#which is why those bottom barbs are slightly different

[buzzrds]

finished a beading project!

[unbridgeabledistances]

prompt: domestic gallavich/being intimate in a nonsexualway bc there’s like 3 weeks til the next episode 😐

your wish is my command, anon!<3 i decided to tie this into next ep bc i simply cannot HANDLE mickey’s outfit/big gay metamorphosis & i needed to create the scene that inspired it so i wrote this

a one-shot bridging 11x06 and 11x07 in which ian and mickey talk about “gay friends,” ripped jeans, and do a bit of processing along the way

tw for brief mention of homophobia/abuse (bc terry lol)

--

“How come we don’t have any, like, gay friends?”

Ian looked up from where he was laying on the ground, breathing heavily after a series of push-ups, a nightly routine that he was trying to keep intact even though he and Mickey were practically driving the entire circumference of Chicago every day to make weed deliveries from dawn til dusk, leaving them both exhausted. It had been a week since all the shit with Terry, and a month or so since he and Mickey had started the security gig; while months ago their evenings would be spent sitting side by side on the bed in a brittle silence while Ian read or scratched in his notebook and Mickey played games on his phone blasting at full volume in the pajamas he’d been wearing all day, these days the evenings in their bedroom were softer and warmer— like they were settling into the space together, like they were both on the same team instead of constantly clashing and butting heads while trapped in a too-small space. These days, after having dinner in the clamor of the crowded kitchen, he and Mickey would head upstairs and change out of their uniforms, and Ian would work out while Mickey mostly just lounged on the bed, sometimes making commentary and watching him bob up and down with a pensive smirk or scrolling through his phone.

But tonight, Mickey was quiet— his eyes flickered to the curves and edges of Ian’s torso every now and then as Ian broke a sweat, but otherwise he wasn’t playfully poking and prodding like usual.

Mickey had been a lot quieter in general this week, after all the stuff with Terry— Ian knew seeing the source of all of Mickey’s trauma in a wheelchair immobile from the neck down, the most vulnerable Terry could have been, felt worse than someone repeatedly twisting a knife in Mickey’s abdomen. But beyond the initial shock and the almost-murder and lugging him up the stairs, having Terry in a wheelchair twenty feet away did something deeper to Mickey. This whole situation shifted something solid that had been lodged in the pit of Mickey’s stomach for years— Ian could see it, and he fucking hated it. He hated Mickey’s glassy contemplative eyes as he looked out the car window while they drove to a new dropoff location, lost in his head when he thought Ian wasn’t looking. He hated the tightly wound tension between Mickey’s shoulder blades as he slept, curled into himself and twisted in the comforter, facing away from Ian on the other side of the bed. He hated the tight smiles Mickey gave him as he made some offhand joke about Terry when they could hear him cursing and shrieking through the open front windows, smiles that were trying to prove something outwardly but showed the barbed pain stinging at Mickey’s insides. Ian poured out what he could in soft touches, in skims of fingertips at the breakfast table and in an arm over Mickey’s waist while they slept; but he could only give as much as Mickey would take, and for most of the week Mickey had shut everyone out with iron walls.

Ian couldn’t imagine what was stirring in Mickey’s mind; he’d seen some of Mickey’s trauma firsthand, sure, and some of the stories about Terry came slipping through the cracks when Mickey’s guard was down— mostly on those late nights when they both couldn’t sleep and Mickey whispered into the crook of Ian’s neck as they were curled into each other, cradled in the dark silence of their bedroom. But Ian knew there was deeper shit that he hadn’t heard about, and he could see the constant fear of Mickey’s adolescence hanging heavy around his neck all these years later. But Mickey didn’t need anyone to push his walls down— Ian knew he’d open up when he was ready.

Which is why this random question, the most direct statement Mickey had really made to him all week, caught Ian off guard. He sat up, folding his arms over his legs and staring up at where Mickey was slouching on the bed, propped up by a pillow he’d shoved between his back and the wall. “Gay friends?” he asked, more than a little confused.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Yeah, gay friends, y’know. Like all your youth center queers that came to the wedding or whatever.” He suddenly looked down and picked at a fraying thread on his shirt sleeve, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

Ian raised an eyebrow in curiosity. This was random, sure, but Mickey wouldn’t have brought it up if something wasn’t weighing on him, bubbling up after all the events of this week.

“I don’t know— I guess since the pandemic and stuff, I haven’t really kept in touch with Geneva or any of those guys who came to our wedding. We only really talked after I got out of prison because of all the Gay Jesus publicity bullshit, but after you got out I wasn’t really thinking about that as much.”

Mickey blew out a breath, so quietly Ian barely noticed it. Ian stood, wiping his sweaty forehead and plopping down on the bed next to Mickey, folding his legs so their knees were almost touching— but still giving him space, still letting him breathe.

“Why’re you asking?”

“Don’t know, really. Just thinkin’.” Mickey picked at his shirt sleeve again, then flickered his gaze up to meet Ian’s eyes, two clear pools of glassy blue. “Thinkin’ about what life could’ve been like. If I wasn’t scared shitless of who I was for so long.”

Ian felt something twist in his gut, the same queasy pang of pain that always resurfaced whenever he saw Mickey like this, whenever he was reminded of all the unspeakable agony that Terry had put him through.

“It’s fucked up that you didn’t get to be who you were for so long, Mick,” he breathed, knowing that statement didn’t cover the amount of things that were fucked up about this situation.

Mickey ran his teeth over his bottom lip, like he was concentrating. “Yeah.”

Ian let them sit there for a second. It seemed like Mickey wanted to say more, but something in him was frozen solid. After a moment, Ian tried to break the tension.

“Hey, for the record, I’ve had lots of gay friends and you aren’t missing much. There’s lots of PC bullshit that’s important but took me fucking forever to learn— and even then, I never really felt like I totally belonged.” He gently nudged Mickey’s ribcage. “I guess that’s why I forgot about everyone, between work and getting to be with you all the time— I’d rather eat pizza in the mall food court with you than go to some boujee fucking café with the youth center people any day.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upwards slightly. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.” His fingers went slack around the threads on his shirtsleeve he’d been picking at. “You don’t… miss it though? Bein’ around people who’re like us?”

Ian paused for a moment, imagining the youth center crew in the same room as Mickey— it would be fucking comical, like people speaking two different languages, like astronauts trying to communicate with aliens on Mars through gestures and confused looks. But that was just because Mickey didn’t know how to speak that language— he’d been kept shrouded in an abusive household with daily death threats for years, and then stowed away in prison where he didn’t have the chance to go to fucking brunches and clubs and education events like Ian could. Ian got the chance to learn all that shit— it wasn’t Mickey’s fault that he never did, and if it was anyone’s, it was all Terry’s.

Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s face— he looked vulnerable and split open, like he was drifting away in all the possibilities of what could have been. When he answered, Ian spoke softly, carefully.

“I mean… I guess I do. There were nice parts of going out with people, or even those after-parties back when I used to work at the club. There’s something nice about being with your people, where you can make jokes about stuff or talk about deep shit and everyone’s on the same page. It’s hard to find that around here.” Ian tentatively crawled his hand over the blanket, letting it rest on Mickey’s knee. “S’there anything else going on?”

