#of course. the man who newly discovered that he is allowed to be angry at his conditions doesnt know that

[dayurno]

No but for real do you think Jean blamed Kevin for leaving him at the Nest?

(being held at gunpoint) ok ok ok ok ill answer officer please

i dont think jean necessarily blames kevin for anything thats happened in the nest, but he's still just a person after all. in such a harsh environment and suddenly alone after hanging so much of his sanity on kevin and their friendship, of course jean resents him for leaving; he doesn't have the time nor the space to process the feeling of loss in any other meaningful way.

but! i think after he is no longer in such peril and can think clearly, jean learns to be angry at the world again. the realization that the anger towards the nest riko beat out of him was actually Rightful and Just like the sword of an angel will also bring the logical explanation that kevin was in no more control than he himself was, and that ultimately it was not his fault. i believe the pain of abandonment for jean comes from a much deeper place though, and that will be something that creates a rift between them even if jean doesn't blame kevin anymore; kevin, because he is too afraid of jean hating him to actually allow them to interact again, and jean, because kevin's avoidance of him makes him angry when he was prepared to absolve kevin of guilt in the first place

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - two

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 2.9k 

a/n: oof the plans i have for this series omg!! i hope you like this pls comment and tell me what u think and also feel free to give any ideas/ theories i love getting that sm!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

——————————————————————————-

Finding a place to get a drink was easier said than done.

You had ridden along the cold, barren road for hours – your only company being the birds singing above you, the horse moving below you and the small bundle of content wrapped in your arms who had fallen asleep in your arms in seconds, occasionally yawning widely. And through those hours you had met no one and seen no place to stop.

You eventually had to stop, exhaustion slowing you down. You moved off course and tied your horse to a tree next to a small stream, running a comforting hand through its mane as it drank slowly. You slowly stripped off as well, taking your time as you removed the blood-soaked layers from your skin. Once you were bare, shivering in the cool morning air, you stepped slowly into the stream – swearing enough to make a sailor blush.

However, you relented, running your hands over your skin, wiping away the guards’ blood with a heavy heart as the water turned pink. Your whole body ached, yet you were numb. Men were dead because of you, and - if he hadn’t already – Dorian would hear of your disappearance soon. And then the king would pick him a new bride, and you would be forgotten.

Just as intended.

Amaris was mewling behind you, hungry and cold, wondering why you had left. Or maybe that was just you, maybe you were projecting. You climbed out of the water, pulling your undergarments back on as you found a sunny patch to sit in, allowing the newly risen sun to cleanse away the remnants of the night, drying your skin slowly.

After half an hour of silent tears you picked yourself back up, pulling on your stiff clothes and climbing onto your horse as you set off again. You couldn’t just lie down and die, no matter how much you wanted to, you had to look after your last gift from Dorian, and you had look after yourself.

--

You ended up riding for hours more before you wandered into a small town. Dismounting, you led your horse through the town as you searched for a place to get food and maybe clean clothes, glaring down your nose at anyone who stared to long. Much like Dorian used to.

No. You tried to expel the thought of him from your head, not needing to be swept up in the thought of his forget-me-not eyes, nor did you need to remember that you may never get to look into them again.

What you needed was the tavern you could see at the end of the street.

You pushed through the street, ignoring the townspeople as you moved to the stables beside the tavern, giving your horse rest, food, and water. You hid Amaris in your coat as you moved into the tavern – back straight and head high as you walked.

The bar quietened down when you moved in, a small sprout woman pausing handing out drinks as she stared at you over a high skew nose. The bar smelt of sour whisky and piss, the surfaces barely visible beneath the dirt that covered every surface – the only source of light coming from tall candles that had been stuffed into wine bottles. The curtains over the windows were drawn tight, not allowing any other light in and the people in the bar all looked remarkably similar, tired. The woman behind the bar was petite, with a face alike a weasel and when she spoke you discovered her voice was just as shrill as you expected.

“And who do you think you are?” she moved in front of the bar, walking towards you as you levelled your gaze.

“I’m no one.” You replied, the answer vague enough that she hopefully wouldn’t try again.

“Then what do you want?” she was exasperated as she spoke, and you allowed yourself a moment of reprise as you glanced down at your clothes.

“A drink would be nice,” your voice was curt, tired. The small lady rolled her eyes, moving away as you approached the bar, allowing her to pour you a glass of cheap, hard liquor.

She slid it towards you, and you knocked it back quickly. “Do you also have fresh clothes and maybe some food for me and my cat?”

As she left with an eye roll, a man approached you, his hairline receding and breath fowl as he slung an arm around your shoulder, leaning far too close for your comfort as you trained your eyes forward.

“I can offer you a job,” he nodded his head and you looked over to see his eyes trained on the prostitutes in the corner, “I’ll even offer a free trial. To get you started.”

You felt panic rise like bile in your throat, your entire body tensing as you shoved this man’s arm of your shoulder. You calmed your face – unwilling to let any emotion show as you faced him.

“You couldn’t afford me,” you snarled, pushing down the heat growing in you as the curious eyes of the towns’ folk were once again turned on you.

“You bitch!” the man began shouting but was cut off by the shrill woman’s return. She unceremoniously dumped a pile of clothes in your lap, along with a small loaf and some fish, her gaze expectant.

You loosened the bracelet around your wrist, dropping it into her hand as she stared at the large jewels adorning it.

“That should cover it.” you muttered as you stood, keeping your gaze angry and forward as you shouldered past the burly man. You bundled the clothing and food in one hand, the other still holding Amaris tight to your chest as you left the dirty tavern.

You found your horse again, offloading the goods you had received into the worn satchels on its side – leading it out of the barn slowly, desperate to get out of this town.

--

Dorian was a mess.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, could barely speak anymore. It was enough to lose you, but to then realise that his own father had driven you away. His own father had made you feel so unsafe in your own home that you couldn’t even run to him, his father had made you feel so completely isolated that your only choice was to flee.

Chaol was trying to coax him back into civilised life, his brother mourning the loss of his friend, yet itching to find you. And level-headed as always, Chaol knew that wouldn’t happen with Dorian spending his days drinking or in bed – often both.

But Dorian didn’t know how to cope, he didn’t know how to plaster on a smile and pretend everything was okay. That was your specialty.

Almost a month had passed, and you certainly were nowhere to be seen. You weren’t coming home anytime soon and he was going to have to learn how to live without you eventually.

Every morning he woke up, a part of him hoped it was a bad dream, that you would be asleep in his arms, or giggling and pressing dizzying kisses into his jaw. He hoped one day he would just wake up and you would wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, tell him it was just a nightmare and stroke his hair until he fell back asleep.

But he knew that couldn’t happen, that life wasn’t kind enough to return his bride to him and so instead he chose to numb his thoughts. He ignored the flirty eyes of other woman, unable to look at them in their expensive dresses and jewels without his mind returning to you.

Everyday that passed without you hurt that much more, so when he sat on his throne as Chaol approached him with a beautiful but deadly woman, he decided since he couldn’t have his perfect woman, he must find her opposite. He couldn’t be who he was before – so he must become someone new.

--

You weren’t faring much better. The day you had left the bar, you had ridden all the way to the coast of Terrasan and had climbed onto the first boat to Doranelle. By the time you arrived in the city you had just about sold anything of value on your person and all you had left to sell was the poor horse you had taken away.

By the time it was just you and Amaris, you had acquired a small flat in the city – the walls were bare and there was only simple furniture in it, the mattress on the floor next to large windows, and worn cushions on a makeshift sofa next to a wooden table.

Every night Amaris crawled into bed next to you, licking away salty tears from your face as you pulled the thin, scratchy sheet closer over you – hoping to replicate even a shred of Dorian’s warmth, or the feeling of his arms wrapped secure around your waist. Most nights you didn’t sleep, the bags growing under your eyes as your heart slowly numbed. Amaris would bury himself in the warmth of your chest as your eyes blurred, watching the city move outside of your flat – the noise subdued and calming.

On the third day in the new city you set out to find work, desperate to find something that could numb the thoughts in your mind and make the days easier. Plus you were sick of grabbing the easiest food you could find. You found yourself walking to a library, deciding it would be the perfect mixture of solitude and work for you. And it helped that you had spent most your life reading, many nights curled under Dorians arms as you read your separate books – occasionally reciting a line to the other.

The old man at the front of the library was kind, his face wrinkled from easy smiles, and you could understand why his long, long life seemed so pleasing. The bookshelves were tall, dizzyingly tall, and filled with countless books that you wished you could search through for hours. There were also tall, stained windows lining the walls, letting in the beautiful morning light and showing how the dust danced around the room.

“So what brings you here?” he asked, moving around the desk he sat at and motioning for you to take a seat on the small, cushioned seats next to him.

You sat down gently, back straight but keeping your eyes trained on your neatly folded hands. “I need work, sir. I have very good qualifications and have been educated by the best.”

He laughed slightly at that, “That much is clear, my child. But I asked what brings you here? What is your story?”

You looked up to meet his eyes, unable to stop the pain that they revealed, and he took your hands gently in his warm ones, “The world has treated you poorly I see.”

You felt tears build in your eyes – this kindness so alien to your battered heart you couldn’t help yourself as you let out a soft sob. The man smiled kindly at you, squeezing your hands gently as he urged you to talk to him.

“I was f-forced to leave the man I loved,” you choked out, “his father tried to… hurt me.” Your explanation was an over-simplification, but you feared what may occur if you revealed the truth.

“Was he your mate?” the man asked kindly, and you shook your head.

“I am not Fae,” you explained, and he frowned, passing you his handkerchief as he stood.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, retrieving a small, hand-held mirror, and handing it to you. You took it with a confused expression before looking in, gasping under your breath as you saw your ears had taken on a delicate point.

“I, I don’t- that’s not possible.” You shook your head, eyes wide as they met his.

“Where do you come from child?” he voice was gentle as he took in your shock.

“Adarlan.” You whispered and he smiled sympathetically.

“Then I believe a glamour has been removed recently.” You could feel yourself shaking, the weight of the knowledge hitting you. “Let me take a name dear, you can start work tomorrow, we’ve been needing some extra hands around here.”

“(y/n) (y/l/n)” your voice was small as you stood, shaking his hand lightly. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem and remember when you work you can have a read through any book you like. Aisle sixteen contains many on the ancient spirits.” He looked down to your necklace pointedly and you bit your tongue so hard you tasted blood, desperate to not reveal any more than you already had.

“Thank you…” you trailed off and he smiled,

“Albert,” he finished for you. “And make sure to take care on your way home, this city is filled with powerful people, you would be smart to not mix with them.”

You nodded, pocketing the information in your mind, ready to add it to your list of rules.

--

Fenrys was tired. He had just gotten home from a month-long mission and all he wanted was to sleep, however he wasn’t quite ready to face Maeve yet and instead he decided to take a trip to his favourite library before she realised he was back.

He was walking in when he saw you, your eyes red but hopeful and he almost fell over at the sight of you. You were wearing common clothes but held yourself like royalty, head high and gaze ready to tear down a man who so much as looked at you wrong.

What he did next he wasn’t exactly proud of, but he needed an excuse, so he was willing to play his hand a bit. “Excuse me miss, do you happen to know where I could find the tilted goose?” your eyes widened when you saw him, fuelling his ego slightly.

He knew where the tilted goose was of course, it was one of his favourite bars, but you didn’t have to know that.

“Oh yeah, it’s just down this way. I’m walking that way I’ll show you,” your voice was like music to his ears, and he smiled, revelling in how you avoided his gaze, clearly intimidated by his stature.

“Thank you so much…?” he asked, and you smiled, softly, subdued.

“(y/n),” you stared walking in the correct direction, and he grinned.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Fenrys.” He placed a hand to his chest as you laughed lightly.

“Quite a flirt aren’t you?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

“Can’t help myself, I’m not sure I’ve ever met such a beautiful woman.” He looked down to you as he fell into step beside you, noticing that you were taking a much longer way than needed. “You new here?”

“How’d you tell?” your tone was self-deprecating, and he laughed.

“This way takes about five minutes longer.” He stated and you whirled around, pointing a finger accusingly.

“You know how to get there.” He felt his face heat up as he raised his hands sheepishly.

“Maybe…” he grinned, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you began to storm off.

“See you around princess!” he called after you, almost missing the way your shoulders stiffened momentarily before you called over your shoulder.

“You’d be so lucky!” you replied, pace quickening as he watched you climb a set of stars that led to some run-down apartments.

He laughed, the smiled on his face coming naturally and surprising him. Oh his life was about to get much better.

--

You shouldn’t have enjoyed the pretty man’s company. And you hated yourself for it.

But he was so kind and for five minutes he made you feel normal again, loved again. See you around princess! The words wouldn’t stop replaying in you head. You weren’t allowed to be a normal girl; you were a princess, and you were on the run, and you definitely had no time for handsome men who flirted with you.

You couldn’t betray Dorian like that, he was probably waiting for you to come home. And you planned to. You would build your strength and you would learn to fight, and you would tear the king to shreds.

But for now, you had to settle for getting through each day, and that meant you had no time for handsome distractions. As you steeled your nerves you felt the loneliness settle on your shoulders, wrapping around you like a shadow, and you fought to reach deep inside yourself, finding the sliver of magic that was curled up – dormant – inside of you.

You found it and fought to awaken it, only receiving a shard of the true power. You stood in front of the dirty mirror in your bathroom, taking in your newly pointed ears and watching as your necklace glowed gently, your eyes turning silver as you released a small amount magic, watching as the bright light shattered the mirror in front of you.

Your eyes widened at the loud noise and with a flinch the magic was gone, the only proof it was even there was the shattered mirror in front of you.

You stared back at the cracked reflection and squared your shoulders. You were going to train, you were going to fight, and you were going to win. Even if it broke you.

[mika-13]

So, with the help of the wonderful @wandering-horizon, I came up with a Legend of Zelda / Linked Universe AU where every Link is a Zelda species that isn’t Hylian So here’s what I came up with and how it influenced their respective stories

Sky - Rito

When Skyloft was raised above the clouds by Hylia, the Rito were already there

The Rito helped the Hylians get accustomed to life above the clouds and the two species quickly came to rely upon each other

Link is born a Rito and grows up on Skyloft, where things are pretty similar to the original story, he is best friends with Zelda and studies at the academy to become a knight

When Zelda disappears beneath the clouds, he draws the goddess sword and follows her

Things continue on quite the same way as in the game, just with Link wielding the sword with both his "hands" and foot claws, because him flying around and cutting down enemies at the same time is just really neat

He also pecks out one of Ghirahim's eyes at one point because he can

Four - Minish

I've had this headcanon, that the Hero of Men, the one before Four who made the picori blade, was actually a Minish who came through the Minish door (which transformed him into a Hylian for the time) to protect Hyrule

So yeah, basically that

Link is Ezlo's grandson who is also an apprentice with Melari and when Vaati goes rogue he helps his grandfather in defeating him

I imagine him being really confused by being so tall at first and that he still retains some Minish like traits

Time - Kokiri

Link is an actual Kokiri in this, with Navi as his fairy

His life in the Kokiri forrest is pretty peaceful, though Mido still bullies him, because he's best friends with Saria and Mido is jealous, until the Deku Tree calls for him

The Kokiri Emerald allows him to leave the forrest unharmed and so he goes to help Zelda

The rest of the story is pretty much the same, except that he doesn't age when he goes into the future, because he really is an immortal forrest child this time around

Let's just say that Ganondorf is pretty angry about being beaten by a 9 year old

At the start of Majora's Mask when Skullkid steals the ocarina and Epona, he also imprisons Navi in a bottle

Tatl is kind of shocked about that and that plus the fact that she can sense his Kokiri nature result in her trusting and liking Link much sooner

Link manages to free Navi when he gets back his ocarina and from then on it's another adventure, this time not just with his mom but also with his newly acquired older sister Tatl

Twi - Twili

His story is quite different from the one in the game

With him growing up in a completely different world and such

In the beginning he lived a relatively simple life, getting by by doing odd jobs for other people

When Zant staged his coup and started turning helpless Twili into Shadow beasts, Link tried his best to help people escape in time

Zant really didn't like this and sent the beasts after him

Not wanting to fight his people, he ran, stumbling onto the portal to Hyrule

Eventually, Zant caught up to him and tossed him out into the light in the hopes of killing him

Instead of dying, Link is saved by the triforce, which transforms him into a wolf which let's him survive in the world of light

He knows he needs to defeat Zant before the usurper can destroy both Hyrule and the Twilight realm and so he sets out to free Hyrule from the Twilight

The light spirits give him their protection and with the master sword he gains the ability to keep his Twili form even in the light

Of course he also travels with Midna, though he meets her later in the story

Also he obviously knows who Midna is, since the name and the vast amount of magic she possesses is kind of a giveaway

Legend - Zora

He's a sea Zora, so he's different from the rather mean ones in his Hyrule, since their tribes lost contact a long long time ago and he looks more like an ocarina of time Zora

A pink one

He washes up at the beach one day when he's still a tiny little kid and a Hylian man (his uncle in the game) takes him in and raises him

He has to deal with a lot of crap from people because he's Zora and most Zora in his Hyrule just really like spitting fire balls at people

It's also why people don't believe him when he goes out to help Zelda and say he's kidnapped her instead

As for Kohilint, the storm hits him when he's out looking for his family and Marin is also a Zora

He ends up being afraid of storms at sea after that whole debacle and just kind of avoids the ocean after it

Hyrule - Fairy

What can I say, he's the original fairy boy after all

He's not just a regular fairy though, but a very young great fairy, young enough that his usual form isn't that different from a regular fairy

However, he possesses a lot more magic and even has the ability to grow to Hylian size for a time, enabling him to wield sword and shield and fight the various monsters and Ganon

One of the reasons he travels so much is the fear of being bound to a single place once he's grown up, being a great fairy and all and he wants to see all much of the world as possible before that

Wind - Korok

He lives in the forest on outset island and is best friends with Aryll

Once Tetra shows up and Aryll gets kidnapped, he decides he needs to go out and save her

So he asks Aryll's grandma for the sword and shield (grandma is kind of surprised since it's the first time she's ever seen a Korok and she wasn't quite sure Aryll didn't just have an imaginary friend) and sneaks onto Tetra's ship

She discovers him, being able to see him even when he doesn't want to be seen, triforce of wisdom and such, but she's so impressed by him being able to sneak onto her ship that she lets him stay

He has fun with the crew, flying over Nico's obstacle course with Korok magics, and infiltrates the forbidden fortress

From there on it's much like in the original stories though everyone is really surprised and shocked that a usually peaceful forest fairy can wield a sword with such devastation

Needles to say, Ganondorf is even more surprised when he's stabbed in the face this time around

Wars - Gerudo

He's Gerudo, he's trans and he's here to end Ganon's whole career

He isn't a Hylian soldier in this but a Gerudo warrior and the first part of the war takes part without him

Which also means that it isn't going too well for the Hylian forces and Ganon revives way faster

The Gerudo haven't dealt much with the rest of Hyrule for many decades, but they take the return of Ganon in the form of a Gerudo as a personal insult and immediately join the war, turning the tide, especially with War's proving himself to be an unrivaled warrior as well as the hero

Wild - Sheikah

With all the Sheikah tech in his game it only makes sense

Before the calamity, he was Zelda's personal bodyguard, the way Sheikah often are for the royal family

Him and Zelda got along pretty well, having known each other for a long time, but they sort of drift apart once he draws the master sword, as Zelda envies him for his easy his destiny came to him, and he kind of struggles with the burden of the whole world, as his life was kind of all laid out for him before the master sword

Once the calamity strikes everything goes pretty much the same way, but his interactive with the yiga clan are way more intense this time around, because he's a Sheikah as well as the hero

So yeah, there you have it, my personal Zelda AU

I hope you like it

[onafreckledsunflower]

AU where All Might actually is Izuku’s father but no one, including All Might, Inko & Izuku realize it.  Why?  Because Time Travel.

Under the cut because it’s stupidly long.  It probably would have made more sense just to actually write this but I am in no way talented enough to so...yeah...have it as an AU instead.

At some point All Might gets sent back to the past.  Unsure how to get himself back home he eventually goes to Nedzu for help because he’s the only person he can think of who is both smart enough to get him back to his own time and smart enough not to want to mess up any timelines.  Not sure how long it’s going to take All Might gets himself an apartment and and job as an English translator he can do from home.  Having to think fast to come up with a fake identity he goes with the first last name that he can think of which is of course Midoriya and then gives himself the first name Hisashi because it FEELS right though he can’t quite put his finger on just why it does.

Then to his shock and horror he discovers that Inko is his neighbor.  He tries desperately to keep her at arms length but she’s as annoyingly stubborn as her son and she quickly fusses him into submission when she learns of his condition and that he’s not exactly taking care of himself.  They grow to be friends and he lies and tells her he has a fire breathing quirk when she asks him (Endeavor was stumbling through an interview on the TV at the time) and then blames his injury on it and that on the reason he never uses it for anything.

He tries to remain just friends with her.  He knows that she has to meet Izuku’s father at some point around this time period and he absolutely can’t risk getting in the way of that but then a villain attack happens and they both almost die (and he embarrassingly meets himself) but in the aftermath one thing leads to another and suddenly they’re in a romantic relationship.  He knows it’s wrong but he allows himself to indulge knowing full well when Izuku’s father comes into the picture he’ll have to end it.

Then she ends up getting pregnant.  Then she starts talking about how she’s always loved the name Izuku.  Then she starts hinting that they should get married.  Then he FINALLY realizes that the name he gave himself was the name of Izuku’s father.  

Everything comes to a screeching halt in his brain.  Because the family he’s always wanted, the family he HAS been wanting since he first came into the Midoriya’s lives is actually HIS.  With no sign yet that he’ll be going home anytime soon he gives in.  They get married, he buys a house, Izuku is born and they become a family.

Then the ticking clock hanging over his head catches up to him.  Nedzu has finally found a way to get him back to his own timeline.  For a moment he contemplates just staying.  Screw the timeline he can make a BETTER.  He’s earned this with all the sacrifices he’s made over the decades of being the number one hero.  But in the end he knows he can’t.  Staying might make things worse and he can’t risk that.  So he starts laying the seeds in Inko’s mind that he’s a bad person that he’s a villain and that she would be better off without him.  He stages a huge argument and walks out.  His heart breaking with every step.  He knows he’s not only loosing them in the past but in the future as well once Inko realizes and tells Izuku the truth and Izuku inevitably will hate him for all of this.  

As he goes he leaves divorce papers.  She never signs them.  He also leaves behind a substantial bank account (by hacking into his own accounts and taking his own money knowing full well that he’ll never notice that it’s missing) to keep them both taken care of.  She tells Izuku that their father had to leave them to protect them (something he lets slip during the argument) and that they’ll never see him again but she can’t let go of her hope that someday maybe he’ll come back to them.  She’s smart.  She knows there’s more going on then he’s telling her has known from the start.

She only realizes what is going on while watching the Kamino Ward incident and of course all the news footage of the newly de-powered All Might.  She remembers what her husband looked like when they first met before she fussed him into taking better care of himself and forcing him to regain more of his strength.  She’s chilled to the bone but the denial is strong.  There’s no way that her husband could have been All Might she’d seen them together talking to each other after the villain attack.  It’s only after she meets him when he comes around to talk about the dorms that she KNOWS.  She’d known that ridiculous horrible-at-lying over dramatic man anywhere.  He’s finally in front of her again and it becomes instantly clear that while she knows him he doesn’t know her.  Not like that not as anything but Izuku’s mother.  She hasn’t changed that much and she’s still using the last name he gave her why is he pretending that he doesn’t know here. 

It’s only later after Izuku leaves to do some training that Nedzu comes to see her.  To both make his own promises about Izuku’s well being and to tell her the truth about her husband.

