mandark both visibly stiffened as Azmuth lunged the remaining distance over to the fountain, pointing an accusing finger up at the boys with his other hand drawn into a tight fist.  “This is exactly why I refused to help you with the Spinal-ARCH!  I warned you something like this might happen,” he yelled, “but you two went behind my back anyway!  Worse, you trusted Albedo’s judgement more than mine!  Do have any idea what kind of danger you just put your own people through?!”

Neither of the geniuses seemed keen on answering that.  Even Mandark’s usual attitude seemed doused against the Galvan’s fierce reprimand. The research participants looked to one another, wincing.  Of course, they had known that Albedo had been involved, but he’d also recently joined the Fusion Fighters in a small alliance.  No one trusted him for much: They just trusted Dexter and Mandark more. Hearing that they had spoken to and went against Azmuth though—not only an older and wiser scientist, but also someone who’d dealt with Albedo in the past—was another thing.  Not that Azmuth was the most likeable person, but his advice was typically sound.

Were Dexter and Mandark that desperate for a breakthrough?  She could understand that, but she’d never imagined they’d take things so far… There was still a chance that Albedo had slipped the Ectonurite DNA into the Spinal-ARCHs’ systems in secret, but the two young men prided themselves on logic.  Going against Azmuth’s advice was the farthest from that.

“If it weren’t for some quick thinking on your staff’s part,” he continued, “The Ectonurites might have ripped apart Tech Square from the inside.  They might’ve stolen war secrets or tampered with planetary defenses.  They might’ve kidnapped everyone here, turning them into puppets for both them and Fuse to command!  Do you think you would’ve been prepared for the worst?  Could you have shot down your allies, or would you have ordered the ones with their minds still intact to fire at their friends instead?”

Again, the two remained silent.  Beyond the occasional sound of a flip switching or robot shifting through its systems, all of Tech Square seemed to have gone quiet.  If anyone wanted to rise to their defense, how could they?  

Dexter was the fist to compose himself, looking at his feet and shuffling his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “We’re sorry, Azmuth—”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing too: Apologize to them!” the Galvan pointed to the crowd, “Your pursuit of science put their lives on their line.  Not mine.  If your actions cost Earth dearly, I could just return to my own planet.”

“Hey, what about Albedo?” questioned Mandark, finally breaking the nerve to speak.  “What’re you going to do to him after all this?”

Azmuth’s eyes narrowed, catching how the dark-haired boy was trying to shift the conversation.  One of the Plumbers behind him spoke up, “We’ve got a team looking for him now.  It seems he abandoned his post, so things aren’t looking good, but we’ll find him.”

That came as something of a relief.  With a grunt, Silya placed her mug aside and leaned back down.  Ben was popular enough that everyone knew his face, so a red and white copy of him couldn’t be too hard to spot.  Maybe the Plumbers would even give him a good kick in the shin for her when they found him…

Right now, however, she didn’t want to worry about Albedo, or the Ectonurites, or the Spinal-ARCH anymore. She just wanted to sleep.  Even as Azmuth continued to berate her employers, she began to drift back off.  After something like this, they’d all probably be given a bit of leave to recover.  She’d probably stick around for a day or two more, then use the rest of the time she was given to check on the city.  Maybe take the Monkey Skyway to go to Offworld Plaza and talk to Ben or Vilgax.  Although she didn’t think she’d ever go to space herself, it couldn’t hurt to know a little more about what other kinds of aliens might make their way to Earth.  

Within minutes, she was out like a light, enjoying the first dreamless sleep that she’d had in a while.  

THE END

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages Chp 31

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Warnings: Language. Blink and you’ll miss it angst. Tony Stark’s snark. Mentions of blood, non graphic minor injury. Mild fighting.

Words: 4.6k+ @justreadingfics​ @nerdyandproud9​ @buffy-morgendorffer-01​

Ana felt relieved she was able to laugh after talking to Bucky, although her stomach is rolling in sick waves. She leans against her door as she closes it, releasing a heavy sigh. Her heart is pounding in her chest and her stomach is clenching. She knows she just took one for her own team. Bucky’s healing process is more important than her own feelings and she will continue making him the number one priority no matter what. 

"Well, that's a self sacrificing look if I ever saw one." Someone speaks up.

She startles. "I swear to god, Tony. How do you even know this? Why do you keep showing up in my room?"

"I'm not sure what happened, but I'm very familiar with that look on your face. Putting someone else's well being before yours."

"Pepper you mean?" Ana can't help the slight warmth of fondness over that fact.

Tony hums, then stands from her computer chair. He comes too close for her liking as his dark brown eyes apprise her. Suddenly, he lifts her chin up, tilting her head side to side. He blinks, then releases her chin. Ana pouts, rubbing at her skin.

"Where'd that bruise come from?" He questions casually, beginning to walk around the room. He picks up books, scans them once, then replaces them.

"What bruise?"

"The faded ones on your neck in the shape of fingers."

Shit. "Got a bit kinky with a guy from a bar. Hot hookup and all." She answers flatly.

"I'd rather not know your kinks, Ana, thank you. Plus, you're lying, horribly." Tony pauses to face her. "Barnes told me."

Well, fuck. "What did he tell you exactly?"

"Simon Mills compromising the session. Barnes nearly crushing your neck. The lack of use of the bracelet."

Goddammit. "Did he really say crushing my neck? That's over dramatized." Ana says, finally walking forward and snatching her journal out of Tony's hands. "It's fine. I didn't even notice there was a bruise. He didn't hurt me, so I would really appreciate you not blowing his arm off, thanks."

"He did come to me with that intention." Tony pauses as his expression changes. "He cares for you. As do I, so next time, Ana. Use the damn bracelet. I gave it to you for a reason."

"Yes, sir." She snips mockingly. "You didn't tell Pepper did you?"

"And risk her marching her beautiful legs up here with those heels to kick his ass? No."

Ana plops down on her bed. "Thank you. I promise I'll use it next time."

"It's not just an accessory, kid. Use it, or I'll be present for every session afterwards."

"That is rather unnecessary."

Tony levels her with a look. "Fine. I wont hesitate to tell Pepper."

Ana shakes her head as he steps toward her door.

"It's your safety first, Ana. Oh, the mission got moved up. Change of plans on the testing of the weapons."

 "Are you guys ready?"

Tony opens the door. "Don't you mean, is he ready?"

"What do you think?" Ana inquires genuinely.

"I do...unless something pretty distracts him. Good thing you aren’t coming."

Then Tony is out the door, closing it before the pillow Ana threw can hit him.

***

This is turning out to be quite a day already. It's not until all the meetings has finished and the sun is beginning to set, that Ana marches up to Bucky.