Mickey raised his thumb to his mouth, biting at a hangnail contemplatively. “Dunno, man. Just thinking. How it might be nice, to have friends like us. I used to be scared of hangin’ with other queers, but I think that was just some deep bullshit with Terry.” He looked up to meet Ian’s eyes. “It’d be nice to stop… hating that part of myself, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, reaching to intertwine his fingers with Mickey’s and tracing a pattern with the thumb that was free from their grasp on Mickey’s inner thigh, a soft touch of validation that Ian hoped would soak into Mickey’s skin.

“I think so too.” Ian watched the corner of Mickey’s mouth curve upwards. “I can definitely hit up some of the people I used to hang with, and see if they wanna get coffee or something? With the two of us? Only if you want.”

Mickey nodded— then chuckled a breathy laugh, like he was relieved. “Fuck it. Yeah.”

Ian couldn’t help it; Mickey looked so fucking sweet and so relieved that he had to press a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey squirmed underneath him, bristling like a cat that didn’t want to be pet like he did with most of Ian’s soft touches— but Ian just grinned and doubled down, pressing another slower peck onto Mickey’s temple. Mickey blew out a slow breath.

“Don’t know what I’d fuckin’ wear to a brunch with a bunch of Northside do-gooder gays,” he said after a moment, his voice wavering so slightly that no one except Ian would have noticed.

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, giving Mickey’s hand a quick pulse of a squeeze. “Mickey, are you kidding? Wear whatever the fuck you want. You don’t need to change yourself, that’s kind of the whole point.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Guess it is.” Mickey was quiet for a moment, but still chewing on his bottom lip, like he was building the courage to say something more. Ian could tell— he let the comfortable silence hang between them, knowing that Mickey would break it when he was ready.

“D’you think it’d be stupid if I, like, tried to… jazz up my look a bit?” He darted his eyes nervously to Ian’s face, down to their clasped hands, and then back to the covers again. “Like, uh— I don’t know. Maybe wore some shit that didn’t have holes in it. With patterns, or whatever.”

Ian felt his face split into a grin. Patterns, or whatever— god, he loved his dumbass husband so fucking much. He pressed another kiss to Mickey’s cheek— this time Mickey didn’t flinch away, his only resistance a forced roll of his eyes.

“Mick, I don’t think that’s stupid at all. I think you should dress however makes you feel good.”

“’Kay.” Mickey pursed his lips, like he was still hesitant. Ian rubbed his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand, their fingers still clasped and hanging limply in Mickey’s lap. The silence was hanging again, and Ian could still feel the tight waves of anxiety bouncing off of Mickey. He took in a breath.

“I could… help you, y’know. If you wanted to dress a certain way. At the very least I could gas you up and tell you how hot you look.” Ian paused, smirking and running his eyes over Mickey’s torso. “But I could also help you pick shit out, or whatever. We could order some stuff online.”

Mickey looked up at him, his eyes oddly relieved and open in a way they hadn’t been in days. “Yeah?”

Ian softly smiled. “Yeah. Only if you want to. You’re you, and you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I love the way you look— hell, it drives me crazy, Mick. But— if you feel like you aren’t dressing the way that makes you feel the best, or like you’re putting on an act for other people and you don’t want to anymore— then we can figure this out.”

This time it was Mickey that initiated affection, lifting their clasped hands and pressing a quick ghost of a kiss to Ian’s wrist. Ian smiled in acknowledgement, then playfully raised his eyebrows. “You wanna look online now? I’m done working out and more than happy to help you gay up your look.”

Mickey unclasped their hands, playfully shoving Ian squarely in the chest. “Fuck you.” Then, in an uncharacteristic move from the way Mickey had been flinching away from his touches all week, Mickey leaned in closer to Ian’s chest, nestling his back on Ian’s sternum and reaching for his phone that was discarded on the blanket beside him. “Alright, hot stuff. Where’re we fucking shopping?”

Ian grinned and snapped the waistband of Mickey’s sweatpants playfully, shuffling underneath him and getting comfortable.

“’Kay, let me think. I used to order a bunch of shirts and stuff from Primark when I was going out with the youth center people. They have good denim, too.”

Mickey’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth again while he listened. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the phone’s keyboard— then, in an automatic movement, he quickly shoved his phone into Ian’s hand, cheerfully wriggling back into Ian’s chest. Ian smirked and unlocked the phone, happy to take the reins— online shopping for fashion was clearly lightyears out of Mickey’s comfort zone.

Ian navigated over to the Primark homepage, plastered with torsos of toned models wearing striped button ups and ripped jeans. His thumb pressed down onto the “denim” tab, and he started to slowly scroll through the rows of options, holding the phone so Mickey could see.

“I don’t know what you really want, but they’ve got pretty cheap pants and shit that’re good quality…” Ian let his voice trail off, speaking softly to where Mickey was lying on his chest in a voice that he knew was tickling the shell of Mickey’s ear. Mickey almost seemed… nervous, or at the very least paralyzed by the wealth of options. He raised his thumb to his mouth, anxiously biting the hangnail again.

“I guess those ripped ones don’t look too bad.”

Ian clicked on the picture Mickey was referring to. They were black jeans, a dark wash and skinny cut, with patches ripped on both knees. Ian felt something well in his chest, probably an overreaction to a pair of jeans— but these jeans were perfect for Mickey. They weren’t too much, weren’t overly fashionable, but they still felt more clean-cut than the baggy pants Mickey usually threw on. These jeans were badass, and totally aligned with Mickey’s don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, but they were deliberate. Stylish. Like they were saying here the fuck I am.

“Yeah?” Ian knew Mickey could tell he was smiling from his voice.

Mickey smirked, craning his neck and turning to look up at Ian. “Yeah. Think I can pull ‘em off?”

Ian pressed his lips together. “Fuck yeah. You’re gonna look so good.”

Mickey just gave a satisfied smile, and nestled back against Ian’s chest again. “Let’s get ‘em, then.”

[thisbluewind]

ulterior motives

Roman hated nights like this. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t write or draw, couldn’t convince himself he was fine. All he could think about was Putting Others First. Am I really… like Remus? He wondered for the thousandth time. Evil. Hated. The villain. 

He’d sided with Janus once, and the others hated him for it. So Roman did what he did best. He acted.

He pretended to have a change of heart, and sided with Patton. “Going to the wedding was the right choice.” But was it?

He didn’t know. Seemed there was a lot he didn’t know these days.

“I wouldn’t be able to tell who the evil twin is.” Roman shuddered, trying to block out the echoes of Janus’ voice. It had been almost a week, and everything had changed. When he came down to the mindscape commons for breakfast (which wasn’t often, considering there was a certain snake he wanted to avoid), his eyes were drawn to Janus. Laughing, smiling with the others. Fitting in more every day. Taking Roman’s place. 

A knock sounded at Roman’s door, startling him out of his thoughts. He heaved himself out of his desk chair, knocking the empty paper scarred with eraser marks into the trash can (that hadn’t been there before) on his way. 

He opened the door to reveal Janus (without his hat). The snake. The liar. He looked decidedly less villainy without the hat and gloves, but Roman shoved that thought out of his mind.

“What do you want?” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. A flash of hurt crossed Janus’ face, only to be hidden behind his calm purpose that Roman had grown to despise.

