#she could teach daisy the skills to protect herself when she couldn’t

[apocalyptichearts]

"I know what you're doing, trying to distance yourself from everyone else so they don't drown in your wake–"

credits – warsan shire, how to wear your mothers lipstick || margaret wise brown, the runaway bunny || tame impala, let it happen || @/veerxa on pinterest || elena poniatowska, la flor de lis || hannah green, night terrors

[marvxlousqueen]

Michael Langdon- Sanctuary of the Coven

Requested by @neuroticbrazilianlawyer  “Yay! Great! So... I think the witches should have done the same the umbrella academy did with the white violin. I hated when Mallory went back in time to kill Michael! He was just lost and confused, he turned evil because the only people who gave him love and a sense of purpose were the satanists. I would really like to read a fic where she brings him to be raised and cared for by the witches and turns to the good side, rejecting his father...” 

I hope this is what you were hoping for! so just to be clear this is not a mallory x michael imagine, it’s a sister figure!mallory where she cares for her little brother figure! michael because he really needs someone to care about him :))   (also i ended this fic where i feel like the show would’ve ended it if they had gone this route ya know)

word count: 1.2K words :)

warnings: nothing except sad michael :(  also i wrote this like michael was a kid bc technically he was like mentally 10 so he acts kinda like a kid

“Tempus Infinitum!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Mallory woke up, gasping for air. She felt as though she was still drowning. She found herself in the hot sun of Los Angeles, California, right where she needed to be. She saw that she was still holding the necklace of Anastasia and her latest memories came rushing back. Cordelia. Gone. 2015.

Mallory knew how to do what she was sent here to do. And she knew just how to do it. She moved off the sidewalk where she was laid as her eyes fell to a black range rover across the street. 

“Go ahead. Put me out of my misery! But... but you won’t, will you? Because you’re a coward. And deep down inside, you know it.” Constance’s words stung Michael more than the slap she gave him across his cheek. His grip around her neck loosened and she pushed him off. Tears running down his face, he grabbed his jacket and ran. His bare feet jumped down the stairs and pushed out the door. He made it to the sidewalk about to cross the street, not bothering to look both ways.

Mallory sat in the Range Rover in front of the house, waiting. She saw Langdon making a run out of the door. She put the car in drive, ready to floor it. As she went to push the gas, she hesitated. He was crying. He looked so much younger and.. innocent. Mallory didn’t understand how just a few years could change him so much. He was just a child. She couldn’t hurt a child, she didn’t want to hurt a child. 

She quickly parked the car and jumped out. “Langdon!” His head turned quickly in her direction. Mallory what the hell are you doing? This isn’t the plan! You’re supposed to kill him, she thought. He wasn’t used to contact with others since Constance always kept him locked away. His eyebrows were furrowed, tears still running freely down his cheeks. “W-what?” Mallory walked slowly towards him, as if to not startle him. She knew what he would eventually be capable of, she just wasn’t sure what he was able to do yet. She didn’t want to risk it, she was already risking enough not killing him. 

“My name is Mallory. I just want to talk to you, Langdon. Please.” He stared dead into her eyes. In the future she had only seen a look of menacing evil, but now all his eyes showed was fear and sadness. “My name is Michael, not just Langdon. Michael Langdon, b-but how do you know that?” Mallory offered him a smile, trying to be as gentle and friendly as possible. “I can explain if we can just sit and talk.” Michael nodded and immediately sat criss cross applesauce on the sidewalk. He really is just a child, Mallory thought.  Mallory followed his suit and sat down across from him, a few feet between them. Michael began to poke at the grass growing between the sidewalk squares, waiting for her to speak.

“I.. I’m heading to a school. It’s an academy for people of particular talent.” Use smaller words, Mallory. He’s a kid. “I’ve heard of your skills. I’m just like you. Different. You don’t need to be treated bad just because you’re different. The people of this school and myself, we would all protect you and teach you to further your gift and control it.” Michael was staring at her now. He never had anyone promise to protect him, not his father, mother, or grandmother. Everyone who he thought so fondly of didn’t want him, but this random woman was willing to protect him. “You’re actually different?”

