#mr. all star by smash mouth as one of his Main Songs

[xfindingtrouble]

ellis as king would have been one of the worst things to ever happen to ferelden

[adultswim2021]

Tim And Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #29: “Larry” | September 22, 2008 - 12:30AM | S03E09

A weak episode with some stuff in it I do like. We’re going to leave the meatiest segments for the end. 

First there’s Burps, which is sort of a rehash of Zits. This one has okay ideas, but isn’t really that funny. Tim burps while talking, and Eric asks him questions that inexplicably all have the word “rain” in the answers. It’s a real “spaghetti and meatballs” approach to comedy. That’s not a bad thing, it just didn’t bowl me over here. This recurs later in the form of outtakes where Eric is beside himself with laughter. It’s maybe a little silly to complain about DVD extras, but there’s even more of this stuff in the bloopers on the DVD. Enough!!!

There’s another Tairy Greene sketch that has some amusing moments, and I consider this one “funny enough”. The main idea, where Tairy is making an example of a wheelchair kid for no good reason, is a decent bit. 

Next is another guest star. It’s… Ugh, Rainn Wilson. He does the same bit Patton did a few episodes back of portraying a child singing a song about sexual matters. This one is about peeing in a girl’s mouth to make a baby.

Rainn Wislon is a wad, so I'll digress into childhood stories. Skip this paragraph if you want: I remember when I was little I used literally worry about the idea that a girl from school might hide in my toilet at home and wait for me to go pee, and then she’d wrap her mouth around my childish penis and impregnante herself, putting me at the forefront of a “with child” situation. At my tender age! In my imagination, it was shot like a scene in a movie trailer, set to “Bad to the Bone”, and her toilet prank would smash-cut to a Norman Rockwell-esque portrait of me, looking surprised to have a family. 

Okay, the wraparound segments are a continuation of the Carol and Mr. Henderson saga. This is, perhaps, the weakest of the Carol and Mr. Henderson sketches, but it eventually pays off. Instead of Mr. Henderson being cruel to Carol, they are now fully in love and in a relationship, and the jealous Larry is left licking his wounds, upset that his friend Mr. Henderson is spending too much time with Carol. It’s a tale as old as time. While Carol and Mr. Henderson do some french kissing (accomplished with a “digital snake tongues” added in post; a detail I think I literally never noticed until this watch), Larry sings a mournful song about how his friend left him for “a piece of cooze”, which had to be censored by the network with a bleep. 

The final scene in this sketch is also the final scene of the episode, where Larry just shows up to work with a gun. He shoots both Carol and Mr. Henderson, presumably dead, and then sticks the barrel of the gun in his out mouth and blows his own brains out. It’s hilariously grim and brutal. The twist is that both Carol and Mr. Henderson are wearing bullet proof vests, which begs the question: how the fuck did they anticipate this? Carol glibly states “this was fun.” mere feet away from Larry’s lifeless body. This is one of my favorite moments in the whole series! It’s the only great sketch in the whole episode!

Needless to say, it’s a little jarring that you can show a guy blow his brains out in a somewhat realistic, inimitable manner, but “cooze” needs to be bleeped. As with other Carol/Mr. Henderson sketches, there are plenty of outtakes and deleted material. We see Eric perform yet another one of his own stunts; keen readers of this blog will recall his brush with head-trauma in the first Carol sketch when Larry smashes a candy glass coffee pot over Carol’s head, which wound up cutting Eric through the wig. The stunt in this episode involved Eric diving in front of Larry’s bullet to save Mr. Henderson. In the blooper reel footage, you see him narrowly avoid banging his head directly into the cubicle desk. ERIC!!! WATCH IT!!!! 

EPHEMERA CORNER:

MAIL BAG

I can think of a lot of things that would get RC cancelled. S11 was the first season in a while to not get an emmy nomination, Lazzo's not around anymore to keep greenlighting it, It got over 3,000 sketches which is plenty stockpiled to live off of youtube views, anytime I saw people mention it online they were surprised it was still running, Seth Green's embarassing NFT debacle that even his own writers and other NFT guys made fun of him for, COVID (that's what killed Shivering Truth), etc.

Good call. I too was ignorant about Robot Chicken's status, but that was because I hated it. Lapsed fans being unclear on that detail is definitely a sign.

[megumisbimbo]

- One -

megumi fushiguro x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

summary: (y/n) was nothing special. A human being who had no idea that curses walked the same earth they walked. But then they locked eyes with Megumi Fushiguro. Can Fushiguro focus on the task ahead or will he be distracted by the king of curses and his new love interest?

series masterlist

©️ @megumisbimbo — all rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify or translate my work. Reblogs and likes appreciated!

Credit for the main storyline and characters goes to Gege Akutami.

the songs are indicated throughout the story at certain points!

songs used:

sunflower - vampire weekend

turn back time - wayv

humble - kendrick lamar

look at me! - xxxtentacion

———— sunflower - vampire weekend ————

It was a normal school day. You sat through each of your classes bored out of your mind. If only something interesting would happen, maybe then you’d enjoy your day. Classes felt longer than usual and all you could think about was getting to the occult club and opening whatever Itadori found last night.

Classes had finally finished. You raced to the other end of the school and walked into the club room and greeted your two classmates.

“Where’s Itadori? Shouldn’t he be here with the thing he found yesterday?”

“We thought it would be cooler if we broke into the school late at night and opened it then!” Sasaki says with a bright sinister smile. Iguchi sat next to her and nodded his head in agreement.

Just then, Itadori walked into the room with a bright smile and greeted you three.

“(y/n)-senpai here’s the thing I found yesterday. Sasaki-senpai said to give it to you so you guys can open it tonight. I’m not gonna be able to make it.”

“No worries Itadori, we’ll make sure to take pictures when nothing shows up.” You say glancing at Sasaki.

You had always been skeptical when it came to ghosts and monsters. Iguchi and Sasaki were your best friends so they always ended up dragging you on their haunted adventures. Itadori was the newbie first year who recently joined. He was happy to take the pair on their ghostly escapades when you weren’t available.

Sasaki ruffled through her bag and pulled out the ouija board you four regularly played with. Itadori turned to you and asked if you were ready to call on the spirit of the day. After asking your fellow club members, he called upon them.

“Spirits! Spirits! Please reveal an animal that the school council president is weaker than!” Itadori said giggling slightly.

You watched as the small coin shaped object wiggled underneath your finger.

Ku

Ri

O

Ne

“A sea angel?!?” Itadori roared.

Your giggles were interrupted by the door suddenly sliding open revealing the sea angel himself.

“OCCULT RESEARCH CLUB!” The council president yelled, startling you.

“Your club did not submit an activities report! We don’t have room in this school for such irresponsibility!” He yelled, anger dousing his tone.

He explained that the club was going to be used as a changing room starting today and your club was to find somewhere else to play.

“I wouldn’t mess with our members council president.” Itadori said smirking at you and your friends. Sasaki slams a book onto the table and pushes her glasses up onto her nose.

“Here’s your proof council president! As you know, our rugby field has been closed off. The students who used it started getting sick and some were even hospitalized. Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean we’re talking about tough rugby players here. WELL. Just before the players began getting sick, they stated that they heard strange noises and voices on the field.”

You stand up and flip through the book that had rested under Sasaki’s hand.

“That’s where this newspaper article comes in.” You say showing the president an old newspaper clipping from many years ago.

“Mr. Yoshida, a construction man, went missing and he was last seen here at this school during construction.”