“Why, Roman, I only wanted to see how you were doing. You didn’t leave your room at all today, and we were all worried about you.” We. Like he spoke for the Light Sides. 

“Get out, you reptilian rapscallion,” he snarled. Sounding for all the world like Remus. Janus seemed to have picked up on that, as his next words were a carefully aimed barb.

“Careful, Roman. You’re beginning to sound a bit like your brother. You know, the evil one.” 

“What other brother do I have?” Roman sneered, knowing the comeback was weak, and not caring. “What do you want?” he repeated. Janus’ demeanor changed in an instant. He smiled encouragingly, every inch a picture of good intentions and amiability. 

“I’m baffled as to why you seem so hostile towards me. We’re not too different, after all. Deception requires creativity, as does self-care at times. And we’ve agreed in the past.”

“You’ve manipulated me in the past, you mean!” Roman slammed the door, and slumped down against it. “We’re not too different.” No. No. Janus was evil. Roman was- or at least he used to be- the hero. 

Not that the other sides cared about that.

“Roman, please, I just want to have a conversation like we’re adults,” Janus shouted from the other side of the door. A muffled pounding came from the door.

Roman turned away to go back to his desk to see if he could draw something, maybe a sword, or have a new idea for a video, or write something. Perhaps an adventure in the Imagination. He wasn’t looking where he was going, and tumbled down a staircase he was certain hadn’t been there before.

“Jack the Fibber, I demand to know where that staircase came from!” he shouted, sprawled on the floor, holding his bruised elbow, ignoring the throbbing in his entire left arm. He glared at the missing three bottom stairs. 

“Oh dear, it looks like I’ll have to break down your door to rescue you. We’ll have to have a conversation.”

“You did that on purpose!” Roman accused. “And you tailored this staircase to trap me here too!”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Janus laughed.

“Come down here and fight me like a snake!”

“No, I don’t think so.” Janus suddenly became serious. “Are you going to finish talking to me, or should I leave you down there until someone misses you? I estimate it should take a few weeks before they realize you’re gone!” Roman cursed, and summoned his sword. 

“Fine, Bananaconda. Come on in.” The missing stairs materialized, and Roman hurried up them gratefully. Noting the conspicuous absence of his door, he healed his injury, and gripped his sword. “Now leave again.”

“Unfair,” Janus huffed. “First tell me what you and Virgil did with my hat and gloves.”

“Why are you so obsessed with those stupid things?” Roman countered. “It makes you look like a storybook villain. Slippery snake.”

“Isn’t that what you want to see me as?” Janus smiled, but there was no warmth to it. 

“Stop changing the subject!”

“I could tell you the same thing.” Roman gritted his teeth. 

“We gave it to the Dragon Witch.” Now it was Janus’ turn to look panicked.

“I’m sorry, you did what?” Janus demanded. “You are aware that she absolutely loves Dark Sides, right?” 

“Stop being sarcastic, Jack the Fibber,” Roman smirked. “Good luck trying to get it back!”

“Roman, I swear, I’m going to-” 

“Oh, that reminds me, I wanted to try something. You can’t lie without your gloves and hat, correct?” Roman interrupted, enjoying the barely masked rage on Janus’ face.

“Correct,” the deceitful side admitted, forcing out the word. 

“So tell me- was Thomas lying about me being his hero?” Janus jerked back in surprise and reluctance. “And you can’t just stay silent. That’s a lie of omission. I know that much, at least.” 

Janus struggled for a moment, then the answer finally escaped. “Yes.” As much as it hurt, Roman filed the information away, and prepared to ask his second question.

“What is your motivation for joining the Light Sides?” If Janus couldn’t lie, Roman would expose him as the manipulative liar he was, and prove that he couldn’t be trusted. Roman waited in anticipation, bursting with excitement, but nothing could have prepared him for the answer he got.

“I want what’s best for Thomas,” Janus assured him. “I really do. But angering you is a nice bonus.”

“What? You- you’re lying! You just want to push your own agenda!” Roman yelled, forgetting everything for the moment. Janus couldn’t be telling the truth. He always wanted to do the egocentric thing, which, according to Patton, was most definitely not the right thing to do.

“I told you, I can’t lie without my gloves,” Janus said exasperatedly. 

“You’re Deceit. Lying and manipulating is what you do!”

“Roman!” Patton, Logan, and Virgil were standing at the door to his room, looking shocked at what he was yelling. They all started talking at once.

“Why is Deceit here?” Virgil demanded. He shrunk back as if to sink out, then remembered he couldn’t while in the mind palace. 

“Questioning Deceit while he is unable to utter falsehoods is an admirable tactic to retrieving the information you are in pursuit of, however, disparaging and screaming at him is an action I cannot condone.” Logan spoke quickly, as he always did.

“Why are you yelling at Janus? He’s one of us now!” Patton wasn’t mad. This was worse. Roman could handle mad. Instead he sounded… disappointed. Like Roman had let him down. Again.

The other two turned to stare at Patton. “Janus told you his name?” Virgil said slowly, disbelieving. 

“You two know his name?” Logan asked. “I was not aware he had told us, Patton.”

“Hold up,” Roman pointed at Virgil. “How do you know his name?” The nervous side withdrew and backed up.

“Because I was a Dark Side,” Virgil muttered. “I’m out of here.” He turned and fled up the corridor towards his room.

The Light Sides turned their attention on Roman.

“Why, Roman?” Patton pleaded.

“I- I thought-” Roman stammered. Stop stuttering! You know you’re right; now act like it! “I thought he was using us for his own agenda!”

“I trust Janus,” Patton deflected. 

“I am certain we would know if Janus had ulterior motives,” Logan said. 

“Just- go,” Roman’s voice shook with shame and hurt. 

“Roman-” Patton started, but Roman wouldn’t let himself hear it.

“Please.” 

Logan took Patton’s hand, and stiffly led him out of the room, the other side leaning against his shoulder slightly.

Janus swished his cloak dramatically, and disappeared, hopefully to go confront the Dragon Witch for his hat and gloves. 

Roman restored his room with a wave of his hand, erasing all signs of Janus’ visit, and collapsed against the side of his canopy bed.

I’m not the hero, he thought, recalling the way Patton had looked at him. He swallowed down a lump in his throat, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes. Remus would be along any minute to replace him. Janus would corrupt Thomas’ morality, turning him into a deceptive liar. No one would trust him again. Logan and Patton would hate him. Maybe Virgil would too.

It was poetic irony, he supposed, that his former nemesis would become his closest ally in the coming days.

taglist (@the-taglist-repository): @smileyzs​ @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @averykedavra @callboxkat @k1ngtok1 @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @just-your-typical-trans-guy

writing taglist: @definitely-a-living-human

[spiderman-homecomeme]

off the record pt. 4

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

A/N: So I said this was only gonna be five chapters but now it’s six so i played myself lmao sorry for this one being a little shorter than the others, but it’s for good reason!!

Here’s 2.5k of some angst, some anger, some pettiness, and danger

read here or on AO3!

-

There’s a new feeling that pulls at Michelle’s chest and causes her stomach to twist and turn into thousands of knots, and it feels dangerously close to guilt. But really, there’s no reason she should be feeling guilty right? She’s not at fault for anything other than doing her job. And besides, if that certain feeling of almost-guilt should happen to be because she’s sure Peter heard her conversation with Jameson through the closed door of his office, then that only confirms 100% of her suspicions that she’d been trying to ignore, because the only way in hell that he’d ever be able to pick that up would be with those super-enhanced senses.