"You told Tony!?" Ana accuses after finding Bucky on the roof again.

"Got to be more specific, darling." He answers, sitting up from the lounge chair.

"You told him about the compromised stage? Why would you do that? He's rather testy about it."

"I figured you would listen to him about taking precautionary measures."

"What?" 

Bucky sighs heavily. “You know, for someone really smart, you can be really stupid.”

“Excuse me?” She snips incredulously.

“You don’t active any of the defense mechanisms, Ana! The restraints, the bracelet. You don’t take the precautionary measures to protect yourself! You didn't even use that taser disk!" 

Bucky pauses. He looks her over for a moment. "As great as last night went, you still did something incredibly reckless. Anything could have happened! Don’t you know if something were to happen to you it would be my fault and I would never be able to live with myself”

Tension seeps from Ana’s shoulders. He looks so concerned, so worried, it makes her feel guilty. “Bucky-“

"It's one of the things that drives me fucking insane about you! As if you don't care for your own safety at all."

Something sour burns in her mouth. "Right, why would I when I have a big, bad Soldier to do it for me? Protecting me so much, he still holds back from me."

"Didn't hold back last night, did I?" Bucky counters, his voice dropping a few octaves. 

Oh, so they can stumble through an awkward conversation about it, but making snarky remarks is as easy as can be. Two can play that game. Ana steps closer to him until he has to look up at her. She tries not to get distracted by his eyes shining in the fading light of the sun, or the fierce look in them. The set of his mouth with how red his lips are, and how Ana remembers exactly how they felt on hers. Remembers exactly how he tastes.

"You protect me so much from yourself, that I bet you're too afraid to even kiss me again." Ana whispers in a challenge.

Bucky just stares into her eyes. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't react once, and a flash of hurt shoots through her chest because she knew it. Knew that him processing it meant it wasn't going to happen ever again. That it really was a one time thing he just did to shut her up, and not because he may have feelings for her too. Ana swallows the lump in her throat, then steps back, reminding herself. Bucky’s healing process is the number one priority; not whatever is happening between them.

"You leave for the mission tomorrow." She states quietly, yet keeping her tone professional. "I'd take the day to mentally prepare. Don't want anything to distract you and compromise the mission."

With that, she exists the roof.

***

Ana is preparing a late dinner the next night, chopping up vegetables on the cutting board, letting the sound of the rain splattering against the large windows fill the room. Everyone is gone for the mission, but she decided to make more than enough food in case anyone is hungry when they get back.

She didn't see Bucky all that much, though they did end up apologizing to each other. Mainly because it felt so weird to throw jabs and stay mad at each other for long. Plus, Bucky had been rather nervous, and pushing everything from the night before aside, Ana offered to help him. She went through breathing exercises, reminded him that their mission has nothing to do with Hydra. So the chance of running into someone is very, very low. He was still nervous though.

Before he left, Bucky had grabbed her hand, brought it up to his mouth and left Ana with a soft press of his lips against her knuckles. It felt loaded with another apology and gratefulness. His eyes had pinned her to the spot, until his lips finally pulled back. She breathlessly wished him luck, along with the rest of them and off they went.

Currently her phone is vibrating on the counter, but her hands are busy, carefully cutting into zucchini. The buzzing stops, then starts again causing Ana to huff, putting down the knife to grab her phone. It's Tony. Who is currently on the mission. Tony who just called her twice. Tony, who is calling her a third time. A surge of panic runs up her spine; the lights flicker around her.

"Tony!?" Ana answers worriedly. "What's going on?"

"Need you to come here, preferably now, please. That'd be great." He answers curtly. There's a lot of background noise, and his voice echoes a little. He's calling from the suit.

"Aren't you dealing with-"

"Yes, and there's a lot to do with energy that's being pulled from a source we can't see. Those weapons we thought were being made, well, they're made. This guy is planning on draining the power from the entire state of New York to source said weapons, so-"

"I can't, Tony! That's not my job. I wouldn't even know how to help. I don't do field work."

"You do now. Lets go, chop chop."

"And how do you expect me to get there so quickly? I don't even know where you are." Ana explains, running to her room and slipping on the first pair of shoes she sees. She hurriedly grabs a knife hidden behind her nightstand, clipping the sheathe to the side of her pants.

"If you stop stalling and get to the roof-"

"Did you send a suit?" She catches on, opening her window to climb the stairs. "I can't fly a suit!"

"You don't have to. Get in." The line disconnects.

Ana tucks her phone in her back pocket as she steps onto the roof. Waiting there is one of the many Iron Man suits Tony has created. The rain is falling harder, soaking her black tee shirt and jeans, as she runs towards it. She carefully steps inside, instantly the suit closes around her. Her vision changes to a screen with target circles and coordinates. Tony's voice is back, having reconnected and abruptly the suit takes off.

"I need you to read this guys energy."

Ana gasps, her stomach swooping. The sensation of flying like this is very new to her. "Talk to me, what's going on? How the hell do you fly in this?"

"Wanda is down. He pulled her power from her."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He's similar to you, at least with those advanced weapons. Figured you could help with that."

"Tony, I'm a non-combatant agent! How am I suppose to help?"

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Ana." He nearly snaps. "I know you hold back and this is a time where I really need you to not."

Ana winces as she flies too close to a power plant pillar. She grits her teeth. "She is okay?"

"Nat's got her, she's fine. Away from the fight." He informs.

"Any casualties?" She can see she's coming up on the fight. The radius of the power plant looks clear of civilians.

"None."

"Anyone hurt?"

Tony doesn't respond immediately. It concerns Ana as she finally lands, several yards away from the fight. Hawkeye shoots an arrow, but whoever the man they're fighting is, blocks it with what looks like three energy whips and a beam.

"Injures?" She questions again. 

She notes the guy isn't moving his feet, but no one seems to be getting close. It's then she realizes that Bucky is with them. She doesn't see him. Tony has yet to answer her.

"Stark!"

"None." Tony finally answers.

"That's a lie. Where is he?"

"Spark Plugs over there disabled the use of his metal arm." 

"Let me out." Ana demands.

The suit dissembles from her body, and she's instantly dripping in rain. She assesses the situation again, running closer to the others. The man still has his feet rooted to the ground, very close to a power outlet. That's where it's coming from, behind the building. Iron Man's suit is suddenly flying next to her, as is Sam.

"What is she doing here?" Sam asks, bringing in his wings and running beside her.

"Bringing us dinner." Tony quips. Ana can hear his eye roll. "She's the only one who can stop the energy he's collecting. He's draining the suit of power every time I get close."

"He's pulling it from the ground." Ana informs, coming to a stop behind a nearby tree.