Mallory nodded, smiling. “Want to see?” His eyes widened as he nodded, a smile growing on his tear-stained face. Mallory had to take a second to think of what to do. Kids like animals, right? She picked a daisy that was growing out of a crack in the side, twirled her fingers, and a butterfly appeared, landing on her palm. She heard Michael gasp. She blew on the butterfly and it flew towards him, landing on his knee. He laughed and tried to pick it up, but it began to float away until in turned into a pile of falling flower petals. He looked back at her, facing showing awe. 

Mallory stood up and offered him a hand, which he took without hesitation. “Do you want to see this school, brother?” Michael went to nod his head, but stopped after hearing her words. “Brother?” 

“You and I are family. Everyone with our abilities are. We can take care of each other.” Michael, to Mallory’s surprise, gave her a hug and then jumped off, running towards the car, full of excitement for a home where he wouldn’t be hurt. Mallory stood in shock for a moment. Less than an hour ago she had seen this boy kill multiple witches. Now he was laughing and jumping with joy to meet those very same witches. 

She started the car, still shocked at how much he had changed- or how much he could change in the future. Michael buckled his seatbelt, excited to be riding shotgun. “How far is this school?” 

“It’s a bit of a drive. All the way in New Orleans. GPS says it’ll be about 27 hours.” Michael turned towards her. “27 hours!?” A laugh left Mallory’s mouth, “Come on! It’ll be so worth it!”

27 hours was a long time to spend in a car with a ten year old (even if he does look like a teenager, he is just as annoying as a 10 year old). Michael spent most of the time looking out the window and asking questions. He hadn’t left California before. He was rarely allowed to leave the house so Mallory made sure to stop at all the important places along the way to New Orleans. They even took a different route to be able to see the Grand Canyon, making their trip a bit longer. At first she was hesitant to take a route that would make her be in a car with him for an extra five hours but after seeing the look in his eyes and the smile on his face when he saw the view of the Grand Canyon she knew it was worth it. 

Michael’s eyes finally left the window as they pulled into a white house in New Orleans. He faced Mallory and she could see anxiousness in his eyes. She had grown to like him over the past two days they spent together on the road. She actually saw him as her little brother now, a boy she needed to care for since no one else would. 

She patted his head, “It will be fine. They’ll take care of us and you’ll love everyone. I promise.” He gave her a weak smile in response and opened his car door, climbing out. He grabbed his small backpack from the back seat, pulling a strap over his shoulder. It didn’t have much, just some new clothes that Mallory had gotten for him and a photo of them at the Grand Canyon. Mallory grabbed her bag, filled with just clothes as well, seeing as how she came from the future with no items of her own. Facing the home of the Coven she felt relief. She had watched her sisters die and now she would see them again, happy and healthy. 

It would be a chance for her to start over. A chance for both of them to start over. She walked towards the door confidently, knowing she was returning home. Michael followed with a little hesitation. Mallory knocked on the door and as Cordelia opened it, Mallory let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her supreme was alive and well again. “Yes?”

Mallory smiled and replied, “My name is Mallory. This is- this is my brother, Michael. We want to join your academy.” 

[besidemethewholedamntime]

everything you wanted (and everything you don’t)

For @whistlingwindtree who told me I could do it.

Summary:  There are decisions she wouldn't make again no matter the consequences, and yet somehow those consequences have given her the things she loves now.

(Read here on Ao3)

                                                           -x-

May never says, rarely even allows herself to think it, but sometimes she wishes for a simpler life.

To say she loves the life she has now would be a bit too far, would be a bit too simple, but all in all she’s usually quite satisfied with how everything’s played out.