Sasaki interrupted, finishing the riveting story you four had discovered.

“Which means. Mr. Yoshida’s body is buried in the rugby field and the sickness was caused by the lingering spirit!” Sasaki said with stars in her eyes. Itadori and Iguchi stood on either side of you two giving jazz hands for dramatic effect. The council president looks at you four with a blank stare, dumbfounded at the ridiculous story.

“No...” He started.

“They were caused by ticks.”

You felt Sasaki wilt beside you while Itadori argued with the council president, explaining that either way this was club activity. The council president interjected and rudely pointed out the fact that neither you nor Itadori were registered with the occult club, leaving the club with too few members.

“Itadori, (y/n)... I thought you said you put your names down.” Sasaki said with an evil glare plastered on her face.

“Sorry Sasaki... I lost the paper ehehe...” You said, staring down at your feet with regret and a bit of fear hidden behind your eyes.

“I did put down the occult club senpai! I swear!” Itadori announced.

“Then who changed it?”

“I DID.” A voice barked, alarming all the students present.

“Coach Takagi?!” You all yelled in unison.

“Itadori, we need your speed and strength on the track and field team.”

“I ALREADY SAID I WASN’T JOINING!” Itadori wailed, hoping the coach would get the hint.

“No can do. However I’m a fair man so I will let you go if you beat me in a fair fight.”

“You’re on!”

You all ran down to the track to see Itadori battle it out with the coach.

“You think he’ll win?” You say skeptical of Itadori’s strength.

“I’ve heard he won the Ninja Warrior contest and he’s the incarnation of Mirko Cro Cop!” Iguchi explained.

“But he’s not dead...”

You watched as Itadori threw the heavy ball the same way a pitcher would. It whizzed through the air landing at about 30 meters from where he started, demolishing the Coach’s record of 14 meters.

“He’s like a gorilla.” Sasaki says behind you.

Itadori then walked up to the three of you and you congratulated him on his impressive upper arm strength.

“You know you don’t have to stay in this club Itadori.” Sasaki said.

“Thanks Senpai, but as much as you guys love haunted places, you wouldn’t go if (y/n) or I didn’t go with you.”

“Being scared is what makes it fun.” Sasaki says, laughing nervously.

Itadori checks his watch and realizes that it was time for him to leave. He speeds down the stairs and out the gates of the school, dust collecting behind him from how fast he was going. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a tall, handsome ravenette. You stare at him a little and hear him call out to Itadori trying to stop him. Do they know each other? Maybe he’s a first year too. “I’ve never seen him. He seems interesting, and cute.” You think to yourself. He notices your stare and sharply turns away giving off an egotistical aura. You break your gaze and scoff. “Interesting, cute...and cocky.”

————— turn back time - wayv —————

The room was dark, lit only by the light of a single candle resting on the table that Sasaki, Iguchi and you sat around. You handed Sasaki the wrapped object and she began fiddling with the stained paper. There were weird symbols on the paper, it kind of looked like a talisman.

“This is creepy, I’m gonna turn a light on.” Iguchi said timidly.

“No no we need to keep the ambience.”

Sasaki finally gripped on to a corner of the paper and began unraveling. The unraveled paper revealed a dark crimson finger.

“Is it real?” Sasaki asks.

“Probably not. Someone must have put it there as a joke.” You say, the skeptical side of you hiding the real fear you felt.

Suddenly the room shook and the candle went out. You were frozen with fear. In all the times you’d gone out to haunted places, you’ve never caught anything, but this time felt different. A faint screeching noise startled you three. Slowly you looked up and noticed a giant monster coming straight for you. You grabbed Sasaki’s hand, the finger stuffed into her pocket, and ran for dear life, Iguchi trailing closely behind. You hear the wall of the club room burst, and glancing behind you a huge creature was seen, hot on your trail. Iguchi turns a corner separating himself from you and Sasaki. You pull her behind a wall and sit with your hand pressed firmly against her mouth. You wait there for what feels like hours. Iguchi walks toward you ever so slowly.

“Iguchi! Thank goodness!” Sasaki says naively.

As he walks closer to you two, you notice the small monster that has latched onto his face. Your heart drops.

“H-el-p m-e..”

Iguchi’s voice rang through the hall alerting the creature that followed you and Sasaki. Almost instantly, the monster picked you, Sasaki, and Iguchi up. You felt the monster feel you all over, as if it was searching for something. Your mind starts going blank. Thoughts of your childhood, your family, the memories you made at school, flood your head. Thick, hot tears stream down your face. You faintly hear the voice of a person yelling. Your vision faded and soon you blacked out completely.

Megumi pov:

————— humble - kendrick lamar —————

Running down the halls I find one of the curses that Sukuna’s finger attracted.

“Out of my way! Divine dogs! You can eat it.”

The curses were getting closer together.

The finger was close.

I turn the corner and find Itadori’s friends. The curse is trying to eat them and the finger?!

Wait.

I recognize one of them. The one that was staring at me on the field.

“I’m not gonna make it!”

A loud crash echoes through the hallway. The window was smashed by someone.

Itadori?!

I watch in shock as he scoops up his friends. The one I’d seen before suddenly falls from his grasp. I run over and catch them in my arms. My heart beats faster.

What was this feeling?

I hold them close to my chest as my divine dogs run over and eat the curse.

“Normally I’d be pissed.. but good job.”

“Oh thanks, but what are those munching on the curse?” Itadori asks.

“Those? You can see them? They’re my shikigami. Normally you can’t see curses, unless you’re facing your death or in special places like this.”

Itadori stands and Sukuna’s finger drops from the girl’s pocket into his hand.

“This what your looking for?” Itadori asks.

I drop the feet of the unconscious person, still holding them upright. I reach my hand out to grab the cursed object. Itadori reaches out to take his senpai from my arms. A loud gurgling comes from the ceiling, startling me.

“RUN!”

I cling tightly to sleeping body and protect it from the curse as I try to call for Nue. The curse picks me up and throws us both against the wall, waking them up slightly. The curse gets ahold of us once again and blows the whole side of the school out, exposing us to the cold night air.

(y/n) pov:

You wake up with a pounding headache. You feel two arms around your waist and the cold night air blowing on your face. Were you flying? You look up and see a different monster heading your way.

“Hang on!” A voice calls behind you.

You turn slightly and see the same black haired boy from this morning. Why was he holding you? And why were you flying through the air? Where is Iguchi and Sasaki?

Slipping from the boy’s grip, you land on the hard concrete behind him. He glances over to you, checking to see if you survived the landing. You looked at him with big tear filled eyes. He struggled to put his hands together to form a bird shadow puppet. What is he doing?

“Damn I can’t focus.” He says, frustration written in his defined features.

Itadori flies through the air and whacks the monster on what looks like the head.

“Are you guys ok?!” He screams aiming his worry at you.

“I thought I told you to run.” The boy asks with a harsh tone.

“No can do, You were in trouble and you still had (y/n) in your arms.”

He jumps back onto the monster and starts beating it ruthlessly.

“Stop! You can’t defeat it without cursed energy!” The boy says.

Itadori doesn’t stop fighting it. The monster grabs him tightly and pushes him closer to his mouth.

“Itadori!!” You scream, heart beating out of your chest.

“Then all I need is cursed energy right Fushiguro?!”