She's close enough now to feel the heat of the white beams coming from the whips and the man's body. She sees Steve rebound a beam with his shield. Gun fire abruptly echoes through the night, and the bullet grazes the man’s thigh, just enough to sneak under the beams. He yelps and when he shifts, there's a break in the energy he's using. Ana can't see Bucky, but he's hiding in the shadows, doing his part despite his arm. Relief floods throughout her body, knowing that he's safe.

"There's a major power supply and he's standing over it. That's where he's pulling it from. Enhancing whatever he already has in his body." Ana relays.

"Can you stop it?" Sam questions.

"I have to get close enough." She tells him. "He's literally pulling all of the kinetic energy out of the air, how have you guys been fighting? The air feels so thin."

"Not very well." Tony answers, "Sluggish I’d say. Bad performance review. Probably a 32 percent on Rotten Tomato. Not all of us are equipped with energy sensing tingles.”

Ana rolls her eyes. "I need a distraction to get close. I think I can stop it, but I need to touch him to do so."

"We'll give you air support." Tony assures her. "Wilson."

"On it!" Sam opens his wings and takes off.

"I only brought a knife to an energy beam shooting fight, Tony. There's only one chance for this."

"He's got your back." He promises, then takes off.

It takes her a second to realize he's not taking about Sam. Ana runs on her toes, staying as quiet and stealthy as she can. The man abruptly turns though, and if it wasn't for another gun shot, pulling his attention back to the previous spot, he would have seen her. She knows exactly who has her back.

Ana slows, beginning to let her walls down, feeling the energy crackling through the air as she gets closer. If this guy is pulling everyone's kinetic energy, Ana pulls it from him. It's burning at her skin, sizzling in the air and she can see it. A faint blueish gray hovering very close to the man's back. There's gunfire from above as well as a beam from the suit. Steve throws his shield, and Clint fires another arrow. The shield is blocked, ricochets off a blast of energy and back into Cap's arm. The arrow lands by the mans feet a second before it explodes. It's small, but it's the perfect distraction, causing the his feet to finally move.

She can hear Tony banter with the guy, and the fighting has stopped for the moment. Ana doesn't pay any attention, instead she focuses on slowly pulling the electric air into her hands. She breathes in slowly, lifting her hands, inching closer. She shuffles her feet forward, over the spot where the man was previous standing and feels the power source beneath her, surging and amping up her own abilities. It's now or get blasted by a beam.

Ana exhales, placing her fingertips on the man's back as she pushes the energy forward. A bright blue light shoots from her hands, propelling the man forward into the air. It cuts all ties to his weapons, the electric whips dying out. The man scrambles to get up, blood falling from the corner of his eye. He spots Ana, a sneer on his lips. He flexes his hands, and suddenly the whips sizzle back to life. He slams them on the ground and a burst of power knocks Steve and Clint off their feet, and Tony and Sam of course in the sky. Ana steadies her footing, absorbing the current through the ground.

"Was wondering where they were hiding you. The Energy Alchemist." The man calls, advancing on Ana. "You know we're the same, you and I." The air crackles around them as he get closer.

"I doubt it." Ana scoffs. She feels his power radiating off his skin, and Ana needs to touch him once more. She steps closer. "But why don't you enlighten me by monologuing?"

"Clever girl." The man smirks. Louder he says, "If your friends get any closer, you'll meet the end of the whip, not sure you’d be able to survive how much power I give it."

The threat is enough to stop everyone in their tracks. Clint has an arrow poised at the ready, as does Tony with his palm up, beam ready to fire, Sam ready with Red Wing if needed. Steve seems to be debating taking a chance to protect her with the shield. It's defensive positions he can see. What he doesn't see, is Bucky hiding away somewhere high, between the trees. Another shot is fired, this time with intent to hit a target, which happens to be the man's shoulder, bullet lodged in the joint.

He jerks forward with a shout, dropping one of the whips, opening his stance. He barely glances over his shoulder, and Ana takes the opportunity, running straight at him. He turns just in time to see, but she drops down, sliding between his legs, and popping up behind him. She thrusts her hands onto his back and pulls at his energy, opening that part of her own ability. He gasps the same time Ana does. She digs her fingers into his body, holding on and draining his energy. It's too much to take in at once, but Ana holds on tightly, gritting her teeth.

The man is slowly sinking to the ground, his breaths getting shorter by the second. He releases both whips, hands relaxing, head dropping. Ana feels all extra power draining from his bones into her own body. He finally falls to the ground as Ana stumbles. She clenches her fists, slowly stepping away from he man, still breathing.

Her entire body is shaking, hot and buzzing with the pent up energy she stole, kinetic at that, and she has to release it. Release it somewhere that isn't near the plant and her friends. If they're caught in the blast, well. Ana's body is heating up, the whips on the ground suddenly fire up again. She sways, some of the power churning the air around her. It's too much to hold. Her blood is boiling, her skin prickling, and the air cracks around her, tinting blue and gold through the inky sky.

"Ana!" Someone calls from the distance.

Ana shakes her head, but the movement also shakes the foundation of the power plant. Iron Man is suddenly next to her, catching her as she falls sideways. He steadies her, and Ana places her hands on the suit. Everything she just took rushes out of her as she channels it into the arc reactor. Tony abruptly releases her, stumbling back. Ana regains her footing, staring at him as he opens his face mask.

"Did you just power my suit?" He questions, looking a mix of bewildered and impressed.

Ana nods. She's no longer trembling, now that half the energy is in the suit. 

"Needed to redirect it somewhere safe." She bends over to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees.

"That was interesting." Clint states, placing a hand on her shoulder.

The rain is still coming down, having soaked every part of her. There are wet, running footsteps coming towards her, when she remembers that someone was injured. Ana picks her head up, wet strands of her hair falling over her eyes, to see Bucky standing in front of her.

There's a deep cut on his forehead, blood watery from the rain, dripping down his temple and off his beard. His left arm is hanging uselessly at his side. His wet hair sticks to the side of his face, and Ana really wants to push the strands aside, just to make sure he doesn't have any more cuts. Bucky drops the automatic riffle in his hand to the wet ground, reaching out for her.

"What the hell are you doing here!?" He demands angrily, gripping her elbow, fire burning in his eyes.

"Told you." Clint mutters to someone.

Ana ignores him, narrowing her eyes at Bucky. "No, I'm fine, all good, thanks." She snaps. "Just completely drained that dude of all energy and in return, directed his into Tony's suit. I'm all good."

"You didn't think that was dangerous?" Bucky counters, glaring at her.

"What about your arm there, Sergeant Snowflake?"

He levels her with an unimpressed look. "Still had your back, didn't I?"