There’s pain. Of course, there’s pain. And there are regrets and there are things she wouldn’t do again no matter the cost. And lately there seem to be more and more of them, softly stacking up that she doesn’t notice until she really thinks and oh wow suddenly it’s like she can’t breathe.

But she’s okay. She’s Melinda Qiaolian May and she’s fine.

There are, however, in those moments before sleep that revelations appear, thoughts of how her life might have turned out and, tentatively, she allows herself to follow the thoughts and see where they go.

What if she had stuck to ice-skating?

What if she had never joined SHIELD?

What if she had never gone to Bahrain?

Logically, she knows there’s no point in wondering for these things that cannot be changed – thinking of them and of what if will only hurt her more.

Though sometimes she cannot help it and falls into the downward tumble that only causes pain.

Sometimes, however, she is able to resist and instead she allows herself to think of a life beyond the broken loop.

Maybe a life with Phil, maybe a life where she could just simply grow old and do Tai Chi every morning because it keeps blood pressure low and not because she needs to maintain her flexibility for a life of constant fighting.

A life where she gets to be content and watch her bus kids heal and grow and be the future.

It’s not as though she says it out loud. It’s a tightly kept secret, something she doesn’t admit even to herself. That’s not to say it’s not there; it’s always in her mind but she actively tries not to think about it.

Because they are not children, and they are not hers. They do not belong to her, they are not things to be claimed as her own. She can’t, because they all have mothers who brought them into this world and shaped the people they are today in various ways. She can’t, because it might be the end of her to take another child.

That, of course, is not to say she doesn’t love them.

She loves them so much even though she tries not to think about it, tries not to allow her brain to go to those forbidden places. Loving them will not save her. Loving them will not save them.

There’s little pieces of herself in each of them, perhaps in some more than others. The way Jemma fires a weapon, the way Fitz is much less afraid of the field. The way Daisy fights, the way she controls her powers. She taught these things to them, she left a lasting impression and perhaps that was the beginning of her descent into love.

When she first met them, they weren’t children then either, except they were. They were wide-eyed and young and looked to her and Phil to guide them and to lead them (and to keep them safe). They all wanted to so desperately believe that these agents in the levels above them, these veteran SHIELD agents had everything well in hand, and that they only had to worry about what they were told to worry about, do what these older agents, these ‘experts’ told them to do. Because they knew everything and they could save the world.

Sometimes she looks back at those wide-eyed children and misses their naivete. It meant that nothing so bad had happened yet that wasn’t reversible, nothing irredeemable had taken place that meant they had to harden and wisen up or risk not making it.

These children needed her, and maybe in a way she needed them too. She needed something to fix, needed something to put back together since she couldn’t do it to herself.

If she takes a step back and looks at her handiwork, she’s not sure of what to think.

Fitzsimmons don’t need her anymore. They have each other to call home. And in a way she’s glad, because something’s worked out for them and they’ve come so far from those two non-field agents she met on a plane all those years ago. They have each other in a way they’ve never had each other before, and in a way she’s sad because the job being done means that the job is finished.

Daisy doesn’t need her anymore, or at least not in the way she used to. This girl has a special place in her heart, because, even though she would never utter it aloud, she would be more able to admit this once-girl could be hers in another world. Because aren’t they two halves of the same broken heart? Wasn’t Daisy looking for someone to love her as a mother loves a child, and wasn’t May needing someone to give her love to once again.?

This girl who when they first found her knew nothing of what it took to be a skilled fighter, a good leader, is now well on her way, if they break the loop, to becoming the new face of SHIELD.

And May is not that self-doubting, she knows which pieces of Daisy are reflections of herself, what she gave to her. But lately it feels as though she has given her everything she is able to, and the things she needs to learn now are only what Phil can teach her, only what leaders can pass on to the next generations, only what fathers give to their daughters.

She feels redundant, as though there’s nothing left she can give these pieces of her heart anymore.

If this is what she feels, with those children who aren’t and were never hers who now no longer need her the way they once did, then how do normal mothers survive it? How do they ever let their children go?