All Might returns to the future and the truth comes out.  He expects both Inko and Izuku to hate him and while Inko is angry that he didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth.  But also reveals that she never did sign those divorce papers.  it’s not an automatic instantly back together kind of romance.  Inko is older and has gone through so many things that he was not a part of but slowly over time the romance rekindles and is stronger since it’s actually built on trust this time around.  Izuku is shocked and confused and maybe a tiny bit weirded out but is just thrilled that his dad is his dad and now he gets to call him that.

(I can also see an Alternate Version of this Alternate Universe where he was honest with her after Izuku’s birth and she’s been waiting this whole time for him to catch up with her again.  I don’t know if that would be MORE angsty or LESS.)  

Bonus: Todoroki Upon Finding Out: I KNEW IT! Izuku: I don’t think it actually counts if none of the rest of us did... Todoroki totally still gets to collect on the bet the Class had going on if All Might actually WAS his real dad.

[belit0]

Girrrllll any chance you could write a pegging izuna scenario??

My writer decided that I needed to learn a lesson from the way I treated you yesterday when you asked me for a baby...

Izuna had always been the dominant one, there was no doubt about it. Your relationship with him was fiery chaos of passion and problems, jealousy and insecurities. Who would have thought that an Uchiha would have so many misgivings about himself being in a relationship? His complaints reached such a ridiculous point that there was nothing left but to send him away, and yet, fuck, the sex with him was so good that you could never stop meeting him.

Your ex was a machine in bed, knowing your body as if he had devoted himself to investigate it in detail, knowing how to handle it like a finely oiled instrument, making you scream the most perverse tunes. It was impossible to leave that part of him, and as long as he stayed in line without wanting to come back, everything was fine.

But now that each of you was doing your own thing and only meeting for casual fucking, you discovered sexual appetites never before explored with him. Like how exciting it was to penetrate a man instead of being the one who was penetrated.

How outrageous it would be to have the great Izuna Uchiha, conqueror of wars and conqueror of women in everyday life, groaning and falling apart in front of you. What was even more intriguing, was the fact that he had never allowed you to take control, he always made sure that he was the one who commanded and directed, making you receive his supplies as he pleased.

Would it be possible to make him collapse in front of one of your toys and have him open up that vulnerable area for you? There is only one way to find out.

So you find yourself walking towards his home in the Uchiha district with determination and not a shred of fear, one of the places where you usually met when Madara was not around. On your shoulder, you carry a bag with what you need to display your new interest, and thinking about that challenge feels like fun.

Yes, Izuna was stronger and scarier when he was angry, but he was also open-minded when it came to sex, and was afraid of almost nothing, as long as he was the one who dominated it. You were not planning to convince him, as that would be the wrong approach, but to change roles without warning and give him a spoonful of his own medicine.

To add to your motivation, the two had fought during the day when you had inadvertently met on one of the paths of the newly founded Konoha. He was walking absent-mindedly and carelessly, and you were running at full speed so as not to be late for Hashirama's office when both of you crashed because not paying attention to the road. Of course, there were shouts and accusations, added to a strong sexual tension that ended in a quick tongue kiss and the pact that you would go to his place at nightfall, as you were doing exactly now.

When you arrived, you knocked on the door and waited. He welcomes you with a seductive smile and taking you by the waist he enters the house, closing the door and pressing you against it. His lips are immediately pressed against yours, demonstrating an almost intimidating desire and need, and he only separates when you both need air.

"I have missed you..."

"I didn't, you idiot."

Taking him by the back of the neck, you kiss him again and slam his body against the opposite wall to the front door. Violence is the language the two of you use to go through your encounters, and both turn on each other when the opponent doubles the bet and gets more abrupt.

But when Izuna wants to turn the game around again, you don't let him. Grabbing and pulling his hair, you tug at his head backward, and inform while kissing his neck.

"Today I am in charge, dirty Uchiha. I don't care if you like it or not if you don't want it, I'll leave right now.

"Senju... Who do you think you are?"

Another strong pull on his hair and his head leans back further, making him curse in pain.

"Speak up, good-for-nothing. Do you want it or not?"

Fluttering his eyes and smiling maliciously, he replies.

"Whatever..."

You release your grip sharply and push him in the direction of his room, walking behind him with your backpack on your shoulder. The Uchiha casts a murderous glance at you over his, and you feel the satisfaction running through your veins.

Once there, you put what you were carrying on a chair and observe him. Standing in front of the bed, he crosses his arms and lifts his chin, looking at you over his nose, defiant.

"What now, Senju?"

"Get completely naked. I don't want anything on your pathetic body."

Snorting with sarcasm, he obeys and being without any garment on his beautiful skin, you push him on the mattress with one hand on his chest, making him land almost on the pillows. Izuna climbs to a sitting position, with his back to the headboard, while you crawl over him in a seductive way and with eyes full of intention.

You do not sit on his lap, nor do you even undress. You hold yourself with both hands and knees at the side of his body, making him believe that at any moment you will sink with your mouth on his length.

Without him expecting it, you hold his cheeks with one hand and bite your lower lip, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Give me a kiss, Izuna..."

"Are you getting cold feet?"

When he approaches his face to yours and is about to perform the action, your other freehand hits his face, slapping him with a smack that leaves him surprised and speechless. He had expected you to loosen your dominant attitude and allow him to take control, not that.

"Did you really think I was going to touch your ugly lips? You asshole."

Every insult and denigration make his cock hard, and it's not difficult to notice. In his shock over your blow, his member contracted at his waist, showing how your action aroused him.

"Come on Zuna, give me a kiss, this time for real..."

He can't even voice or fire an attack at you this time, as his body demands that he falls into your obvious trap in order to receive another slap from you. And so he does. When your hand strikes his face again, a slight groan comes from his mouth and you know that overpowering will not be a difficult task with this Uchiha.

"Get down on your knees and show me what you've got."

"W-Wha-"

"I'm not giving you a choice, Uchiha. Do it, now."

By deciding to accept, he pleases you and puts himself in the position you demanded. Exposing his ass upwards and with his dick hanging between his legs, the view is simply flattering. An exaggeratedly forceful slap makes him grunt, and as you get out of bed and undress, you grab your backpack and its contents.

Removing the lubricant, it's time to start playing.

"You don't even deserve for me to play with that disgusting cock of yours."

But of course you do, as his attribute is huge and hard to ignore. You start massaging his shaft, in slow movements from top to bottom. Despite the position never used before, he seems to be enjoying it, as his legs relax and his thighs open up, even more, revealing the hole you would play within just a moment.

Having it completely hard, you take the liberty of applying lube to one of your fingers and between his butt. His body reacts to the cold sensation of the liquid, but before he can say or do anything, you're massaging the place, anticipating what's going to happen without having to explain it.

"[Y/N] Senju..."

"Quietly you look prettier, Izuna. Keep it up."

At the mercy of his moaning, you find the right moment to insert your finger, and the satisfaction is simply too much. The Uchiha's face is disfigured with pleasure and pain, as his body imposes resistance at first, as well as demanding more of those wonderful supplies from you.

"[Y/N] M-More..."

"Get my pretty name out of your mouth, you bastard."

At his request, you insert a second finger, adding lubricant and with great care. His back tightens at first, and in the first stabs of your hand the movement is restricted in his butt, but with the stimulation that his penis continued to receive thanks to your other hand, he eventually gave in to you.

The moans and curses of the Uchiha are enough to get you completely wet, but you are too busy ruining him and stripping him of his role to care. When it feels appropriate, you take a small dildo that you usually use on yourself in private.

Bringing it to his mouth, while you continue to move your fingers inside him, you command.

"Suck it, whore. Show me how you would do it if you were me, you fucking slut.”

Introducing the object into his mouth without waiting for a response, you move it back and forth, seeing how the saliva falls around it despite being small due to the Uchiha's lack of practice.

"You are terrible, you are not even good at sucking cocks, do you realize that? Miserable."

Removing the dildo from his cavity, you direct it towards his ass, rubbing it against his hole from top to bottom to prepare it. By exerting pressure little by little, the object enters him, and the effect is immediate. It doesn't take many stabs to bring his cheek against the mattress and his eyes tightly shut, while noisy moans escape from him involuntarily.

After a few minutes of your torture, his seed is shot from his dick without any effort, and the Uchiha falls even more in love with you.

[sokkastyles]

Redemption and Hope

One of the interesting things I think ATLA has to say about redemption is that in order to get redemption, you have to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve said before that Zuko could not have successfully joined Team Avatar if he thought that being on the good side was the same as being on the bad side. In order to become the best version of yourself, you have to have hope.

There’s a very interesting parallel that highlights this in “The Storm.”

Katara: (to Aang) I know it was meant to be this way. The world needs you now. You give people hope.

Iroh: Things will never return to normal. But the important thing is the Avatar gives Zuko hope.

“The Storm” abounds with parallels between Zuko and Aang, and this is one of the running themes through these two characters’ stories. Aang, waking up after one hundred years to a changed world in which he is the last of his people, will never be able to return to normal. Katara says he gives people hope but in the context of her words, she is trying to give Aang back some of that hope, after he blames himself for running away and getting frozen in the iceberg. Aang can’t bring hope to anyone if he doesn’t have it himself.

Whereas Aang’s world changed after he ran away, Zuko is desperately trying to get back to a place from which he was cast out. Iroh asserts that things will never return to normal, but it’s important that Zuko has hope. Iroh never really wants Zuko to capture the avatar, but what he doesn’t want Zuko to do is give up. To Zuko, if he doesn’t have his mission, then he has nothing. In this episode we are told just how important Zuko’s mission is to him, yet Zuko actually foregoes chasing after Aang in favor of getting his ship and crew to safety. So we are shown that there are limits to Zuko’s single-mindedness, and we actually see him be humble in this episode, apologizing to Iroh for his earlier selfishness. A similar scene occurs when Zuko decides to go rescue Iroh when he is captured by earthbenders rather than chase after the gaang.

At the end of book one, Zuko has braved freezing water in order to sneak into the Northern Water Tribe during the siege, captured Aang, then lost him, almost froze to death in the snow, was saved by his enemy, then tried to save Zhao from an angry avatar-fused moon spirit. All of these events put an additional strain on how he thinks the world works. His hope in his mission is faltering.

Iroh: I'm surprised, Prince Zuko, surprised that you are not at this moment trying to capture the Avatar.

Zuko: I'm tired.

Iroh: Then you should rest. A man needs his rest.

This scene is in contrast to the above mentioned scenes of Zuko choosing not to go after the avatar, because he’s not doing it to save others this time. But the voice acting makes it clear that the events that just transpired are weighing on his mind. He could not save Zhao, but was instead saved by the very person he was trying to capture. Zuko’s mission used to be a simple thing in his mind: capture the avatar, regain his honor, return to the fire nation and his place at his father’s side. But then the avatar was a child who wanted to be his friend and Zhao tried to have him killed and then Zhao was killed in front of him and he realized that he actually did care about other people, even cruel blowhards like Zhao.

When we first see him at the beginning of book two, Zuko is at his most despondent. He and Iroh are now on their own, and it happens to be the anniversary of the worst day of Zuko’s life.

Zuko: Three years ago today, I was banished. I lost it all. I want it back. I want the Avatar, I want my honor, my throne. I want my father not to think I'm worthless.

Iroh: I'm sure he doesn't. Why would he banish you if he didn't care? Uh, that came out wrong, didn't it?

Iroh tries (badly) to cheer Zuko up, because Iroh wants Zuko to have hope. His words here come across as empty, because I don’t think Iroh really believes them. In fact, later in this episode Iroh will give advice that is almost the opposite of what he says here, telling Zuko that despite what Azula says about Ozai wanting him back, he has “never known [his] brother to regret anything.” Iroh wants Zuko to have hope and because of this is willing to sometimes enable him in his hunt for Aang, but when it actually looks like Zuko might go back to the fire nation, or might be in danger (which are pretty much the same thing, whether he goes back as a prince or a prisoner, because it’s not safe for Zuko to go back to Ozai), he tries to discourage him. But in the above pictured scene, at least, all Iroh can do is give Zuko some empty assurance, because worse than Zuko actually achieving his mission to capture the avatar or going back to Ozai is if Zuko believes that nothing he does matters.

This is why when Zuko becomes officially cut off from the fire nation, he becomes anchorless, and resorts to petty thievery in a fruitless hope of regaining some semblance of his former identity as royalty..

Iroh: I know we've had some difficult times lately. We've had to struggle just to get by. But it's nothing to be ashamed of. There is a simple honor in poverty.

Zuko: There's no honor for me without the Avatar.

Iroh: Zuko... Even if you did capture the Avatar, I'm not so sure it would solve our problems. Not now.

Zuko: Then there is no hope at all. Iroh: No, Zuko! You must never give in to despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road and you surrender to your lowest instincts. In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength.

As much as Iroh might be afraid of Zuko getting lost in Ozai’s toxic ideology, here he looks terrified that Zuko might lose hope completely. What’s kind of interesting here is that the way Iroh links the absence of hope with “surrendering to your lowest instincts” implies that there was a time when Zuko had even less hope than he does now, before the avatar was freed from an iceberg. As much as Zuko is introduced to us as a villain at the beginning of the series, what must he have been like in the years before there was any sign that the avatar had returned, with no direction and no hope, and nothing but hurt and anger to keep him going?

If this is Zuko at his most pessimistic, in contrast he is at his most optimistic at the end of book two, when he nearly comes to accept living a simple life with Iroh in Ba Sing Se. Previously we’ve seen him forego his hope in capturing the avatar in favor of doing the right thing, but this is the first time we’ve seen him put aside his hope in chasing the avatar in favor of putting his hope in something else. There’s a contrast here between Zuko’s hope in gaining Ozai’s approval vs his hope here which is centered around putting work into his relationship with Iroh; the absent father vs the father in front of him.

This newly discovered hope is only briefly realized, though. There’s a lot of dramatic irony in this episode. Zuko and Iroh are found out by Azula after Katara sees them while wandering around Ba Sing Se. Katara runs to warn the earth king that the fire nation has invaded the city, unknowingly realizing that she is talking to Azula who has actually invaded the city, while also alerting Azula to Zuko and Iroh’s presence, after Zuko seems to have stopped chasing the gaang. We don’t know, because it’s not allowed to last, but it’s possible that Zuko might have not even been a threat to Katara and the rest at this point any longer, had she not seen him at the tea shop.

Zuko then gets captured and thrown into prison with Katara, who he doesn’t know is the one who ratted him out. She starts leveling all kinds of accusations at him, and he initially is defensive (”you don’t know what you’re talking about”) then apologetic, then reveals the loss of his own mother in order to empathize with Katara. This new empathetic Zuko is a reflection of his attempts to try to make things work with Iroh, to live the life that Iroh wants for them both. Then when Katara apologizes to him he says that it doesn’t matter, because that life turned out to be short lived after all. Katara offers him another glimpse at hope in the form of healing his scar, but they’re interrupted.

Then Zuko has to make his big choice between Azula and Iroh. Iroh and the gaang represent hope, but it’s a hope that can’t last. As much as we might like to imagine that Zuko and Iroh could live a peaceful life in Ba Sing Se, Azula probably would have found them eventually, and the hope that Katara offers is uncertain - even she doesn’t know that it’s going to work, and it isn’t what Zuko needs anyway, because the physical scar is not the source of his problems, only a symbol of them. That’s why when Azula offers him another choice, the thing that he’s wanted for three years, it’s an offer he really has no hope of refusing.

Of course, Zuko eventually realizes only once he has returned to the fire nation that what he thought he wanted doesn’t make him happy, but he could have continued to live his life as the prince if he didn’t know that Aang was really still out there, alive. This is twofold because the fact of Aang’s survival means that Zuko can’t be comfortable by his father’s side because he’s constantly worrying if and when his father will find out that he didn’t actually kill Aang - which is what leads him to hire an assassin - but on another level, the fact of Aang’s survival is what motivates Zuko to actually oppose his father, which I doubt he would have been able to do without Aang’s presence in the world. When Zuko confronts his father, he tells him his plan to join the avatar and help Aang defeat Ozai. Without Aang, I don’t think Zuko has confidence that he alone would be able to oppose his father - he tells Iroh later that he is the only one other than Aang that could defeat the fire lord, showing that he does not believe it’s something he could have done on his own.

So in the end, what Iroh said in book one was correct. The avatar does give Zuko hope, but in exactly the opposite way that Zuko thought, the hope to become the best version of himself rather than the worst. Which then comes full circle as Zuko makes it his new mission to help Aang restore hope to the world.

[kazeofthemagun]

[Ahh how long has it been since I posted sad headcanons - ]

Kaze's trauma, mental illness, and coping mechanisms

[As we know he's been through so much during his life, even before the destruction of Windaria at the hands of Chaos. Of course, he was attached to his world - who wouldn't be? It was all he ever knew, the only reality he had - but his story had been a tragic tale from the very start. Born a freak, he was shunned by society, until an opportunity arose to prove himself to a recruiting Wind Warrior and become a trainee. Thanks to his natural talent and affinity for magic, he rose from a lowly soldier to a summoner apprentice - and eventually, prodigy that he was, leader of his clan, Wind Warrior general and the chosen of Magun.]

[What are the factors that shape his personality, and cause him to act as strangely as he does? What is the long tale and damage of the human-Weapon hybrid that is the man known as Black Wind?]

[The love present in his life had always been conditional. Black Wind never knew his parents, his caretaker died when he was very young and he spent a good portion of his childhood battling for survival on the streets in one of the lower desert cities. His environment was hostile - not only due to the fact he was an orphan, but also since his hair color was thought to be cursed and indicative of a harbinger of future disaster. Kaze had always been proud and defiant, and his current hairstyle results from the fact he never chose to cut his hair in defiance of the ridiculous fairy tale (which turned out to be, ironically, correct) The fact of him being accepted by the Wind Warrior caste was solely due to his natural ability and grit - his new family was one of fighters who tolerated no weakness. As such, Kaze has been taught (and forced) to keep all of his feelings to himself, all his life. Never once was he allowed to cry openly - until he met Aura, with whom he developed a deep bond. As life seemed to loathe Kaze, their relationship turned out wrong as they discovered they were, in fact, siblings. Their bond was reshaped into a familial one, and miraculously strengthened, for they both had seen the ugly side of fate. Aura - and to a lesser extent Moogle Kupo, his Soil Missionary partner (who trained under Kaze, therefore was less likely at first) - were the only people to see the more vulnerable side of the Unlimited.]

[Black Wind is by nature an ambitious person. Without ambition (and ironically, considering his generally unlucky life, unparalleled luck), he would never have been able to pull himself up by his bootstraps and secure the position he held in the Warriors caste. Eventually, he was selected to wield the Magun, which brought with it the breaking of a promise he had made to Aura to continue to live peacefully together, and extreme guilt. As the champion of the Gun Beast, he was further dehumanized. Some sort of sacred idol of summoners, there was no place to express human flaws or weakness. Not like there had ever been any socially acceptable way to do so in the first place.]

[The destruction of Windaria was his greatest failure. Even with the power of the Magun, he could not stop Chaos. Having lost everything he loved, he became even more bitter, and most of what fuels him is spite and rage. This brings us to actually discussing Kaze's mental illness and coping mechanisms. How does a man this thoroughly broken handle his newly acquired quest, when any normal person's life would have ended during the events that transpired?]

[It is difficult to discuss "neurodivergency" in what is essentially an alien race and culture that appears human, but due to both genetic and environmental factors, he is extremely emotionally isolated, unused to casual friendship and, taking into account his history, uncomfortable and distrustful around people in general. This manifests in the guarded persona he exhibits and a refusal to disclose seemingly any details about himself. Even during his time with the Wind Warriors, Kaze was particularly reserved, with Moogle Kupo often acting as his diplomatic voice whenever he lacked the patience to deal with others.]

[The Wind cult's culture abhorred weakness. The only instances where Kaze was ever able to vent in any capacity was with Aura - and it was understandably difficult to a man who could never do so before. With her, he experienced the beginning of a healing that was cruelly ripped away when Chaos descended. As the Unlimited Demon Gunman especially, he exhibits less and less outward emotion and actively dehumanizes himself. Kaze believes himself to be the Weapon and his old persona to be secondary to his calling. As such, he rarely speaks of anything to do with his past and guards any semblance of vulnerability fiercely.]

[He does not want to believe that the Weapon that he is can be capable of breaking and failing emotionally, for it is still partially human. This has caused him to develop unhealthy coping mechanisms.]

[Kaze suffers from bouts of dissociation and derealization tied to his PTSD, as well as the occasional psychotic breakdowns that manifest in vivid hallucinations. He is unable to receive treatment for various reasons, and medication is unlikely to stay and work in his altered blood (not that he would agree to take any.) He is still unable to properly unpack his trauma and express his emotions - during his breakdowns, caused sometimes by specific triggers (hand holding and blue flowers of a certain shape, especially bioluminescent) he may cry and act erratically, or shut down completely. When the episode ends, he seems not to remember it occurring or remembers it very hazily. This is because Kaze actively represses his human weakness and rejects it as something he is allowed to express outwardly. Even as a Soil mage, who understands emotion as part of spiritual flow of nature, he feels trapped in his own mind, wounded by his upbringing and Chaos alike.]

[Kaze is very mentally ill and won't speak of it. He harbors a great deal of negative emotion which fuels Chaos, which causes him to loathe his predicament and perpetuates the downward spiral. Fearing the possibility of being possessed by Chaos once again, he suffers visions of the blue flowers of Gaudium growing inside his body and feasting on his own hatred. As an extremely tormented soul, he focuses his toxicity on White Cloud even as they work together. He is angry, difficult, and distant, but ultimately tries to be a good person. He wishes for nothing more than to overcome the Chaos within, but being unable to, he settles for weaponizing his rage instead the best he can. In the end, he's locked in a self-perpetuating nightmare without escape. Even though there may be no escape from his fate, there is still a possibility of healing and improvement, but achieving such is a long and rocky road that he is afraid to travel. He has more important things to do, after all - hunting Chaos.]

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles | Chapter 2

An Evening in Winter

The darkest evening in winter begs for just a sliver of light.

If he thought things would change for them following their late night miracle, Aleksander was sourly mistaken.

Months went by without contact.

The more angry he became about it, the more it confirmed that he was out of control.

Seeing her, being vulnerable to her, opened a floodgate. A torrent of warring emotions swirled around him so that he struggled to even name them properly before they shifted again.

Despite assertions made by Alina on prior occasions that these feelings created a more rewarding experience in life, this inability to distance himself from every nuance of emotion degraded his mental state.

Centuries of conquering every thought. Controlling every outcome. A puppeteer to countless Tsars with whole nations bent to his will—all to be undone by a slip of a woman who had barely existed for even three decades.

Alina, this one person to whom he was bound, body and soul, just happened to be so far outside of his grasp that he couldn’t name a single city she had passed through since the day she left Os Alta. For everything she knew about him, he couldn’t name a single one of her goals, objectives, accomplishments, or desires. It was humiliating.

She had promised he was one of her desires.

At least, this is what he clung to in the early days. Ruminating by the fire or letting his thoughts slip into this reassurance over another lonely meal or late in the night when he awoke without cause and stared out the window.

These were things he had never done before. Foreign and juvenile behaviors. Yet he allowed them to continue bringing him comfort. Allowed them freedom to permeate his day as he had let nothing else in several millennia.

Until the nagging doubt began to seep in.

Did she say exactly that she desired him?

It seemed burned into his brain at one time but some memories of that night which he previously savored began to disintegrate.

When they reformed, new perspectives propagated themselves like weeds in his recollections.

They drifted in to discolor formerly pleasant thoughts during an evening bath; late nights were spent hunched over a desk dissecting vaguely remembered words.

Madness stole over him at odd moments.