He throws the crimson finger into the air and swallows it in one swift motion. Your jaw drops as the black haired boy, who Itadori referred to as Fushiguro, screamed at him. Fushiguro turns to you and, noticing your shock, runs over. He uses his entire body as a shield over you while his eyes are locked on Itadori’s changing body. Your eyes peek over his shoulder giving you a clear view of Itadori. Dark tattoo like marks form on Itadori’s tan skin. He looked like himself, but different. His nails grow long and sharp. He turns to the monster and swipes his hand upward, causing it to disintegrate. Itadori, or what looks like Itadori, turns back to you and Fushiguro with burning scarlet eyes.

————— look at me! - xxxtentacion —————

“Finally! A cursed spirit’s flesh is no fun! What a wonderful age it has become, women and children crawling around like maggots! It’ll be a massacre!”

His voice is deep and there is no trace of Itadori in his tone. Your breathing is heavy against Fushiguro’s neck. His arms are wrapped protectively around you as you’re both crouched down on the floor. The strange man’s eyes lock onto you.

“You don’t look like a sorcerer, maybe i’ll kill you first!” He says laughing maniacally.

Fushiguro’s grip tightens out of anger, squeezing so tight it hurts. A familiar voice exited the tattooed man’s body.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing with my body? Give it back.”

The soft, sweet voice of your kohai calms your nerves ever so slightly.

He’s still there.

Fushiguro lets go of you and stands in front of Itadori.

“Don’t move! You’re no longer human. Under jujutsu regulations, I will exorcise you as a curse, Itadori Yuuji!”

tags: @xreemie @noyakura

big thank you to @noyakura for the banner :’)) ily

[dp-pastandpresent]

Past and Present: Chapter 4

"Mom, seriously, I would rather do this myself!"

Sam was sitting on her mom's frilly pink bed, trying to be patient.

"Oh come on Sammykins, no boy would want to see you in a dress that makes it look like you're going to a funeral."

'Just because YOU'D rather see me in pink…'

Sam had walked home with a little more perk after Dash had asked her to the dance. She knew it was just Dash, and that there was probably a motive behind it, but that didn't matter.

Unfortunately for her, her mother had noticed the perk and forced Sam to come clean.

And after seeing the dress Sam had intended to wear—well, that just wasn't going to work.

"I think I found it! I've been saving this dress for exactly this occasion!" her mom cheered as she walked out of her walk-in closet holding the most frilly, lacey, flowery, PINK dress Sam had ever seen.

'Oh, god, what have I gotten myself into?'

"Mom, seriously, I think any boy would rather see me in… a 'funeral' dress… than THAT," Sam commented as she got up and began to walk out the door.

"Well, I am not having my daughter go to a school dance dressed like she's mourning the dead," Mrs. Manson protested.

'I may have a real reason to mourn the dead pretty soon…'

"Geeze, I can hear you two all the way downstairs!"

Both ladies turned to look as Sam's grandmother rolled herself and her wheelchair into the room.

"Now, Pamela, as my daughter-in-law, I must say that you are pushing that girl way too far. You wonder why she does the things she does? It's because of the way you treat her."

'Go Grandma!'

"So you want her to go to the dance looking all black and somber?" Pamela asked rather rudely.

"I'm not saying that, but I do want her to have fun," Grandma finished.

There was no argument left: Sam had won, thanks to her grandma.

"Thank you SO much Grandma! I look amazing!"

Sam was in her own bathroom now, spending an unusual amount of time in front of the mirror, something she usually didn't do.

She had finally gotten to change into HER dress, which was purple and black with fishnet sleeves, and yes, lace.

Along with that she had applied a little bit of purple eye shadow and lipstick. The whole outfit had become complete when she added her green and black heels and fingerless gloves.

"Honey, any boy who doesn't go for you tonight would be out of his mind!" her grandma told her with a smile.

"Well, I guess I better be going. I can't be late…" Sam said skeptically as she headed towards the stairs.

"Just remember to have fun!"

--

Sam was supposed to meet Dash at the restaurant,which had her a little nervous as to whether he'd actually be there waiting for her.

He was.

He himself was in a tux with, to Sam's horror, a pink underlay.

"Hey, Sam. Wow! You look amazing!"

His eyes got rather big as he examined her.

"And you look… amazing… too," she choked out.

Sensing her awkward gaze, he quickly added, "I'm sorry that I don't match. It's just that I originally was going with Paulina, and her dress is pink, so…"

'He sounds genuinely sorry. Something must be up. Dash is NEVER this nice!'

"It's okay, I understand!" She stopped him halfway through his monologue.

"Well to make it up to you, I did get this."

He held out his hand and in it was a corsage of purple and black flowers.

Sam's mouth dropped open, it was beautiful. She quickly held out her arm to let Dash fasten it on.

"Wow, Dash, what else can I say? Thank you!"

"Ahhh, it's nothing really. Say, how 'bout we go inside?"

Dash had picked "Cow-a-bunga" as the location for their fancy night out, and while Sam had been initially worried, research had shown that they served salads. Still, any place that called itself "Cow-a-bunga" couldn't be all that nice.

She found herself laughing as Dash opened the door for her, only to find out that her guess was right. While not "The Nasty Burger," it wasn't a five-star by any means. People were sitting on top of barrels at picnic-like tables, munching on peanuts as the shells fell to the ground. Surrounding the main dining room was a fence, behind which, to Sam's horror, were live cows.

'I swear if Dash's steak is that fresh, I'm walking out.'

"Well Howdy, Y'all!" the hostess greeted as she showed them to their table in the back. "You two must be headed towards the dance! We've got a special spot just for you!" She winked at Sam, as if she thought they'd want alone time.

Yes she was on a date, and was heading to a dance, but the thought of kissing Dash made her want to vomit a bit.

Sam sat down and began looking at the menu, trying to find her ideal salad. Dash grabbed the peanut bucket and began throwing nuts into his mouth, shell and all. The look of disdain on Sam's face quickly stopped him, however.

"I hold the record for most peanuts shelled in my mouth!" he said as bits of nut spewed everywhere, including Sam's dress.

'Good for you…'

Somehow, the idea of not getting a word in with Dash didn't actually displease her though; what would they even talk about?

"What can I get ya'll tonight?" the overly perky waitress said as she approached the table. Sam opened her mouth to order a garden salad but before she could even say the g-sound, Dash chimed in.

"Two steaks, extra rare! With extra fries!"

Sam's eyes grew huge in horror, thinking back to the time that she and Tucker had visited the buffet and Tucker had eaten five rare steaks in one sitting.

"Dash… I… I mean… I can't—" she started to choke out, but the server was already gone.

'Guess I'll starve through the dance…'

--

Phantom couldn't bring himself to patrol. Not since seeing her. So instead, he found himself again at the music store.

'I wonder what kind of music she likes,' he thought, probably more often than anyone should.

He just couldn't keep her out of his mind; there was something about that girl and those EYES that reminded him of his life—if only he could figure it out.

Maybe he was just living in the past, but a nagging feeling in him knew there was more to it than just that. Almost as if when he looked at her, he saw himself.

She looked so lonely and sad , the way he himself had been feeling.

But he was a ghost! He couldn't feel emotions for a human girl, could he?

This was stuff he had contemplated all day, until finally his head hurt and he knew he needed to go for a fly, even if just to get some air.

--

'What have I gotten myself into? This is such a disaster.'

It had been about a half hour since they had entered the dance. In that time, Sam had had about fifteen glasses of punch, trying to make herself full after refusing to eat her steak, but was only succeeding in multiple trips to the bathroom.

They had yet to actually dance.