Then there is the man who holds a part of her heart she doesn’t ever remember giving, but one day realising that now suddenly he had it even if he didn’t know it. This man, who since day one she has been here to protect, who’s unwavering faith in the organisation which brought them together makes her want to believe, who’s optimism is infectious and who’s love and loyalty give her the strength and conviction to keep fighting what already could be a losing battle. This man who she loves.

As if that already doesn’t say everything that needs to be said.

This is why she doesn’t think of what if’s, doesn’t think of the could have been’s because then she has to ask herself the question of would you give up everything you have now for the chance at what might have been?

To never know these people who she now considers to be her family is something that wounds her far more than any weapon ever could. To have never known SHIELD, to have never known her ‘bus kids’, to have never known Phil…

To have a life in which she’d never know these people that, although she would never admit it, fixed what was broken within her, gave her back those parts of herself though to have been stolen from her forever is a life she doesn’t want to know. No matter how normal, how simple an alternative might be.

To say she loves the life she has now would be a bit too far, would be a bit too simple.

But the truth is that while there are things she wouldn’t do again no matter what, she’s here now where she is because of those things that have already happened and cannot be changed, no matter how much she might wish it to be so.

And she can ignore the past and she can bury its pain and pretend as though those decisions made lifetimes ago haven’t influenced every single choice since but in the end, it doesn’t go away.

Because it happened and it hurt but it gave her the things she has today. The things she loves.

It’s time to stop looking to the past, to stop wondering about everything that might have been if only.

It’s time to start looking towards the future, to tomorrow and all the days that come after.

It’s time to let go.

[istrys]

Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck

Istrys stepped through the Death Gate first, listening to the strangely satisfying crunch of draenei bones beneath her boots. Despite Hellfire Peninsula’s morbid and bleak appearance, this desolate land was surprisingly peaceful now that the Legion’s burning crusade on this ravaged world had long ended. “Come along, Andy.” The Necromancer cooed as she turned to face the lingering portal. “I have much to teach you.”

“Why drag me all the way out here?” Rethandus’ scowl and icy glare was a welcoming sight; it had been several whole hours since she earned that familiar look. “What purpose does visiting this wasteland serve? You should be inscribing my armor with better runes, not taking me on a field trip.”

“You really don’t know anything about runes, do you?” Istrys shrugged half-heartedly at him. “I need to make them just right, but I need to know where you stand in order to make this work. Understand?”

“And how do we do that? Absorb some nether energy or…?” The Harbinger glanced around, remaining alert for any rogue felboars that could still be lurking just over the dusty red hills. Istrys’ cruel laugh yanked both his attention and glare back to the amused woman.

“Your ignorance is adorable! Hahaha!” The Necromancer withdrew her sickly runesword to drive into the dusty earth between her treads. “Say, before we begin, I need to ask you something. What drives you to want Whitstan’s head so badly? Your skewed sense of honor?”

“Vengeance.” Rethandus narrowed his eyes at her while he spoke; it was an odd question straight out of left field, but one he was already prepared to answer. “He took what little I had away from me. Zion was a good woman. Pure and innocent, despite being undead like us. He murdered her in cold blood. He must answer for what he’s done. Whitstan will suffer what I have suffered a hundred fold.”

“So that’s it?” she asked, perking a brow. “You’re hellbent on killing him because he got to your girlfri-”

“I’m not finished.” Rethandus huffed, interrupting her. “He’s a traitor to the Horde by siding with Worgen filth. He’s a traitor to Azeroth for allying with a Witch who mingled with demons. He’s a traitor to the Knights of the Ebon Blade for trying to recreate a second Scourge. Whitstan has killed hundreds of people and he will kill thousands more if he’s not stopped. Since I’m the only one capable of taking him, it’s my responsibility to see that justice is served.”

“If Mograine executed every Knight that broke the rules, he would be alone on the Acherus.” She licked her lips while she grinned wickedly at him. “Your sense of justice is somewhat… hypocritical. But that vengeance will do for now.”