Ana smiles softly at him. "Yeah."

"Jesus, you two are worse than love-struck teens." Clint inputs. He takes his hand off her shoulder. "She's fine." He informs everyone else, and walks away.

"I hate him sometimes." Ana mumbles. She straightens up, grabbing Bucky's forearm to steady herself. "Let me see."

“Think he fried some wires, threw off the calibration.” Bucky informs her.

She picks up his heavy left arm with both hands, and the grip on her elbow tightens, as to make sure she doesn't fall over. Ana examines the metal, the rain making tiny tinkering noises. Steve, after helping Sam tie up the still unconscious man, comes up next to her.

"How was he able to do that?" He inquires.

"Can we do this out of the rain?" Sam speaks up, sounding less than pleasant.

"Called Romanoff, should be here in two minutes." Tony says.

"Just give me a minute." Ana scolds them, bringing Bucky's arm closer to her face.

She closes her eyes. She gathers the very last of what she can feel still buzzing inside her, what she didn't give over to Tony's suit. They don't have to know that to fully restore the workings of the arm, Ana has to use some of her own energy as well. Whatever she took from the man had enough kinetic power to remain inside her body. Ana opens her eyes, squeezes her hands, and quite literally feels the electrical shock emitting from her fingers.

There's a flash of golden blue light around her hands and arms, and the sound of soft mechanical whirring comes to life. Ana continues to channel it into his arm, until the metal slates shift together, then releases his arm. Bucky wiggles his fingers, then swings his arm around in a circle, his range of motion coming back. He smiles proudly at her.

Ana's knees buckle. Both him and Steve are quick to catch her, holding her up. They're saying something to her, but she can't hear them. Either due to the sudden rushing of blood to her ears or the loud engine of the Quinjet coming to get them. Her eyelashes flutter against the raindrops, which are suddenly blocked by a pair of blue eyes starring at her in concern. Ana sees Buckys lips moving, a crease on his brow. She still can't make out what he's saying but she's suddenly out of the rain and laying on something solid.

With the last ounce of strengthen left, Ana lifts her hand. She weakly swipes her thumb over Bucky's face. The wound is still bleeding, but he seems to be fine. Ana's hand drops down, and her vision blackens.

***

When Ana wakes up, she's laying on a rather uneven surface, body weighed down with blankets. She stares up at a white ceiling, lights patterned in a way that isn't the same as the other rooms of the compound. Ana slowly sits up, and realizes it's because she's in the medical ward. Her skin feels itchy. She notices then that there's an IV in her hand, and little heart monitoring pad on her pulse points and chest. She makes to take them off.

"If you think about pulling those out, Barnes will come over here and pin you down. Although, I don't think you'd be opposed to that."

Ana glares to her left. "Tony."

Tony sits up in his chair. He looks tired, like he was up all night and Ana has no idea how long she's been out for. He pushes a cup of water on the bedside table closer to her. Grateful, she takes it, and drinks the entire cup down.

"Your heart rate dropped dangerously low on the carrier." He informs her casually, taking the empty cup back. "You had an extremely high fever as well. Everything is normal now, but you've been out for 24 hours."

Ana slumps back against the pillows. There's only one thing going through her mind right now. "It isn't because I fixed his arm." She states firmly. "He knows that right?"

"You think he believes that?"

A huff.

"I knew it would be too much for you." Tony admits. “Shouldn't have asked for help."

"Stop that. Don't do that. If I really didn’t want to help I wouldn’t have gone. I'm fine now. I was just overwhelmed. Too much too soon. I haven’t drained energy like that on that big a scale."

Tony leans over and fist pumps her knuckles. "Good job though, girly. Proud of you."

Ana smiles at him. Tony is mostly all snark and quips, but the fondness and worry in his eyes says so much more. He's seen Ana at her worst, close to death. Has seen her break down sobbing after her brother's funeral. Has seen her so incredibly angry that all the lights and glass shattered in her apartment. They have a special connection, the two of them. Ana knows Tony is more concerned, and probably relieved than anyone else. Or, almost everyone.

"How long do I have to stay here?" She ends up asking. She looks over at her vitals chart. Everything seems normal.

"Until Janice gives you the all clear." Tony answers. "They just want to make sure you remain stable. You absorbed too much energy into your body."

Ana nods. "How's Bucky? He was bleeding wasn't he?"

A smirk lifts the corner of Tony's mouth. He nods his head up. Ana follows his nod and on the opposite side of the room is Bucky. There's still blood on the left side of his face, but Ana can't tell if its fresh or dry. Which means, if she had been out for the past twenty- four hours, Bucky hadn’t let anyone tend to him.

***

"It's fine, Ana." Bucky assures her. “It’ll heal in no-”

"Hush and let me put this on." She scolds, carefully placing the butterfly band-aid over the cut. She had been cleared of normal vitals after her usual vitamin shot and made a beeline towards Bucky.

"You need to rest. Still not happy that he called for your help."

Ana rolls her eyes, tossing the wrapper away. "He wouldn't have done so if he didn't need it. I swear, you and him both are like overprotective mothers."

"But you're not..." He trails off.

"I'm not- I'm not what? Hmm? Say it. I dare you." She threatens. If he says what she thinks he is going to say, probably something about not being trained enough or an Avenger, she will lose it.

"I just don't want you getting hurt. Draining your energy is enough, don't you think?"

"You know I've literally been attacked in my own home before. If someone is going to hurt me, they'll get to me wherever I am."

"Like hell they will." Bucky responds with fire in his voice.

Ana steps back to stare at him. The blues of his eyes are shinning, but looks fierce, protective, and it's a look she is growing use to. She knows how he feels though, because she has the same feelings when it comes to him. They are very protective over each other, and she doesn't know exactly when that happened, but it did, and it's not going away any time soon.

"Bucky." Ana exhales. He closes his eyes, gently grabs her hips and pulls her close. He drops his head to her shoulder. Ana weaves her fingers through is damp hair.

"Don't you know by now, how much I care about you." Bucky admits, his breath fanning over her skin. "I know I shouldn't. I have no right to-"

"If you start with the self depreciating shit I will disable your arm again." She threatens softly.

He laughs against her shoulder. When he looks back up, air catches in her lungs. Her heart begins to pick up speed, and the fluttering of her stomach is back. Her mind is suddenly thrown back to a few days ago when he kissed her so fiercely on the roof. They haven't spoken about it since their talk in his room, but Ana can still taste him on her tongue, can still feel the burn of his beard, the grind of his hips. She desperately wants to taste him again. If he even wants to.