Therefore, if Peter’s upset, he’s the guy in red and blue tights.

There. That’s her proof.

What’s she waiting for?

Her hesitance comes soon after Peter greets her with his signature lopsided half-smile—their new normal—as she enters the office the next morning. She returns the expression—though perhaps it’s a little half-hearted—with a small wave, averting her gaze as she makes for her desk. The split-second of eye-contact is too much, she finds. Her heart hammers in her throat as she hides behind her laptop, her gaze burning into the blank screen, fingers frozen and stiff above the keys.

Unbeknownst to her, Peter’s smile falls the instant she walks past him. He had heard her and Jameson in his office, and yes, it was all because of his super-enhanced hearing. But still, he knew that he couldn’t show his anger, knowing that openly admitting to eavesdropping would be a dead giveaway. Yet, there’s still this underlying hurt and anger beneath the thin veil of nonchalance. The fact that she had lied to him about her true intentions makes his throat feel as if it’s been coated in barbed wire, makes his chest burn. All this time, he had been so sure, so supportive as to what she was doing. There had been this glimmer of hope, real hope, that she was looking for the truth, ready to set the record straight.

If he had only known that the record she wanted straightened was his secret identity…

He’s then angry at himself for falling for such an act, filled with a bitterness that makes him tighten his jaw, but it brings an annoying sense of guilt that tugs at his chest. True, she had been able to manipulate him, but it was all in his own quest to manipulate her. They were just trying to get something out of the other. Still, he’s not about to admit that he’s in the wrong here. All he wants is the articles about Spidey to stop.

Michelle just wants to ruin his life to get by in hers.

And yet, perhaps the worst part of it, as angry as he is, he still finds himself thinking about her, looking at her, unable to have a moment’s peace from her. Part of him, the part that always tries to see the good in everyone around him, wants to believe that maybe she’s only doing this because Jameson put her up to it. It would make sense. But then, he knows Michelle isn’t one to just let something happen. If she had seen any kind of moral issue with doing this, she’d stand up. Assert herself.

Wouldn’t she?

Not if it was her idea in the first place.

Setting his jaw, his lips pressing into a thin line, he jumps from his chair, roughly pushing it back under his desk before grabbing his camera bag and making for the office entrance.

He just needs some fresh air.

--

The next Monday, after an entire weekend ignoring the cloud of guilt looming over her head, Michelle feels as if she’s doing some kind of funeral march walking back into the office, two to-go coffee cups in hand. A few days at home gave her time to plan out her next move, which is of course, the interview with Spider-Man himself. Still, even as she reassures herself that this is what she needs to do, there’s nothing she can do to get rid of that damn you-fucked-up feeling. There’s a pit in her stomach, her hands steady despite the jittery sound of her voice as she thanks the coworker who grabs the door for her.

Easily, her eyes land right on Peter’s desk as she walks through the door and she steels herself, taking a breath before walking right up to him. But she slows as she gets closer, and that stupid, dumb, feeling of nervousness comes crawling right back up her spine. She hovers slightly as she reaches him, and her chest tightens as his eyes stay stubbornly glued to this screen.

“Hey, Peter,” she finally wills herself to say, her voice coming out breathy and strained.

Finally, he looks up at her, smiling, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Michelle,” he repeats back to her.

Shrugging with a tip of her head, she holds out his mocha. “Brought you a coffee,” she continues lamely. “Do you have a second?”

“Uh, thanks.” His lips press together into another thin smile, huffing lightly through his nose as he gestures to the corner of his desk. “You can just leave it there… I’ve got—I’ve got some things I need to work on for a bit. Sorry.” As he says that last bit, he glances away from her, back to his computer again, and she knows for a fact that he’s only pretending to type something important.

“Ah. Yeah. No problem.” She nods quickly, trying her hardest to maintain a sense of nonchalance. There’s an stinging at the back of her throat, and she suddenly finds herself averting her own gaze, fixing it on an interesting part the outer corner of his cubicle. “Another time.”

Peter’s eyes flash to hers briefly, and he responds with a quiet hum in agreement.

Still, even with his dismissal, Michelle finds herself unable to walk away. She lingers a moment longer, feeling as if all the oxygen’s been sucked right out of the room.  “Is… Is Spidey still good for our interview tonight?” She asks, her tone coming out weaker than she’d ever wanted it to.

At that, Peter’s eyes dart up to meet hers again, this time holding. There’s something in them that she can’t quite read. After a beat, he gives a single nod as he looks back to his computer screen. “Yeah. He’s still good.”

“Awesome.” Michelle offers a small, grateful smile, ducking her head slightly so that he’ll see.

He still doesn’t look up.

“Thanks… Uh…” That tingling in the back of her throat turns into an unwelcome lump. “Thanks for setting it up.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still trained on whatever he’s working on—nothing. “Yeah. No problem.”

It’s with that final three words that she takes the hint. She nods slowly, tearing herself away without another word, trying not to look back again as she makes her way back to her own desk.

It has to be a good sign, right? That Peter’s still willing to help her with this article. For a moment, she starts to think that maybe he didn’t hear her after all, and that maybe his distance is from something else entirely. Perhaps a personal, family matter. Maybe he’s not Spider-Man. After all, why on Earth would he keep going through this if he knew what she was up to?

(Something tells her, once again, that she’s only making excuses now.)

(But then she tells that something to shut up.)

Peter’s weekend, of course, wasn’t spent planning the next move. In fact, there wasn’t going to be another move. He had decided right as he got home Friday night that he and Michelle Jones were never going to be friends. He was set in his decision, determined to never speak to her again, give her the devastation of a cold, icy shoulder—not that he thought it would have much of an effect on her, but if it meant her never getting to the bottom of who he really was, then he was perfectly happy.

All of it had been settled, and he had come to terms with the fact that it was never meant to be. That is, until she had appeared at his desk again the following Monday morning with the metaphorical peace offering of coffee. It had been harder, harder than he’d expected to maintain any sort of cool exterior while she stood in front of him, her expression something he could only assume was regret. He’d wondered for a moment if she figured out that he’d heard, and that this turned out to be her way of apologizing.

But then…

Then she had to ask about interviewing Spider-Man. She had to, of fucking course.

He hid his anger well, at least he thought.

So, he had said yes, stupidly, against his better judgement. Though, as he had watched her walk away, he realized that this could be an opportunity for him. An opportunity to confront her, but as Spidey. With the mask on, things would be different. As his alter-ego, he had the upper hand, not her. He could use his quips and quick, snarky wit that he used with any other bad guy.

He leaves before her, obviously, changing into his suit as he did everyday after work to get ready for his evening patrol. He watches from the rooftops as she walks out of the building, loosely trailing behind her as she walks with her head down toward the small cafe they had arranged to meet at before he knew about any of this. Her notebook is clutched tightly to her chest, her messenger back slung over her shoulder as she dodges other pedestrians. But the closer they get, the more Peter starts to feel that frustration and petty anger rise within him, a stinging bile in his throat.