“What are you blabbering about now?” Irritation dripped from his words at this point, for he was quickly running out of patience; he had training to do and runes to forge, he didn’t have time to play psychology with her.

“I want you to fight me, Rethandus.” Istrys gestured him over with her free hand. “No, I need you to try and kill me. Focus on that hatred for our colleague and hit me with everything you have, you hear me? I want to taste that vengeance for myself.”

“This must be some sort of joke.” Rethandus crossed his arms in defiance. “You know damn well that I only duel to the death. I need you to make my runes before your second death, not after.”

“Ugh, more doubt and excuses. Let me say this as slowly as I can so your frosty little brain can process this. If the runes I make for you prove to be too weak, Whitstan will slaughter you; but if they’re too strong for you to control, you’ll only freeze yourself in a block of ice… which will leave you at Whitstan’s mercy. Or lack thereof.” Istrys paused to roll her shoulder blades one by one. “Do you understand now, Rethandus? I need to experience your skills firsthand if you want me to make adequate runes for you.”

“When I fight, I lose myself.” Rethandus’ gaze fell to the ground. “It’s easy telling who’s friend or foe now that our enemies are giant, fel-infused demons. But I can’t guarantee you’ll get an accurate reading of my abilities if I restrain myself. And if I don’t… I risk cutting you down. I can’t kill another member of the Oathguard. Even if it’s you, Commander Sun’rael would likely imprison me… erm… no offense.”

“I thought you’d say something like that.” Istrys sighed, tapping her chin while she studied him. “If I want to get this stupid lug to give me his all, I’ll have to piss him off. Like… really piss him off.” A cruel smirk spread from ear to ear, slowly catching Rethandus’ attention again.

“What…?” He huffed, while his scowl turned into a grimace. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“This Zion chick you fawn over so much, how did Whitstan kill her?” Istrys licked her lips again, though it was more out of habit than anything; her tongue was far too dry to wet her lips anyway. “Did he stab her through the chest? Did he use his unholy strength to collapse her chest cavity?”

“He ripped her fucking head off.” Rethandus hissed, far slower than he normally spoke.

“I’m going to let you in on a secret, Andy, so listen closely.” Istrys leaned forward while she stared deep into his eyes. “I’m going to resurrect your girlfriend, head included or not. Not only that, I’ll drag her soul out of whatever abyss she’s screaming in to return to our realm. She’s going to be my bitch, you hear me Rethandus? And I will take great pleasure in making my new puppet dance for Whitstan’s amu-”

Rethandus closed the gap between them faster than she anticipated, partially caught off guard from her taunting. Pure unadulterated fury burned in his wild eyes, nearly distracting her from noticing both his runeblades were already unsheathed. Skeletal hands popped out of the bone sand to snare him, halting his advance and forcing the Harbinger to slash at his boots to free himself. The Necromancer turned and fled, reanimating a small militia to defend herself; but Rethandus proved to be faster than she thought.

Istrys turned around to stop a fatal thrust into her heart, feeling the full brunt of his unholy strength reverberate through her sword and arms. Ice shattered into the wind when he brought his left blade down in an overhead attempt to bury it into her skull. Her sickly runesword threatened to bend in half from his assault, and she lacked the experience to stay within his range for much longer. Her flimsy ghouls closed in from behind, slamming into his back to gnaw on his arms and shoulders. Rethandus whipped around with a scythe of ice, slashing through their bodies like a blade through wheat. He returned his focus on Istrys just in time to see her sink into the writhing bones that lay scattered around them.

“Istrys!” He bellowed while he lunged at her, burying his freezing blades deep into the ground in hopes of reaching her. Images of Zion’s headless corpse frolicking about for Whitstan’s entertainment filled his heart with hate, compelling him to up the dosage of his frost runes to freeze the whole area around him; he couldn’t let Istrys escape his grasp, or his worst nightmare would come true.