And Dash was beginning to get very impatient with his date.

"Come on, Sam! Why can't we dance?"

"Because THAT—" she pointed to the dance floor where all the girls were leaning backwards against all their partners, "is not dancing. That is a bunch of girls acting like prostitutes and showing their conformity," she concluded.

Dash just stood there like the light in the attic had just burned out.

"Soooo, are we EVER going to dance?"

It was as if fate had answered his question. The rap music had suddenly changed to a slow song: something you couldn't grind to.

'Finally! Rap music is getting sooo old.'

"Yes, how about now?" Sam said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the dance floor.

It was apparent as soon as they started dancing that Dash had never slow danced before. They clunked around the floor like gorillas, until Sam finally stopped him and decided to lead instead.

"Okay, Dash, follow MY lead now. Trust me, this can work."

And it did; they began to move much more smoothly and actually flow with the music.

Sam was so busy enjoying herself for once that she didn't even notice they were dancing right next to Paulina and her date.

But Dash did.

Suddenly their dancing got chunkier again as Dash became distracted with Paulina.

"So, Sam, I'm really enjoying my night! We may have to go out again sometime!" he said loudly and not really to her.

"Ummm, yeah, sure?" Sam replied as she tried to keep dancing. It was getting pretty difficult.

'What is up with him?'

She was lost in her thoughts when he did it. He leaned over rather awkwardly and grabbed her head, pushing it towards him. The next thing she knew, his lips were smashed into hers and he wasn't even looking into her eyes, he was looking to his right.

'Whoa, hold on… what is going on?'

Struggling to breathe, she turned and looked too. He was staring at Paulina, who had stopped dancing and was standing with her arms crossed, probably trying to figure out why Dash would even want to kiss Sam.

'Oh. My. Gosh.'

Sam pulled away so fast, Dash actually had to struggle to keep his balance.

"DASH BAXTER!" she said loud enough to cause the rest of the dancers who weren't watching to start.

Dash's eyes got wide as he tried to figure out what he had done, but he couldn't.

"What?" was all he could muster up.

"Oh, you know what!" And that's all she said as she turned around and ran off, tears already coming from her eyes.

'He used me! That's the only reason I'm even here tonight—so he could get HER back! He's such a pathetic, over-buffed, brainless JOCK!'

'And you knew it Manson. The second he asked you knew! And yet you let him play with your brain like maybe, just maybe, he could show a little decency for once.’

She was so busy crying that she didn't even know where she was headed. All she knew was that she had found a door and gone through it.

Now she found herself on the gym roof, having awkwardly run up the stairs behind the door without looking back.

'Okay, so how did I end up here of all places?'

She walked over to the edge and looked down. It was rather high. In fact, if one fell, they'd get pretty hurt….

'No, Sam, don't even think about jumping.'

'But he's pathetic. YOU'RE PATHETIC!'

Her mind was fighting a losing war, and she just wanted it to shut up.

Unfortunately, there was really only one clear solution to that problem. She found herself looking down again. The ground didn't seem that far now. In fact, she could just take a step and she'd probably be safe, right?

'Sam Manson, don't YOU DARE!'

'This was supposed to be a good night and instead it's the worst. I just need it to end…'

'But not this way, and not now. There are other options.'

'Like what? Turning around and going back there?! I don't think so!'

One foot off the ledge. Sam was feeling dizzy. Her heart was beating fast. She couldn't breathe.

"No turning back now."

She looked down. The ground was right there; she could just take that second step and keep on walking.

Closing her eyes, she began to count out loud.

"One…."

"Two…"

"Three…"

Her second foot left the platform.

--

The night air helped his head; thoughts of the Fentons and that girl slowly dissipated as he flew faster and faster through the clouds. Looking down on the town, he could see the twinkle of city lights as the world reflected back the stars from above.

'Flying will always be my favorite.'

It had been a long day though, and Phantom was getting ready to call it quits. Slowing down, he thought about where he'd want to spend his night- he had yet to settle on an actual "home." But to his surprise, his thoughts were interrupted by a faint voice coming from the nearby high school.

"No turning back now."

Naturally, he was intrigued. Who would be at the high school at this hour?

Because he was a ghost, and a very curious one at that, he had to see what was going on.

Flying closer, he gasped.

It was HER. The girl he had been daydreaming about all day. There she was, all dressed up, standing with one foot off the edge of the gym roof.

She looked pale, and suddenly Phantom knew what must have happened. That boy from earlier was nothing but a creep, and it made him sick. He wanted to find that kid and knock him out.

He stopped. What was he thinking? This girl was in trouble and all he could do was think about hurting the boy. Pathetic.

Phantom wasn't used to confronting humans; besides those stupid reporters, he had never really done so. But he knew what he wanted to do.

He flew in closer, having made his decision. He was going to hover, watch over her, and if she decided to do what he thought she had planned, he'd move in.

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three…"

He saw her second foot leave the rooftop and that was his cue.

--

She didn't feel the ground. Was she still falling? The roof hadn't been that high.

She felt the wind, like maybe she was falling sideways. Or maybe someone was holding her? Was this what death felt like? Was she dead? She had to know.

Opening her eyes, she let out a squeak of both shock and relief.

Phantom.

The mysterious ghost from the TV was carrying her. Flying with her. Taking her away from the dark hell that was the school.

'Did I just do what I think I did?'

'Did he just save me from doing what I think I did?'

'Is this all really happening?'

Whoever this boy was, he suddenly looked down and smiled. He seemed happy to see her awake. Safe.

"You really scared me for a moment," he said as she blinked back at him, too afraid to speak.

He could tell she was in shock. After all, attempting something like that would leave anyone in such a state, let alone that plus being saved by a flying ghost.

They needed to find somewhere to stop, talk, and figure out a plan. Preferably somewhere on the ground in case she wanted to attempt anything again.

He looked around, scanning the area for a park bench or empty yard, or really anywhere safe, until he finally found an abandoned playground.

"You're probably in shock, so you don't have to speak. But I'm going to stop and put you down. We need to talk."

[aceprosecuties]

Kay takes her boss-slash-friend Franziska to a rock concert, much to the latter’s annoyance.  But Franziska might forgive her after she sees the band’s vocalist.  Rock star AU.  Franmaya (or at least the beginnings of).  Unedited.  Approx. 1300 words.

“…Kay Faraday.  I thought you said we were going to a concert.”

Franziska was not happy, and she made that abundantly clear through her tone and facial expression when Kay happily bounced back holding onto two cups of…was that beer? Despite Franziska’s utter look of disgust, she took the cup when Kay offered it, though did not bring said cup to her lips.  

“This is a concert!  Look around you!”  Kay outstretched her arms, causing some of her beer to spill onto the floor.  Not that anyone minded, of course.  Many others had already done the same. Franziska wondered if the floor was permanently stained – did the over-saturation of beer and other alcohol change the original color?

“I had assumed you meant an orchestra.  Not this…foolish display of irresponsibility and future alcoholism.”  

Her insults never really did affect Kay, did they? She just smiled widely and put her free hand on Franziska’s shoulder, pulling her in close.  

“I said you needed to loosen up.  You’ve been working nonstop, especially since Mr. Edgeworth has gone overseas so you’re without your partner!  And even though its been months, I know you’re still upset about Adrian-”

“I’m fine. And Miles Edgeworth being gone is a blessing.  It allows me to run things the way they should be run.  Perfectly.” Her brother-slash-partner being away for a few months to check on the German branch of their corporate law firm saddled her with their domestic clientele, so she admittedly was sleeping even less than she normally did. Plus, even though their breakup was amicable and was really only due to Adrian having to move out of the country, Franziska would often find herself wistful if she thought about it for more than two minutes.  So, in a way, the work helped with that too.