He hangs off the side of a building across the street from the little cafe, and he tears his gaze away as she steps through the front doors, his heart threatening to jump right out of his chest. In a split-second decision fueled by his own bitterness, he jumps from the wall, swinging and leaping from building to building, away from where Michelle sits in the little cafe.

It’s only what she deserves.

--

Michelle sits after ordering her tea, her leg bouncing restlessly underneath the table as she stares at the entrance. The minutes tick by, and she can’t help but obsessively—and perhaps a bit self-consciously—check her phone with every impatient sip of her drink. Soon, twenty minutes passes, then a half-hour, then an hour. Normally, this is something that would warrant a phonecall, either worried or angry—depending on the interviewee. But there’s this sinking feeling in her stomach, a hollowness to her chest, as she looks at her phone again, looking for some kind of text or missed call, explaining the situation.

At first, she thinks that maybe Pe— Spider-Man’s been caught up in some kind of crime-fighting vigilante business, but there’s nothing on the news as she turns to look at the TV in the corner of the cafe.

It’s at the hour-and-five minute mark after her third tea that she feels prickling annoyance mingling with the emptiness. Mouth setting into a tight frown, she whips her phone out again, composing a text that’s both firm and the slightest bit petty.

Michelle Jones: Hi! So, Spidey still isn’t here. Did he forget or…?

She sends it, hoping for Peter’s sake that he has a better excuse than just “forgetting.”

About a minute later, her phone buzzes, and she’s unable to keep herself from snatching it up immediately. Though, she almost wishes she hadn’t looked at it in the first place.

Peter Parker: Oh, shit. Sorry. I guess I forgot to remind him. Oops

It’s the audacity of the little casual oops that punctuates the text that nearly prompts her to throw her phone across the cafe. Instead, she elects to keep her cell safe, and decides to just hit him back with the classic passive aggression she’s perfected in her time being around him.

Michelle Jones: It’s fine. Guess it was my fault for thinking you’d be on top of something for once

Michelle Jones: Or assuming that you’d be willing to help a friend out

Immediately, she gets a reply, one that makes her want to claw her eyes out in frustration.

Peter Parker: oh didn’t know we were friends. good to know (thumbs-up emoji)

She doesn’t dignify that with a response just yet, grabbing her bag and aggressively swinging it over her shoulder as she storms out of the cafe. As she steps out into the cool evening air, she still feels unbearably hot, feeling a concoction of anger and hurt boiling within her. She opens her Uber app, summoning a ride because she frankly doesn’t feel up to just walking home.

Any idiot could see that they were something close to friends.

Okay, so maybe she’s been lying to herself, saying that she and Peter weren’t friends before. But now, after getting to know him, after feeling all of these feelings the past few days, all of the hurt, she realizes how much in denial she’s been.

But that realization doesn’t make her any less angry.

It takes another few minutes before her Uber arrives, a nice man named Adam. He only asks if she’s Michelle before she gets into the car, but he doesn’t speak anymore as he drives through the city streets.

It’s in that moment, as she’s staring down at Peter’s sarcastic reply, that she decides right then and there that this whole idea of friendship between them is over, and that she’s going to write that damn article. Maybe she was trying to protect him before, for some stupid, unknown reason, but now—now she doesn’t care. He’s Spider-Man. And though she may not have physical proof, that’s not going to stop her. She’ll get it one way or another.

Finally, she’s able to type up her response. It’s not her most eloquent, or even her worst way to hurt him, and she can’t help but feel like it’s so high school, but she finds it hard to think with this annoying stinging at the backs of her eyes.

Michelle Jones: not anymore, don’t worry

The roar of her hot blood rushing in her ears as she stares down at her phone blocks out the world around her as her Uber drives through the green light.

She doesn’t hear anything under her own thoughts.

She doesn’t hear the sound of her driver yelling as he slams on the accelerator, the blaring of a car horn fast approaching, the squealing of tires as a car suddenly brakes.

There’s a crashing impact, metal crunching and scratching against metal as the other driver slams into the rear of their car, and suddenly, her world is spinning.

And spinning.

She clings desperately to her seat, one hand clawing at the door handle as they spin out of control, before she’s jerked forward against her seatbelt as the car collides head-on with a light post.

All in under a second.

[sebastianshaw]

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes - I felt bad you weren’t getting a lot of Pyro content in canon, so I wrote you some!