Ana brushes her fingers through his hair again, pushing back the strands that fell over the cut. Bucky's hands fall further down her hips, fingers slipping under her shirt. She tilts her head down, cupping his jaw, watching his lips part slightly. He turns his head just a fraction, pressing his lips to the palm of her hand. Maybe he does want it.

"Ana, Fury would like a word with you." Steve's voice interrupts the moment. Ana steps back as Bucky drops his hands. Steve just steps into the room, stopping when he see their expression. He raises an eyebrow but remains silent.

"I'll go see him." Ana states, trying to will down the flush of her cheeks.

She hurries out of the room, not glancing back at Bucky, and avoiding Steve's gaze.

************************************************************************************

Previous  Next

[kewltie]

“You may have two,” Hyukjae says. 

Donghae looks up at Hyukjae, eyes widening. “Two?!” he cries out indignantly. 

Hyukjae’s quirks up a brow. “Two,” he affirms, cruelly unmoved by Donghae’s outrage and suffering. 

Donghae winces, chasten. “Two,” he agrees with heavy reluctant. 

He extend his  hands out toward Hyukjae, considering his options before settling on his target. He fiddles with the uppermost top button of Hyukjae’s open dress shirt for a moment, fingers tracing silver lined buttons, before he gives it his devoted attention. 

The flashes of Hyukjae’s bare skin out of the corner of his eyes and the heat of Hyukjae’s body colling around him are normally incredibly distracting factors for Donghae, but none of that enter his head as he focus on his task. His fingers deftly button up the first one easily enough and he moves on to the next. That one also quickly follows suit but his fingers linger at the second button for a second more before he lowers his hand to third one. His thumb pad teases at it as he considers giving into temptation and button it up anyway and that’s when Hyukjae’s grip catches his hand before Donghae commits his effort to it. 

“No,” he says firmly and Donghae lets out a pained sigh as Hyukjae’s release his hold on Donghae. 

Donghae steps back in shame. Lowering his head, he stares at the floor as though it can save him. He’d almost broken the rule that Hyukjae’s had lay down for him because he simply couldn’t control himself. Give Donghae an inch and he’ll take a mile.

He waits quietly for Hyukjae’s to finish buttoning up his dress shirt so he can dole a punishment or, worst, a lecture on restraint and self control which Donghae sorely lacks. 

He hear Hyukjae’s footstep closing in on him but doesn’t dare to look up and meet Hyukjae’s disappointed gaze. He feels a familiar hand cupping his chin and tries to resist it holds on him but it’s futile as Hyukjae’s lift it up and Donghae catches sight of the teasing glint in Hyukjae’s eyes . “I see that even two buttons are too much for you. I should discipline you for that near transgression but I have another idea in mind. Normally, one wouldn’t award someone for their bad behavior but this has never been normal and you always been uniquely you.” The corners of Hyukjae’s lip tug upward. “I have something else for you in mind instead. If you get a ninety percent or higher on your upcoming statistic midterm I might consider letting this offense go and perhaps even let you do the rest of the buttons next time,” he offers kindly and more then a little mean, knowing that Donghae is barely scrapping by a C in that class. 

“Oh,” Donghae says, fully aware that’s he being baited and bribed but he sinks his entire jaw around the hook anyway because Donghae always been equally part dumb and bullheaded, “then I won’t just have your dress shirt. I want your suit jacket and tie too.” It’s haughty and outrageous demand coming from him but Donghae who  has the honor of taking Hyukjae apart every day when he come home tired and weary from work, each layer of clothes on him carefully removed and put aside as Hyukjae let Donghae pawed at him so he can stop being Mister Lee, the fierce and uncompromising head of his organization, and everyone else’s and just be Donghae’s master, lord of his domain, and solely his. 

But it’s another thing to put Hyukjae together, help him get ready, piece by piece, putting his armor on before he goes out and face the entire world—that is a privilege Donghae desperately wants. 

The corner of Hyukjae’s lips rise even more. “Always so greedy, my dear,” he murmurs quietly leaning in and pressing a  kiss to the side of Donghae’s head. “But I expect nothing less from you.”

[royallyeverything]

Royally Messed Up: Chapter 27

Here it is! Again I’m so sorry for the wait but hopefully at least someone enjoys this! Thanks for reading!

Link to AO3

Link to the previous chapter

Jasper knew that what he wanted to present to Eleanor was no small thing. Admittedly the ring was simple within itself, small and dainty, the 3 gems within it sparkling gloriously when they caught the light. Jasper thought it was beautiful and he’d know instantly that it was the one he wanted to give Eleanor, but he knew it was nothing compared to the vast arrays of jewels the Princess was able to access at the click of a finger. It was from a local boutique jewellers and as much as he wished he could afford to give Eleanor an exclusive piece with a famous designer’s name tag attached, and the price tag to go with it, this was the best he could do. The thought had been nagging away at him for days that the ring wasn’t really good enough for the Princess, but he had to hope that Eleanor would take it for more than face value. It was of course the meaning behind which held the significance, and it was that meaning which had him nervous to finally present it to her. He’d decided that it was best to wait until after her brother’s coronation. Wait until things had calm down and they had a chance to really be together privately for longer than a few snatched hours of time between countless security meetings, dress fittings and media interviews they had each been bombarded with. Jasper knew it was sensible to wait, but he couldn’t kid himself any longer that another reason he’d decided to wait was because of the unflinching doubt which had crept into and resided within his mind. Maybe it wasn’t just the ring which wasn’t good enough for Eleanor?