“Well even if you think you’re perfect at hiding your feelings and stress, I can see it.”  Finally, Franziska took a sip of that beer.  It was awful, but the alcohol perhaps would make this conversation less unbearable.  When exactly did she become friends with Miles’ assistant?  Kay had a way of just worming her way into everyone’s hearts unexpectedly.  It was…strange.

“So you’re solution is to take me to a rock concert.  You should know I hate this type of environment.”  Too messy. Too many people just yelling and pushing each other.  Too much chaos.  Franziska preferred order and structure.

“And that’s why I brought you here!”  Kay smiled that goofy smile of hers, and Franziska resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest in aggravation – if she did, she might accidentally spill beer on her clothes, which would just make the whole night even worse.

“Your logic astounds me, Kay Faraday.”  The sarcasm was thick, but Kay ignored it.

“I figured if I drove I could trap you here,” Kay said, sticking her tongue out in what she probably thought was a cheeky fashion. “Hey, I made it so that we got her after the pre-bands, at least!”

“How wonderful.  So I just get to witness the group everyone came here for and thus will react the strongest to.  I cannot wait for my eardrums to rupture from all the excitement.”  Again, Kay ignored Franziska’s sarcasm, and chose instead to just finish off her beer.

“Also you should be happy I’m not forcing you out on the floor with the mosh pit.  Though I will probably abandon you at one point to get in on that action.”  

“How could you possibly-”

The dimming of the lights was met with thunderous cheers and screams, and Franziska noticed people flock to the main floor, smashing into each other in their attempts to reach the front of the stage.  It was barbaric to her at first glance, but she then noticed that when a small girl fell down, people immediately yelled to pick her up, and they did.  Huh…it seemed there were some uncodified conventions amidst all the chaos.

Franziska kept her eyes on the stage; one by one the band members came out, and if it was possible, the crowd became louder and louder with each one.  First – the drummer.  An extremely tall man dressed in all black.  His thick hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and Franziska wondered if the white in his bangs was dye or it was naturally like that.  Based on the screams of “we love you Simon” Franziska deduced that his name was…Simon.  

Second…Franziska assumed it was the bassist.  Her hair was brown, and combed over so that most of it fell on her right side in a messy fashion.  She had pink strange-looking goggles on her head and wore what may have been a lab coat sometime in the past.  It was tattered and frayed at the edges, and in some places held together with string and belts.  

The guitarist was the third, and the one who acknowledged the audience the most.  Blond, tanned, gorgeous…he was most teenage girl’s dream.  Plus, his outfit exposed part of his chest and abdomen…just enough to tease those who were looking.  He blew a kiss, and Franziska was surprised that some of the audience members didn’t faint right there.

She waited for the singer, but the vocalist was nowhere to be seen even as the three instrumentalists began playing. Whether the crowd reacted so…enthusiastically was because this was a favorite or because they were excited to get things started was unclear.  Franziska knew this was going to be a long night.

Another sip of that disgusting beer.

Which she almost choked on when the vocals began, and the spotlight showed the singer fearlessly dangling off the side of one of the second-floor banisters.

But the apparent danger – which said vocalist didn’t seem to care at all about – was not why Franziska ended up coughing up some of that drink.

How…how could such a reckless woman be so captivating at first sight?  

Franziska stared, her mouth partially open in an ungraceful manner.  The vocalist made her way down to the stage, where she put the microphone she had been holding into its holder.  She grabbed onto it as she broke into the chorus, allowing her voice to become slightly raspier and louder.  Strangely, Franziska found it alluring.

She wondered how the beads on some of the ends of the musician’s hair weren’t annoying, especially given how much she ran and jumped around the stage.  Her black hair had accents of pink and purple, and she wore a long purple jacket over a crème-colored dress that split down the front, revealing black shorts under a thick purple fabric belt.  Franziska wondered if it was those legs or just the amount of body heat in this place that made her suddenly feel so much warmer.

The singer didn’t seem to mind when people climbed onto the stage and began singing with her, though they were never allowed up there for long before she pushed them back to the crowd, which would carry them to the back of the floor.  Another rule amongst the bedlam.

After the song was finished, the band immediately started up another one – was their stamina so great that they really could keep up this amount of energy for…two hours?  

Still, Franziska turned to Kay, who thankfully hadn’t abandoned her for the moshing just yet, to ask a question.

“Who is she?”  She hopefully spoke loud enough for Kay to hear her over the roaring of the guitar and the beats of the bass and drum and over that voice.  

“Who?  The singer?”

Franziska nodded.

“Maya Fey!  She’s a fucking beast!”  Judging from Kay’s tone, that was a high compliment.

Still though, Franziska turned back, unable to tear her eyes away.

“Maya Fey…”

She said the woman’s name to herself, to make sure that she would not forget it. 

[elizabeth-owens]

Brand-Spanking-New PHOTOSET & REVIEW:

STACKED LIKE PANCAKES (V.I.Pancake Tour) at Rams Head Live! (Baltimore, MD), November 22nd, 2017

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, most people are either traveling like mad across the country to see their loved ones, or rushing around to make sure their homes are ready for company on the big day.

This year, I spent my Thanksgiving Eve with a different kind of family: the Baltimore chapter of the #PancakeNation.

After opening for third-wave ska mainstays and Warped Tour buddies, Save Ferris, in six Californian cities, the seven brass-rockers of Stacked Like Pancakes headlined a month-long nationwide “V.I.Pancake Tour.” The final date of that syrup-slathered stretch took place inside the finest rock venue in the band’s home city, Rams Head Live!, and I was determined to catch it.

After seeing them play The Fillmore Silver Spring in January, and on the Warped Tour in July at Merriweather Post Pavilion, I knew I’d be gutted if I missed the chance to see SLP play a full-length set in Charm City!

The evening kicked off with four energetic, genre-bending performances from Joint Operation, PLEVYAK, The Never Ending Fall, and The Hollow Party, priming the crowd perfectly for the main event. As I waited at the Stage Right side of the photo pit for SLP, I took a moment to get a good look at the audience.

While I was happy that I could spot many people of all ages donning SLP t-shirts, I was even happier to see the weird-yet-creative accessories — among others, a sombrero and a plush shark hat — that the feistier fans showcased.

The lights went low, and suddenly, a strange tune filled the speakers over the P.A. It didn’t take long, however, to realize that it was just the meme-tastic mashup of the “Bacon Pancakes” bit from the cartoon, “Adventure Time,” and the Jay-Z/Alicia Keys modern classic, “Empire State of Mind.”

At the time, if I hadn’t been so focused (read: palm-sweatingly anxious) about not messing up my first time in a headliner’s photo pit, I would have obnoxiously groaned. But there was no time to reward the band mostly comprised of fellow Towson University alumni with a sarcastic reaction. Bright white light flooded the stage, revealing that the pancake men had arrived!

The band jumped right into the catchy pop-punk tune “Suburban Superhero,” setting the tone for the high-energy set that was to follow. Lead singer Kellen McKay and lead guitarist Mike Busch wasted no time in getting up-close-and-personal with the fans. Both of them bounced off the stage and onto the back of the rail at different moments during the first three songs (which included the mid-tempo groove of “Sway” and the ska-leaning bop of “Pimp for a Day”). Kellen even borrowed the aforementioned crowd sombrero for a few seconds!