The next member of their team was meant to be arriving today. She was going to be a...most unusual addition. She was human. Pyro didn’t like it. The entire POINT of Krakoa was to keep away from humans who would hurt them. And sure this human allegedly very much did NOT want that, it was why Xavier handpicked her to be involved, and Xavier could vet a person inside and out...but Pyro couldn’t help WORRYING. Maybe she wasn’t a conscious plant, but what if someone was using her without her knowing? How was Xavier checking for THAT? Maybe the rest of Krakoa was happy to put their fate in the hands of men like him and Magneto and Sebastian Shaw, but Pyro was of the firm opinion that the guys on top never really had the best interest of the bottom at heart. But that didn’t mean he’d pass up a chance to roast some Verendi pigs, which was what had just been provided---the ship of their new ally had been attacked en route, big surprise, and thus the current crew of the Marauder---Sebastian, Shinobi, and Pyro---had been deployed to intervene. Shinobi kept their own boat safe while Pyro and Sebastian boarded the other---just in time to witness one of the Verendi hurling a sari-clad woman off the deck by her throat. “Allerdyce, take care of the rest,” said Shaw, tearing his shirt and jacket off with his bear---er, bare---hands. Not taking it off, literally TEARING. “Are you kidding?!” Pyro asked, shocked both at Shaw’s apparent intentions and at how beefed up the old bastard was under those tailored suits. Like he had eyes, he could tell the guy was huge, but JEEZUS. “I’m not having my team fail this early,” Shaw said, “And besides--” The rest came out mid-air as he dove into the drink, “--you’re hardly in swimming shape.” Secretly hoping he ‘teammate’ drowned, Pyro returned to the fray, gleefully keeping the Verendi at bay with his flames. That was the easy part. The hard part was not blowing them up in their stupid suits, or boiling them alive, or--- “ALLERDYCE!” he heard the oh-so-charming shout of his new ‘boss’ barking for him, just as the fun was over. “What, did you--” Pyro started to ask as he hustled over, admittedly not as fast as he could have. “Do the damn chest compressions!” Shaw cut him off. The woman, soaking wet and unconscious--or worse--was laid out on the deck. “Why--” “Because at my current strength I will pulverize her bones!” Shaw bellowed. Pyro didn’t like taking orders from Shaw, but he wasn’t about to let this lady die right in front of him either if half of what he’d heard about her was true, no matter what his misgivings might be about involving her in the Marauders. So he duly obeyed with the compressions, as well as mouth to mouth just so Shaw couldn’t. Because f this woman was an ally to mutantkind she deserved better than that. It worked. She gasped, her body jolting. “Alright, there she is” said Shaw, “You keep her conscious, Allerdyce---someone has to steer this ship.” With that, he departed to find the helm and radio Shinobi to let him know all was well, and knock out any remaining hostiles. Pyro glared at his back as he went, but then quickly turned his attention back to the semi-conscious woman, who was moving slightly now, her eyes glazed. She said something unsteadily in a foreign language. Well, in a language that wasn’t English; Pyro had been a foreigner in Southeast Asia and learned it really a matter of perspective. Speaking of that... “That Gujarati, love?” he asked gently. He couldn’t speak it nor understand it, but he thought he recognized it. He’d never got as far as India in his travels as a journalist, but he’d encountered this language in Singapore, Indonesia, and Malayasia. Sounded a bit different from her though, maybe because she was from India directly. Or just because she was terribly waterlogged. She mumbled something else weakly in the same tongue, putting one of her hands to her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak it,” he said, truly apologetic. The was woman silent for a moment, and her eyes closed. Oh no. Had he lost her? God, Shaw was never going to let him hear the end of it! Then she opened them, and said, “I apologize, I do speak English, I just...needed a moment.” “Take two, you earned ‘em,” Pyro smiled relieved. She began sitting up slowly, and Pyro helped her. “I...assume you saved me?” “Well, I helped,” he said, then amended, “Someone else go you out from the drink but I did the rest, getting you breathing again and all.” “Thank you, so much, I really have no idea what to say,” she sounded rather awed. Oh man, he’d forgotten what it was like to be a superhero! He’d never much cared for that life in general, the idea of just DOING things for people for nothing in return, especially people who HATED you for EXISTING as a mutant, but there had been a few times in Freedom Force like this where he felt really GOOD when people were actually grateful. “Aw it’s---it’s nothing, all in a day’s work really,” he said, puffing his chest as best he could, which was nigh-imperceptible given how skinny he was. “You have my deepest gratitude all the same. You also have a good ear---that was indeed Parsi Gujarati. “Ohhh!” Pyro was pleased he’d been right, “Is that why it sounded a bit off from what I heard ‘round Jakarta?” “You do indeed have a good ear! Yes, it’s very distinct. For instance, we use much softer consonants-- They were interrupted by Shaw’s sardonic tone over the intercom, “ I can see our guest is conscious, Mr. Allerdyce, so if you’re quite done flirting, send her to the helm for briefing before we get to the portal. At your leisure, of course.” Pyro did not say ass aloud but it was very, very much written on his face. *** Pyro was waking up waaay to early at Blackstone, specifically in Shinobi’s ridiculously oversized bed, Shinobi himself beside him. Pyro could tell his companion was going to be out cold for a long time yet, and probably wish he’d slept longer when he did wake up. Pyro would have preferred to just stay in bed himself, but nature called. And after a good long piss into the en suite bathroom---kind of surprised that the toilet wasn’t solid gold, although it did have more features than Shinobi’s phone---Pyro himself had yet to adjust to fancy celluars---found himself restless, and undergoing his typical post-drinking cravings for something salty. Kind of weird since wasn’t booze supposed to dehydrate you, but whatever, old man Shaw surely had some kind of super-fancy dried unicorn meat from a lost continent or whatever hanging around somewhere. He just needed to find it. But the place was a maze. Gilded maze, he made a mental note of that for one of his novels as he wandered the huge halls, intending to use it in the internal monologue of the heroine lost in the Marquis’s opulent mansion that nonetheless held an overbearing evil in its walls as potent and palpable in the air as that in his black heart. Actually shit, some of the decor in this place would make for great--- “Wider than a highway, huh?” Pyro had been so lost in cataloguing the fancy bric-a-brac along the way that he’d not noticed it had been joined by a flesh and blood person. Well, maybe flesh and blood, they looked silver. Certainly all the skin he could see was, which was a lot given their short little black robe, though he in his boxers certainly wasn’t about to be scandalized. Wait, silver skin? “Mindmeld, right?” “Shinobi tell you about me?” she was smirking a little. “Yeah, something like that,” he replied. It was suddenly really hard not to say something rude, given WHAT Shinobi had told him, but reminded himself if this woman was fucking Shaw, she deserved PITY more than anything. Plus it wouldn’t do to piss off her off before she told him where she got that coffee cup in her hand. “He didn’t tell me where to find the kitchen though.” “Which one?” Oh god of course there’d be more than one, Shaw probably didn’t want his food prepared in the same area as Shinobi’s guests since they were all people like Pyro. He groaned, lowering his head and burying his long bony fingers in his dandelion puff blond curls, “Just whichever one has some eggs and espresso.” “Come on,” she gestured lightly and turned, leading the way. Damn tall drink of water, might have been taller than Shaw, though far less broad than he was, but more so than Pyro...admittedly, that range probably covered almost everyone on the planet. She didn’t ask his name, so he offered his with some pride, “I’m Pyro, I’m one of the Marauders.” “Neat.” “‘Spect Mr. Shaw has a few things to say about me.” She looked mildly thoughtful a moment, “Uh...no, never mentioned you. I think I’ve heard the Marauders, but not Pyro.” “How about Mr. Allerdyce?” “Definitely not.” Ok, he was kind of insulted now, not by Mindmeld but he took it out on her anyway with a snippy, “Well he hasn’t mentioned you either.” She just gave him a funny look.” “Sorry,” he said abashed at how stupid and spiteful he sounded, “We just don’t get on too well, me and Sebastian.” “What a surprise.” “So you know he’s a pompous asshole.” “Oh yeah, it’s hilarious,” she said, “Like the other day,  these two like, total Eurotrash blonds come in, and he told them they were living proof of how inbreeding ruined the royal Austrian family tree or something, I don’t know, and I just told the guy he shouldn’t wear black if he’s not going to clean the semen stains off it first. The girl, her outfit was great, but nothing I could say was going to be worse than that Basic Bitch haircut.” “So what, you two just hang around talking shit about everyone else like we’re dirt on your shoes?!” Any regret he had about being snippy was suddenly gone. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said, her blase tone not changing. He started to say something else but she turned her head to him and said, tone still the same, “Look, if you’re gonna get precious, I can leave you right here. Next person to find you will probably be him, you know. He’s always up crazy early.” It was a potent threat. Normally Pyro was not afraid at all to deal with that hirsute egomaniac, but in his current state, he was not fit for the battle of barbs. “No, no, lead the way,” he sighed. “Cool,” Mindmeld turned her gaze front again and added, “Sorry you’re mad I’m his dick puppet.” If Pyro had a liquid in his mouth he would have spit it out. He must have made some kind of sound, because she asked, “What, Shinobi not mention that?” “He uh...he mentioned it a lot, yeah. “Good,” she smiled at him, and turned away. Weird. They got to small kitchen, very normal looking. So much so that it felt almost surreally out of place. “Drip’s over there,” Mindmeld pointed. Okay, nice, Shaw had a proper espresso machine. No surprise, he probably kept a full roasting machine and French press and other fancy barista shit in HIS kitchen---he was obviously not using THIS one. While he put on the drip, Mindmeld sat down and started playing idly with a phone left on table, obviously hers. Pyro was sure the bowl of Lucky Charms next to it surely wasn’t Sebastian Shaw’s. “You uh, live here?” “Yeah basically,” she did not look up from her phone, “Beats public housing.” Pyro realized he hadn’t thought about how everyone on Krakoa was living; he’d been basically on a boat the whole time himself. “What, is it bad?” he asked, imagining the crowded slums he’d seen in some of his travels, as well as the crappier apartments he’d stayed in, which was most. “Nah, but this is better.” “Yeah well, the rent seems high to me.” “You just have a different landlord.” “Hey, I’m nobody’s kept--” The espresso shot was ready, and it going off gave him a moment to cool down again. “Sorry, there’s nothing wrong with...with you,” he said, after taking his cup and sitting down across from her, “I just feel bad for Shinobi, he says you two used to be..” . “Together? Kinda, yeah. He tell you the part where he left me to die? or before that, where I was stuck in somebody else’s body and he was still ready to put the guy through a depowering machine while I was inside him?” “I, uh...no.” Was there some kind of mistake? He’d thought Shinobi was harmless. He knew the guy was selfish and spoiled, but it was hard to imagine him that cold. “Yeah, I bet not,” she said, her tone still the same, “He doesn’t seem like he has it in him, does he?” “Uh...no.” “Well, even a rat will bite if it’s back is against the wall,” her eyes rose from her phone and met his intensely, “So if you’re in deep shit, don’t count on him to pull you out.” They went back to her phone,  “He’s beautiful though so, you know, keep doing what you’re doing, I’m not judging.” “Uh...” Pyro had no idea what to say to this, “So is that why...” He had thought it had been money, since anything Shinobi had was actually coming from Sebastian, but now he wondered if it was for... “Vengeance? Pyro nodded. “Could you think of a BETTER way?” Pyro admitted he could not. “You must be pretty dedicated,” he said, still not able to get the ‘ick’ feeling quite out. It wasn’t the idea of sex for benefits his skin was crawling at, it was sex with SHAW. He supposed he could see the physical appeal if that man wasn’t so personally repulsive, but... “I mean, I just came back to life like this month” she shrugged idly, “I’ve got nothing from before to go back to, I’ve got nothing else going on.” “I don’t know, you look like you got it going on to me,” Pyro gave an exaggerated wink. That made her snort-laugh. Okay, he felt they were good now. And he felt suddenly a lot warmer to her. Not from knowing she had better reasons than he thought---the reasons unsettled him actually---but because of how similar their situations were. A situation doubtless shared by many Krakoans but he hadn’t had a real chance yet to talk to many Krakoans. He had planned to spend today fixing that actually, going and finding out if what few friends he’d had in his life before were here now. Like Dom. Wondered if Mindmeld had any, a Dom or a Mort or a Fred. Kinda doubted it, somehow. “Hey, uh, listen,” he began. She looked up from her phone. “Do you wanna go...check out the island with me? I been at sea since I came back, I don’t know what’s on it, but there’s got to be SOMETHING people been doing all day for fun, right?” She regarded him a long moment. “Yeah,” she finally said, “I’d like that."