‘Jasper? Jasper?’ It was the third calling of his name that dragged him from his thoughts, Eleanor’s voice loud by his ear as she shook his arm non too gently. ‘You with me?’ Eleanor asked as she saw him blink his eyes and shake his head quickly, ‘Or is my company not entertaining enough for you?’ she added with a wink, a slight hint of concern in her voice. ‘Sorry, was just thinking about my meeting earlier,’ Jasper lied seamlessly, offering a small smile as he leant down to brush his lips against Eleanor’s cheek. ‘It’s okay, I know tomorrows a big day and it’s okay for you to be anxious too,’ she told him kindly, squeezing his hand to offer him some reassurance. ‘I’m not anxious as such, I just know that a lot is riding on me not screwing up. The risks to your safety will be so much higher than usual with so many people around the palace,’ Jasper told her, his brow furrowing slightly. ‘Hey,’ Eleanor caught his attention, trying to stop him from retreating back into his thoughts. ‘It’s all going to be fine, I’ve survived this far haven’t I and we both know I wouldn’t have done if it wasn’t for you.’ ‘Yes, but you also wouldn’t have been put in that type of danger if it wasn’t for me!’ Jasper replied, his regret bleeding into his voice as he had to look away from the undeserved gratitude in her eyes. Eleanor sighed softly as she reached out a gentle hand to cup his cheek, turning his face slowly so she could meet his eyes again. ‘But you did everything you possibly could to protect me! You went above and beyond the expectations of your job and I know I’ll be safe tomorrow so long as I have you by my side,’ Eleanor told him quietly, sincerity shining in her emerald eyes. ‘I’ll do my best Princess,’ Jasper told her fiercely, ‘you know I will protect you with my life.’ ‘I know,’ Eleanor nodded, ‘and you’ve done everything you possibly can to prepare for tomorrow. So how about we stop talking about the coronation and make better use of this time we’ve finally got alone together?’ Jaspers eyes sparkled at Eleanor’s flirtatious tone, a smirk pulling at his mouth. ‘What exactly did you have in mind Princess?’ ‘How about I show you?’ Eleanor purred as her hands slid under Jaspers suit jacket, revelling in the heat of his chest as she clung to his shoulders, moving forward to finally press her lips against his. The soft moan which escaped Eleanor’s throat reverberated against his lips and Jasper felt heat curl inside him, the small flame which always seemed to be lit inside him whenever he was in Eleanor’s presence bursting into a raging inferno in seconds as he clutched desperately at her hips. It took mere seconds for Jaspers jacket and tie to be removed, his shirt hanging open as he toed off his shoes impatiently, desperation shattering his usual finesse. As he moved them both backwards until they reached the sofa. Eleanor pulled their lips apart for a brief yet unbearable moment as she pulled her top over her head unceremoniously, her hair billowing over her shoulders. She met Jaspers eyes and couldn’t contain a laugh at the growl which sounded almost as if it had been ripped from Jasper’s throat as he realised she wasn’t wearing a bra. She just had time to notice the deep intensity blazing in his eyes before he slammed their lips back together again, his hands curling around her body to grip onto her back. Eleanor was just about to move herself down onto the sofa, with every intention of dragging Jasper down with her, when she felt him lift her up and spin them both around. Her legs instinctively moved to wrap around his waist before he moved backwards and fell ungraciously down onto the seat, Eleanor’s legs straddling him as her hair fell forward around his face. ‘Comfortable?’ Eleanor asked with a smirk, her lips red and swollen as her eyes shone. ‘Very,’ Jasper whispered as he leant up to press his lips to her neck, revelling in the feel of the Princess’s fingers gripping firmly in his hair as she let out another moan which nearly had him finishing in his pants already.

It took an unbelievable amount of restraint to leave her bedroom the next morning, a small pout on Eleanor’s lips as she watched him go, making him promise to come back later before the coronation began. As if he needed to be asked. If it wasn’t for the dozen women who had been stood at her door ready to attend to her hair, nails and makeup, there was no way he would have been able to pull his arms from around her soft, warm waist. His morning was beyond hectic, a list with seemingly a million jobs being thrust into his hands the second he’d laid eyes on James. ‘What are you smirking at?’ he’d asked him, a hint of annoyance in his voice. ‘Someone looks a bit distracted that’s all,’ James replied coyly, ‘but I doubt you’re going to have time for that today.’ He’d been right of course, not that Jasper would ever admit it. He’d been so busy he’d barely had time to grab a piece of toast and a cup of tea, only eating when one of the kitchen staff had refused to let him leave the kitchen until he’d finished every crumb. ‘We’re all going to need to have our wits about us today Mr Frost,’ Mrs Watts had told him firmly, ‘we can’t have those of you out on the front-line fainting from starvation, can we?’ Jasper had let out a little chuckle, his heart clenching at his act of kindness as he dutifully obliged. After that it had hours full of checking security cameras, organising staff, vetting media personnel and double checking every single detail within the security brief for the day. By the time he finally made it back to Eleanor’s room, barely having time to straighten his suit jacket before they had to leave, he was exhausted. Eleanor felt her back stiffen slightly as she heard a sharp intake of breath from behind her, her ears pricking up as she spun around hastily. As she did so she felt herself immediately relax as she noticed Jasper stood behind her, his mouth slightly ajar in his position halfway through the door. When he didn’t speak for a few moments, his eyes raking up and down her body before landing on her eyes, she felt her shoulders straighten self-consciously. ‘Is it time to go?’ she asked after another few moments, the silence really not helping her nerves. ‘You, er…’ Jasper began as he finally moved a few steps closer to her. Clearing his throat quickly he blinked a few times and Eleanor couldn’t help but be shocked to see her usually so suave bodyguard lost for words. ‘You look unbelievable,’ Jasper finally breathed, his eyes shining. ‘Oh, erm, thank you,’ Eleanor replied softly, a blush spreading up her neck as she looked away briefly, unsure of what to say. ‘I mean it,’ Jasper replied suddenly, his voice now sure and strong again. As he moved to stand in front of her he reached out to cup her cheeks and turn her back to face him. ‘You look absolutely stunning Princess.’ Smiling shyly, Eleanor pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before murmuring, ‘you look pretty smart yourself.’ Letting out a small scoff of disbelief that Eleanor didn’t seem to realise the extent of the effect she was having on him, Jasper smiled and reached down to entwine their fingers together. ‘You ready?’ he asked carefully, wearing of her nervousness. ‘Yeah,’ she nodded, a smile pulling at her lips once more, ‘let’s go and watch my brother become King.’