The five remaining members (bassist Will Lopez, drummer Kevin Goren, trumpeter Alec Leventis, trombonist Andy Dawson, and bass trombonist Zach Foote) were arguably just as mobile. I had quite the time trying to keep track of each of one of them while trying to avoid mowing down my fellow photographers in the pit!

The breakfast-monikered band couldn’t have been more thrilled to be back home playing their favorite venue, even though Kellen stated between songs early in their set that he felt the large club was still “too big” for them to headline now. While the stairwells to the upper levels of the venue were roped off, the energy and love from the crowd made the room feel like a sell-out (RBF pun intended).

That feeling only swelled as SLP launched into two back-to-back covers of classic Panic! at the Disco tunes, playing “But It’s Better if You Do” before leading into “I Write Sins Not Tragedies.” The horn section were the stars of the dual cover, as the fresh arrangement by Alec, Andy, and Zach wove a new layer of drama to the “scene”-era songs.

After Kellen and Andy took some time to proclaim their love for Brendon Urie, the night continued with more genre-spanning hits from 2015’s This Is Us. The chill, daydreaming number, “Sharks in the Sky,” allowed Kellen to flex his lyric-writing abilities in both English and French — and made the night extra-special for the fan in the shark hat! “Planetary” transported the room to galactic heights with powerfully fast riffs, while a deep dive into the SLP back catalog with the ska-licious skankfest, “A Song for the Broken,” from their 2011 debut, We’re Not Insane, brought the audience’s feet back to the ground.

The gig also marked the retirement of a cover that only Twitter could love, Smash Mouth’s “All Star,” which was preceded by a surprise soundbite of Shrek saying “DON-KEYH!” and a mile-wide grin from Kevin — who secretly cued up the audio clip without Kellen’s knowledge.

The death of that ogre-adjacent cover was followed by a welcome take on Blink-182’s “Dammit” — which, as the band clarified to the crowd, was a cover they were “not retiring” anytime soon. The recently-reworked rendition of their own track, “Laughing at Me,” took out the exaggerated tempo changes that lead into each of the verses on the album. Subtle changes like those streamlined the Twenty One Pilots-inspired song, and allowed its anxiety-themed lyrics to stand out against the staccato riffs in the background.

With a sudden confetti-like tossing of a Costco-sized-supply of various Warheads candies into the crowd, Kellen announced that the band only had time for “four— no, wait, two more songs.” That flub-up was naturally met with a chant from the  crowd of “FOUR MORE SONGS! FOUR MORE SONGS!” (Oopsies!)

Even though Mr. McKay accidentally gave away the encore, the remaining portion of the set capped off the whirlwind night just right. The main set ended with two fast-paced rock songs via “It’s Too Late” and their new Dorito-in-Chief protest anthem, “45.”

The beginning of the encore, however, took a slower, quieter turn, as Kellen reemerged from the shadows with a PRS SE Angelus and played “Money Sucks” in all of its acoustic, sing-along glory. The audience didn’t miss a single line, making that moment my favorite in the entire set.

But, of course, a Stacked Like Pancakes gig can’t end on a quiet note! The full lineup returned to join Kellen for one last song: the band’s most legendary fan favorite, “SFDD.” (How could you end a brass-rock-pop-punk-etc. show without getting to jump around and yell “SHIT, FUCK, DAMMIT, DAMMIT!” at the top of your lungs amongst friends? It just wouldn’t feel right!)

As the house lights turned back on and the crowd sifted out, I hung around for a bit and and ended up chatting with both Andy and Kellen to thank them for the photo pass. I also introduced them both to my brother, Billy, who had just interviewed them a week prior over the phone for a piece published by the Baltimore Watchdog! I left Rams Head feeling like Christmas came early, with too many photographic “presents” to count that were now stored in my SD cards.

Thanks once again to Kellen, Andy, Alec, Zach, Will, Mike, and Kevin (and Becky at Big Picture Media!) for letting me snap your faces and instruments from the pit! (And also thank you to the staff member at Rams Head Live! who unlocked the coat check closet for those of us “stragglers” who nearly left without our jackets!!!)

If you want to see all 17 of my photos from the last stop of the V.I.Pancake Tour, visit my Flickr or my Facebook!

Check out SLP on social media:

Twitter (@SLPancakes)

Instagram (@slpancakes)

Facebook (SLPancakes)

[bussanbaby]

Fire & gasoline

Influenced by @abloodneed ​‘s gay thirst for Magnus Bane. Don’t ever change, Izsak.

When the lights go red and the alarm rings out in the Institute, Magnus is with Alec. They’re in his room, now barely ever used and dusted over, but still necessary for those rare occasions they stay overnight, too tired or maybe just too lazy to portal to Magnus’ loft – their home, away from the world. Aside from just wanting to spend more time with Magnus, this is one of the reasons Alec moved out as soon as the decision was just formality hanging in the air, a question to be asked and answered with a sweet smile – not having to be woken up with something akin to horror movie shelter sirens in the middle of the night.

It’s a hollow kind of sound, urgent and calling for attention – Alec breaks their kiss to roll his eyes and sigh out a resigned curse, because getting interrupted seems to be their thing, but Magnus just laughs before briefly pressing his kiss-wet mouth over Alec’s deflect rune, the soft prickle of the goatee making Alec give a breathy chuckle. 

They’re tangled in each other up against the door, long legs wrapped around a muscular waist, Magnus’ weight pressed against Alec, chest to chest, Magnus’ hands travelling over Alec’s thighs and ass, Alec��s hands tugging at hair, bodies alive with slow dripping pleasure that’s now been ripped from them in the most unfair of ways. The air between them is humid with possibility, with the unspoken ideas, some of them including Alec dropping to his knees and some with them sans clothes, just coal-hot skin, moans reverberating through the room like a choir echo and Alexander whispered like a praise.

Magnus swallows before speaking, his voice gravel-hoarse from equal parts desire and disuse. “Plenty of time to continue this later, pretty boy.”

Alec gives that crooked smile as his eyelashes flutter with the sound of the nickname. It’s obvious how much he enjoys the way it rolls off of Magnus’ tongue, a specialty, something reserved only for him, the sweetest kind of drug. They both move with the utmost reluctance – Magnus slides his hands up torturously slow until they reach a waist he knows by heart like a well-used map and allows Alec to get used to standing again; with satisfaction, he watches Alec’s thighs tremble. It takes the highest levels of self-control Magnus possesses to keep his hands steady as he straightens out the wrinkles in Alec’s t-shirt, who looks awfully enticing, all red mouth and quick heartbeat, lower lip trapped between teeth like an invitation and eager body unable to stop reaching out for Magnus – fingers playing with the shimmery necklaces, like he wants to do nothing more than to pull him back in.

It’s one more kiss, chaste in comparison to the predecessors, a promise of more later, coats picked up from the floor, then the door clicks shut behind their backs, loud in relative silence like the thud of a judge’s gavel. They leave the room with fingers linked; Magnus lets himself be pulled along the breezy hallways, even though he knows the way like the inside of his pocket. Alec is walking in long strides, the Pavlovian instinct to fight and defend ingrained into him like a rune, but Magnus is right by his side, matching his pace easy like breathing; he would say they spend too much time together to be this attuned, but no amount of time is ever close to enough.