[rahirah]

via Barb's Place Every time I think I cannot possibly despise Trump more, he opens his mouth. I suppose in a perverse way, the torrent of virulently xenophobic pro-Trump, anti-Mark Kelly commercials that the Republican superpacs have unleashed upon the Arizona airwaves is an encouraging sign, because they wouldn't be spending money here if they weren't worried. OTOH, this tactic didn't work for McSally in 2018, so I'm not sure why they think it will work now. So Phoenix is under curfew for the next week. It's worth noting that we are now to the time of year when it's routinely above 100F even after sunset, and we are having a heat wave. So forbidding people to protest in the evenings is effectively forbidding protests at all, or at least compressing them into a one-or-two hour window when you can stand outside without collapsing of heat stroke. Strangely, all those people who were howling about how wearing a mask was infringing their freedumbz are completely silent about this. Anyway, closer to home, we did some cleaning over the weekend, and discovered the mouse nest in the back of one of the closets. It didn't look as if it had been occupied long, and it was not occupied now. We have no idea where said mouse is at the moment. We did find a dead mouse in the yard a week or so ago, looking as if the dog had chewed on it, but we don't know if it was the one which had been in the house, or a different one. We found a stash of mouse-hoarded cat food in another closet, so from now on, we're going to have to make sure that absolutely no cat food is left out over night. We cleaned up all the mouse-mess, and fretted over not knowing if it was old mess or new mess. We'll just have to keep checking everywhere. While I was cleaning it up, I had to pull out most of the stuff in the closet, and in the process, a.... how do I describe this? One of the many inexplicable things that Mom left us were two very old Bols Liqueur bottles. One had been opened, and one is still in its original box. Both of them have....plastic ballerinas in them. I don't know, it was a 1960s thing. Anyway, Mom (or maybe Dad) got these things somewhere, and one of them was opened and drunk from, like, once, and then they were never touched again. My brother wanted them, but has never gotten around to taking them, so they've sat in our closet for decades. ANYWAY, while I was cleaning, the opened bottle got knocked over, and shattered into a million pieces, spilling sixty-year-old, half-evaporated liqueur all over the floor. WHOO THE FUMES. I was pissed, but at least it was the open one that broke, not the intact one. So I cleaned that up too, and then... Around midnight on Sunday night, I heard a bang out in the kitchen. I thought maybe one of the cats had jumped up on the counter and knocked something over, but I was too sleepy to go check. About an hour later, I heard something clattery fall. This time I got up to investigate, and discovered one of the china figurines on one of the living room bookshelves had fallen to the floor – luckily it hit the carpet and did not break. A couple other small breakable objects were teetering on the edge of the shelf. I set them to rights and heard what soundle like something slithering and falling behind the china hutch. Was it the mouse? I looked around and couldn't find anything. Kathy was up too now, and we checked all around, and found a weird, amber-colored puddle in front of the china hutch in the dining room. Had one of the cats had an accident? Or...wait... what was that dripping out of the hutch? Turned out that a can of apple cider (we keep excess sodas and whatnot in the bottom of the hutch) had exploded, and there was apple cider all over. Whimpering faintly, we cleaned up the apple cider and staggered back to bed around two AM. And then I got up around six-thirty, because I'd taken Monday off to take my car in to the shop, and I had to get it there by seven. I took Bo along with me so I could walk him the two and a half miles from the shop to our house – given how hot it's been, he hasn't gotten as many walks as he'd like. Even at 7:30 in the morning, it was really warm, but walking in 90F weather is infinitely to be preferred to walking in 109F weather. And THEN... around 10 AM, the electricity went out. Phoenix in June is the last place in the world you want your electricity to go out. Luckily our house is pretty well insulated, so it retained the cool for the three hours until the power came back on. Unfortunately, our internet provider did not come back on line for another three or four hours. So that was our Slightly Too Exciting Weekend. comments

[ckret2]

Nausea & Numbness (and the Slim Possibility of Happiness)

“hey you literally posted a rodorah fic two hours ago shouldn’t you wait a while before posting another” uhhhhhhh no

Asks and replies from when I asked on the 17th for Ghidorah-centric writing prompts:

Anonymous said: How about, Rodan coming to help and when he got stabbed from Mothra? Their reactions perhaps? And if they did care for Rodan, going to him rather than fighting Godzilla?

@corruptapostasy said: Ok, since I can’t decide which Ghidorah fic I want to request, I’m gonna suggest both and you pick which one suits your fancy. 1. A (possibly) saucy rivalry/hate romance between Ghidorah and Godzilla, the kind where they want to kill each other but really don’t because that would ruin the fun, 2. A sliiiight redemption arc, if only slightly, where Ghidorah contemplates that maybe destroying planets into ash and rubble may not be what he wants and that endless destruction won’t bring him joy.