War council meetings were sometimes punctuated with abrupt surges of intensity which forced him to nail his hands to his sides lest he sic shadows into the throats of the King’s men.

An afternoon horse ride intended to invigorate and chase away all thought instead stamped his misgivings to the wall of his mind as decisively as hooves sunk into mud.

She had called him inevitable. Her Inevitable.

Inevitability did not exactly parallel desire.

Still, he refused to call to her. The one weakness he would not submit to again.

It was during these months following when the General discovered he’d grown a distinct bitterness toward his Heartrender as well.

It was the rancor in his own voice when he issued commands that tipped him off. Followed with a silent seething when the orders were carried out to perfection.

No accolades were awarded in the face of the exemplary service; eventually no words of gratitude expressed at all yet Ivan remained stoically indifferent.

Unfortunately this only fed the festering malice.

The Darkling persevered to tamp it down. The longer he was away from Alina, the more desperately he tried pull the armor back around himself. Only, to his increasing distress, the cracks in the facade would not be patched.

This, the General realized, was the source of his ire. Understanding came to him in the form of some sudden glaring prophecy that he could never have foretold.

With regret, he understood the advantage of having the most highly skilled Heartrender in the Second Army at his side, also meant employing a man who was privy to every betraying fault in the rhythms of the General’s chest.

His growing madness had physical tells and it would not do to have them known to anyone but himself. Every staccato, every irregularity, every tremor exposed his ever slipping control.

Ivan knew too much.

Initially, the Darkling resigned himself to killing his right hand. In his defense, he fully intended to do the deed himself—bequeathing the task to another would be dishonorable to the decades of otherwise impeccable service.

However multiple strategy sessions spent visualizing every step that would follow such a death led him back to the beginning to start again. A new tactic to try, a different scenario to explore.

Until he eventually determined there was no true gain for him in Ivan’s death.

The bitter reality of the situation was this: no one could be by his side except a Heartrender. And yet no other Heartrender had ever shown such aptitude for pain, control, precision and, ultimately, discretion.

No one could replace the man. His death could not be borne since it would bring no peace.

Any replacement to follow would be just as dialed in to the state of his or her General, but their loyalty was too great a variable to gamble.

And so he was left with one recourse.

“You asked for me, moy soverennyi?”

“Fedyor. Yes, enter.” The General stood from his desk, brushing past Ivan and coming around the War table.

“I have a new assignment for you.”

“I am glad to serve, General.”

“The Fjerdan outposts are in desperate need of strong leadership. The caliber of your performance in the Second Army is recommendation enough for me. You are being promoted to Major and sent to the front in Tsibeya at dawn.”

Fedyor’s eyes slipped past his General briefly to land on Ivan before snapping back and allowing a pleased smile in return.

“Thank you, General. I will make you proud.”

The General nodded his dismissal and waited until Feydor left the room to return to his desk.

The General sat at his desk.

Hours passed while he wrote letters to his commanders, instructions for individual missions, referenced maps and calculated coordinates. Ivan remained silently, dutifully at attention beside him. The lunch hour passed, neither man broke the silence.

For these hours, the General worked harder than he had in months at keeping his emotions in check, his blood running cool and breaths even. The sound of quill scratching on parchment, drawers opening and closing—he was determined these would be the only irregularities for these few hours.

No work was given to Ivan. He asked for no input from his Heartrender and let the hours pass essentially ignoring the man.

Ivan did not break.

Dinner came. Two meals sent up from the kitchens. The General ate without comment. His Lieutenant did not move.

“Food not to your liking, Ivan?” The attempt to keep his tone neutral was undermined by the slightest sneer.

“I am grateful for everything provided to me. All of it in service to the Second Army. To all Grisha and to you, General.”

The grip on Aleksander’s fork tightened.

“And yet you do not eat.”

“Hunger escapes me at the moment.” Ivan cleared his throat and continued, “I will take my meal with me at dismissal, it will not go to waste.”

“Very well.”

More hours passed.

Ivan stood at attention.

He did not ask when he would be relieved for the evening. He did not point out how odd it was for the General to remain confined to his desk for twelve hours straight. He did not ask for anything.

Finally, it was Fedyor who broke the stalemate.

“Pardon me, moy soverennyi.” The new Major reentered the War Room at well past midnight.

“Of course, Fedyor. Are you packed?”

“I am, sir. Thank you. I came to ask—“ Fedyor’s eyes again slipped to Ivan and then back to the General and he straightened his posture again.

“I came to ask if I might borrow Ivan. J-just for a few hours, sir. Until departure.”

The General stared at Ivan— his expression remained stubbornly neutral though he thought he saw an eyebrow twitch.

“I realize my request is impertinent and on the heels of a promotion—I do not mean to ask for too much. You are well within rights to deny—“

“Fedyor,” The General held up a hand.

He glanced at Ivan again who gave no sign of acknowledgment. It could almost be believed that he did not know Fedyor.

“Not impertinent at all, Major. Ivan, is it your wish to be dismissed for the evening?”

Fedyor looked confused as he watched his impassive partner. Confusion slipped into hurt and Fedyor took a back step toward the door.

“Moy soverennyi.” Ivan spoke loudly. Realizing his mistake, he quickly adjusted his volume.

“Yes, if it is at your leave, I wish to accompany Fedyor for the remainder of the evening.”

The surge of victory within the General was brief.

In the next moment, Ivan tore his eyes from Fedyor and stared directly at the General, “In addition, it is my wish to escort the Major to the front. At your leave, of course, General.”

This was unprecedented. Unplanned. Unpredicted. A simple extortion tactic gone awry. He only meant to twist the pressure point in his Heartrender. Prove to his Lieutenant that it was not only the General who had a weakness. Embarrass him as he felt embarrassed.

For Ivan to turn it around and instead request a leave of some three weeks—for the journey to Tsibeya is a long one—was beyond comprehension.

Somehow Ivan tipped out all his cards on the table when all the General wanted to prove was knowledge of what he was holding.

The top two officers in the Second Army stared at each other for several long moments.

“I will consider the request. Dismissed. Both of you.”

“Moy soverennyi.” They said with a bow, but he had already turned his back.

Aleksander did not get to sleep that night.

When morning came he stood outside to see the newly appointed Major off to the front.

“Hold.” He instructed the coach driver in his perch.

“Ivan. I’ve come to a decision about your request. You will escort our Major to the front and are granted two weeks of leave to do so.”

Ivan struggled to suppress his surprise.

“However I’ve detailed an itinerary for the return trip. It’s been too long since I have been to outposts in that area directly. Once in Tsibeya, you will travel the rest of the Fjerdan front and our holdings along the Fold. You are to visit for a total of 4 or 5 days at each camp and report back to me. I want to know which camps are low on resources, which have become sloppy, areas of improvement and any developments. No detail is too small. I want to names. I want recommendations.”

It was Fedyor who composed himself first. “Perhaps you should go pack quickly, Lieutenant.”

“Of course.” Ivan said, “General, thank you for the opportunity.”

The General gave him a curt nod and the two men in red disappeared.

Though his plans skewed sideways, Aleksander managed to secure what he needed. Peace. Solitude.

No one around to witness the attempt to tame what Alina set free inside of him. His wretched Sun Summoner.

His life had been nomadic for so long. Even as a General he never stayed in the same place longer than a month unless it was necessary. With Ivan as his eyes and ears on the ground, Aleksander was free to remain in the Little Palace for the winter.

He saw few people, spoke to fewer still except when required to request food or have a bath drawn, a letter sent. The Royal Family retreated to the Southern Palace for winter and took their share of the War Council with them. This suited him quite well. Communication over correspondence was easier when it came to strong-arming the tactics. Not that the King’s men bothered much to engage with the war over the winter. That was for the Second Army General and First Army commanders to sort out. The King would take the credit for the victories or redirect the blame accordingly.

Even with the solitude, sleep was difficult to come by. He felt as if he had been running great distances for months on end; his body in a constant state of awareness only to find the coal bucket empty and the engine slowing to a crawl.

More frequently he stayed confined to his quarters, conducting his work at odd hours when he felt he could concentrate. Other times he stared unseeing out the window and over the grounds. Grisha children played and trained under the tutelage of the older students and soldiers on leave. Their voices carried up from the grounds and for the first time in memory he paused to listen to their conversations. Simply for the sake of his own curiosity.

He did not interact with them and sooner or later, the malaise would set in and his mind would be lost to the present once more.

Most nights Aleksander found himself sat by the fireplace in his arm chair with a nightcap.

On this night he was kept awake reviewing the reports Ivan sent him on a daily basis. Thorough work. Exemplary work. Aleksander sighed.

One week and a half to enjoy together and then split apart for an undetermined amount of time. During a war, no less.

Ivan made no mention of his assignment, nor Fedyor’s. News from Fedyor, though slightly less formal, was no less professional.

He wondered to himself at his ability to control two such destinies as theirs, one letter from each of them in each of his hands. He considered the power he wielded over them so successfully. So easily.

A very small darkness in him purred at his own actions even as the rest of him could not stop fretting over the decision.

Was it necessary to have done this? He never would have cared before.

Fedyor was proving to be an excellent leader for an otherwise miserable post. Ivan was somehow more thorough and likely more suspicious than even the General so he could have no concerns about the strategy behind in their placements on the board of this war.

But was it necessary to remove either man from their stations in order to keep them apart? Specifically to keep them apart to spite his most loyal Lieutenant?

It was getting difficult to remember why this had all started. He never would have cared before.

“Hello Aleksander.”

He closed his eyes at the sound of her whispered greeting.

Could she have picked any other night? Any other than this one?

“Why do you haunt me when I feel at my weakest to defend myself?” He asked.

“You are always droll when we meet. First I am your demon and now I am your ghost.”

Months he sat wrecked in this very room wishing for her to call to him. Not daring touch the tether himself but simply hoping she wanted to see him.

How was she here?

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. It stole his breath to see her shy smile and he mourned again how weak he had become.

“You’re radiant.” He was flat-toned and sparse in his review but his eyes swallowed up every detail from her elegant, styled hair to the glittering gold necklace draped across her collarbone.

She arrived half undressed for the evening with only a boning corset and thin layer of skirts which would typically be hidden under a fine dress of silk. They were cream colored and plain and it was with added misery that he noted she had a soft glow about her.

A vague nudge in his brain hinted that he was curious about her evening activities but he found he did not have the energy to pester her. Not tonight.

She looked on him with concern and then came to kneel before him, resting her chin on his knee. He exhaled.

“I have never seen your feet before.” Her tone was amused and interested. Looking down at his bare feet peeking out from the large fur he pulled around himself before taking a seat by the fire.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, resigned to let her do all the talking for a change.

“Do you know what tonight is?” She asked.

Hair fell into her face and he brushed it back.

“I admit I don’t.”

His voice was gruff with disuse and she sat quietly contemplating his mood.

“Have you received bad news?”

Alina cast a curious eye on the letters from his two Heartrenders, held loose in his hand and quite close to her face.

He started and quickly folded them up.

At the movement she pulled away from him lest she catch a knee to the chin.

“Did you come here simply to investigate my affairs and then flit away again for another year?” He snapped, throwing the letters outside of his reach and consequently outside her view.

“O-Of course not—“

“Then why have you come?” He demanded.

She opened and closed her mouth, unwilling to voice the obvious.

If Alina was here, it was because he was the one who called to her. She answered.

Aleksander took a deep breath and pulled the furs tighter around himself. He thought of the letters, the pair of Heartrenders, the unbearable sadness he felt now and looked away from her in shame.

Now she was here, the thought of her discovering his ill-conceived retribution on Ivan was deeply distressing. Why tonight of all nights?

“It’s been many nights since I have seen you awake in my visits.” Her voice was so soft, so timid.

His sadness expanded under the weight of the implication. He had been calling to her in his sleep. Who knows how many times in the last few months.

She answered.

She answered and still she never called to him.

He thought about opening his mouth to speak but his jaw did not want to move. Eyes fixed on the night sky out the window.

He felt her move close again. A small hand reaching under the furs to find his.

“You need sleep.” She pulled him to his feet. When he realized she wasn’t letting go, he tightened his own grip and walked her to his bed. His fur fell away, exposing his chest and black sleep trousers.

With hesitation, he lay his head on his pillow, looking almost as if he wasn’t sure if he was using it correctly. She exhaled a soft laugh and smiled, climbing into the bed.

Alina situated herself against the headboard, maneuvering his pillow into her lap and stroked over his bare shoulder and down his back. She gathered his torso in her arms, folding herself over him possessively.

Aleksander squeezed his eyes shut, his own arms circling her thighs and pulling her to him.

She hummed her pleasure.

To be touched so freely, so thoroughly was his undoing. Part of his life-force returned to him at her touch and he held her small body tighter around him. She did not seem to mind.

“Why do you never call me to you, moya solnyshka?”

He could not see her face for which they were both glad while she thought about how to answer him.

“It would not be wise.” She said eventually.

The rejection burned. She must have felt it.

“If I brought you to me each time I wanted you, I would not let you leave.”

His insides cooled. It did not change his demeanor but she smoothed the edges with her words. She was not sure that she should have said it.

“Then it is cruel of you to stay away.”

She laughed. “Good.”

“Good? Good that you are cruel to me?”

His eyes turned to look up at her. A teasing smile alighted her face as she leaned over him.

“Yes. I sometimes think you confuse cruelty with justice. This world has been unjust to you so you deliver it your cruelty. It is good for you to feel this difference.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. It made him look so young to her that she chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You think it is your role to teach me such lessons?”

“Would you listen to anyone else?”

His eyes narrowed at her. “If you asked me to listen to someone else, I would consider it.”

She blushed. Outside it was cold and dark and the world was scarred with the cruel things he had wrought. But right now his little sun was here and she was gently giddy and she relished holding him as no one had in several lifetimes.

He reached a hand up to tangle in her hair and brought her lips to his. They were soft. Her pulse thrummed under his palm and he smiled that he did not need to be a Heartrender to know her rhythm in that second.

“You say sweet things sometimes.” She stroked his brow with her pinky. “Be wary of the man who has sweet words and sour actions.” She said this to him in a wisened, deep voice, finishing with a giggle.

“Just what devilish proverb is that your casting over my bedsheets?”

She tilted her head back with mirth, “That is a Pabelism.”

“Am I supposed to understand this phrase?” She beamed down at him as her eyes danced with a private joke.

“Just a man named Pabel who taught me one or two or two million things like that when I was younger.”

He quirked his eyebrows at her, “Hmm. Sounds like the opposite of the things my mother would say. Where your Pabel warns you away from such a vagrant, Baghra would likely make the same man a job offer.”

Her cackle surprised him, “I’m sorry. It’s just…that is funnier than you know.”

The gaudy necklace chose that moment to come loose from her neck and she clutched it back to her sternum before it could fall.

“Sorry about that.” She let it drop into her hand and a moment later, it was gone. Presumably dumped next to her in whatever place her real body lay at the moment.

Aleksander remembered again that she was not truly there. It unnerved him.

Perhaps he already felt the loneliness of the Little Palace before now but with her light here, it cast bigger shadows and he grew fearful of its absence.

“Alina.” His fingertips trailed the outline where her necklace just lay, “Where were you tonight?”

“Aleks—“

“Don’t—“ He brushed his fingers over her lips and his voice was softer than it had ever been when he asked, “No specifics necessary. Just—It makes me crazy at times how little I know about your days and your nights. I want to picture them. I want to picture you as you are in real life.”

She still looked unsure.

He sat up. “You see me here, Alina.” He gestured around himself. “You know the Little Palace. You could name several members of my guard and soldiers. You’ve seen meetings in my War Room and you have watched me pay courtesy to the bloody King and Court.”

His voice cracked with the volume and he lowered it again, not wanting to frighten her. “As if that were not enough, you see me sleep. Do you know how maddening this is?”

He did look mad on this night. His long hair was wild and fell in thick sheets around his shoulders. The bags under his eyes and pallor of his skin told her that he was neither sleeping nor eating well. His chest which was bare now without the protection of his furs also seemed somewhat more lean. A clear loss of muscle mass and strength. It was easily the most vulnerable she had ever seen him.

Alina looked more conflicted than ever which he hoped meant that she at least wanted to share something with him. Her hands fidgeted with his, picking at callouses in his palm.

“I want to see you in the sunlight. And if you will not allow me that right now, I want to imagine you there.”

He was speaking soft, kissing her hair.

“This is why it is hard to see you,” she whispered. “I want to share these things with you. But we are not there yet.”

“You still are not convinced of my devotion to you? You do not trust that I will be on your side in whatever you do?”

“No. It is not that at all. You do not see it because you are here. You are running an army and behaving like a General and carrying out orders for a King on the opposite side of the Fold from me. W-We are world’s apart, Aleksander.”

She was being reticent again, saying only a fraction of what she was thinking.

Where his hand was lax in her grip, he now curled it around her fingers.

“That is why I want to begin to do things together. You could show yourself—come out of hiding and show the world that the Sun Summoner is no mere rumor. She is more than a mythical saint who delivers nameless people from certain death. You and I could show all of Ravka the power we two can harness. We can lead Grisha everywhere out of hiding and into true sanctuary.”

His brain and body were alive with energy for the first time since this horrible winter set in. The intensity of it was channeled through his eyes where he held her gaze.

“No, Sasha. We cannot. I-I cannot. Not now.”

“But why, Alina?” He gripped her arms, willing to shake the information loose from her lips but she merely stared back at him with a pained look.

“Everything is different on my side of the Fold. I cannot explain everything right now but I will someday, I promise you that. One day I will share everything with you and we will not keep anything from each other.”

“And should I decide to come to that side of the Fold of my own accord?”

It wasn’t a threat. At least she wanted to believe it was not but his demeanor shifted into that of the General beginning negotiations.

She frowned. “I would ask you to consider that your are not the only one who plans for a better future for Grisha. I have plans of my own in motion. Plans that will turn to ruin if they are disrupted by the revelation of my identity as the Sun Summoner—or by the attentions of the Shadow Summoner.”

He stared hard at her, eyes wide, willing to read her secrets through her very skull.

She continued, “You should also know on this side of the Fold, there are those you have harmed who would seek retaliation on you. I do not know that I can stop them.”

His eyes hardened as he looked at her, a haughty expression stealing him away.

“Those I have harmed? Who exactly do you mean?”

She sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “Does it matter? I do not think you notice or think of it as harm. You do things as a General in war and those actions hurt people. People who are dear to me.”

“Tell me which people are dear to you and I will see that it is stopped.”

“Do not mock me.”

“Perhaps you could draft a list? First and last names please, followed by their exact locations and their specific relationship to you.”

She glared at him, “You know, for as long as I have desired you and wanted to keep you for myself, you have made it very difficult for me to be able to do so in good conscious. It seems that you do nothing but set up more obstacles for us.”

He sighed, running a hand over her hair in supplication. “Surely you can meet me halfway on this, Alina. Tell me how to make things right for us right now and I will do everything in my power to see it through. You cannot leave me in the dark forever.”

“I do not want to leave you anywhere but you are asking me to give you all the answers to how to be good. I cannot lead you out of the dark with my light alone. You have your own light in you.” She poked at his chest. “One which you have neglected for far, far too long. I cannot unearth it for you.”

If he did not think she might disappear on principle, he would have rolled his eyes at her. Dramatically. Still he couldn’t contain every speck of annoyance from crossing his features.

She held his face in her hands, willing him to hear her. “You think I am being trite but I am not. You have a light that is your own inside yourself. You have to be willing to find it. Just as I have found my own darkness within me.”

She could tell this intrigued him. If she could provide him some measure of comfort, it would be the knowledge that she was not the Sainted Sankta, untouchable and untarnished. She was not better than, just different.

“What darkness have you found?” He was worried for her. She looked away, nervous to divulge too much.

“I have learned of some kinds of darkness. I have seen its uses and I have exerted them when I had no other option.”

“The girl I knew looked on darkness and thought it blasphemy.” He was sardonic and baiting her with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“I could not have remained the naive girl you once knew.”

“What changed?” His tone was flat but she felt his temper building under the surface.

“When we were here together all those years ago, when I found out who you were and what you had done; The Fold, the creation of an army, a dozen deaths and a dozen resurrections of yourself—I was…intrigued.”

Aleksander sat back from her, kneeling and leaned away. “‘Intrigued’, is it? Not ‘repulsed’? Not ‘horrified’? Because I believe those were words you used then—“

Alina cringed at the memory, “I remember what I said.” She cut him off before his temper could derail them.

“I am sorry. What I know now is that you are not what frightens me. I feel the suffering of our people and I have heard their stories and seen their scars every day of my life. What truly frightened me then and what frightens me now is how easily I could sink into vengeance myself, same as you.”

His mind could not process. The place in his head in which Alina lived, an Alina full of brightness and charm and grace, could not also harbor the urge to plot, to maim, to rule over otkazat’sya lives in the same way his blood thirsted for it.

He told her as much. “You do not know what it is to seek vengeance nor retribution. You're practically still a child. You could not know the depths of pain that would drive you to see a thousand otkazat’sya lives crushed beneath your boots. When they look upon your little sunbeams they will weep and bow and worship you for them as equally as they have punished me for my shadows. Do not compare your vengeance to mine. You will never have to know the terror and impotence of watching a gang of otkazat’sya rape and torture and mutilate while your hands are bound.”

She laughed at him. An empty, pitying laugh.

That stoked his ire to breaking point. He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her to his face.

Through gritted teeth he snarled at her. “Do not mock me now, Alina. It is one thing to withhold your saint-given light from me. That is your right. But do not pretend to own a sliver of my darkness in you. I earned it. I bled for it. I watched thousands of Grisha bleed for it.”

Far from being frightened at this outburst she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead into his.

“You are starting to understand. This is what I am trying to telling you. I am not claiming to own your darkness. It is not your darkness or your shadows in me. They are my own. Born of my own experiences.”

Her eyes lifted to his. His grip on her hair had loosened. “You cannot be my teacher in darkness because I cannot allow you to get close to the darkness I harbor. It is mine to discover and understand and tame. When I am around you, you pull them out of me, Sasha. Just as my light calls out the light in you. Have you not felt it in yourself?”

He said nothing. He thought of his insanity. His madness. The rage, the desire, the unbearable sadness he was currently struggling to escape. Was this his light? He had never felt so acutely. It would be fitting that his light did little else but illuminate his pain.

“I have hope that one day we are strong enough to wield both within ourselves but right now I am afraid of dragging you down a moral path you do not wish to be on just as I am afraid you will lead me down a dark road that is not my own. Do you see now what would happen if we came together before both of us were ready? You would come to believe there was no goodness in you without me and I would blame you for the wrath that I harbor even if it is my own.

“We would hate each other in the end. I’ve already told you I cannot let that happen.” She whispered.

“Say something.” She brushed her palms over his head.

When he found it, his voice was husky.

“Leave.”

“Aleksander,” Her hands landed his shoulders.

He tried to pull away from her. She pulled him back.

He surprised her by gripping her jaw in his palm, his breath was hot on her face.

“No. Fuck your plans. Fuck your light.” He looked at her like a caged beast and his skin was emanating heat, “You denied me my own justice years ago when you would not stay with me and now you casually seek to exact the same retribution. How fucking noble of you.”

She yanked her jaw from his grip and pushed at his chest.

“Do not blame me for the flaws in your plan, you saints-forsaken fool. You are the one who hinged everything on controlling a person who you did not know and had not met. Fuck you and fuck your plan. You’re no better than the otkazat’sya who would trade me into indentured servitude.”

Shadows were pouring out of him and she knew the motion for the Cut on instinct. His eyes were wild with rage and she took a chance, snagging one of his wrists in each hand before he could release the blade. She tackled him to his back on the bed where she kept him pinned.

Both of them were panting as she perched over him.