Eleanor squeezed her hands together as they dangled by her sides, trying desperately to quell their incessant shaking. She knew this day wasn’t even remotely about her, but she still felt nervous with so many reporters and cameras surrounding her, knowing that this was one of the biggest days of her brother’s life. She wanted it to be perfect for him, she was so unbelievably proud of the man he had become, and the thought of anything ruining this day made her feel sick. Especially if it was anything to do with her. ‘Hey,’ she heard Jasper whisper to her, his lips almost touching her ear, ‘everything is going to be fine. Trust me.’ She nodded as she gave him a shaky smile, realising a second later that she meant it. She had no idea when it had happened but she trusted Jasper, and his mere presence immediately helped her to relax. Misconstruing the sudden widening of Eleanor’s eyes at her realisation, Jasper moved to face her. ‘Seriously, we’ve got everything under control and I’ll be here at all times to make sure you’re okay. I’ll be just at the other side of the room; I won’t let you out of my sight.’ ‘I know,’ Eleanor replied instantaneously. ‘I’m not worried about me, I’m just worried that I’m going to do something to mess it up. You know me, drama seems to follow me everywhere.’ Jasper laughed gently at her attempt at humour, taking it as a good sign that he had at least slightly managed to relax her. ‘The woman I love is capable of doing amazing things, this is barely anything for her,’ Jasper told her reassuringly as his finger brushed gently across her bottom lip. It wasn’t until he felt Eleanor stiffen beneath his touch and take in a sharp gasp that he realised what he had said. ‘Wh-What did you just call me?’ Eleanor asked him in a breathy voice, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. Swallowing quickly Jasper smiled slightly, knowing that this was going to be a defining moment in their relationship. He hadn’t meant for that word to come out, but now that it had he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders at his admission. ‘The woman that I love,’ he repeated carefully, ‘a woman who is beautiful, kind and unbelievably strong and who I will protect with my life,’ he added, his mouth running away with him. ‘You <em>love</em> me?’ Eleanor whispered incredulously, her eyes shining over with moisture. Nodding, Jasper felt his smile broaden. She hadn’t pulled away from his touch so that had to be a good sign, right? ‘I love you, Eleanor, more and more every day.’ Leaning down slightly he began to move towards her, keeping his movements slow so that she had plenty of time to pull away if she wanted. For once he didn’t want this kiss to be about control, but about reassurance and support and love. <em> So much love. </em> ‘I have to go get Liam,’ Eleanor whispered, her eyes darting from his as she stepped back slightly. Feeling his heart sink at her reaction Jasper also moved to put more space between them, lowering his hands to his sides as he lifted his head. ‘Of course, your Highness,’ he replied with a firm nod of his head, ignoring the way his voice broke over the words. Eleanor felt her chest clench as she watched Jasper revert to her professional bodyguard before her eyes. She knew she’d just hurt him and she was surprised how much that knowledge hurt her too. The guilt felt like a solid weight in her chest, but she needed a moment to process his words before she said something she’d regret. Jasper adjusted his earpiece, more to give his hands something to do that wasn’t pulling Eleanor into his arms rather than necessity, and bowed his head respectfully as Eleanor moved past him. He’d said what he’d known was the truth for the last few months, hell if not since he’d met her, and he couldn’t regret letting Eleanor know he felt. If anything she needed to be reassured more often that people loved her and that she deserved love. He just hoped that he hadn’t just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. Again.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Royals or any of the characters. Please do not steal this work. Thanks for reading; I hope you’re enjoying the story! I’d love to know your thoughts!

[how2to18]

“WE’RE HEADED for empty-headedness” it begins, but the poems that follow the first one, “Out of Metropolis,” seem to proceed from a head brimming over with perceptions, imaginings, conversations, arguments, sensualities, obsessive pursuits, and total emersions — rivers that branch into tributaries. But one must factor in to those wayward metaphorical rivers — and to Lynn Emanuel’s The Nerve of It: Poems New and Selected — the poet’s masterful control of pacing, tone, her daring imagery, and deliriously pleasing language. Rivers, tributaries, they aren’t quite the right metaphor. And I admit to this here, in this fashion, to prepare the reader for poems, from four books spanning three decades, which will double back on themselves, contradict each other, reconsider — in other words behave not quite like rivers.

In the part-real, half-imagined, and largely bereft desert town of Ely, Nevada, of the 1950s, to the “grandmothers / with their shanks tied up in the tourniquets / of rolled stockings” seated in the Roxy theater, appears a Marilyn Monroe spin-off:

There in the narrow mote-filled finger of light, is a blonde, so blonde, so blinding, she is a blizzard, a huge spook, and lights up like the sun the audience in its galoshes. She bulges like a deuce coupe. When we see her we say good-bye to Kansas.                                    (“Blonde Bombshell”)

That’s the deliriously pleasing language I’m talking about. And here’s more:

When I drink it is always 1953, Bacon wilting in the pan on Cook Street And mother, wrist deep in red water, Laying a trail from the sink To a glass of gin and back. She is a beautiful, unlucky woman In love with a man of lechery so solid You could build a table on it And when you did the blues would come to visit.                          (“Frying Trout While Drunk”)

A reader might take these for exceptionally skillful and alluring autobiographical poems, the first establishing a childhood environment, the next revealing something of the family life. And the reader would be wrong. These two are probably not autobiographical in the strictest sense. Lynn Emanuel did not grow up in Ely, Nevada, though a series of poems from her second book, The Dig, might leave one with that impression. She grew up in Denver, Colorado, her mother a business woman, her father an artist. “Raoul,” the focus of several poems and, seemingly, the object of erotic fascination in her coming-of-age years, Emanuel has described as “partly invented and partly a composite of ‘characters’ I’ve known.”

The poet’s “Note To the Reader” reveals that this selection will dispense with the usual ordering: “I have ignored chronology, placing new poems beside old, mixing middle and early poems with recent work, and liberating all my poems from the restraints of their particular histories, both aesthetic and autobiographical.” This is in favor of an order, she says, that will involve both “linkage” and “collision.” Here, poems of imagined scenarios, dreamed up and dreamt-of characters, mix with memory (though at times, for the reader at least, those imagined scenarios seem so palpable one could, well, build a table on them). In this manner, Emanuel’s shifting relationship with linear narrative doesn’t express itself simply through non-sequential movement within a poem, but through a fluid reimagining or rearranging of her life, or a life. Or a psyche. And throughout, various poems muse on the relationship between Writer and Reader, between Poet and Poem — these along with pronouncements too resolute for the gentile word muse.

In our age, such investigations, and such bucking against the business of how-things-have-been-done, calls up the Specter of Postmodernism, its cousins, and its progeny, and some decades of mixed results. Not everyone’s shattered narratives, stylistic potpourris, meta-fictions, and meta-poems satisfy on all fronts. But here, no matter how cerebral the exploration, a vigor and sparking wit enliven these writings. It is not humor precisely but something that flashes across the brain to similar effect. If we’re hardwired to search for narrative, for story — a condition Lynn Emanuel has reflected on elsewhere, in another collection — we might also be hardwired to desire surprise. In line after unexpected line, surprise is among the rewards these poems offer up. From “The White Dress”: “it’s an eczema of sequins, rough, gullied, riven / puckered with stitchery, a frosted window / against which we long to put our tongues.”

Each of the six sections ends with fierce finality. Recently, I read a Lynn Emanuel poem to my poetry workshop, and, responding to the bravura of the closing lines, one of my students gave tribute with that generation’s cry of highest praise, Drop the mic! Of course, fierce finality notwithstanding, when we turn the page Lynn Emanuel is still going at it, with a new project this time, a new circuitous undertaking.

In The Nerve of It, the more solidly located poems give way to some that flip about fretfully, self-critical, jumpy with desire. At intervals Emanuel expresses what seems a kind of restlessness, a burst of impatience — with herself? With the poem? Something is lacking. Something more is required. She places upon herself — demands.