The OPS center is crowded with Nephilim dressed in black, the hustle and bustle of getting battle-ready loud in their ears like a buzzing of a beehive. They’re akin to them, Magnus thinks, relentless in their duties, moving like dark shadows against the glow from the blue-tinted screens. Whispers hang between mouths, did you hear, did you know, most seem to put on their gear like it’s nothing more than motions, habitual thing like dressing themselves in the mornings. The late hour doesn’t help their enthusiasm, as some of them were already getting ready to tuck in for the night.

When they step down the small set of stairs into the main area, some heads turn behind them. There’s voices saying Good evening, Mr. Lightwood and Welcome, Mr. Bane, there’s respectful head nods and lingering glances as they pass through the mass of bodies, the Red Sea parting willingly. Magnus can feel the somewhat fresh shift in attitude, partially due to Alec taking over as the Head of the Institute and installing his own rules while the iron’s still hot and partially from the New York Shadowhunter community seeing more of Magnus in battle, seeing his true power aside from the fearful rumors, seeing how easily he mows through enemies with magic as red as their blood as it spills over his hands. How quickly once-tedious battles end in a snap of fingers as soon as Magnus Bane shows up. He’s the golden-plated feather tipping the scales of justice in favor of his allies.

It spreads like wildfire in spoken word and takes over like a plague. The tongues speak of dog-like things with multiple gnashing jaws full of jagged teeth, summoning circles as nothing more difficult than hopscotch; they tell the story of scorched marks where he stands and of thunderclaps when his anger boils to a point of burning; they whisper he glows with energy like a supernova, creating and destroying in equal measures; they wonder if he is the son of a god fallen from grace just to find different reign. It’s the kind of well-deserved recognition that makes them step out of Magnus’ way and it feels so good to be royalty.

Quickly, they find Isabelle who fills them in on what’s happening , but not without sparing them each an appraising look and a smile with an obvious meaning. As Alec straps on his thigh holster and the brace for his bow, she explains: an attack from the Circle members that they haven’t caught yet, a sort of retaliation for capturing Valentine and ruining their plan of mass murder; it’s the whole package – rogue Shadowhunters, a bunch of Forsaken and demons summoned in exchange for sacrifice of the innocent. Izzy twirls her staff and calls it a good workout, then they pour outside.

The show starts.

While the sun has set long ago, an acne-scarred full moon hangs high up in the sky, bathing the park before them in pale light, shifting through the bundles of white fog that curl along the uneven ground. Stars blink slowly, dying and rebirthing themselves above their heads, accompanied by the warm, dim glow of yellow-tinted lanterns dusted all around the alleys until the dense line of trees. Lazy New York hums around them, anonymous laughter and cars driving from somewhere else to somewhere else.

Even though the Nephilim ranks are more sparse than ever (some lost to previous skirmishes, some still out on patrol duty), there’s something hanging in the air that feels charged with adrenaline and determination and a will to win. A dark, navy sky hangs heavy and the moonlight blinks across Magnus’ earcuff when he turns to look at Alec. His jaw is tight and the focus in his eyes sets something alight inside Magnus’ chest, the raw strength in his stance, the tall way he stands. The shadows in the dips of his cheeks and in the hollow space beneath his brow bones make him look like a marble-carved demigod frozen in time. Magnus’ heart thrums with anticipation. They were made to be fighters, they were made to run like wolves side by side, to draw blood and bare their knife-sharp teeth.

Across from the Institute cathedral, down the hill: their enemies, surrounded by cotton candy waves of fog. A match-n-mix of familiar and new faces, disfigured and angry, seeking revenge for things done right. Magnus smiles as the tips of his fingers flicker to life with yellows and oranges and reds, a violent sunrise of power. Alec barks out orders - fan out, don’t get surrounded, aim for leaders first, keep the Institute safe; he draws his bow, nocks an arrow and glances sideways with a quirk of his mouth. Magnus replies with a smirk of his own.

“You ready?” He asks, hands poised in the air like a conductor’s with a song about to begin in a chorus of screaming voices.

“I’m always ready.”

Alec releases the chord on his bow and the arrow flies with a high arch, not aimed at anyone in particular. Magnus speaks a spell under his breath and a ball of blue light soars just as high and meets Alec’s arrow just as it starts to fall. The runes on it flare up as it disappears just to turn into its own multiples – a carpet attack to start things off with a bang.

The Circle members start rushing forward in a loose charge and some fall, struck by the sharp rain. After that, it’s all organized chaos – the two sides mix in a clash of Seraph blades, but Magnus and Alec never stray far from each other, working like a one minded creature.

Magnus’ movements are graceful and dance-like when he dodges a blade coming at him from the side – a quarter twist, a quick swipe of feet and a heart burned out of a traitor, a perfect imprint of his palm left behind. After Magnus pushes his magic into the Circle member’s chest, the smell of burnt flesh lingers like a warning. The next two are grabbed by the necks, and when Magnus claps his hands together, the skulls smash against each other, there’s a wet crack followed by eyes rolling back and bodies falling limp. Magnus feels his magic sing wild like a flame doused with gasoline – it crawls up his forearms, licking at the golden buttons on the sleeves of his favorite maroon coat, stark against his red-splattered, once white shirt underneath.

The fabric twists and fights against the sweeping movements as Magnus sends a force wave to knock down a demon, a lumbering amalgamate of what probably used to be different entities fused together. Before he even opens his mouth with an offer, an arrow whizzes past and lodges itself in where the demon’s energy source should be. Billows of ash dance around the edges of Magnus’ boots as he swivels around.

A couple steps behind his shoulder, Alec with eyes glimmering all mirth, dangerous and an enticing kind of flirty. Magnus can feel a wandering gaze, hazel eyes working their way from Magnus’ mouth to his chest, all the way down then all the way back up. It’s the kind of look that’s hungry for more, for something sweet and something with a little bit of spice. Alec raises his bow, quick and sharp with a well-aimed shot at someone to Magnus’ side, a 1-2-3 movement before his attention is back where it was.

Alec looks up from beneath the fringe of dark eyelashes, a small flush over his cheeks and nose from the cold, a sly tilt to his mouth. Magnus can’t help the fond smile working its way onto his own lips.

“You seem distracted, Alexander.” He teases, turning away brown-eyed to survey the fog-muddled park, but when their gazes meet again, it’s amber and green and yellow against shimmering gold.

The shadowhunter in question swallows around the words stuck in his throat at the sight of Magnus’ cat eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly with the motion, making Magnus want to surround it in pretty purple marks. The battle is still going around them, ruthless and ugly, and they’re both well aware of the fact, but there’s a tide pulling them close, half a mind focused on surviving and half only on the one before them.

“Cause you’re distracting me, Magnus.” Alec finally speaks in a tone that sends a pleasant wave of warmth through Magnus’ chest and they both step closer to each other, intent on not losing their impromptu staring contest.

There’s someone sneaking up behind Alec, but Magnus doesn’t bother – with a flick of a wrist, he forms a ball of energy and sends it curved towards the black-clad enemy, knocking them a couple of feet back with the impact; powerful enough to kill in seconds. Yet, Alec’s eyes never stray from his, unbelievable trust put in Magnus’ strong hands, shoulders squared, but his deer-eyed gaze soft and full of veneration. This is what love is.

Magnus puts his hands on Alec’s waist beneath the worn leather jacket and tugs him closer by the beltloops, close enough to feel Alec’s chest move against his own and feel his need like a physical thing, how much he wants to touch Magnus and it’s almost overwhelming still, to be wanted this much.