“The Cut? Saints, Sasha. What were you going to do if that actually killed me?”

“We both know it wouldn’t have,” he growled. His wild eyes roamed her face. “Best case, it would have severed our connection and I could get some bloody peace for once. I could finally think.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Though he could overpower her, even he was frightened of his actions and couldn’t bring himself to move.

He felt her hands loosen their grip on his wrists.

“You’re right.” Her weight shifted off of him and he opened his eyes to see her holding her knees to her chest on the bed beside him.

“It is selfish to keep coming back here when I know I am not ready.”

Aleksander watched her with wary eyes.

“We should go back to how things were before. It’s cleaner.”

He was breathing deeply, willing words to come out of his mouth but his jaw wouldn’t move anymore. The energy that she brought with her, the energy that invigorated him like nothing else had this entire winter, was evaporating with her. His personal setting sun. Everything was happening quick. It always was with them. He had no words.

“Just—“ She closed her eyes and then opened them to meet his, they glistened with unshed tears. He wished he could feel something.

He did a little. But it was far away from him. Like a pebble thrown into the depths of a cave, hitting the stone walls and bouncing on the ground before going quiet.

“Everything I do, I am doing it for our people. Yours and mine. And maybe it is vain but I hope that in the end you will truly see me as your equal. Even if you end up hating me for eternity. I think I could endure your hatred so long as I still had your respect, at least.”

His eyes did not blink. He needed to see her fade out of existence.

Even when he was alone, he didn’t move. He could not bring himself to shift his head onto the pillow. He stared the same direction he had been staring, only now that she was gone, he had a clear view of the night sky outside.

It was an oppressive kind of dark outside. This was especially notable given his room was painted in his own black shadows.

“Do you know what tonight is?” Alina had asked him that early on.

It came to him then, though he should have known sooner.

It was the longest night, the darkest night of entire year. The winter solstice.

[feathered-serpents]

The Official Post About the TMA Dragon Age AU

I talked about this before but have now finally made a long ass post with everyone’s roles + past roles but cleaned up. I love TMA and Dragon Age just That Much (Only the first couple descriptions are Super Long and the rest are under the cut) 

(If there’s typos in this I’m sorry this has been in my wips for so long I’m so TIRED OF LOOKING AT IT) 

The Tower

All Circles of Magi are governed differently depending on the templars that run them, this circle is known for having some...odd practices. The mages within are largely tasked with the study of the more “forbidden” practices. Especially the Fade and demons. They’ve become known for their expertise in this area, and reports of demonic possessions or any other “dark and forbidden” occurrence is brought to them.

This is done with the Chantry’s consent, with the belief that the understanding of such things is the best method to learning to combat them, but it has given this Circle a bit of a reputation among the rest. It is allowed by the Chantry under the assurance all research is done under Knight Commander Elias’ strict supervision, and all findings are given directly to him.

The tower itself is particularly tall, and has a glassy structure at the top that can be used as a viewpoint. Those passing by it and the few that live near find its gaze unnerving, gaining it the name “The Eye.”

Jon

Jon is an elven man, not unskilled in magic, but not nearly the skill level one would expect of the newly appointed First Enchanter of the circle. There were several mages more senior than him who could’ve easily taken the position after the previous Enchanter’s death, and no one is more aware of this than Jon himself. The obvious doubt coming from his fellow mages has not at all helped to ease the pressure of this sudden change in rank. Nor has the arrival of an apostate, allowed to enter the circle under the approval of Elias, and without any consent from Jon.

Regardless, Jon takes his role as First Enchanter incredibly seriously, trying his hardest to fill a role much to big for him. He has to, he owes Elias so much. 

Jon has been in the Circle since he was eight years old, far younger than most find themselves gifted with magic. Jon might have still been able to live outside a Circle for a few more years had it not been for the “incident in his village.” Never has anyone in the Circle heard him speak of it, Jon himself giving no indication that anything of the severity of what happened occurred, but Elias knows. 

Any other Circle would have executed him instantly for what he did. Child or not, the whole village saw how he summoned a demon to kill a boy in his village. Sometimes evil is simply bred from birth. But Elias took him in, and has not whispered a word of it. 

Martin 

A half-elven man, though Martin is an example of the rare scenario in which a half-elf looks more elven than human. His father the elf, and his mother the human, his father walked out on their family when his mother began to show signs of some sort of illness. Martin was too young to remember him, but his abandonment left his mother with a deep bitterness towards Martin and all elves, something he had to quietly live with. 

Martin has, unlike most mages, lived the majority of his life outside a Circle. He began to show signs of magic when he was fifteen, and disappeared from normal life because of it. Doing his best to go unnoticed so he could continue to live outside of a Circle and care for his mother. Martin never used his magic openly, even going as far as to conceal it from his mother, but he did use it to assist him in making potions to ease her pain as her illness worsened. To this day, he does not know his true magic talents, if he has any beyond potion brewing at all. 

He was only recently turned over to the Circle after ten years of life as an apostate. He doesn’t know how he was discovered, and has had trouble adjusting to life inside a Circle. Where he’s under constant supervision and his First Enchanter determined to hate him for his “dangerous lack of skill.”  

Tim

Tim doesn’t seem to take the study of magic nor the practices of the Circle seriously. He constantly toes the line of what’s “allowed” in a circle tower, making him the bane of the Templars and a controversial figure among the mages. Some say his antics are fun, while others say it brings on unneeded- and unwanted- Templar attention. 

The reality of it is that Tim is actually a very skilled mage, always surprising people with what he knows, and he hates the Circle to his core. He and his brother both were mages, taken from their home young, and when the time came for their Harrowing, the proving that they are able to master their magic, and will not be a danger, Tim passed, and his brother did not. 

Sasha

A talented mage, and many believe, if the Knight Commander was going to chose such a young mage to be the new first enchanter, it should have been her. If Sasha herself is disappointed, she doesn’t show it, what is she going to do about it? No, Sasha would rather focus on keeping herself busy, she’s in a tower after all, it can feel very small very quickly if you don’t have something to do.

She is one of the tower’s most prized researchers, and she is particularly fearless in their studies in demonology, and while he hasn’t made her First Enchanter, Elias has indeed taken quite an interest in her. 

Daisy and Basira 

Two of the most notorious Templars in the tower. “Daisy” as she is called by her partner, is the Knight Captain, one step below Commander. Elias keeps a frighteningly tight hold on all the Templars below him, but he especially seems to have quite the hold over her. She is feared by the mages, as she is known for dealing the harshest punishments. Her gaze is inescapable, the mages say she stalks the halls of the Tower like some hungry animal, waiting for your single misstep, her excuse to strike. 

Basira is often seen with her, and while she isn’t held on as tight a leash nor is she as cruel, she never speaks up against her partner’s actions. Making her no more favorable in the mages’ eyes. 

Georgie 

A Chantry scholar, with an interest in the study of the occult, anything forbidden caught her eye, this made her a bit of an outcast amongst her fellow sisters. But what did she care? Georgie’s research eventually lead to her briefly gaining the ability to study in the Eye, she being one of the very, very few to willingly seek out and ask for entrance into the tower. She was allowed, but just barely. She was permitted to study in the library under only the strict supervision of the templars as well as assistance from a tower mage. This assistant, came in the form of an Enchanter by the name of Jon. 

He did indeed help her with her studies and in the process the two formed a romantic relationship that they were able to carry on in secret for quite some time. They were both smart enough to be very, very careful, and carried the relationship almost exclusively through notes and whispers, it was thrilling for a time, but where could it go? The relationship ended, as one could argue it was always doomed to, and the two have not seen each other since. 

Georgie did go on to publish some of her studies in books. Several of her works were banned by the Chantry, but they have earned her a bit of notoriety, and just might have found their way into the tower’s library. 

Melanie

An apostate, like most apostates, one that never stays in one place for long. The Chantry IS aware of her, as she tends to leave, at least in their words “a path of destruction” in her wake. 

The reality of it isn’t as dire, but she is more than willing to use her magic to defend herself, and that magic might become a bit untamed if she’s angry, and she might be angry often. What? Wouldn’t you be? She’s never known another way to be, never known another way to stay safe. She doesn’t like it. She knows this is all because one woman said one line hundreds of years ago, and people have decided to damn her for it. She didn’t have to live like this. Wouldn’t you be angry? 

Elias 

Knight Commander of the Eye. All things considered, he is a rather...lenient Commander, selectively at least. He is known for being especially merciful towards apostates, while many Knight Commanders execute adult mages that have thus far lived outside of a circle for their “danger to the tower mages” Commander Elias will take them in, and offer them a place in his tower. It doesn’t exactly matter what goes on IN the tower after that, at least those mages are allowed to live somewhere. 

Of course, mages in the tower tend to go missing often, but who outside is going to notice? 

He claims that the research he has the mages doing on the Fade and demons is known and approved by the Chantry, but the reality is if the Chantry knew exactly what went on inside this tower, and what was being allowed, his Circle would be annulled in an instant, and Elias is well, well, aware of it. But what’s the worry? So long as he is Knight Commander, the Chantry will never find out, he’s quite proud of his ability to forge reports. 

The realities of Elias’ existence are far, far worse than anyone can imagine. Elias is one of the original Tevinter mages that sought to enter the Fade, extending his life through grizzly, hellish blood magic. Thousands of years ago, he and his fellow mages entered the fade to take their place on the throne of the Golden City, but we all know the story, there was no throne, and the city was black. 

But what destroyed Elias’ fellow magisters sparked something in him. Oh, there was a city, empty and godless, with a bare throne for the taking. Whoever sits in it, becomes the god of this world and whatever world comes after. This is what the Eye is truly researching, a way back in, a way for Elias to wear the crown of the gods. 

[bidnezz]

Revenant [1/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary: 

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Something to note: This fic is extremely AU. I've fitted a lot of events that we know to be canon (such as dates of events happening) to fit my story, and the past events happened around the early 1900's, until present canon time. There are also many mentions of blood and wounds and lots of death in the fic, so please be wary if that's a no for you!

Chapter One

Rushing residents and evening traffic fills the bustling streets of New York as the surrounding sky begins to darken with the dusk of the setting sun. Nightlife begins as shadows emerge from the alleyways, and doors that lead to no good open with the creak of bad decisions. The Downworld rises to the occasion, drinks in-hand and smiles plastered. So, too, do the Nephilim of the New York Institute who patrol the streets to keep tabs on those unknowing of the dangers that lurk in the dark.

Alexander Lightwood stands alone, weighted with shoulders heavy and nervous energy surrounding him in his new office. 

Head of the Institute.

The words roll around his tongue, foreign in his mouth but synonymous with him now. It feels… odd. But welcome.

A knock brings him back, a light rapping of knuckles on the thick wooden door, followed by ebony hair and dark red lips encasing a grin that could only belong to his sister. “Alec,” she calls, her grin turning wry. “Or should I say Head of the Institute?”

“I’ve seen the position lost to better people than I, let’s not jinx this.” 

“People? Yes. Leaders?” Isabelle pauses for effect as she strides towards Alec, a dramatic flair he knows to always expect. “I haven’t seen a leader yet, more deserving than you, dear brother. You can be happy for yourself, Alec. Smile, gloat, live a little. Even in the confines of this tiny room.”

Hard as he tries, Alec can’t reign in the small smile that curves his lips. He won’t gloat, he won’t yell and cheer and celebrate. That’s not him. But he will allow himself to feel pride and happiness in this small moment in time with his sister, and he’ll lock it away as a cherished memory to strengthen their bond. This is a turning point for him, a chance to uphold the Lightwood name and make his parents proud. Finally, a chance for them to see exactly the type of leader they raised, a chance to prove that it was all worth it - will be worth it. A chance for him to look upon his mother’s face and for once see something other than barely concealed disappointment and contempt.

“Hey buddy,” A low rasp calls from the opened door to the office. Jace rests against the curved door frame, arms crossed and wide smile dimpling his cheeks. “Oh,” he starts, adjusting his posture to stand perfectly upright as he offers a small salute to Alec. “I guess I should be more proper in front of our new leader, eh?”

The twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile devolves into a shit-eating grin only pulls a small chuckle from Alec, and he reaches his arm out to grip Jace’s as he’s pulled into a rough, brotherly hug. It’s warm, comforting, and when Isabelle joins in - complete.

Right here, right now… this is the turning point for Alec. No more failing, no more letting anyone down. This is where his new life as a leader begins, where everything he’s worked towards shifts into what it was always meant to be. This is what he was born for.

So then why does it feel so empty?

There's a gnawing inside of his chest, a cavern of muddled introspection and half understanding. The goal was always this, the finish line has been crossed and his direction never clearer. But under the anxiety of being freshly anointed, if Alec were to peel away the layers of doubt and worry until he’s viewing his own satisfied ego, what else would he see? Happiness, of course, to some extent. Nothing more, and nothing less. Unfulfilled pockets inside of him that yearn in wonder, and desire for something more.

A mother’s love, perhaps. To be accepted and finally seen as enough. 

Yes. An affirmation from Maryse Lightwood herself, and Alec’s sure he’ll feel that last puzzle piece locked into place. ‘But for now,’ Alec thinks to himself as he watches Isabelle and Jace enraptured in a hilarious conversation no doubt at his expense, ‘I’ve got all I need right in front of me.’

With his day just beginning in the blossoming night, Alec prepares himself for the duties and responsibilities that lie ahead of him. 

On the other side of New York as the darkness creeps heavier, something more sinister begins to tear at the fabric that separates their realm from the rest.

---

A chime echoes through the halls of the Institute odd hours later, only a precursor to the dull bang as the wooden doors slam open to reveal a crowd of people in disarray. Alec, bent over a table in the main hall with the city’s layout and a small group of Shadowhunters, turns at the commotion brow raised and senses on alert.

“There’s a demon!” someone in the jumbled mess of bodies hurtling towards Alec proclaims. 

“He’s strong - too strong,” another one says with a gasp.

Jace steps forward, hand on the hilt of his seraph blade, the other on his stele. Prepared for battle, ready for a fight. “Where?”

Three voices begin to clamor all at once in a disastrous explanation that prompts Alec to step forward and raise a calming hand in the air. The voices stop, and Jace turns to him with a question at the ready. “One at a time or we won’t get anywhere. You,” Alec points towards the least frantic Shadowhunter of the trio, “what happened?”

The man winces as he takes a step forward, favoring the right side of his body. Red stains his clothes; it paints his pale face and each of his limbs. It’s blood, Alec notes easily, dried and congealing in some spots no doubt from the cold autumn wind on the way back to the Institute, but some of the wounds still bleed fresh. His blond hair is matted to his face with sweat and ichor and his lips are caked with a mixture of all three, none of it enough to hide the burgeoning purple bruises that are blooming on his face. If the man’s body trembles, Alec says nothing of it. 

“We were patrolling near Williamsburg,” the man begins, a slow nervous lilt to his voice. “There was an unusual spike in demon activity at dusk. We overheard residents saying it was a minor earthquake, but we didn’t believe that. We suspected it was related to the demons. And it was,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Alec and the room now filled with curious Shadowhunters. “There was a horde of them, Ravener demons. We thought it was just a basic attack, we didn’t know why they were there, but we prepared to get rid of them anyway. It was in the middle of our fight with the demons that someone else showed up-“

“Magnus Bane!” sputters the man in the middle, specks of red flying from his mouth and smattering the floor. “He’s back. He’s back and he’s here for revenge! That's what he told us!”

A gasp echoes in the silent halls of The Institute, followed by the low thrum of chatter as Shadowhunters begin to talk. To the side, Alec catches Isabelle’s gaze, stony and reserved in thought, but sparking with worry for the day’s sudden turn of events. 

“Let’s get you guys cleaned up and healed,” Alec steps forward, stele in hand and iratze on his tongue.

“I-It doesn’t work,” the blond man whispers, shaking his head and peering up at Alec with furrowed brows. “We hid in the alleyways and tried to heal. Perhaps it’s the poison from the ichor, but I suspect it’s tied to the magic that Magnus Bane hit us with that makes our healing runes null.”

More chatter from the crowd of people, louder this time, and Alec nods once before turning to the person on his left. “Clary, see to it that they’re taken care of and bandaged properly. Triple check healing runes and make sure we get a full analysis report on all your findings.” It’s an order given with a tone Alec hopes conveys exactly what he’s thinking. He needs to know what’s causing the iratze’s to not work, he needs to know if it’s just a reaction to the ichor or something altogether more threatening. More than that, however, he needs discretion. Kept under wraps, with only Alec and trusted company to know the answers. With the way Clary keeps his firm gaze and offers a single, silent nod, Alec’s sure she understands. 

“Everyone else,” Alec speaks, loud and commanding. “Back to your duties.”

The room pauses, wary and hesitant with the new information discovered and seeping into every conspiracy forming in the back of their minds. They want answers, they want clarity, they want knowledge that Alec doesn’t yet have. Resigned to knowing they won’t get any more than this, they file out slowly with soft whispers and bowed heads towards one another. 

It’s only several seconds later when he notices the hesitation spread across the injured Shadowhunter’s faces, a look shared between the three of them. They’re brimming with the words they want to speak, information they’ve withheld, just barely. Only, they’re scared and Alec’s not sure if it’s a result of the situation they’ve just encountered, or the consequences they think they’ll have to face. Quietly, Alec steps towards them and grants a reassuring nod.

“Sir, Magnus Bane-” the Shadowhunter’s words catch in his throat. Alec hasn’t heard this name in years, not since training, and it already feels exhausted. “He didn’t let us leave with our lives for nothing. He gave us a warning.” There’s another pause, ominous in nature and the patience Alec composes himself with is waning thinner and thinner by the second. 

“Go on,” Alec presses, voice carefully neutral.

“He wanted us to relay to you that this is a Downworlder affair, and for the Shadowhunters not to meddle unless they’re prepared to begin a war with Edom.”

The words come out in a single breath, rushed and trembling. He suspects it was infinitely more intimidating and terrifying than it sounds coming from three battered and bloodied Shadowhunters, but the message is clear: Don’t get involved.

“Thank you,” Alec finds himself saying, thoughts already trailing into a plan of action, mind already gearing for only two options. The first, to take an observer's role in this newfound issue of Downworld battles. The second, to raise alert to the Clave and begin to fortify the Institute for the foreseeable attack once involvement is inevitable. Or perhaps a third option is available, Alec speculates to himself. 

Diplomacy. 

There’s very little he knows of Magnus Bane, what scraps of information left of him are withheld in Clave documents. He’ll gather up what he can find, form a case to present to an angry, vengeful Greater Demon, and see if some sort of reasoning can be made.

With a sigh, Alec thumbs away the blooming headache from his temples and heads towards his office, doubt already sprouting up in the corners of his tenuous plans. Nothing is for certain, of course. Who’s to say Magnus Bane will be a reasonable man with the quivering display he left for Alec at the doors of the Institute. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s going to get to the bottom of what’s going on and take care of it personally, Greater Demon or not, New York is Alec’s city now. 

---

Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn for decades until his banishment to Edom at the beginning of the 1900’s, was frequently described as a hedonist. Reports on him vary from year to year. Some decades he remained under the radar, shielded from the eyes of the Clave. Others, he became notorious for begetting impish troubles between the classes. The only consistency found in any and all reports of the former High Warlock is the tendency towards extravagance and self-indulgence, with a craving for social gatherings.

Leaning back in his seat, Alec traces a finger along the case of his device and focuses on two words. 

High Warlock. 

He was obviously well-liked at some point in time, formidable enough to be deemed a worthy leader, and charismatic enough to be seen as an ambassador for other Warlocks. There must have been great strength at his hands, and greater support backing him to attain the level of priority that he gained.

So… what happened?

Power, clearly, and too much of it. The same Warlocks who hoisted him up petitioned to get him banished, cried his name in the streets of Brooklyn and swore his downfall.

And they made it happen.

Warlocks from all parts of New York flocked and rallied towards Brooklyn in hopes of seeing the demise of one Magnus Bane. Clave reports account for groups gathering outside of his apartment, banding together to peel away any protection shields cast up in defense. Among them, a leader: Lorenzo Rey.

The Clave watched from the shadows, vowed to not get involved in affairs they deemed less than worthy, but insisted on documenting it all. And Downworlders are the definition of unworthy in the Clave’s eyes. 

There’s a nagging in the back of Alec’s mind, a wonder if anyone tried to help, tried to stop it. If there was another way. 

But no, Downworlder affairs need not be meddled in, especially when Shadowhunters were never involved in the first place.

With a sigh, he sets down the reports and rubs at the bridge of his nose. What makes this situation any different? Magnus Bane threatened for Shadowhunters not to get involved. He sent a message back in the form of barely living soldiers who were just doing their duty, a message sent loud, but not so clear.

“Are you going to report this to the Clave?” Isabelle’s voice pierces through his thoughts, and Alec prides himself on only showing a fraction of surprise when he turns to face her.  

“Of course I am, Izzy. It’s my duty.”

His sister peers down at him from her spot on the corner of his desk, eyes scrutinizing every emotion that flickers across his face. She doesn’t seem appeased with whatever she finds. “You can wait if you want, Alec. You can see what happens next. Try your plans first and go to the Clave later with your findings.”

Alec scoffs. “And have my position rescinded for failure to uphold the most basic understanding of status? The Clave will know everything I know, because that is what is right. They’ll know the best course of action, because they know Magnus Bane and what he’s capable of.”

Isabelle watches him for several long moments, trying to read for any hint of something to give away any of the thoughts running through Alec’s head. When she receives nothing, she nods and reaches for the handheld with the last report Alec was reading, and holds it in front of herself. She skims the words on the page, traces a slow finger from picture to picture, before settling on one that she sets down in front of Alec with a smile.

“You know, for a Greater Demon who’s here to enact his revenge on the Downworlders, he’s actually quite handsome.” Her lips pull into a smirk, and her eyes await a reaction, but Alec gives her none. He simply shrugs and locks the screen of the handheld. “He was, at least. Who knows what he looks like now after a hundred years in Edom.”

And honestly, the last thing Alec wants to focus on is the physical features of a Demon here to cause chaos. He doesn’t want to think about the picture of Magnus Bane in Clave documents, drink in hand and that perfectly tailored suit fitting his body, smiling at the photographer with his dark-rimmed eyes. It doesn’t matter what Magnus Bane looked like then, or even now. The only thing that matters now is the information he’s managed to scrounge up from every instance of this Demon’s name in Clave history, and how he can use that knowledge to his advantage. 

Magnus Bane was cunning, sneaky, and smart in the early 1900’s. He was dangerous then, and Alec’s not going to believe that Edom did anything but magnify that danger after a century of letting his anger fester.

---

Moonlight spills through the windows, casts soft light along the path Alex takes as he makes his way, resigned, towards the infirmary. 

The halls of the Institute are sparse with Shadowhunters now gathered in the training hall and library in hopes of strengthening themselves for whatever battle they foresee coming. It’s all for naught, Alec thinks to himself as he recounts the lackluster conversation that transpired between him and his parents just an hour ago, accompanied by Inquisitor Herondale. 

“You’re to remain on the outside and cease any and all involvement in these Downworlder... squabbles.” Herondale’s voice had cut sharp and left no room for questions. Squabbles. That’s the extent that the Clave had watered this threat down to. A Greater Demon, capable of stripping away their ability to heal without the use of mundane technology. A Downworld squabble. 

“Alec,” his mother’s stern voice had cut in, low and severe, “you need to make it absolutely clear to everyone that they are not to expose themselves to any fight that Magnus Bane chooses to partake in. Any patrolling Shadowhunters are there for one reason, and one reason only. To observe and record.”

Yes, to observe and record. To keep an account of what happened for Clave history. More ammunition for Shadowhunters to keep themselves separated from Downworlders, and information to add to the files of warlocks the Clave already suspects are dangerous. Fuel to the fire, all wrapped up in the innocent guise of history.