Tiresome, tiresome is the poet Recumbent on the davenport Lost in raptures of self-regard […] I am what is wrong with America. Standing debauched, bereft, Empty-handed for first one Eternal verity and then another …                         (“Self-Portrait”)

And later, in the same section of the book:

Where did she come from, that dig in the ribs? Who is she to pretend she’s me and to take on that ditched-in, hopeless tone? Who is this phony yokel? This two-dollar bill, this pig knuckle? Honey, I tell her, my name is Lynn Collins Emanuel, someone whose whole manner says I’m over-educated but recovering.                         (“The Past”)

Sure enough, sometimes a writer wants to plunge into the self and milk it for all its worth, and other times to kick it off — Tsk! — the Self and Past both, like a pair of irritating shoes one’s been stuck in all day. And sometimes it’s everywhere, that self. “Homage to Sharon Stone,” which sprang from an occasion when Sharon Stone was situated across the street from Emanuel, in some city, whirls us through a self that morphs like silvery liquid, or cool CGI effects, into characters, into objects, “then I am the train pulling into the station / when what I would really love to be is Gertrude Stein spying on Sharon Stone / at six in the morning. But enough about / that, back to the interior decorating.”

Not everything’s subjective, malleable. Sometimes an occurrence flat-out happens and the fact of it is immutable. While she was working on Then, Suddenly—, her third book, Emanuel’s father died, and she’s spoken of how the shock and grief affected her poetry, divesting it of certain luxuries. For a time afterward, she lost confidence that contemporary language, imprinted with contemporary sensibilities, could express the great elegiac emotions — she meant, of course, without slipping into sentimentality or melodrama. She’s said that after the death of her father she did not have “the stamina, the control or the resources to create a more shapely line.”

This news provides an insight that might help the reader take in more fully, more usefully, certain of these poems. There’s a restraint in them, and, even now, a wit — though a different tenor of wit — that might otherwise be misread.

Suddenly, I turn around and there he is just as I’m getting a handle on the train pulls- into-the-station poem, “What gives?” I ask him, “I’m alone and dead,” he says, and I say, “Father, there’s nothing I can do about all that. Get your mind off it. Help me with the poem

about the train.” “I hate the poem about the train,” he says. But since he’s dead and I’m a patient woman I turn back to the poem in which the crowds have gone home…                      (“Halfway Through the Book I’m Writing”)

This apparition might seem somewhat comical, rather like Elvira in Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit, or the dapper ghosts that provoked Cosmo Topper — mischievous, impertinent visitations. A reader coming upon this poem by itself — perhaps the very same reader who took the Ely poems for historical fact — might suppose this death had made a long slow approach, that the “I” was ready for it and took it in stride. And be wrong. Again. The poem that follows, “The Burial,” presents a stranger mood, closer the bone, closer the nerve. A hallucinatory image has the speaker standing before a grave holding a shovel: “the blade is / drenched in shine, the air is alive along it, as air is alive / on the windshield of a car.”

Intimations of death will recur in the last section, death imagined, then death imagined differently:

I dipped my pen into that inky place. The cloudy brow of night

Was furrowed in concern, Because the living did not seem to know That they were being stalked by me.                (“The Murder Writer”)

“Ars Poetica” appears just before “Halfway through the Book I’m Writing,” and might not anticipate what’s to come. Or maybe it forecasts one of those collisions that the note to the reader warns of.

Personal experiences are chains and balls fatally drawn to the magnetic personality. I have always been a poet who poured herself into the shrouds of experience’s tight dresses […]

But now I have other things to do.                         (“Ars Poetica”)

Some disenchantment, or hankering to venture elsewhere, or desire to speak out of a more ageless voice, gave rise to the Dogg poems. Here, they appear in the penultimate section, and a poem called “Metamorphosis” ushers them in. Ah ha, we’re in Greeksville, among the persona poems — the Persona, that mask that both Is and Is Not s/he who wears it. (Ask any performer who’s run away with a traveling masquerade theater — they’ll tell you all about it.) Dogg breaks entirely from proper language, from civil discourse. Dogg the outcast, the impoverished, proud and despised. It speaks — Dogg.

I wuz followin a boot down the avenew,

The smell uf wet meat clung to it.

I wuz leapen over ashes an trashes wit out a license

runnin frum the p’lese—the gas, net, an boot.

This iz the life, I thot— a planet uf ruin an disorder

an the dogs uf the world runnin the world.                      (“Stray Dog”)

Out of another age, an earlier poem came to this reviewer’s mind. It is by one Irene McLeod, born in Victorian times, 1891. I would not mention it now if I didn’t believe that the sisterhood, the brotherhood, of poets might leap across centuries: “I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog and lone / […] I’ll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet, / a sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat.”

With respect to other relations, Dogg also has something of Coyote’s supernatural presence, though little of his totemic power — Coyote of the Northwest tribes and other regions. This one’s a totem for our age, our cities, a rundown, slumming mongrel whose only talent is survival. Survival and omnipresence.

(At the pound, Dogg is interrogated)

Who iz that scrawnee filth? they ask Dogg.

Who is that pack that runs together?

Who is that racket of instinct in the brane? Ribs stickin out like bucket staves?

Who iz those howls? Who iz standin-at-the-post-in-chains an puts itself between us an our rage?                           (“Who iz Dogg?”)

It’s called The Nerve of It, this collection. “The Nerve of her!” some people said of somebody or other, back when that was a phrase — “What nerve!” And then there’s the “nerve” of Frank O’Hara, from his essay, “Personism: A Manifesto,” an ars poetica of sorts. “You just go on your nerve. If someone’s chasing you down the street with a knife you just run, you don’t turn around and shout ‘Give it up! I was a track star for Mineola Prep!’” I’ve always loved that line — and never been quite sure how to apply it to poetry. Lynn Emanuel appears interested in both meanings, as an expression of social disapproval involving, perhaps, an offense against propriety, and the primal nerve, that bundle that transmits sensations to the brain, gives commands. “Run!”

Emanuel’s New and Selected reveals an uncommon talent, together with a restless, adventurous spirit. And over the course of the book, especially in its final pages, it seems one prospective adventure might involve a negotiated truce between brain (“over-educated but recovering”) and nerve. No, not a truce, more like a rendezvous. No, more like an affair. No, a cellular fusion. To touch a nerve! What an undertaking! What nerve.

¤

Suzanne Lummis’s poems have appeared in notable literary magazines across the country, including Ploughshares, The Antioch Review, Hotel Amerika, and The New Yorker. Her most recent poetry collection, Open 24 Hours, received the Blue Lynx Award and was published by Lynx House Press.

The post Going on Nerve: Lynn Emanuel’s “The Nerve of It: Poems New and Selected” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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