The Necromancer popped her head out of the dust like a daisy a few yards away, quietly summoning more skeletons to test him. Rethandus immediately rolled out of the way of an incoming ghoul, slashing it in half on his way back to his feet. He drove his shoulder into another, letting it smash into pieces upon his armor. It didn’t take long for him to spot his prime target once she rose out of the ground.

Raw unholy magic seethe and crackled between her fingers and danced along her palms. As Rethandus dispatched the last minion and charged straight for her, a wave of bones rose up from the ground and surged forward. The Harbinger slammed the wave with a howling blast of frost and covered his face before crashing through. “I need to get creative if I’m to stop him.” Istrys thought to herself while she bombarded him with death coils; one by one he swatted them away from his body, knowing his anti-magic shell was too pitiful to withstand raw unholy magic flung from an expert necromancer. At her command hundreds of bone pieces shot out of the ground to snap into place along her body, nearly encasing herself in a second suit of armor. Rethandus thought she was vulnerable now that she was without her ghouls- Rethandus was mistaken.

The Necromancer raised her left arm and caught his blade near her elbow, letting her skeletal plating absorb the blow. Her right hook smashed against his chest before he could connect with his other blade, shattering the bone protecting her gauntlet as well as upheaving the rime on his chestplate. The force of the blow slowed his assault, allowing her to catch his other hand by the wrist before he had a chance to chop her head off.

“Is that all you got, Andy?” Istrys taunted from behind her skull helmet, grinning fiendishly while she matched his crushing strength with her unholy empowerment. Rethandus was quickly running out of options now that his runes were nearly exhausted. He opened his mouth wide and coughed forth a torrent of raw frost magic not unlike the breath of a frostwyrm, blasting her face in a desperate attempt to freeze her head solid; but her anti-magic shell was far stronger than he had hoped, allowing her to lean back far enough to send her forehead onto a collision course with his face. Her leg swept his feet out from underneath before he had a chance to recover, and in the brief second he was falling, Istrys slammed her elbow down hard into his side to send him plummeting into the ground. An evil chuckle slipped through her clenched teeth while she surged her left leg with power, revving up a devastating kick that nearly shattered his chestplate.

Rethandus was sent skipping across the wastes like a flat stone across a still pond, until his momentum eventually gave out. The Harbinger was slow to rise to his feet, feeling his sundered ribs rub against each other. Black ichor oozed from the corners of his mouth and forehead, but his scowl remained persistent. If Whitstan was capable of such feats, without Istrys��� runes the next duel would be a brutally short one. Rethandus grabbed his hanging right arm and popped it back into his shoulder, forcing a pained grunt through his stained teeth. Istrys appeared on the horizon, holding the runeblade that was once buried into her arm, as the skeletal armor that turned her into a juggernaut turned to dust and vanished into the wind.

“You had enough?” she called, causing his blood to boil. “This battle is done. You can barely stand, meanwhile I barely have a single scratch on me.” The ground near a destroyed siege tank began to shift and stir, drawing Rethandus’ attention to witness several fel orc corpses claw their way out of the ground; despite dying nearly a decade ago, the dry climate of this broken world kept them surprisingly preserved. “Yield, Andy. Surrender and maybe I’ll reconsider desecrating your girlfriend’s corpse.”

“I’ll show you desecration.” Rethandus hissed beneath his breath, freezing both his wounded chest cavity and his clenched fist solid. He knew his runes were spent, so he had to make this last assault count. The Necromancer licked her lips and grinned the moment he charged her position again, stirring her orcish ghouls to shamble into his path to stop him.

He split the chest of the first ghoul down the middle with a brutal overhead swing; he toppled it over with his shoulder, allowing him to reach the next one without the risk of being overwhelmed. His blade came up, tearing through the arm of his target with relative ease. Rethandus’ frozen mallet of a fist soon followed, crushing its chin and sending jagged teeth into its moldy brains. Three ghouls remained, standing side by side a few feet before their mistress.