It doesn’t sit well with Alec, being a bystander to the havoc a furious Greater Demon might cause. The Clave won’t step in, they won’t be a helping hand in all of this, and Alec hates to sit on the sidelines of what could possibly be the worst decision in the history of the Accords. 

But the Clave has the final say on any Shadowhunter involvement in Downworld affairs. The Clave is every bit as responsible as Alec for whatever presides in Brooklyn in the coming days. The Clave doesn’t want to stop Magnus Bane, so why should Alec?

Alec’s fingers wrap around the cool metal of the door handle when he remembers his mother’s face, the expression she wore so unabashedly in front of him. Disappointment so thinly veiled underneath all of that carefully crafted apathy. Disappointment for the way Alec offered his solutions to Inquisitor Herondale? Disappointment in the way Alec questioned the motives of the Clave for hiding in the background when they could find an alternative to be part of the solution? Disappointment in Alec, for becoming Head of the Institute, clearly unprepared and unwelcome by even his own mother?

The smile that graced his mother’s features when he first saw her had been enough for the newly awakened pride inside of him, seeking the tiniest shred of affirmation from his harshest critic. How short-lived it was. How quickly had that pride deflated into embarrassment when he began to speak of the attack from Magnus Bane and his mother’s eye shrouded themselves in disapproval.

Perhaps he could have done something differently today. He could have proceeded with a different plan of action that would have appeased Herondale’s thirst for non-consequential knowledge, if he had only known. But now he does, and though redemption is not far off, it’s going to be an uphill battle. 

He’ll do better.

With a steadying breath, Alec pushes open the wooden doors to the infirmary and steps in.

There’s the distinct sterile scent of Iodine, and far more lines of IV that are hooked up than Alec is used to seeing. They’re a back up, mostly, for when an iratze isn’t enough, or the wounds are too infected with ichor to properly heal, but even then…

The click-clack of heels on tile brings his focus to the lithe redhead who steps towards him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. 

“It’s not the ichor,” Clary begins, wasting no time. She’s worked with Alec long enough to know he doesn’t think highly of beating around the bush or dawdling. “I was able to analyze the blood samples enough that I could detect a magical signature on all of them. Bane, of course, but it seems that the magic is keeping the wounds from healing. They’re not re-opening, so to speak, but they aren’t clotting and the stitches I’ve made don’t seem to be helping the process either. They just,” Clary inhales a deep sigh, and expels a shaky breath. “They just bleed. Not enough to drain them completely, but enough to cause substantial blood loss. With how much they’ve already lost and how much more they’re going to lose, they’re going to need several transfusions just to stay alive.”

Alec turns to face one of the Shadowhunters laying on the cold, white bed. There are bandages around his arms, patches of gauze scattered across his body and face and butterfly bandages to keep small wounds closed. But for every bandage, for every strip of white, there’s red that blots it. Small beads of blood that pool at each line of cuts until they brim over and cascade in a slow and steady spill of red that stains the sheets beneath. 

Three Shadowhunters in critical care, while not a huge blow, only paves the way for bigger hits in the future if Alec chooses to stand in the way of Magnus Bane. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take, to bet it all on the unknown, to subject the very same people who put him in this position to the torturous death sentence of blood loss. 

“What are we going to do, Alec?”

Clary’s voice is soft when she speaks, uncertainty replacing the confidence and assertion he’s so used to hearing. Yes, three Shadowhunters isn’t a big loss, but it’s an omen chilling enough that he doesn’t want to cause panic and worry within the Institute.

“We stay quiet about this. If anyone asks, the ichor and magic is causing a unique reaction that you’re working on a remedy for. They’ll be fine.”

They’ll be fine.

Even to himself, Alec sounds scared.

“Maybe we need to find Magnus Bane, we could talk to him and ask - “

“Ask what?” Alec snaps his attention towards Clary, who frowns up at him.

With a calculated pause, she surveys the room’s occupants. “We can ask him what he’s here for, what he’s trying to gain from this.” 

“He wants whoever sealed him away in Edom to pay.”

Clary’s brows crinkle together, and her eyes focus as she undoubtedly tries to recollect any information on Magnus Bane she’s heard of over the years. There’s not much to remember, not much spoken through word of mouth besides cautionary tales and warnings on why Downworlders must always be watched. The real meat of the situation is hidden in the files of cases over the years. Cases that litter Alec’s desk, pages of text that have been ingrained into his mind.

“Maybe we could help him,” She offers, timidly.

“Help him?”

“I know it sounds crazy, us helping a Greater Demon,” Clary begins. “We work on keeping the Downworld in order so to speak, right? We make sure that danger doesn't seep through into mundane territory, and so far it is. We can seek out Magnus Bane, see why he’s after these people, who they are, and what he’s trying to achieve. Maybe… Maybe helping him will bring more peace than leaving him to his own devices.”

Clary’s not wrong, at least to Alec she isn’t. It’s the better option, to help Magnus Bane with whatever mission he’s steering towards so he can be done with it. Get him out of the way before it becomes a bigger issue with the Clave. 

But the Clave. 

“The Inquisitor doesn’t want that,” Alec explains tersely.

Clary rolls her eyes and wears a common expression of distaste so many around him always do when the Clave is involved. “They aren’t here, Alec. The Clave only cares about the Law, with no regard to how it actually applies to all of our lives in the Institute. You’re our leader now. I understand you report back to the Clave, but they don’t have to know. At least not yet.”

It’s a temptation Alec won’t entertain for longer than a brief second. Going against the Clave is not an option. They’ve been given orders, and he’ll make sure they follow them. 

“We will not go-“

Alec’s words are interrupted by the high-pitched ringing of his phone that he answers immediately.

“Isabelle?”

“Alec,” There’s a loud crash that crackles through the receiver of the phone that instantly sets him on high alert. “Alec, he’s here. Magnus Bane, he’s come to Hotel DuMort with an army of demons. You need to come!”

“Hotel DuMort? What are you even doing there, Isabelle? You were told to stay out of this, you shouldn’t be anywhere near other Downworlders with Magnus Bane around!”

“Jace and I came to -“

There’s silence as the phone loses connection, and Alec can’t help the involuntary reaction of slamming his empty fist into one of the unoccupied beds of the infirmary. “Fuck,” he spits out, before shoving the phone into his pocket and making his way towards the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Clary shouts as she rushes to his side.

“You will stay here and stick to the plan, Morgenstern,” Alec grits through his teeth. 

“There is no plan, Alec! I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs, giving people false hope when I can go with you and help.”

A moment of silence. A moment where Alec feels the heavy thud of his heartbeat in the palms of his hand where his fists are balled so tightly, before he exits the infirmary in quiet anger with Clary trailing behind him. 

---

There are screeches and screams that surround the Hotel DuMort as Alec and Clary gather closer. To mundanes, only quiet calm and the sounds of cars honking with idle engines fill the late night streets, but behind the screen of blissful oblivion lies something much darker, something far more inauspicious. 

Sparks of red shoot from one of the top floor windows, and Alec and Clary dodge the shards of glass that sprinkle down on them as they search for an entrance. Magic enchants the walls and tingles against Alec’s hand as he pushes through one of the side entrances not blocked off with deadbolts and hanging locks. It would be almost too easy for any mundane to just waltz in, and he’s sure under different circumstances this would be a red-flag for Hotel DuMort’s compliance with the Accords to be taken into question.

The room inside is dark and empty at first glance, but a gasp from Clary and the tip of his boots hitting something raised against the floor shows him that they’re not alone. 

A handful of lifeless bodies litter the floor in front of them, surrounded by darkness and sparks of electricity from the light sources that have been shot out and electrical wires exposed. Vampires. Demons. Nothing left alive.

It makes the fear of Jace and his sister being one of these figures all the more real, and he finds the weight of his feet carrying him faster towards the staircase door. Logically, he knows that’s not the case. He’d feel it through their bond if something happened to his parabatai, and he knows that Jace would throw himself into the line of fire first before he let anything happen to Isabelle. With Clary hot on his trail they race up the stairs, stamina and speed rune lighting up and fading quickly with the wave of their steles. It’s only a few quick minutes before they’re paused at the door to the 7th floor, only stopped by the body of a dead vampire blocking the entrance from the other side. With a grunt and a shove, Alec pushes the door open and they step through into a fight that’s already begun.

The sight of vampires greet them; teeth bared, claws sharp and blades in hand fighting off the demons that surround them, ash covering the floor they fight ont. Clary whispers his name, but he doesn’t turn to her, focused critically on the threats in front of them. Alec takes one step forward, close enough to the nearest vampire that he can almost get a word in, before he’s swiped at suddenly by a Ravener demon. 

He dodges the first attack with several hurried paces back and reaches for an arrow from his quiver, before the demon fizzles out before his eyes. The final blow in question is dealt by Clary, who heaves a breath and grins at Alec as she pulls her seraph blade back from the fading particles of the dying demon. It’s one miniscule victory short-lived, however, because in its place pour in three more from the broken windows that line the walls. Alec nocks an arrow into his bow quickly and chances a glance towards Clary out of the corner of his eye, who curls her lips back in a grimace and readies for a fight. 

Together, they take them out. One after another, an onslaught of demons rush and growl and shriek in attack. None of them get close enough to injure, though all of them try, and it’s not until the remaining few pull back and crawl through the windows that Alec realizes they’re not retreating for the sake of defeat.

“Upstairs,” Alec breathes, ragged. “Isabelle and Jace must be upstairs.”

“The demons are no-doubt being called back by Magnus Bane. We need to get up there.”

A hiss from the side catches their attention, a wounded vampire covered in blood and ichor. “Going up there is a death sentence. Your other Shadowhunters were already doomed before they’d even reach the top floor..”

There’s only a brief look of worry shared between them, before Clary and Alec are racing up the next staircase in search of Isabelle and Jace. Jace isn’t dead, he knows for a fact, but the possibility of Isabelle being injured fuels him up the next flights of stairs that tug at his parabatai bond. They’re close, he can feel Jace and the feelings being pushed through the bond right now. Confusion, anger, worry… Fear.

Fear of Magnus Bane?

They’re close, so close now, and Alec knows he’ll finally get answers to all of the questions and worries pouring through their minds as he and Clary push through that final door that leads them to the top floor of Hotel DuMort. 

Relief overcomes him, spreads warmth through his body as he sees the golden blond of Jace’s hair, and his sister right beside him across the room. But it’s replaced, almost immediately, when he spots the scene that surrounds them.

In the middle of the room are two figures, Camille Belcourt who Alec knows to be the leader of the Brooklyn Vampire Clan, and someone he can only presume to be Magnus Bane.The pair of them ensconced in a circle of high red flames that prevent anyone from leaving or entering. There’s a conversation happening inside of it, screaming and yelling from Camille that Alec can’t hear through the roar and heat of fire, and wild gestures from Magnus Bane, whose back is turned to he and Clary. 

Scattered around the room are clusters of vampires fighting off the unending horde of demons, unsuccessful in their endeavors. Jace and Isabelle are with them, the crack of his sister’s whip snapping louder than the crackling of fire that licks at Alec as he steps nearer. There’s no way around the fire, no way for them to get any closer even as he and Clary fight their way through the demons rushing towards them. 

So they fight, continuously with only precious seconds in between each attack for them to catch their breath and gather their strength, but Alec doesn’t tire as the ichor mingles with the sweat soaking his clothes and coating his skin. He won’t give up until he finds a way to Isabelle and Jace, and he’ll die trying if he has to.

Another demon jumps at him, and this one catches Alec at an angle that his arrow can’t quite reach in time. The knowledge of being cut hits first, followed shortly after by the pain in his shoulder. It stings and burns, not from the fire, but from the magic laced and infused deeply within the demons themselves. 

It’s a minor inconvenience, he tells himself as he reaches for the seraph blade holstered to his thigh and jabs it into the back of the demon as he dodges a second attack. It hurts, but it’s nothing he can’t stand, nothing an iratze won’t heal.

It’s a lie he knows to be true. He can feel the magic tingling against his skin where the blood begins to seep from the shallow wound. He’ll be fine for now, at least long enough to get them out of the building and back into the safety of the Institute. 

A grunt beside him brings him back into the fight and he turns to see Clary swing her weapon into the skull of the demon closest to her, while kicking another into the fire beside her that consumes the demon with a sizzling crack. It’s almost more effective to use the fire to their advantage, Alec realizes as he and Clary share a knowing look. They change tactics quickly, rushing towards the demons from the outskirts of the room, boots thudding heavily against the hardened exoskeleton of the demons as they rush towards them. The vampires nearby take note, exhausted and battered far more than the two of them, and begin to follow suit.

It’s not long before the flocks of demons that pour into the room fade into a more sparse area of coverage and everyone involved in the small battle can take longer than a moment's breath. 

Whispers and speculation fill the silence when only a few demons are left remaining, being fought off by courageous vampires with a sudden need to direct their adrenaline. In the middle of the room the fire howls fiercer, brighter and hotter as Camille and Magnus continue to occupy the center, closer than ever to each other. 

There’s discourse, still an argument being had if the curl of the Magnus’ fist and Camille’s bared teeth are anything to go off of. It’s still too loud to hear the topic at hand, something unsettling and stormy brewing between the two, but then suddenly something shifts in Camille’s incensed demeanor. 

It’s as if a switch has flipped, as if the anger has evaporated with the heat of the flames, and left in its place a barrage of tears that trickle down her face. She’s frustrated, Alec can see it in the square of her shoulders, but she’s given up the fight to Magnus. Part of him knows it’s not his place to care about the outcome of the events that are unfolding before them, that he has other more pressing matters at hand, such as getting to Jace and Isabelle. But the flames don’t give an inch of slack, and the path to them is blocked almost entirely by dead bodies and debris. 

A pale hand reaches up, contrasting shockingly to the deep tan of Magnus’ cheek where it rests, color that Alec can see isn’t just the result of the shadows from the fire. From Alec’s spot behind Magnus, he can’t see the expression he wears or the effect this gesture has on him. What he can see, though, is the tense of his back through the black blazer that fits his body, and the way he straightens out the length of himself when presented with the vulnerability of Camille. 

And Camille, for all her false innocence and shrewd manner over the years, seems genuine for once. 

With rapt attention, Alec watches every step closer she takes.He can feel rather than hear the staccato click of her heels along the marble floor for every inch of distance she closes. He should look away, he thinks in a moment of polite weakness. 

But, no.

This is a deliberate display, a show the two of them are putting on for any Downworlder, Shadowhunter, or Mundane who will watch. And so he does. 

He watches, enraptured, as Camille raises herself onto the balls of her feet, black stilettos lifting and pale arms encircling the strong shoulders of the Greater Demon before her. He watches still, as the bright red lipstick that stains her lips also colors Magnus’ cheek and smears against their skin when she ducks her head into the junction of his neck. It’s almost too intimate for him to continue watching, the moment surely too much for them to all be allowed to partake in. It feels sinful, in a way. Alec almost averts his eyes, guiltily casting his gaze downward, when he catches Magnus’ hand reflecting back to him the brightest flames through the rings that adorn the fingers curling into the dark long locks of Camille’s hair.

Most importantly, in his bashfully thorough scrutiny of the scene before him, he watches Magnus’ other hand, unnoticed and dim in the shadows of their two bodies. A hand that ignites a soft blue nearly unseen through the fire, magic that produces a wooden stake to spear straight into the unsuspecting heart laid out before him.

A gasp, a lungful of staggered breathing fills Camille as she cries out in the same silent shock Alec feels vibrating through him. Her body, lithe and slender and her deep burgundy dress darken with color as she twitches and fades before them into slow settling ash on the floor, graceful and beautiful in ways that only the leader of the New York vampire clan could manage. But Alec pays her no mind as her memory slips lower beneath the line of his vision, all the while his eyes remain steadfast on the Demon before him. On Magnus Bane.

The fire lets up minutes later, and the surviving vampires rush towards Camille with their inhuman speed, crying and bemoaning the loss of their leader with wails that echo in the silence now befalling the room. There’s a tug in the pit of his stomach, a pull that he recognizes clearly as his parabatai bond. He should follow it to Jace, to Isabelle and undoubtedly Clary who is likely already with them. He knows, logically, what he should do now. He knows what’s expected of him, and he knows what’s right. And yet… 

Now that he knows for certain his siblings are safe, there are more important matters at hand. Like the fact that Magnus Bane now stands in front of him, piercing Alec with golden eyes and the hardened exterior of a Greater Demon who shows no remorse for having just killed someone. 

Time seems to move slowly as Magnus lifts a hand and summons a portal, an endless swirl of darkness that will release him from the destruction he’s leaving behind, that will take him further from the answers Alec seeks. Magnus turns then, takes one step into the void and the flow of time accelerates so quickly that in that instant Alec doesn’t realize he’s stepping through the portal with him until the roar of magic deafens him to the sounds of his sister’s call.

[scurvgirl]

Live

Holy moly I actually wrote something. And while in grad school no less.

Zevran/Male Surana; my boy’s name is Faleris (Fal)

Synopsis:  A mage's phylactery is a leash, and they are done with leashes. All they ever wanted was to live, free of the Crows and of the Circle. Fal freed Zevran from the Crows, and it's time for Zevran to return the favor.

Warnings for: Blood, self-harm (for blood magic purposes), near death experiences, implied sexual content

This is also available on AO3 under the same title.

Please remember that reblogs and comments make a content creator’s world and will prompt content you like!

__________

It did not escape his notice that of all the buildings to sustain damage during the battle, Denerim’s Chantry was one of the least hit. Not to say it wasn’t damaged, but it wasn’t rubble. There was a smudged but clear ring of darker dirt surrounding the abbey, marking the place where so many people decided they would die fighting to protect the Chantry. He could contemplate the sadness of the loss of life, but now was not the time. Rather, it was fortunate for him and his purposes this night.

Zevran slipped into the Chantry, quick and unnoticed, the shadows concealing him like a familiar coat. His steps made no noise, his eyes were quick, his decisions quicker. Not so long ago, he would have been reveling in this, the knowledge he was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be, about to do something many did not want to happen, but also something some did want. So much had changed in a short amount of time. He wasn’t that man anymore, and thank the Maker for that.

“The elvhen word for love is vhenan.” Fal whispered, gently running his finger down Zevran’s arm.

“A pretty word,” Zevran murmured sleepily.

“I think...I think my father was Dalish, because he would say that sometimes. I remember him saying my name and that. Vhenan.”

“Amor…”

“And this word, I want it for us. I want it for you...vhenan.”

The corridor was lit with the bare minimum number of candles, casting large shadows that made this easy. None of this was easy though.

The door he wanted was located in the Revered Mother’s quarters. Zevran happened to know she was currently occupied at the palace, praying over the brave souls who risked their lives during the battle. The Chantry had unfortunately been too small to house all of them, and the newly minted King had graciously allowed the use of the palace to serve as an infirmary.

Zevran opened the door with the key he had swiped from the Mother earlier in the day. The door lead to a dark downward sloping staircase that Zevran descended swiftly. There were no sounds of activity, but there was another barrier he would need to pass in order to reach his destination.

His ears pricked and he stopped, listening carefully.

“I love your ears,” Fal purred, nibbling at the sensitive lobe.

Metal scraped against stone - Templar. A lone one given the limited sounds and the fact that he knew that the Templars were largely called to assist in other areas of the city that had sustained significant magical damage.

Relying on his hearing and hands, Zevran finished descending the stairs. The landing was small and the templar stood guard at a wide, metal door. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, but Zevran was nothing if not skilled. Leveraging all his quickness, Zevran rounded the edge of the room, maintaining himself in the templar’s blindspot. He dropped to the floor behind the templar, struck out with his legs, knocking the guard to the ground.

“Oomf!” Zevran grabbed hold of the helmet and slammed it into the ground once, twice, until he was sufficiently knocked unconscious. There. He’ll wake up with a nasty headache and bump on his head, but he wouldn’t be dead unlike many of his fellows.

Zevran picked up the key loop from the templar’s belt and went to the task of opening the door. There was a total of four keys to open the damned thing, but he was determined.

“You’re quite talented, you know,” Fal said, fully clothed in broad daylight, watching Zevran sharpen his knives.

Zevran quirked a brow, “I am happy to show you my talents.”

Fal rolled his eyes, “Outside of lovemaking and death. I mean, your mind, you’re clever.”  

The door swung open and there he was, standing inside a vault full of blood, but he only wanted to find one.

“I wish I wasn’t a mage sometimes,” Fal confessed, his body turned away from Zevran’s.

“Why? Your magic is beautiful, and quite enjoyable.”

“It’s a leash. No matter how good I am, how much I try, they’ll always hunt me down if they so much as think I’ve stepped out of line. An elven mage? We’re hunted.”

Zevran turned over and wrapped his arms around Faleris, holding him tightly, angry at a world that seemed determined to villainize his lover. “I won’t let that happen.”

There were thousands of vials, hallways full of racks of blood with neat labels. His skin itched from the magic permeating the air, making him angry at the hypocrisy. It was blood magic, using a mage’s own blood to track them, not that the Chantry would ever admit it.

Fal relaxed in Zevran’s arms, “When I don’t dream of darkspawn, I dream of them. I prefer the darkspawn.”

As clever as Fal believed him to be, Zevran had no idea how the vials were organized. He started with the obvious thought, alphabetical, but it there were only clusters of alphabetized vials. There were no consistent...wait, there. He gently moved a vial to the side, finding a plaque reading “9:1 Dragon”. Of course, they were organized by the year each mage was harrowed. Fal had told Zevran of the Harrowing, how they stuck demons inside of apprentices and expected them to resist it otherwise they were killed. Or even worse, they weren’t even Harrowed and were made tranquil.

Zevran moved through the racks faster after that, checking the dated sections, going further back and to the left until he found a half-full section labeled “9:30 Dragon.” This was it, Fal’s phylactery had to be here...and there it was. There weren’t many phylacteries for the year, given the state of affairs, but there was Fal’s - a small, glass tube that looked like every other vial in the room. The blood was bright red, the stopper laden with magic.

“I want you to feel something,” Fal whispered, leaning over Zevran, already naked and wanting.

“I already feel it -

“Not that, silly! But this.” Fal ran his hands down his sides, incredible pinpricks of energy and pleasure sinking into his skin. Zevran gasped then groaned.

“It’s my magic, for you. I want you to love it like I do.”

Zevran flipped them over, kissing Fal deeply, “Oh I love it.”

There was no pleasure with this magic, but the prickliness was familiar. The blood was familiar too, though he wouldn’t have known it if it were not for the label. All blood looked the same, but this...this was taken from Faleris when he was just a child, to be tracked if he ever deigned to leave the confines of that prison they call a Circle. Or if he dared to use magic they deemed wrong.

This was it, Zevran thought, this was how he died. It was terrible too, just when he had decided to live again, when he discovered what it was to love and be loved in turn.

“Vhenan! No! No! You can’t, you can’t!” Fal...he was crying and screaming.

“Shh, shh, amor, it’s alright.” He tried to speak, but there was too much blood in his mouth. He knew they were out of the healing poultices. He knew that Fal had no real skills as a healer. He was so gifted in his magic, but healing...it wasn’t one of them. And Wynne wasn’t near.

“Vhenan, I...I won’t lose you. Just...just hold on for me, please.” How could Zevran not do as Fal asked when he sounded like that, when he looked like that - broken and crying, the dirt and blood on his face making his hazel eyes stand out even more?

Fal reached down and pulled out a knife Zevran kept on his belt, and before Zevran could process it, Fal was dragging the knife across his palm. Forbidden words slipped past his lips and the blood spilling from his hand began to move. The pain in Zevran’s body faded slightly, and Fal cut himself again. More pain faded. Another cut. Less pain.