“Come on, we have a battle to win.” The words are left without heat, gruff chastisement just for the sake of it being said and on the record; as much as Alec is a responsible person, he is not a saint.

Their lips brush against each other as Magnus speaks.

”Try to keep up with me, Shadowhunter.”

Alec all but purrs, but what actually escapes him is a low chuckle, teasing and amused in equal parts.

“Is that a challenge?”

“It just might be.”

“Okay. You’re on.”

The playful tension between them is palpable like a touch of fingers down a spine, a push and pull, a competition, where the prize doesn’t change - it’s always kisses, no matter whether you’ve won or lost, just that the latter comes with a bit of ribbing.

They’re nose to nose and Magnus can feel the tickle of Alec’s mussed up hair on his forehead when he reaches for his thigh. Deft fingers tug at the straps of the holster and slide underneath them, the warmth of Alec’s body radiating through his pants, infinitely hotter where Magnus’ digits press in before he undoes the little latch and pulls the Seraph blade free between them. It splutters to life, at first flickering white only to fill with a crimson red, like ink spilling in water and Alec draws in a sharp breath through his nose, both of their faces lit up in the glow.

“We should get a drink after we’re done here. Also, I’m borrowing this for a minute. ” Magnus says, all casual, and turns away, new weapon bared and ready to kill.

As Alec nocks another arrow, his eyes are glued to Magnus’ back as he stalks off after a scared-shitless Circle member; he swallows around the dryness in his throat and continues to take down enemies, one by one, falling like marionettes with the strings cut before they get too close for comfort. Alec never fails to find a delighted sort of thrill running through his body at the instances of Magnus’ power – usually, it’s only an everyday part of casual spells, but when they train with each other or go out into battle, it’s something entirely else. It’s a carnivore waiting to sink their teeth into soft flesh, it’s the knife-sharp focus, the stone-steady calculation, the easy-coming elegance of his hands moving in the air; all of it always manages to draw Alec’s gaze, make his heartbeat skip and stutter.

Bit by bit, they move down in an uneven wave, Magnus and Alec pushing forward and leading at the front – a famed battle couple; Lightwood and Bane, the Warlock and the Nephilim, the yin and the yang. Where at first their sole existence together raised eyebrows and elicited mocking laughter (it’s impossible, it won’t last, they’re too different), now hushed silences blanket the crowds when their names are said, because they are not a force to be reckoned with. They are frostbite coated anger and the harshest of judgment.

Do not cross them.

While Magnus opens a ribcage with a twist of the blade, the enemy’s fingers scrabbling at the hilt stuck deep in his solar plexus, a wordless plead for mercy that Magnus does not offer, sternum cracking and ribs giving way to rough strength until the last breath is gone, there’s Alec aiming a shot straight through the middle of the Circle rune, the arrow breaking through muscle and bone and veins like through butter. The round rune lights up bright red as the body drops with a cut-off noise of surprise.

Pleased with himself, Alec turns to Magnus, who’s watching him, a corpse at his feet and blood dripping down the blade, hair tousled artfully and teeth glinting in a wolf’s smile.

“It was a solid eight out of ten.” He says just to provoke while he wipes the sword on his pants leg, cat eyes glowing in the night’s dark.

Alec makes a noise of offended incredulity, throwing his hands out to his sides. “Oh, come on, it was at least a nine. It was a bullseye!”

Magnus shrugs with only one shoulder, busy with forming a ball of magic he hurdles at a group of Shax demons. The magic envelops the beings, sucking them into its center like a black hole. They both watch as the already strange bodies twist and contort before bursting into ashy confetti, just without the satisfying pop, instead with a cacophony of screaming that makes Magnus wrinkle his nose in a displeased manner.

“Okay, an eight and a half, but no more.” He answers, raising his free hand to point at Alec’s chest.

Alec just snorts, eyes rolling as he pulls another arrow from the quiver over his shoulder. "Okay."

It’s a long battle - longer than anticipated, since reinforcements seem to appear out of thin air and when Alec reaches back to grab another arrow, he finds his fingers grasping at nothing – he’s clear out of ammo and there’s two people with Seraph blades coming at him. He’s got maybe ten seconds flat and just thinks fuck it, before aiming a kick straight to someone’s guts and swinging his bow around like a staff; perhaps the methods are crude, but this is Alec Lightwood at his truest – a dirty fighter, all raw strength and the sound of knuckles against bone. The pain is ever-present, but it just adds more flavor – the sting of splitting skin, blood running down his hand, the purple and blue bruises.

That’s when he stops thinking and lets his body go – throws a handful of earth and tackles his blinded enemy to the ground, a gloved fist driving down over and over again, his own teeth gritted as the man beneath him heaves a breath, the last of his consciousness gone. Alec Lightwood may be a leader, a diplomat, but he’s still a skilled hunter, blood-thirsty and merciless because if you are not with me, you are against me.

The one he stunned with the hit from his bow, a woman with what seems to be blonde hair, puts him in a chokehold, but before she can tighten her grip, Alec stands up with a noise deep in his throat, unsteady with the added weight on his back as she clings to him, relentless. He grabs at her arm, fingers digging into flesh and hurls her over his shoulder, enjoying the heavy, breath-taking thump she lands with.

Then there’s Magnus saying his name and Alec just stretches his arm out to the side as he goes into a crouch, intuition and well-trained strategies paying off – the tips of his fingers graze the hilt of his blade and he tightens his grip around it; a perfect throw executed without a single spared glance. Alec allows himself a moment of smugness about it before driving the sharp tip through the attacker’s skull.

Magnus reaches to set his hand on Alec’s arm – they’re both breathing kind of heavy, because this is not a three-person brawl, but a fully-fledged clash of two worlds that they’ve been fighting with all they have.

“This has gone on for too long.” Magnus says and after Alec agrees with a hum while he reaches to retrieve his bow from the ground and set it on his shoulder. Magnus moves away a couple of steps and goes down on one knee, his hands pushed against the dirt, fingers digging into the soft, cold soil while he speaks words that do not belong to any mundane language. The earth beneath their feet shifts and shakes and roars to life; Alec watches people stumble to keep themselves upright as their enemies are swallowed by chasms appearing and disappearing at a certain warlock’s will, his eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration.

Some trees fall in the process, the yellow lamplights flicker and fade. It only lasts for a moment and is over quickly like a beautiful firework show, but instead of vivid colors, it’s death in a spectacular manner. Magnus gets up and dusts off his pants, looking over his shoulder with a pleased smile as Alec gives him a slow clap, before dipping into a courteous and exaggerated bow accompanied by a flourish of hands.

“That was… incredible.” Alec says, voice soaked with a flirtatious kind of fascination.

“Want to get out of here?”

Alec nods and they start walking slowly away from the crowd – there will be reports to write, papers to sign and work to be done around the cathedral, but for now they’ve done their part, bloody hands tangled between them. It’s so quiet now, in comparison – no clang of metal against metal, no noises of fatigue, just people looking around for their companions, gathering weaponry and treating the wounded ones.

When Magnus opens a portal, Alec bumps their elbows together. “I want a milkshake.”

Magnus hums, looks down first at himself and then at Alec – both of them dirty, splattered with different shades of crimson. “Do you think we’ll get a discount if we walk in looking like this?”

They both laugh at that mental image and start to step through the swirling gateway.

“What, the ‘oh god, you’re covered in blood, everything is 20% off' deal? I don’t think so.”

“You never know, Alexander.”