The runes along the hilt of his blade shattered, erupting in a violent and untamed storm of frost; the ghouls were flash frozen before they had a chance to attack, swallowed in a cloud of splintering ice and freezing fog. Istrys remained stationary with her arms crossed, waiting to see what he would do next. He leapt out of the cloud as she predicted, lunging at her with his fist now frozen into a crude spike. The Necromancer flicked her fingers at him, electrifying his body with devious shadow magic on his descent toward her. Missing his mark and disoriented from the strange attack, he fell helpless into the ground the moment she casually side-stepped. Rethandus sprang to his feet and whipped around to bury his makeshift icicle into her chest, but she was ready.

“Your will is not your own.” Istrys whispered, in quite possibly the worst Lich King impression he had ever heard. Rethandus felt his muscles lock up against his will, paralyzing him. The Necromancer kept her extended hand steady while she walked forward; he struggled to break free of this control, but he was making little progress. “A valiant effort. Your will is certainly powerful. But my power is… more powerfuller…? You know what I mean.” She taunted, forcing him to drop his runeblade. “Kneel.”

Suddenly his body felt like it weighed a ton, forcing him to collapse to one knee while he placed both of his fists against the ground. “Good boy.” Rethandus couldn’t see her, but he felt her place a boot on his shoulder. “You did pretty good, Andy. Your awareness and reflexes are on point, and your swordplay was definitely exciting.” With a snap of her fingers his muscles unlocked as the nefarious magic binding him to her will released him; she pushed him onto his back with her boot, deciding to straddle him and pin his arms down with her legs. “But… can I give you some advice?”

“Uuggh…” Rethandus groaned out, still fairly disoriented from losing control of his body; he could barely move his body, regardless of the Necromancer sitting on him.

“You’re painfully predictable. I knew what you were going to do and when you were going to do it. You always attack head on and you throw everything you have into each strike. On top of that, you wasted too much time taking out my ghouls instead of disabling them, giving me plenty of time to simply create more. And most importantly, your rune management is easily the worst I’ve ever seen.” Istrys gestured to the smoldering runeblade a few feet away, which still seethed with wild frost magic. “You’re not supposed to stress them to the point of shattering, Andy-boy.” Rethandus remained silent, staring up at the Necromancer with fury still burning in his eyes. “…what? I’m not going to touch your precious Zion. I obviously said that just to piss you off.” She rolled her eyes at him, but her smirk remained. “Honestly you’re the most gullible Death Knight I’ve ever met. But if it makes you feel any better, Whitstan is a close second.”

“It doesn’t.” Rethandus huffed, finally able to speak; but the strain in his voice from that lingering possession robbed him of his assertiveness, almost making it sound like he was about to cry. “So… I just need… to work on my rune… management…?”

“That, and your temper.” Istrys leaned forward to press her chest against his, choosing to run a hand through his icy silver hair. “You’re too easily angered, Andy. All Whitstan needs to do is mention her name and you’d fly off into a tantrum. And you, my adorable little snowman, make far too many mistakes when enraged.”

Rethandus wanted to protest, but he couldn’t deny his anger issues; this wasn’t the first time he let his pent-up rage violently explode, and if he didn’t get that under control, the next time may be his last. “I can’t make any promises.” The Harbinger reluctantly spoke, finally able to move his toes. “Also… we shouldn’t be openly speaking about any of this… that witch has likely seen enough already.”

“If you’re paranoid about her spying,” Istrys started, “then we’ll go somewhere her eyes can’t follow.” Rethandus was able to lift the woman off his body now that his unholy strength returned, but she certainly didn’t make it easy for him. Eventually she slid off his waist to stand up straight, pausing to stretch nonchalantly before reaching down with an extended hand.

“Let’s get a move on Rethandus. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us and we’re running out of time.”

Mentions: @whitstanwilhelm @lilthessa @k-sunrael