It took five cuts for Zevran to find the strength to reach up and snatch the knife away.

“You will not kill yourself because of me!”

“I’m...fine.” Fal collapsed in Zevran’s arms, bloody and exhausted but alive.

Back at camp, Wynne healed them both and she thankfully said nothing about the obvious carnage done to Fal’s hand.

Zevran left the vault with the vial tucked into his cloak. He had “accidentally” knocked over a couple of the other vials in the vault to make it less obvious that Fal’s vial was missing. After everything Fal had done for the world...the world owed him his freedom at least. Zevran knew that the world wouldn’t give what wouldn’t be taken, so he took it for Fal.

He sneaked his way back into the palace, up to the private bedrooms where a specific elven mage lay unconscious and healing.

He closed the door to the bedroom behind him and took off his outer layers, palming the small vial.

“I know it’s late, mi amor, but when has that stopped us?” He asked the silent man.

“Mm, yes, the Deep Roads. You hated it there, never in the mood for anything fun if you couldn’t feel the sun the next day.” He climbed onto the bed and kissed Fal’s temple gently, careful not to touch any of the bruises that still colored his body.

“I love you, how can I...even if I liked that, how...would you forgive me?” Fal asked, pain clear on his face even in the low light of the fire.

“Mi amor, you have found a way to live. I beg you, live.”

Fal had taken Morrigan’s gamble, and still he was here in this bed, nearly motionless, breathing shallow, and barely clinging to life. Zevran would have hunted the witch if he didn’t know that even this much was a miracle thanks to her.

Zevran crawled into the bed, careful not to jostle Fal. He took Fal’s right hand, pausing to run a thumb over the ugly scar that marred his palm. He kissed the scar for what felt like the  hundredth time, hoping it wasn’t his last. He took the vial out of his shirt pocket and pressed it to Fal’s palm.

“You’re free, amor, they won’t ever be able to hunt you. You’re safe.” He kissed Fal’s lips, his heart hurting terribly in his chest. “Now, please, live. Live. ”

[spookysnicket]

Brahms, Jason, & Bubba HCs

@abduction-seduction: Omg yes pls!!! Could you do hcs or something for Michael Brahms Jason and Bubba with their lady dealing with an angry uterus?? I’m so irregular that when I do get it, it is from Hell. Will not stop bleeding (BLEEDING OVER EVERYTHING AND RUINING LOTS OF CUTE THINGS) cramps that make my stomach upset. All I want to do is lay in the fetal position and eat/and or drink/ chocolate all day 😂 I just want cuddles from my favorite slashers 😭😭😡😡❤️❤️ Thanks so much 🥰

---

(Again, I keep wanting to write drabbles instead of HCs- so these might be a little lengthy ): Sorry love! But I hope these make you feel a bit better! HCs below the cut)

Brahms Heelshire

🔥 Brahms is the most educated on menstruation out of these three- after spending so much time in the walls observing mummy and daddy, he’s vaguely familiar with the concept of what’s up with your downstairs

🔥 Though, granted Mrs. Heelshire’s age, it’s likely that Brahms has gone a while without anyone experiencing a period- if we’re assuming none of the previous nannies stuck around long enough to endure theirs in the manor

🔥 It was still rather early in the day, Brahms just finishing breakfast and watching you unload the newly delivered groceries. Breaking out of his trance, he noticed something odd sitting on the counter top across from him

🔥 A surge of curiosity pulsed through Brahms, who took a last mouthful of food before moving his mask down over his exposed lips and scooting himself away from the table. He moved to the sink with his clean plate, eyes still glued to the package all the while

🔥 Picking it up earnestly, he looked to you with cheerfulness in his eyes, “Y/n? Is this for me?” Brahms held out a bar of chocolate you’d made a last minute request for, upon discovering that your time of the month had arrived

🔥 “Well, maybe a little could be- if you’re a good boy, that is.” You smiled, though, in the back of your head now realizing that in hindsight you should’ve ordered an extra for the ever so insatiable Brahms

🔥 “Then what’s it for?” He questioned, sure to add a tinge of dejected tone. “Well, my period. I had a craving, so-“, “Period?” Brahms interrupted, cocking his head to the side

🔥 You giggled a bit at his bewilderment, “Time of the month. Err, menstruation- do you know what that is, Brahmsie?”

🔥 His head popped back to it’s previous even posture and his face flushed- body tensing with a jolt of embarrassment. Brahms nodded slightly before extending the bar of chocolate to you like a scolded child

🔥 “No need to be embarrassed dear.” You placed your sweets back on the counter and swiped up an empty box, raising onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to Brahms’s cheek before sauntering out of the kitchen

🔥 When you returned, you found an uncrusted PB&J waiting on the dining table, with a square of chocolate on the side

🔥 “Daddy always made mummy meals when she was unwell.” Brahms mumbled softly as he pulled a chair out for you. He didn’t allow for your response as he cleared his throat and continued, “What other cravings do you have, y/n? I’ll make dinner tonight, perhaps dessert, too?” Nervous excitement extenuating his words as he babbled on- his thoughts playing out overly exaggerated scenes of you relishing in his assortment of Michelin Star worthy sandwiches (accompanied, of course, by hopes of earning some of that ‘good boy’ chocolate)

Jason Voorhees

🏒 Though Jason is far from cleanly, and certainly one of the last people you’d think of to be off put by things like blood and gore- there are exceptions for you

🏒 Initial dread sets in after he’d walked into the cabin and noticed you lying on the shared bed, motionless and swaddled in red smeared sheets

🏒 ‘Campers? He was sure he didn’t miss any of the pestering trespassers. Had someone broken in and hurt you?’ Are just a few of the manic thoughts swirling Jason’s head like a hysteric tornado

🏒 He trudges over to you in incredible silent strides, ripping you out from the bed to assess any damage

🏒 You, of course, are startled and frankly scared shitless as you’re torn from your warm blankets and deep slumber by a very handsy Jason

🏒 Pawing, gripping, and groping at your sleepy form- Jason man handling your body is an act so out of character for your usually docile and gentle lake zombie, that it grants for your first reaction to be equal concern

🏒 It takes you a moment to connect the dots, with Jason’s hands speeding around you, but he quickly deduces that the deepest blotch of dark crimson is located between your legs. As he goes to heave them apart in search of your wound, you yipe and push his hands back

🏒 Grunting in surprise and guilt, Jason’s grip finally leaves your body as he looks into your eyes in search of explanation

🏒 Flustered and distressed, an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment floods your every vein as your nerves fire off, cringing into yourself and instinctively covering your face

🏒 “Don’t worry, Jason. It’s just my period.” You trail off sheepishly, though Jason isn’t comforted by the answer one bit

🏒 Too ashamed to say a single word more, you hurriedly rush off into the washroom

🏒 While you shower, Jason absently works on dinner- engulfed with hurt and concern before his thoughts are dissolved by one fond, motherly voice

🏒 Pamela makes a very welcomed visit to her boy in this time of need, guiding him through all the wonders of the uterus experience

🏒 Once out of the shower and into a new change of clothes, you’d all but managed to wash off the regret of earlier’s events. You reflected in the mirror for a while, working out ways to help Jason understand your body, and to apologize for leaving him in such a distraught state

🏒 Peering out the door and into the bedroom, Jason sat rather uncomfortably for his size on the side of your now made bed

🏒 Standing in the doorway, you mustered the best explanation you could. Jason leaped forward, cutting you off mid apology, and pressed you to him in a tight embrace. It was another rather unusually forward gesture from Jason, but one you found comforting- gladly reciprocating it

Bubba Sawyer

🐓 When it comes to Bubs, his family is a big part of his character, so that’s where we’ll start

🐓 These boys, ohhh these boys- the Sawyer clan has always had a strongly unbalanced gender ratio, so you’ll be mostly on your own when your monthly friend visits downtown

🐓 While Drayton has some experience with the cycle, he gets grossed out by it and wants absolutely nothing to do with helping you out. If you’re willing to argue for it, you can get excused from chores until the flow ends- as long as you promise not to bring up the topic around him again

🐓 Chop Top and Nubbins know that you bleed, but they never quite got the grasp of why. It probably won’t prove much worth to try and explain it to them either, since they won’t stop giggling like a bunch of school girls the whole lesson

🐓 And Bubba, poor Bubba, has no clue as to why one morning he woke up beside you with your legs all bloody. It sure as hell nearly gave him an aneurysm as he flailed over himself to shake you awake with mortified whinnies and screeches

🐓 Your makeshift pad was no match for the wrath the old ovaries had harbored overnight, it seemed

🐓 As you’d not thought to mention or explain your period to Bubbsie, he’d gone and thought that during his restless sleep- he steamrolled you flat as a mat, and you’d bled out like a squashed bug

🐓 After calming Bub down to gentle sobs, you explain that it’s just “something people with certain parts have to do every month”, bless his heart

🐓 You were so calm about the whole situation, that to him was a full on red alert emergency. You’re so brave!

🐓 Groggy, his mind still hazy from sleep and brain scrambled by the aftershock of sudden panic and this bizarre new information- Bubba was once again befuddled after you casually switched to complaining about the mess all over your favorite panties

🐓 His heart as noble as always, Bubs managed to click into care mode despite his utter confusion, lurching off the bed and over to the closet in search for fresh clothes

🐓 Bubba tenderly laid a set of day wear onto your lap with a couple tender pats before shuffling over to your side of the bed- tugging on the sheets lightly as to ask you to stand so he could change them

🐓 You thought to do so for a moment, before yawning and groaning at the all too familiar sensation that pulsed threateningly in your abdomen- the dreaded morning cramps

🐓 Instantly detecting your unsettled reaction, Bubba recoiled his hands to his chest, worrisome whimpers escaping his lips

🐓 He kneeled down in front of you as you rubbed your stomach on the edge of the bed. “Hey Bubbie, sweetheart, you think we can lay down a little while longer?”

🐓 With a few earnest nods, Bubba removed the clothes that sat on your lap and crawled back onto the bare mattress beside you- shoving the stained sheets to the foot of the bed

🐓 Considering repeating the gentle circles he’d seen you massage into your belly, but too fearful to put you in further pain, Bubs reached an arm above slowly- gauging that you’d push it away had you not wanted to be touched- and delicately placed it over your tum

🐓 Your content sigh was enough encouragement for Bubs, as he nuzzled himself into the crook of your neck and began to glide his hand over your midsection with a comforting pressure- cooing to you with gentle hums

[speter-sparker]

Spideypool fic rec #2

ya boy is back at it again with the whole procrastination thing, and if I'm going down, ill bring all of you with me. 

other recs by me: X 

1) Peter Parker's Home for the Wayward Villain by BeanieBaby   [90k, complete]

summary: A really long redemption story.

my thoughts: you know how every ship has That One Fic? The one that every person who recs fic recs? This is it. In a world where Peter Parker was never bitten by a radioactive spider (but still lives in a world of heroes), he still has a chance to make a change. 

additional info: found family, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, POV peter

2) Said the Fly to the Spider by BC_Brynn   [20k, complete]

summary: Peter is being courted by Deadpool. With words. And life-saving.

my thoughts: so damn good. the story is character and relationship-focused, with witty banter and dumb jokes - in short, the perfect spideypool fic. Pacing is on point, side characters are in character, just... *chef kiss* beautiful. 

additional info: friends to lovers, slow burn, POV peter 

3) the kubler-ross theory by antivenom   [80k, complete]

summary: Peter loses Gwen in a split-second of motion. It takes much, much longer for him to find himself afterwards.

(In which Peter deals with a loss that immobilizes him and permeates through every drawn breath. In which his grief is a visceral abstraction that he can touch, that he can feel. And in which, with a little help, with time, with acceptance, with anger, with sadness, with Wade, he learns how to live in a world without her.)

my thoughts: if you read nothing else on this list, READ THIS. It deals with the aftermath of Gwen Stacy’ death, and how Peter copes (or doesn't) with the aftermath. This story is a love letter to everyone who has lost someone - the stages of grief, the anger and confusion and emotion are so real. Everything is brutally honest, the author doesn't hold back punches - in fact, it's because of this that I love how Wade and Peters's relationship is written. They are both shown as flawed characters who are trying so damn hard and their relationship feels real. The same can be said for every character in this fic - the relationships with aunt may and MJ and other supers are beautifully thought out and written. 

additional info: HOPEFUL ENDING, slow burn, pre-relationship, hurt/comfort, POV Peter 

4) I'll Tell No Lies by doctorestranged   [78k, complete]

summary: When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Except, Peter is horrible at lying and this seems like a dreadful idea. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that.

my thoughts: The pacing is so fun - it’s a murder mystery with a heavy side of romance, featuring Tony not-angry-just-disappointed ok-a-little-angry Stark, a very done Weasle, and one taxi driver. 

additional info: strangers to friends to lovers, SMUT, POV Peter 

5) Without Ever Letting You Know by TimidTurnip   [8k, complete]

summary: So something weird is going on with Deadpool, that's nothing new. Spewing flower petals is hardly the strangest thing the merc has done. The part that is confusing Peter is that Deadpool doesn't want Spider-man around. WTH.

my thoughts: mmm, hurts so good. Love how they examine Peter’s personality and relationship to Wade in this one. 

additional info: Hopeful ending, PINING, friends to lovers, POV Peter

6) i know your secret by jilliancares   [8k, complete]

summary: “I’m your new neighbor,” Wade forged on, oblivious to Peter’s state of shock, and he stuck out a scarred hand. Peter gripped it, feeling numb, and gave it a shake. Did Wade realize who he was? No, clearly not. He was acting way too normally. Wade was one for dramatics.

my thoughts: Fluff CENTRAL. Wade and Peter are given a playful relationship that can only be described as puppy love. 

additional info: fluff, identity porn, friends to lovers, POV Peter

7) The Naked Truth by CAPSING   [20k, complete]

summary: Wade is not a cat person. But maybe he'll make an exception to get into some cute guy's pants.

my thoughts: CAT FIC! THERE'S A CAT!

additional info: pining, strangers to friends to lovers, vet!peter, Wade is still Deadpool, POV Wade

8) The Boys Wear Red... by Orcusnox (Cat9894)   [108k, complete]

summary: Wade is a hero, Peter is a merc. 

my thoughts: HOLY HECK??? if you thought Spider-man 3 was dark, Raimi ain't got nothing on this. My biggest worry going into this was that Peter and Wade would just swap places and character, but that could not be further from the truth. Peter is dark, but in a way that fits who he is, who he would be if he jumped off the deep end. Everything in this feels thought out and works well together - the character writing is smooth and logical, even for side characters. The plot is fun and exciting, the banter even more so. 

additional info: Hopeful ending, some smut later, gore/violence, past mentions of abuse, frenemies to friends to lovers, POV Peter

9) Allostasis by ruralfishingcat   [42k, complete]

summary: Peter had a tendency to put up walls to isolate himself; even as Spider-Man, he could only suffer through so much death and destruction. It was precautionary, really, and those he'd pushed away would thank him were they aware of the circumstances. Of course, Deadpool had his own tendencies, one of which was to break down said walls (fourth ones included). As grating as it was, a small sliver of Peter hoped the mercenary would be able to succeed.

my thoughts: fucking cute my dude. Identity porn to the max, and a butt crap of pining. 

additional info: friends to lovers, protective Wade, identity porn, POV Peter

10) what light through yonder window by hellornothing   [14k, complete]

summary: The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but it’s enough.

‘Deadpool?’

-aka the one where they get together via late night window visits

my thoughts: THESE TWO! *clenches fist* ya know? just them realizing they have massive heart boners for each other 

additional info: friends to lovers, fluffflufffluff, mama mia that's a lot of F’s, POV Peter 

11) Patron Saint by isaDanCurtisproduction   [58k, complete]

summary: Peter is desperate. Hungry and alone on the streets, he's ready and willing to do anything to change his situation, even if just for a night. And sharing a stranger's bed would be no hardship, especially when the alternatives include dumpster-diving for dinner and sleeping, arms wrapped around him, beneath a chilly and indifferent sky.

Then a man named Wade Wilson steps into his life.

my thoughts: The plot is simple and allows for GREAT character moments. I clutched my heart cause they were so cute and just GAAAHH! the chemistry is great, the banter is fun, the plot is on point. 10/10 would (and do) recommend 

additional info: strangers to friends to lovers, no actual smut, be prepared to clutch a titty, identity porn, pining, homeless Peter, POV Peter 

12) better than being alone by darkavengerz (darkavenger) [6k, complete]

summary: Peter's been asked to attend a children's birthday party as Spider-Man, and he's surprised to discover someone else masquerading as him when he turns up at the party.

my thoughts: this is so them. the story is character-focused and just so gosh darn fun. I love my boys just harassing each other for funzies 

additional info: friends to lovers, fluff, POV Peter

13) Nobody's Business by DittyWitty   [6k, complete]

summary: Peter really wasn't supposed to out himself to Deadpool.

my thoughts: insecure Peter, meet insecure Wade. Now go use big boy words and fucking COMMUNICATE

additional info: friends to lovers, POV Peter

14) you grow up and you lose touch by scarlett_starlett   [53k, complete]

summary: Peter always thought that when he had kids, there would be someone by his side.

Instead, he has a mouthy mercenary acting as a chef every night for him and his newly adopted son and a narcissistic billionaire philanthropist paying child support on the sly. But Peter figures it isn’t all bad, especially when Miles loses that dullness in his eyes whenever Wade slips on the banana peels he ‘strategically’ places all over the apartment for Peter as a joke.

my thoughts: usually not one for kid fics - the kids aren't well written and characters tend to be OC. But this one, this one, just shattered my every expectation. The relationship between Peter and Miles, Peter and Wade, and Wade and Miles is phenomenal. The story and plot are wonderful, with themes that you can't help but sink your teeth into. The pining is off the walls. The characters are rounded and complex and grow so much with each other. I cannot recommend this one enough, please by GOD go read it

*** side note: go read everything by this author. go, get outta here! go! 

additional info: SLOW burn, friends to co-parents to lovers, PINING GALORE, POV alternating but mostly POV Peter 

15) A Vicious Cycle by DecimalDrones   [2k, complete]

summary: Peter can't remember the life he and Wade supposedly shared together. It's alright as long as he's happy, though, isn't it?

my thoughts: y’all. Y’ALL. okay, this one is short and sweet but when you finish, go back and read it a second time. The double meaning and context make this fic DELICIOUS. I also recommend checking out their other fics - they’re a bit longer but still easy to finish in a day. 

additional info: established relationship, POV Peter 

16) on staying around by WylderWolf   [4k, complete]

summary: Fourteen pages of loud fart noises.

(also there's some, like, emotions and stuff, and then they bump nasties. it's pretty rad.)

my thoughts: charming little thing with pining wade. Also, they’re both idiots (but what's new)

additional info: friends to lovers, pining, smut at the end, POV Wade 

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo Chapter 1: Strings

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 1/20

libera nos a malo Masterpost+

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

Chapter Two+ >>

He wasn’t fast enough.

The curse caught him square in the chest, sending him head over heels and smashing him into the pock-marked stone wall. By the time he hit the floor, his wand had been snatched from his hand and his opponent was astride him, the tip of her wand tilting his chin up that he might better see her triumphant grin.

“Had enough?” Miranda purred, her gray eyes sparkling over him.

“Not nearly,” Severus growled back. “But you have.”

“I don’t know.” She playfully twirled her wand between her fingers, considering. “You won the last round and I won this one. Why don’t we say best two out of three?”

He put one long finger on the end of her wand and deliberately pushed it away from his throat. “Healer A’isha ordered you to limit yourself to one duel per day until your next appointment. We’ve already had two. It’s enough.”

“Spoilsport,” she murmured, rolling smoothly to her feet and tossing his wand back to him.

He caught it and got to his feet while she started her tedious routine of post-duel stretches. The simple dueling platform and the opposing banners emblazoned with the Slytherin and Thunderbird crests vanished, leaving a narrow, waist-high table behind. With an audible groan, Miranda climbed onto the table, lifting her arm for Severus to manipulate according to the Healer’s stern specifications.

“I’m still not sure which is worse; the physical exercises or the magical ones,” she grumbled, wincing as he held her arm in place a few seconds longer than the day pervious.

“Your spellwork seemed marginally less pedantic tonight,” he said, the encouragement clumsy in his mouth.

“How nice of you to say so.”

“Healer A’isha did order me to bolster your precarious spirits with regular doses of praise,” he said wryly, leaning on her leg until she stifled a groan. Healer A’isha had also warned him that he would come to hate these exercises more than Miranda did herself. It was one thing to endure pain—and yet another to inflict it on the person whose well-being was unfortunately bound up with one’s own sentimental affections.

“I was thinking I would move back to the cabin this weekend,” she said casually when he released the stretch.

“Were you?” Why was it that no matter how many times one rehearsed receiving disappointing news, it never dulled the pain when the blow actually fell?

“Yes.” She sucked in her breath as he leaned on her other leg.

“All the better for you to neglect your recovery.”

“With you and Rachel dogging me, how could I dare? Aaron’s going to help me move.”

“I see.” He released her leg and offered her a hand to help her sit up. It was shameful how pleased he was when she actually took it; he was like a dog slavering after its master for affection.

Part of the floor sunk away, melting into a clear blue pool of steaming water, and Miranda used her wand to painstakingly transfigure her clothing into a trim bathing suit. Spells that were once instantaneous now required her strictest attention and labor, but the fact that she was able to perform them at all was enough to hope that she would, in time, recover her powers completely. He stooped to pull off her boots—vanished footwear was so notoriously difficult to retrieve from nonbeing that it was rarely worth the risk of sending it thither. She gave a deep sigh as she slid into the water, and she laid her head back on the tiled floor, letting her eyes close and her arms drift.

“You can come in if you like,” she suggested without opening her eyes.

“I think not. You would only distract me from completing your exercises.” A chair materialized on the opposite side of the pool, and he settled himself into it. “Tell me when you are ready.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He was. “Of course not. Why would I be angry?”

“I wouldn’t have asked Aaron for help, but I didn’t want to impose on you any more than I already have.”

“You haven’t been imposing.” Although what else he wished to call her extended sojourn in his rooms he refused to admit.

She opened one eye and smiled at him. “Yes I have, don’t lie to me. But feel free to join in the fun. Rachel and Maggie are coming along to make dinner.”

“I fail to see how a baby would be of any use at making dinner.”

“Rachel can do anything with Maggie strapped to her back. Aaron says it’s a sight to behold.” She lifted her head off the tile and raised one hand out of the water, wordlessly summoning her wand. “I’m ready now.”

Severus conjured a golden ball the size of an orange and sent it spinning towards Miranda with a smooth wandstroke. She watched it, her brow furrowed in concentration. The ball flew towards her, unchecked until it was less than an arms-length away from her nose, when she managed to wordlessly send it back towards him. He lazily batted it with his magic, and this time she used hers to catch it in mid-air and stretch it into a length of rope, which she dropped into the water. With a flick of his wand, the rope shot out of the pool, transfigured now into a fish that splashed back under the water and swam towards Miranda, tickling her toes. She laughed and drew her wand through the air, causing the water to surge out of the pool and toss the fish up with it. Before it could land back in the water, she waved her wand again, and the fish transformed into a mangled half-avian, half-ichthyoid horror. It hit the tile next to the pool and flopped helplessly, until Severus waved his hand to vanish the mess.

“Well, that was better than yesterday,” Miranda said half-heartedly.

“It was. Most of the fish-bird’s organs were on the inside today rather than haphazardly arranged on its scales,” Severus remarked.

“I guess that’s true.”

Her frustration was palpable, and he went around the pool to sit on the cushion that appeared on the tile at her side. While his attempts at verbal encouragement tended to be as mangled as some of her recent transfiguration attempts, he had discovered that a well timed kiss served just as well, if not better. Her lips were a firm line of irritation when he captured them, but they quickly softened under his patient insistence, and when he pulled away to draw breath, she was smiling.

“So, will you come?” she asked.

Disappointment cut through the fog of tenderness that had gathered in his chest, but though he felt his jaw clench at the idea of her leaving, he heard himself saying, “It would seem there is nothing left for me to do but acquiesce.”

She caught his face between her warm, wet hands, and drew him down for another lingering kiss that fed both his anger and his tendre for her.

“Don’t be cross, Severus. I know we’ve both been looking forward to finally being on the same island at the same time, but we’ll drive each other crazy if we keep living in the same two rooms together. I really am so grateful to you for everything you’ve done, and I don’t know how I’m going to repay you, but…”

“That’s quite enough,” he interrupted. He did not care to listen to her thanks. “Will Saturday serve the purpose?”

“Saturday’s perfect. I’ll write to Aaron tonight and let him know.”

He helped her out of the water and hovered near her elbow while she arduously cast a drying charm on herself, and transfigured her bathing suit back into her trousers and tunic. She gave a jaw-splitting yawn when she finished and sat down on the table, allowing him to put her socks and boots back on her feet for the trek down to the dungeon. As usual, he exited the Room of Requirement first and, finding the hall empty, he rapped on the wall and started down to the dungeon. He was entering the stairwell when he heard Horace Slughorn’s voice in the hallway behind him.

“Why if it isn’t Miranda Rose!” Horace said pleasantly.

“Hello Horace,” Miranda replied in a bright, but weary tone. “Fancy finding you here. Are you visiting?”

“No, I’ve come out of retirement, I’m sorry to say. But someone has to teach these youngsters Potions, and Albus Dumbledore is a difficult man to say no to. To what do I owe the happy accident of seeing you this evening?”

“Albus Dumbledore, who else?”

“Who else indeed. Then you must know what I am talking about. Come into my office and have a nightcap with me. I can’t tell you how serendipitous this is! I was about to owl you with regards to a project…”

The door closed, shutting off the rest of Horace’s monologue. Severus briefly considered eavesdropping, but decided it wasn’t worth the bother. He had plenty of work waiting for him in his own office, and Miranda would likely tell him anything interesting that the crafty potions master said.

Or she wouldn’t. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

*****

“And it ended with me having to accept an invitation to his Christmas party,” Miranda said, suppressing a grunt as she flicked her wand at a book-filled crate. It crashed into the floor harder than she meant it to, but she kept the wand flicks coming lest Severus notice her tiring and order her to take a break. The books leapt jerkily out of the crate and floated to the shelves, lining up like weary soldiers returning home.

“Did you?” Aaron replied as he attempted to wrestle her turntable back into its desk drawer. “Woman, how did you get this blessed thing in here in the first place?”

“You have to talk nice to it.”

“I s’pose.” He swore under his breath as yet another corner refused to fit. “But a party’s not so bad. And I’ve heard Horace Slughorn knows how to throw ‘em.”

“I’ve heard that too; but a student party full of hormonal teenagers? What am I supposed to do, wilt along the wall with the chaperones?”

“Are you still complaining about Horace’s party?” Severus asked irritably, emerging from the newly cleaned potions closet. “I had thought you would not have minded keeping me company there.”

“I wouldn’t mind if I was allowed to act as though I knew you, especially considering how hard it is to get you to go out at all. But at least when we go to Prospero’s, you hold my hand.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever held your hand,” he muttered, gathering the crate of her prescribed potions.

“A convenient lapse of memory.”

She didn’t hear whatever he shot back at her, as he covered his grumbling with returning to the potions closet and spending an inordinately long time unpacking and arranging it.

“Do you ever give that man a break?” Rachel chided from the stove where she was busily sautéing a rainbow of vegetables while Maggie tugged on her sleek black ponytail.

“If he can dish it, he can take it,” Miranda retorted, starting on another crate. “How are things at the Embassy?”

“Busy,” Aaron replied, “and complicated. Scrimgeour’s discouraging anyone from coming into or leaving the country. He’s trying to play it off like he’s got the whole Voldemort situation under control, and I do believe that he doesn’t want to look a fool by having all the foreigners high tailing it home. But I also think he’s scared shitless that if he keeps the borders open, he’s going to have a mess of Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers coming in to play. So he hasn’t exactly shut them down, but they ain’t exactly open either.”

“What does Robert think about that?”

“He’ll play along if he gets what he wants out of it. Take that you demon-spawn!” Aaron whooped, slapping the turntable as it finally snapped into place.

“What does he want?”

Aaron started flipping through Miranda’s records in search of some appropriate victory music.

“For now what he wants is permission to run his own Aurors to protect the Americans in the country.”

“Really? That’s never happened before. And Scrimgeour allowed it?”

“He did. And Robert’s champing at the bit to get ahold of you. I reckon he wants you on the team.”

The book that Miranda was directing onto the shelf clattered to the floor, and she groaned inwardly as she recast the charm to send it back to its place.

“That’s flattering. I don’t know that I want to be an Auror, but I would at least consider it.”

“Not at the current moment,” Severus snapped, returning to the room to glare at her. “And I believe that it is time for you to sit down.”

“I will when I finish this crate.” His glare darkened and she protested, “I’m fine! I can finish a crate, it won’t kill me.”

“Your left shoulder is high,” he said in that quiet, angry tone of his.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your left shoulder. It rides high when you are tired and forcing your magic. It’s your tell.”

She grinned in spite of herself. “I didn’t realize you knew about tells.”

“One of the few useful things my father bothered himself to teach me.”

The set of his jaw told her that arguing the point would be neither useful nor entertaining and—to her chagrin—he was right; she was forcing her magic. She threw up her hands in defeat and said, “Fine, you win. I’ll hold the baby.”

He continued to watch her sternly until she had liberated Maggie from the flower-patterned baby-carrier on Rachel’s back and was settled on the new leather sofa in front of the fire as if he expected her to covertly thwart his orders the instant he looked away. She sank into the comfortable cushions and contented herself with bouncing the fine, plump child and replying to her happy babbling as though it were intelligible conversation. The old sofa had gotten lost somewhere in the shuffle of chaos at St. Mungo’s, and the Lees had insisted on replacing it. Miranda had attempted to decline the generosity at first, but she had to admit that her friends had a talent for selecting furniture that was as functional as it was beautiful.

She was glad when Severus finally took over her unpacking and ceased to watch her with his piercing eyes. She doubted that her friends had noticed it, but the sorrow flickering in those inky depths was all too apparent to her.

*****

After the ramen had been eaten, the tea all drunk, and the baby nursed, the Lees were making ready to leave in a flurry of cloaks, scarves, and mittens.

“When’s your next appointment?” Rachel asked while she deftly wrapped the sleeping baby on her chest and settled her cloak snugly around them both.

“Monday morning,” Miranda replied. “If it goes well, I won’t have to go back until after Christmas.”

“Come by after you’re done. We can have lunch.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

She kissed her friends’ cheeks and waved them away. Severus kept to the background, still arranging books and bottles on their shelves; but he did trouble himself to return Rachel’s good-bye and shake Aaron’s hand. The Lees turned back to wave when they reached the end of the lane before disappearing with a loud pop. Miranda closed the door after them, and was surprised to see Severus shrugging into his cloak.

“Oh, were you going home?” she asked, trying to keep the disappointment she felt from showing.

His brow furrowed, but his eyes were blank. “I…had thought so.”

She smiled quickly and reassured him, “Of course. You must be dying to have some peace and quiet.”

He ran a long finger lightly over her cheekbone and jawline. The contrast of the roughness of his calloused finger and the gentleness of the touch made her shiver.

“I can stay if you would prefer it,” he offered quietly.

“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’ll be fine. I can’t wait to have a few minutes to myself.”

“As you like.” He withdrew his hand and reached for the doorknob, but not before she saw that flash of sorrow again.

Guilt prompted her to put her hand over his and soften the blow. “You know, I doubt I’ll feel much like cooking dinner tomorrow, after being spoiled by the house elves and Rachel for the last six weeks. There’s a little pub in Shoreditch that serves our kind. The Queen Mab, say eight o’clock?”

He smiled wryly at her and he kissed her brow before replying, “That would be agreeable. I shall have time to finish my Koestler while I wait for you.”

“I’ll be early, just to spite you.”

“I suppose there is a first time for everything. Until then.”

He left before the silence that fell between them could turn awkward, and disappeared at the end of the lane without looking back. She shut the door and wished that she could shut out the confusing web of emotions tangled up with her dour Englishman as easily. With a sigh, she wandered through her cabin, running her fingers over the roll-top desk; the books and the barware; the pictures on the mantel. When she came to a window, she threw it open, welcoming the chill of the night air as it blew in off the Channel. Soon there was a delicious cross breeze, and she perched herself on her bed, leaning on the window-frame and gazing out over the blackness of the water. The air in her cabin had been stagnant, like the air in neglected places. It had been far too long since she had been home.

Home? She pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a snap of her fingers, wondering when she had come to think of this place as home. While it was true that she had a habit of referring to wherever she laid her head for the night as home; it was also true that at some point during her Romanian adventure, she’d caught herself thinking of Britain as home in the way that she usually thought of her parent’s farm in Edgewood as home.

She blew out a line of smoke, watching the winter wind send it dancing through the moonlight, and refused to ponder the reasons why.

*****

“How did it go?” Rachel asked on Monday as she, with Maggie strapped to her chest, and Miranda queued up behind a long line of hungry Embassy workers.

“I feel like I was hit by a truck, so pretty well,” Miranda replied, grimacing as she rolled her shoulders in a fruitless attempt to relieve their soreness.

“Did Healer A’isha say you would be alright at home? That you’ll be able to do all of your exercises?”

“Yes mother. She said it was just fine, signed me a note and everything. Besides, Severus will come by often enough to bother me about it, and he’s sterner than any of the Healers about training.”

“That’s good to know. Maybe between the two of us, we can keep you on track. You know you’re a terrible patient.”

“That’s fair. But I also know when I have to buckle down and work. Going into the Iele’s realm drained me more than I could have imagined possible.”

“Was it their realm, or their guards?”

“I think it was both—and rather than either—or. It’s been almost two months and I’m still not where I want to be.”

Rachel gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, and Maggie imitated her mother, catching hold of a lock of Miranda’s silver hair. “You’ll get there. It just takes time.”

She was absolutely sick of hearing that. “So everyone keeps telling me. What do you feel like having today?”

The creeping queue finally inched under the sloping, art deco doorways, and the cafeteria opened out before them, a gleaming, stainless steel cornucopia of choices. The shining walls were etched with enchanted scenes of vaudeville routines for the entertainment of the diners eating at the long farmhouse tables. Squeezed into the cavernous space was a dizzying array of American delicacies; from fried chicken and waffles, to jambalaya, to Boston cream pie and everything in between.

“I usually get the meatloaf and apple pie here. I’m boring,” Rachel said. “You?”

“It’s been forever since I’ve had some real pizza, and after that hellish check-up this morning I think it’s been long enough.”

“Good choice! New York style, right?” Rachel stuck her tongue out at her friend in anticipation of her answer.

Miranda stuck out her tongue in response before gasping, “Blasphemy! Chicago style is the only thing that qualifies as pizza in my book. Meet you at the usual spot?”

“Will do.”

The ladies parted to join the queues at their chosen kitchens, and Miranda soon lost Rachel and Maggie in the crowd. By the time she was close enough to see the handsome brick wood-burning oven, the morning tasks were beginning to make their effects known. She leaned heavily on the shining countertop, tapping her bright yellow tray with shaking fingers. Food would help—the sooner the better—and then maybe she’d ask Rachel to let her come down to the Lees’ flat for a nap. A long nap.

“Here y’go,” said a round-faced youth who seemed far too young to have a job.

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking the red hot plate and quickly setting it on the tray next to her lemonade. Scooping the whole thing up, she turned and swayed dangerously as a wave of dizziness hit her. She wanted to growl with frustration as she fell back against the counter. This whole recovering from almost dying business was not entertaining at all.

“May I help you, Miss?” A smooth, polite voice and a pair of firm hands steadied Miranda and her tray before either of them went toppling to the floor. “I know I’m always a mess when I need to eat.”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Miranda protested halfheartedly, looking down into his pleasant face.

He would not be deterred. “Let me do it so I can tell my Mama I helped a nice lady. Where to?”

“I…well, thank you. This way.”

It was all she could do to keep herself steady as they crossed the crowded room. Her stomach was churning and she was starting to see spots on the edge of her vision. Clearly, she would be of no use to anyone until she put some food in her stomach. The noise of dishes crashing, people chattering, and the squeaking of the moving pictures on the walls coalesced into an cacophonous whirlpool that threatened to suck her under.

By the time they reached the table in the corner, Miranda’s last nerve was hanging by a single, fraying thread. Her knight errant set down the tray and pulled out a chair for her; which she all but collapsed into. The duo on the wall behind her yammered about the eternal question (Who’s playing first? That’s right.) and she started shoveling steaming pizza into her mouth so quickly that it burned.

Half a slice and a few gulps of lemonade later, she was capable of behaving as though she had not been born in a barn. She wiped her hands and face with her checked napkin and said ruefully, “Thank you for your help. I had a rough time at magical therapy this morning.”

He took the hand she extended and shook it firmly. “It was my good deed for the day. I hear that those Healers at St. Mungo’s are the devil when they’ve got hold of you.”

“You’ve heard right.”

She took a daintier bite of her pizza and studied her good Samaritan. He had a handsome face, complimented by a close-cut mustache and goatee. His kinky black hair was peppered through with silver, although his warm, copper-colored skin was unlined. His hands were large for his height and his suit was smartly cut and fitted closely to his muscular body. It lacked the sort of flamboyant accents of color that Aaron favored--this was clearly a man who preferred to advertise his taste by its subtle excellence.

She swallowed the last bite of her first slice and decided she really ought to introduce herself. “I’m Miranda Rose, by the way.”

His golden eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. “Are you? I’ve been itching to meet you! Robert Walker, at your service.”

Miranda blinked once before laughing with surprise. “Likewise. I’m only sorry to have met you when I’m in such a state. You must think me weak as a kitten.”

“No, Aaron’s told me all about what happened. You’re a regular danger girl.”

“Robert! It’s good to see you,” Rachel said, balancing a tray on her hip while Maggie attempted to overturn it from her perch.

“How’s my second favorite Mama?” Robert stood to give Rachel a peck on the cheek and deftly remove her tray from Maggie’s flailing arms. He deposited it on the table, and flicked his wand towards an alcove, which brought a high chair floating towards them. There was a small fuss over getting Maggie settled and providing her with food to taste and throw on the floor before conversation could continue.

“Aaron will be sorry he missed the pleasure of formally introducing you to each other,” Rachel commented after her first bite of meatloaf.

“I’ll be sure to give him a hard time about it then,” Robert replied. “What year were you at Ilvermorny Miranda? I may call you Miranda, yes?”

“Sure, if I can call you Robert,” Miranda agreed easily.

“I wish that you would. You graduated in ’83, same as Aaron, if I remember right.”

“I did. Same house too.”

“That’s right. You were a little too old and a little too young to know any of my siblings then.”

“How many do you have?”

“Five.”

“I have four older brothers myself. All No-Majs though.”

“My, you are special! The only girl, the only witch, and the baby. Your brothers must’ve given you hell.”

“They did.” Maggie had finished gumming her crumbs of pizza, and Miranda gamely cut up a few more for her.

“Was Professor Rodriguez still stiff as a board when you were there?”

Miranda arched an eyebrow. “He was my head of House and my favorite teacher. I thought he was very personable. Did you not find him so?”

Robert shrugged, his attention apparently half on the game he was playing with the baby. Maggie was tossing her spoon on the floor and laughing delightedly when he sent it floating back up to her tray with a lazy wand flick. “He and I crossed wands from time to time. How’s motherhood treating you, Rachel?”

“It’s good! I’m exhausted and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s good. I’ve even been able to find time to get back to translating lately.”

“Your captive audience will be happy to hear that,” Miranda observed.

“Feel free to tell him that I’m starting with the potions text.” Rachel said before digging back into the meatloaf.

“If I may be so rude as to pry into something that’s probably not my business, how is your bill of health?” Robert asked, his attention still on the spoon-throwing baby.

“It’s getting there,” Miranda replied carefully. “Still not a hundred percent, but I think I’ll be cleared for light duty after Christmas.”

“You must be raring to go. How long have you been off?”

“Since October.”

“Long recoveries are the worst.” He charmed the spoon to twirl on its handle on Maggie’s highchair tray and turned the full force of his gaze back to Miranda. “I’m going to stop beating around the bush, since I’m sure that Aaron’s already tipped you off to the fact that I want to hire you.”

“He has mentioned it. What exactly do you want to hire me for?”

The glint in his eyes now reminded her more of a dragon than of Christmas. “I want a team of MACUSA Aurors, and I want you to be one of them. I’ll be partnering you with Aaron—I hear tell that the two of you are unstoppable.”

“Nobody’s unstoppable,” Miranda said lightly. “And I’ve never actually been an Auror. That was Aaron’s old line of work.”

“I’m aware of that, but you’ve got the experience. All I have to do is pull a few strings and we’ll have you vetted in no time.”

“What’s the assignment?”

“Primarily, you’ll be keeping an eye on our people in the UK. There’s all sorts of nasty things afoot these days, as I’m sure a smart lady like you is well aware. We’ll also be assisting Scrimegeour on a case-by-case basis.”

She finished her slice and studied Robert’s relaxed posture, finally understanding what Aaron meant when he said that the ambassador was ‘hard to read.’

“I’m going to be honest, I refuse to be deputized as an Auror. It’s a matter of principle.”

Robert let out a rumbling laugh and reassured her, “I expect we can work around that with a little creative thinking. May I send you a contract to look over?”

“Sure. Never hurts to look.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Are you always this accommodating?”

“Only when it’s for someone worth having. And I anticipate that you will be well worth having.”

She couldn’t contain her smile. “Such flattery! No wonder you’re the ambassador.”

“You’ve found out my secret.” He stood and bowed to each of the ladies in turn. “Rachel, Miranda, Magdalene, thank you for your time and I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Look for an owl later this week, Miranda.”

“I will. Nice to meet you, Robert.”

He strolled off, meandering through the cafeteria and pausing to talk with various people. Miranda watched him until he was out of sight, turning his proposal over in her mind.

“What do you think of him?” Rachel asked, pulling Maggie out of the highchair and settling her down to nurse.

“He’s interesting, that’s for certain.”

“Are you going to take his offer?”

“I’ll think about it. I’m surprised that you let Aaron go back to the Auror life. I thought it was too dangerous for your liking.”

Rachel gave Maggie a finger to hold, and snuggled her a little closer. “I don’t really like it, but it’s true that these are dangerous times. We all have to do what we can to help. And I’d feel better knowing you were out there with him.”

“I meant what I said about not taking the Auror’s oath. Too many strings.”

“Sometimes strings aren’t a bad thing,” Rachel observed mildly. “The right ones can hold you up.”

“That may be true,” Miranda agreed, absently running a finger around the rim of her lemonade glass. “But the wrong ones can strangle you.”

*****

End Notes:

Severus is reading Arthur Koestler’s Darkness at Noon.

The vaudeville routine behind Miranda’s table is Bud Abbott and Lou Costello’s “Who’s on First?”

*****

libera nos a malo Masterpost+

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

Chapter Two+ >>

[lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr]

🌑The Moon Child🌕

Namjoon drabble

1.2K

Moon Child!Namjoon

kinda experimenting with writing styles so take it with a grain of salt

but i like the way it turned out

Masterlist

Imagine for a moment, a world in which the light of the moon is powered by the dreams of the people. The bigger the people dream, the brighter the moon shines. In the moon’s light, the people are safe to continue dreaming. If they were to step out of that light, however, the people would lose the ability to dream and the moon could no longer protect them.

Now imagine, it’s been years since the moon last shone. Over time, the people have been led astray. They have forgotten how to dream, choosing to follow mundane routines. Adults punish the children who dare to show any signs of an imagination. The moon is slowly dying, and the people are too blind to see it. Eventually, the moon fades completely, leaving the people to live in a world without imagination.

However, a small spark of hope ignites a new moon. Though unable to light, the moon remains to watch over the people. It is the same every day. Children are forced to attend lectures that have most of them sleeping on their desks. Adults maneuver to and from their places of work without so much as a glance in another person’s direction. The concept of friendship is one of the past. People have reverted back to viewing marriage as a tool to gain money and power. The idea of love is one that has long since been forgotten.

The moon grows weary, watching the people simply existing. There is no life left among them. Still, there must have been a reason why he was born. He grows curious and so decides to personify himself as a man in order that he may go down to walk the world among them. What he finds is world void of color. 

Everything is black and white. People commit crimes and yet no one seems to care. A woman stands idly by as her car is stolen. The man behind the counter at a convenience store simply hands over the key to the till when a man with an angry expression approaches him.

The moon, who has come to call himself Namjoon among the people of this world, is appalled and frightened by what he sees. His heart aches for what used to be. The stars told stories of days gone by when the world used to be a brilliant hue of colors. He wants to see that light for himself, and so he begins his search for the source of hope which brought him to life.

His search leads him to a college dorm. The halls are dark and dull. Cement walls, which should have been covered in brightly colored graffiti, stare back at him, bare faced. What had caused the people to stop dreaming? Where did it all begin, and would he be able to fix it? These were the questions which plague him as he follows his path.

Namjoon only stops searching once he finds a small corner of color amongst all the grey. The room, which is home to a young girl in her second year of college, is the only ray of light he has found in this empty world. He discovers her small stash of colorful drawings and stories written out across several different notebooks, each one filled with her hopes and dreams for a world unlike the one she lives in. The drawings and paintings are small. Each is no more than a simple scene and the work is clearly not that of a gifted artist. Still, the pictures this person has created are filled with color. They bring a special light to an otherwise cruel world. 

Namjoon immerses himself in these stories and artworks, crossing his legs under himself and perching on the cement floor. The remaining daylight comes and goes far more quickly than he would have liked. It is not until darkness falls again that the girl returns to her room.

She is alarmed to find a strange man among her things, though she is quick to believe his story of who he truly is. Perhaps it is her desperation for a new life which compels her to believe him so quickly, or perhaps he simply has the face of a trustworthy man. Whatever the case, she agrees to help him in his impossible quest to bring color and life back into the world.

With her permission, Namjoon takes the art and gives it to the rest of the world, in hopes that it will teach them how to dream again. He re-opens art museums, hanging her drawings on the walls for all to see. Together, they stand out in the streets and read her stories aloud to the people passing by. Their laughter and joy as they play out the scenes together is spread to those who stop to watch. The sound of cheering and applause quickly fills the silent void after a dramatic reading or the reveal of another piece of art. Soon, there are others who come to join in the small dramas which they have staged.

Namjoon discovers stashes of old plays and books which have been hidden away from the world for so long now. Music begins to fill the air once more as the people’s laughter spreads. Slowly, the world begins to take on a colorful appearance again. 

It does not happen overnight. The children are the first to accept this change. They begin dancing in the streets and singing along to the songs. The young people, the ones forced to become carbon copies of their parents are unsure of the idea. Having been taught to reject any sort of imagination or dreaming, it is difficult to step away from what they know. Still, it is their desire to see a colorful world which finally brings them around.

Some adults are quick to join their children. While some resume the art which they had dropped all those years ago, others simply enjoy watching the joy unravel on their children’s faces. Still, there were those who refused to turn from their mundane ways. Of course, there had always been those few. Even when the old moon had shone above them. Though there seemed to be a larger number of these people now, they were still no match for the color which was spreading due to all the newly found dreamers.

Namjoon remains until he is certain that the people can manage on their own. He waits until he knows his disappearance won’t take the light with him. It takes several months but the effort is worth it.

Satisfied, Namjoon offers his thanks to the one person in the world who allowed this change to happen. If it had not been for her bravery to dream in a world so void of hope, he would not have been born and the world would still be lost today. She is sad to lose her new friend, but he is quick to reassure her that he will always be there, watching over and protecting her.

The moon returns to his place in the sky. He finds joy in recounting the tales of how he saved the world. Though the newly formed stars are skeptical as they look down on such a bright and colorful world, the elder stars are there to testify. It was indeed the Moon Child which restored the life of the world and the people in it. The Moon Child and that one special girl who dared to dream in a colorless world.

this one-shot is dedicated to a very special person. for her love of namjoon and her ability to stay strong no matter what situation she’s facing. remember, there will always be light and ‘color’ in the world, even if you have to be the one to create it in your own life, it will always be there. you just have to be willing to look for it💜 i love you, @starry-sky-1​

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Felinotherapy

Summary: A new member of the Agreste household takes her job very seriously; she’s here to fix things and she won’t stop until she does. She’s going to better Adrien’s mood, take care of Gabriel’s solitude and Hawkmoth’s shoelaces. She’ll even acquire a nap buddy. And, she’ll do it all with feline style! Did I mention that she’s a cat?

A sequel to “New Kitty On The Block"

A birthday gift for Remasa. Be careful what you dream of.

A sincere and gigantic thank you to @kellarhi, who beta-read this story for me.

Read it on AO3 / fanfiction.net

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

"AAAAAAdrieeeeen!" 

An angry wail broke the silence of the mansion, booming with a powerful echo over the cavernous rooms and halls. Oh, paws. For human that was normally so quiet, this person could be loud when he wanted. And easily annoyed, surprisingly. 

She would have raced out of the room if it wasn’t for the fact that she was currently dangling high in the air. The tall man that people called "Sir" or "Gabriel" or "Father" (why did humans need so many names anyway?) had just grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and now held her as if she was the most disgusting animal he’d ever seen.

"AAAAAAdrieeeeeeen! Take this mangy creature away from me!" 

He wouldn’t stop yelling until the blond head of the smaller human appeared at the door.

"Sorry, father," the boy said sheepishly. "What has my Lady done this time?"

The adult sighed and rolled his eyes. "I can’t believe you call her that now."

"She’s mine and she’s a Lady after all," Adrien chuckled, taking her into his arms. He ran his fingers over her multi-colored black and reddish fur.

She slowly blinked at him, squinting her lime green eyes. The cheese aroma she had come to associate with the boy surrounded her, and she started purring her lungs out. He scratched her neck absentmindedly, revealing an elegant collar with a glittery name fixed in curvy letters.

Lady Noir, it read.

“Who’s the pretty kitty?" Adrien cooed with a smile. 

She tilted her head into his palm for more pets and enthusiastically kneaded his forearm. 

Gabriel pointed to the leather chair. Scratches marked its backrest in two parallel lines. In hindsight, not her smartest move, but she had been practising leaps and her aim still lacked precision.

"I thought I told you to trim her claws," the man scowled accusingly. 

Adrien rubbed his chin over Lady Noir’s head, right where the entirely dark left half met the reddish right half creating an illusion of a red and black mask that was split in the middle— the pattern that, according to the boy, had earned her the name. 

"It must have slipped my mind," he said.

Her ears twitched at a new sound. Was she the only one who could hear the snickers coming from Adrien’s shirt? 

xxx

Lady Noir hadn’t been used to luxury prior to being adopted. The Agreste mansion was definitely a place where a cat could spread her wings. Metaphorically of course. Cats do not have wings, although… among the inhabitants of the house, there was one that could fly regardless.

She wasn’t certain if Plagg really should be referred to as a cat, but he was the closest thing to the idea of a cat: the master of lazing about, with a knack for causing trouble; curious, gluttonous, cheeky and mischievous. In short, he was her idol, and guide to all things feline. Just like her, he had his own ways, but inside he was just a big softie with a heart of gold—or possibly cheese, as he basically inhaled the stuff in enormous quantities. Lady Noir tried his camembert thing once. The experience could be summed up in a single word: Yuck! Plagg was outraged when she took several baths to get rid of the foul smell afterwards.

Although Plagg’s interests seemed to be limited to dairy products, he never failed to remind Adrien to restock on her treats when asking for more camembert for himself. She could go through her stash of snacks almost as quickly as Plagg went through a block of cheddar. It wasn’t hard to do, considering she stayed in the boy’s room most of the time.

Lady Noir prided herself on being a very observant cat, and recognized immediately that Adrien needed her company the most. Besides, she knew she’d been brought into the house explicitly to become his cat. Which, in Feline, meant that the blond boy belonged to her now so she supposed it was her duty to meet his needs the way he’d been meeting hers.

He didn’t need much. Just a little bit of distraction when he was tiredly bending over his textbooks, or a kneading session when he was exhausted after one practise or another. Some nuzzles and nibbles to wake him up. Lady Noir also made sure to keep him company at night. Together with Plagg, they made sure no nightmare could reach him—purring was the key to their success.

She was the model of contentment, and only got miffed when they left her and went outside through the window. Adrien seemed to really enjoy those outings, when he put on a black suit that made him look a bit like a cat. Lady Noir loved to play with the long tail or swat at the golden bell, but those were rare occasions. Usually Plagg vanished somewhere when the boy changed into his black cat-like gear. He always left in a rush only to come back much later, tired but happy, and smelling like luck for some reason. The flying cat then appeared again as if nothing happened and demanded his cheese.

Lady Noir would gladly go out with them, were she invited. Unfortunately, there was little entertainment to be found in the huge empty house when Adrien left for school or his cat job. Boredom eventually drove her to explore it once she was done with the boy’s room.

xxx

It would have been nice to have company when Adrien was out, but Plagg always went where her boy did. His father became the next obvious choice, as the only other permanent resident. Unlike the boy, he didn’t smell of cheese, but of butterflies and passion fruit, which intrigued her to no end, as he never left the house and was rarely seen out of his room. 

They hadn’t started their acquaintance on friendly terms, which admittedly was partly her fault. She decided to make amends in a typically feline way—by bringing him offerings. And what better gift could a cat bring to a person who smelled of butterflies? The house was full of them if one knew where to look. And she was a very clever kitty. No butterfly could hide away from her for long. She caught them expertly and brought them to Gabriel’s desk whenever she could. He must have liked them, because they disappeared very quickly. 

xxx

And then one day when she came to his room with fresh prey in her mouth, there was a new smell around. It was damp, cold and heavy—metallic, with a hint of algae, old stone, and moss. A little bit of sniffing allowed her to find the hidden door and after some paw work she was able to push it enough for a slim cat to slip inside a dark corridor. 

Maybe she’d find some mice or rats in here? It was ages since she got any decent prey and maybe Gabriel would prefer a fresh, fat rat over those flimsy butterflies? She knew she would. 

But she found no rats as she explored, just another huge chamber, with faint light seeping through a ceiling window on the other end. It shone over a strange tall tube. Lady Noir knew tubes. There were plenty of them in the house in various sizes and they made for very nice scratching posts. Much better than those generic things from the pet shop. No self respecting cat would scratch those when they had a perfectly good tube, chair, or drape right under their noses. 

Lady Noir arched her back, wiggled her tail and reached for her newest scratching post. There was a metallic clank and the tube hummed softly. Then the upper part of it rose up revealing its contents.

She sniffed once, twice. The air smelled a bit like Adrien, minus the cheese overtones. She looked around and hopped onto the tube. There was a woman, tall and blonde, asleep inside. What a novel idea! This was the perfect place for a nap, sun beam and all. It looked like Lady Noir finally had found a nap buddy for her long days!

Up close she could tell there was something off with the woman���s scent. Something she couldn’t quite put her claw on that felt like weakness or illness. But Lady Noir wasn’t afraid; she prided herself on being an excellent feline doctor. After all, whenever Adrien was sick she stayed with him, drawing the bad vibes away. 

Happy with her newly discovered friend, she curled up on the woman’s belly and dozed off. 

xxx

Plagg wasn’t happy when he saw Lady Noir after her first basement nap. He hissed at her and grumbled something about dark magic. Admittedly she did feel rather strange, but she blamed it on the salmon pâte that must have been a bit on a stale side. However, the flying cat would have none of that. He dragged her into the upper level of Adrien’s room and licked her clean—she was definitely feeling out of it if he was allowed to do that. 

She did feel better afterwards, right up to the point when it turned out Plagg was no gentleman at all. He coughed a hairball right in front of her, the weirdest hairball she’d ever seen. Part of it consisted of her own hair and Plagg’s saliva, but there were also purple strings present: streaks of something Plagg called “bad energy" tangled with the rest of the hairball. He said it had ‘no place in our home’, so he put his paw to it and whispered something under his breath. The thing turned to ash with a quiet buzz. The room seemed brighter after that. 

Lady Noir thought that would be the end of it, but the sprite proceeded to talk her ears off about “bad energy", forbidding her to go near its source again. So of course the first thing she did when Adrien and Plagg left for school the next day was go back to her nap buddy. 

Every time the flying cat returned home to find her “feeling off", he would holler, lick and cleanse her fur, and then turn the “bad energy" into ash.

“I swear, Spots," he grumbled, stuffing himself with camembert to get rid of the bad taste, “I don’t know what you do to get all tangled in that mess."

She could only shrug to his complaints. After all, the napping lady was her secret and one did not betray their buddies.

xxx

Lady Noir kept going back to the basement, but since the only entrance led through Gabriel’s room, she had to sneak her way around him. Sometimes he would visit the sleeping woman, although most times he sat at his desk and worked, casting longing looks to the enormous painting that covered the whole wall from floor to ceiling. Lady Noir knew very little about art, but she thought the person in that painting looked a bit like what her nap buddy would have looked like, if she was younger and awake.

It usually took hours for Lady Noir to get an opportunity to sneak to the underground level of the mansion, so inevitably she started to keep the man company as well. He turned out to be as sad and lonely as his son, but he seemed more desperate and anxious than the boy. There was always an aura of deep grief and heartache around him. No self respecting cat would allow it. That’s how Lady Noir decided to include Gabriel in her daily routine. Between the sleeping lady and Adrien she still had plenty of time, which she could put to good use, if only the man would allow it.

Since the butterfly strategy hadn’t worked, she had to come up with a new plan to get his attention. Laying on his tablet seemed to annoy him. Stretching on his sketches irked him. Pushing his pencils off the desk usually got a growl out of him. 

A few times he grumbled under his breath, but Adrien wasn’t home to take her away. So after a while, the man accepted her presence; however, he moved her away from his things, which allowed for her to lounge on the unoccupied part of his desk. 

One day she must have dozed off, because when she woke up he was nowhere to be seen. Yet, as his scent lingered in the air, he couldn’t have actually left. Her nose led her to the painting and then to a spot on the floor. She thumped it with her paw and was rewarded with a deep echo as if the space below was empty. Another hidden passage?

She sat beside it and meowed experimentally.

There was a hollow clank, then part of the floor moved and revealed a smooth silver head with eyes hidden behind a mask. The man who appeared in the passage smelled like Gabriel but he didn’t look like him. He was wearing a single-color suit—not Gabriel’s usual clothes. He cast her an exasperated look and sighed deeply. 

“Stop it," he said and returned to the tunnel.

Of course she didn’t stop. As soon as the trap door closed behind him, she let out a wail of sorrow only a cat is capable of. 

“I’m serious. Cut it out!" Gabriel’s voice, albeit muffled, replied from under the floor.

“Meeeeooooooowrrrr," she lamented.

“Oh, for the love of—" 

The silver head emerged from the passage again. Cold blue eyes pierced her. The man’s lips, the only thing visible from under his silver mask, were pressed into a thin line.

“Meow?" She mewled tilting her head. Her tail curled attentively into a question mark.

“Fine," he rolled his eyes. “But you had better behave."

A dark glove caught her scruff, and the next thing she knew she was sliding through a tunnel in the man’s arms. 

There was a large chamber on the other end, similar to what she had found in the basement, but this place must have been somewhere high up, judging by the plethora of light from the round window. And there were butterflies. Every flat surface was covered in them. She had never seen so many before.

She wondered if she could catch a few for Gabriel, but the man raised a warning finger.

“Don’t even think about it," he said, depositing her on the ground.

He tapped his foot and the butterflies took flight. She halfheartedly swatted at them, but where was the challenge when there were so many? She lost interest in an instant and decided to explore the chamber, leaving the silver-headed man to his own devices.

He called her when he returned to the trap door; it was then that she discovered Plagg wasn’t the only flying creature in the house. The man murmured something under his breath and suddenly he was no longer wearing a silver mask or a strange suit. Gabriel stood in his place and a violet sprite hovered next to him.

“Nooroo," the man said, “This is Lady Noir, Adrien’s cat."

xxx

Nooroo was a good friend. He was appointed with the task of keeping her busy when Gabriel needed to focus on his work. She chased after the sprite, eliciting quiet chuckles from Adrien’s father, when he thought they couldn’t hear him. They played their own version of hide and seek, with the cat tracking the violet creature’s hideouts all over the room. He drew her away from Gabriel’s sketches and his tablet. In reward, he usually got a generous helping of passion fruit that the man kept hidden in his desk. After some time, she discovered that one of the drawers got filled with her favorite snacks so that, after a wild run over the room, she could feast alongside Nooroo. A few times she caught Gabriel gazing at them, while a shadow of a smile danced on his lips.

He kept disappearing into the tunnel, though. At first Lady Noir sat next to the trap door and meowed incessantly, but he rarely returned for her. Once, she spied that, before entering the passage, he pressed parts of the enormous painting. Oh! Well, cats could also press things when they felt like it. After a few days of practice and careful aiming,  she managed to figure out how to leap from the desk to land on the canvas in a way that would allow her to open the trap door.

She proudly strutted into his secret room. Emboldened by her trick, she viciously attacked his shoelaces to draw his attention away from the window and to cut off his monologuing. 

To say that Gabriel was surprised when she showed up in his chamber wouldn’t say half of it.  He yelped, and jumped half a meter in the air. Lady Noir was sure that if he had a tail, or any hair on that smooth silver head, it would have bristled like an angry hedgehog. 

The second time she followed him, she decided on a less threatening approach and just rubbed her head into his calves. Her purr of contentment echoed in the cavernous space, amplified by the dome.

After the third time she managed to sneak into the chamber Gabriel gave up and just took her with him, allowing her to lounge in the sun beam from the window, while he did whatever he came to do there. As far as she could tell it mostly consisted of talking, grumbling, hissing, gritting his teeth and stomping angrily. Sometimes waving a fist was involved. One name stuck in her memory, mostly because he mentioned it a lot.

Ladybug.

xxx

Funny thing, Adrien sometimes had a guest who used the window. A guest who smelled like luck—the faint scent the boy sometimes brought with him when he returned from his cat escapades. A guest whose name was Ladybug. 

What was even funnier was the fact that the girl visited him other times, under a different name, in a more regular outfit and used the door. Although she still smelled like luck, in this form she was referred to as Marinette, while another flying creature, a red bug, hid in her purse.

Lady Noir was a young cat and she hadn’t had much experience before she got to the mansion, but it seemed that every human she met was accompanied by a flying friend. She wondered why humans needed them?

It took a while before she discovered that Adrien had no idea that Marinette and Ladybug were the same person. She couldn’t believe it! She knew human senses were weaker than cats’, but the boy would have to be basically noseless not to recognize that scent. She tried everything a cat could think of to show him the error of his ways. She allowed the girl to pet her, hoping Adrien would recognize how familiar Maribug was with his cat and how she always stroked her in the exact same way. She brought the girl a figurine of Adrien in his cat form, wishing he’d understand that the scent he wore came from the girl. A few times, in an act of desperation, she even tried to drag Plagg out of his hiding spot under the sofa; but the sprite refused to show up, even though Marinette had her own bug who could have been Plagg’s sister.

Afterwards she received another one of Plagg’s lectures, but instead of scolding her for the upteenth time about getting the “bad energy" all over herself again, he ranted about how his existence must be kept secret from other humans. She really didn’t see the point, if every other person seemed to have a—what did he call himself? A kwamice. 

xxx

Ladybug in both of her forms seemed to be very fond of Adrien, which didn’t escape Lady Noir’s attention. It soon dawned on the cat that the boy’s feelings for the girl were also stronger than those for a “friend”, as he sometimes called Marinette. She made him happy, and it didn’t even take Lady Noir’s genius to see that. The cat figured a girlfriend—a romantic partner—was exactly what Adrien needed. She doubled her efforts at enlightening him about there being only one person who smelled of luck. Plagg only rolled his eyes at her antics.

“You might as well give up now, Spots," he told her. “I’ve been dropping hints much longer than you, and the kid isn’t really that dense. It’s just the magic of the Miraculous. It won’t allow for him to see that they are the same person unless she shows him herself."

Lady Noir refused to give up. In a typically stubborn feline fashion, she decided she would let Adrien know even if it was the last thing she would do. Painstakingly, she tracked down each and every item in Adrien’s possession that bore the girl’s scent. They were hidden all over his room. Carefully, she moved them to the little red figurine that looked like Ladybug— for good measure, she threw in some pictures Adrien had stacked in one of his trophies. She kept telling herself her plan had to work. After all it was consistent with what Plagg had said—“she” had to show him herself, and the various items he’d collected from her would show who she was. But, Lady Noir reasoned, no one said anything about what would be shown and by whom.

Finally the day came when her display was ready. The bracelet Adrien usually kept on himself was her last loot. The pink piece of paper he had hidden in his desk, the notes he sometimes browsed through, the blue scarf he liked so much—everything she could find was already there.

Satisfied with her work, she dragged Adrien to her collection, rubbing her head against his calves. 

“Really, Spots?" Plagg chuckled from his bin. “You needn't bother."

“Meow," she headbutted the Ladybug figurine. “Mrow," she grabbed the cat boy doll and move it closer. “Purrrr," she took the bracelet in her teeth and laid it on top. Then she sniffed the papers and the scarf ostensibly. 

Adrien gazed politely at her theatrics. He reached for the scarf. She sniffed again. Plagg cackled in the distance.

Sniff. Adrien took a deep breath smelling the scarf. Sniff-sniff, he sniffed the notes. Lady Noir put her nose to the cat boy figurine again.

“That scent…’ Adrien murmured. He closed his eyes, taking each and every item and reverently putting it to his nose. “That scent…" he echoed. The bracelet fell out of his hand. “She’s… that’s… it can’t be, can it?" he mumbled. “Plagg?"

The sprite flew out if his bin and looked over the scattered items and to Adrien. The boy’s eyes were blown wide, his lips opened as he stared at the Ladybug figurine.

“No way," the flying cat drawled. “You have got to be kidding me."

xxx 

After her success, Lady Noir could devote more time to Gabriel’s wellbeing. She decided to spend the day on his desk. She didn’t even notice when a finger started rubbing at the perfect spot between her ears. She cracked one lime green eye open. Adrien’s father was sketching, deep in thought, while absentmindedly scratching her head. His hand slipped under her chin and then moved to the side of her muzzle and to her back. 

Lady Noir purred, nuzzling into his palm. She put her paw over his wrist and clawed gently. Then she dared to nibble on his thumb.

Surprised, Gabriel whipped his head to her, his hand frozen mid-scratch. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She slowly let go of his hand, but he just smiled. Emboldened she rose from the desk and strutted to him. 

“Who’s the pretty kitty?" he cooed lowering his head. 

She headbutted him without thinking twice.

“You are," he hummed, as she proceeded to rub her whiskered cheek against his chin. “You’re the prettiest kitty!"

Slowly, he reached for her and scooped her into his arms. His fingers slid into her fur, scratching and tending. The man’s jacket was quickly covered in a thick layer of additional hair, but he didn’t seem to mind, engrossed in the caress.

Nooroo’s head popped from behind Gabriel’s shoulder and he winked at her. 

“The prettiest, softest kitty," the man babbled. And for the first time his smile reached his eyes.

xxx

The next day she found a toy mouse on Gabriel’s desk in the spot she had claimed as her own. She also smelled a new brand of snacks somewhere near. 

Later, Adrien’s father didn’t go into his butterfly chamber, choosing to take Lady Noir to the sleeping woman instead. He held the cat the whole time, his fingers buried deep in her fur, as he gazed at the glass tube, commenting on how the woman’s skin seemed to have regained some color. Nooroo pursed his lips and cast an anxious look to the woman as if considering something. When they returned to Gabriel’s room, the sprite made sure the door to the passage stayed opened enough for an industrious paw to fit into the crack, making Lady Noir’s visit to her nap buddy much easier.

That day Plagg wasn’t happy. Nor on the days after that. Not even when she brought him the toy mouse.

xxx

Lady Noir quickly got used to Gabriel petting her while he was working. It was now easier to sneak out for a basement nap as the man took on a habit of having lunch with Adrien when he returned home during the day—sometimes in Marinette’s company. Usually Nooroo came with a heads up when the meal was nearing its end, so that she could leave the sleeping lady and return to her spot on the desk. Gabriel couldn’t design without her, claiming she was his new inspiration. And he definitely was on a designing spree these past few days. According to Nooroo this was the first such successful spree since the sprite arrived at the mansion. However, that day Nooroo didn’t come. 

Lady Noir woke up to a finger rubbing behind her ear and another gently stroking her back. The touch wasn’t familiar. 

“Who’s the pretty kitty?" A feminine voice whispered, hoarse and scratchy, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.  

Intrigued, Lady Noir risked a peek at the person petting her. Bright, green eyes looked back at her with kindness and confusion. Eyes so similar to the ones she saw in the painting in Gabriel’s room, so similar to Adrien’s eyes. The sleeping lady had woken up after all those long days and delightful naps! Lady Noir purred in contentment. Another pair of hands to pet her was good news.

Her nap buddy hummed, letting her fingers wander over the cat’s back. “Mmmmm, this is so nice."

Lady Noir couldn’t agree more. All that was missing now was—

A thud sounded in the spacious chamber. Gabriel stood at the entrance, the bouquet he brought scattered on the floor.

“Emilie?" He rasped. “You’re… you… how do you feel?" In just three steps he was at the woman’s side. To Lady Noir’s indignation he took away one of the hands caressing the cat’s back and pressed it to his lips; a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Well rested," Emilie sighed, her lips stretched in a soft smile. She sniffed experimentally. “And surprisingly not allergic to cats anymore."

Lady Noir’s ears twitched. Nooroo giggled somewhere nearby. Upstairs, a door opened and closed. She heard the faint echo of Adrien and Marinette’s steps as they ran to his room, laughing. Gabriel still held Emilie’s hand, but his breathing sounded shaky. The cat yawned looking between two humans, who stared at each other as if this was their first meeting in a long time. She stood up and squeezed herself between them just in case they’d forgotten she was there as well. A tail in Gabriel’s face and a gentle rub of her head to Emilie’s chin should do the trick. 

“Meowr,” she chirped.

Gabriel chuckled, even though his voice seemed tight. “Who’s the clever kitty?” he cooed scratching behind her ear.

Lady Noir sat attentively, her tail lashing behind her. She definitely was the cleverest kitty. She purred, pleased with herself and the fact that her nap buddy would now be able to pet her as well. Something told her that she would not be the only one getting the much needed attention and affection from Emilie. Just one look to the woman’s smiling face and Gabriel was already putty in her hands. 

There was love here, and where there was love, there was happiness. She could feel it in Gabriel’s heartbeat, she could see it in Emilie’s blush. The aura of grief and melancholy was slowly melting away, replaced with tentative hope and the promise of a happier tomorrow. Things were definitely going to be better around here, and that was perfectly fine with her.

 The End

(Please check out the amazing art by @sinfulpapillon​ to go with this fic)