@sandiiblu replied: What about Ghidorah being nice to Rodan for awhile simply because Rodan was so loyal to them from the start. Maybe Rodan got hurt and Ghidorah help him aid or rescue him.?????????

This is the fourth in an accidental series of Rodorah fics. If you haven’t read the others, all you need to know is “Ichi is the only head with a crush on Rodan; Ni is furious because Ichi banned crushes eons ago; and San/Kevin is neutral on Rodan but willing to give him a shot.” Also, due to things from different Godzilla movies, Mothra is a telepath, Ghidorah is a (crappy) empath, and at some point aliens mind-controlled Ghidorah. That’s it you’re all caught up! If you wanna read the other fics, link’s at the bottom of this post.

This is the first fic that actually diverges from canon—because Ghidorah checks on Rodan rather than fight Mothra & Godzilla, they don’t die. From here on out it’s all AU, babey!

Bittersweet ending but there’s more fics coming, so that’s not the ending-ending. Anyway angst is delicious.

###

They could take out both of them in one shot.

Here they were, the little king crumpled to the ground, and the bug that just wouldn't die atop him with tattered wings. In one shot, they could incinerate her like she was nothing but a thin carpet of dry leaves and fry what was left of him. The bug had her wings raised like she was preparing to launch herself at their faces.

Try it, they would tell her if they were capable of understanding each other. Try it, and see what happens to you both. Perhaps she could tell what they were thinking. They hoped so.

Lightning prickled up their throats.

A weak cry drifted from across the city.

The lightning died in one of their throats. First whipped around to face the noise, wing dropping to clear the view.

Where was their red sprite?

They remembered him breaking off to distract the unkillable bug so they could focus on the little king. And they could see how the bug was battered and burned now; but she was still flying.

The red sprite had been willing to fight an alien that was triple his size, triple his weight, and triple his heads, and carrying around their own hurricane, and didn’t stop until he physically could not fight anymore; he wouldn't have yielded to an insect. So what had happened to him?

It didn't matter what had happened to him! Focus! The enemy is right here!

First snapped to face forward as the bug flew at them, but they weren't prepared to incinerate her now. They raised a wing to block her, wincing when her stinger pierced the membrane. They didn't know what effect her venom had on the beasts of this planet; but it made them nauseous and clouded their thoughts. They flung her off and slammed her to the ground with their other wing so they could lean forward and snarl at her. The little king tried to get up, but his bellow was more of a wheeze, and he collapsed again. They could bite off the bug's head and turn next on the little king; they could end this now.

And still they hesitated.

What about—they weren't quite thinking clearly from the venom, the present danger slipping in and out of their minds and their thoughts sliding away—what about the red sprite? Where was he?

Second hissed. The red sprite had served his purpose and was unnecessary. The world was going to end—soon—and the red sprite was going to end with it. It was inevitable. They couldn't get attached to him. They were going to lose him. They had to lose him.

But not so soon. First's head sank lower, forehead pressing into the curl of their wing. (The bug stilled under the weight of his head; they were woozy enough not to realize that, this close to First's forehead, the little mindreader would have an even easier time than usual pricking into their thoughts.) Please—not so soon. Not now. In another month, they could lose him. In another day. But not now.

If not now—would they have the strength to later? They had to give up the red sprite. They had no other option. First had taught them that! It was abhorrent that he needed Second to remind him! If they tried to keep the red sprite, then when they inevitably lost him, they would be miserable.  They'd have to carry that misery forward with them, forever—

Well, what did that matter, when they were miserable anyway?

Two of their heads snapped up at the Third's thought. But he was right, wasn't he? World after world after world, they kept themselves apart from everything they saw, refused to let themselves enjoy it, refused to glory in it, simply because it would be gone eventually, and that would make them miserable. They were miserable anyway! They were miserable because they didn't enjoy or glory in anything! They let themselves enjoy nothing except the precise moment of destruction and triumph. Those moments ended, and they were left with nothing. So weren't they already always miserable? What different did it make, then, if they possessed the red sprite for a moment and then lost him?

They didn't know what difference it made. They didn't remember. The thought of losing something seemed somehow so much more terrifying than the thought of simply never having anything, but... but now, world after world after world of living like this, they didn't know what it was that made it terrifying. It just was.

It was terrifying because of the depth of the misery, perhaps— A misery they couldn't recover from. They knew they could live through their current form of misery—the misery of nothingness—because they had lived through it their whole lives. But the misery of having-and-then-losing was different. That one was unknown. They didn’t know if they could survive it.

The little king had forced himself to his feet. The plates on his back glowed blue. They jerked back just soon enough to dodge a weak blast, and in the process let up the bug. No. They were going to finish this battle, finish this world, and go. As they always had and always would.

Go back into the yawning black abyss.

Go back to the void between stars, which swallowed them up like they were nothing.

Go back to ending alien world after alien world after world after world after world...

For what? What were they going to get for it? If they kept the promise they'd made to each other an eon ago to never get attached to anyone or anything, who was going to give them a prize for good behavior? If they reduced enough worlds to ash were they suddenly going to become happy? How many more was it going to take?

The bug was struggling to get to her feet. The little king bellowed, charging again at them, jaw stretched open wide; they rose into the air, spun to slam their barbed tails into his face, dropped out of the air to land on him feet first while he was unsteady. They stumbled back as he fell again, fighting to still themselves so their nausea wouldn't get worse.

Wrathful joy rose in their throats as they saw him fall; then fizzled and faded again.

Third reminded them that that was the only kind of joy they ever felt. First turned to him and hissed, but quietly.

Didn't they know by now that if they kept living the way they always had then they were never going to be happy? If they were going to spend the rest of their eons miserable no matter what—couldn't they try to be actually happy for just one millennium? A century? A day? Maybe one day of happiness would be worth it—because the alternative they were currently living wasn't worth anything.

Why now, though? Second snarled at First—how many millions of possibilities for happiness, big and little and tantalizing and beautiful, had they passed up before now? Why did they deserve to have it now when they'd never deserved it before? Why did First deserve that happiness when he'd forbidden Second and Third from following it?

The red sprite keened again.

Nothing else mattered.

They slammed a foot on one of the bug's tattered wings and twisted, crushing it. Two heads bit at the little king, tearing gashes in his throat and abdomen, so roughly and carelessly that they lost a couple of fangs in his hard hide. All they had to do was slow the king and bug down. These two were already defeated, they'd finish them off later!

Tornadoes sprang up in the wake of their wings as they soared toward the red sprite's voice.

They loathed themselves for it. They loathed each other for it. But they could deal with that later, because the sight of their red sprite crumpled on the ground made their tails lash and the membrane of their wings prickle.

They landed, crouching on their wings, leaning over him to shield him from the rain with their body. He raised his head with difficulty, looking up at them. They knew so little about the people and creatures on this planet, and had put so little effort into trying to learn—they studied his face from three different angles and still couldn't tell if the way his expression was twisted was from pain or something else.

He tried to get up, supporting himself on trembling wings. For the first time, they saw the glowing gash in his chest, and hissed. Oh, they should have ripped that stinger off the bug when they had the chance. What had her venom done to him? First ducked toward the wound, hesitated, drew back. Third completed the motion instead, leaning forward to sniff the hot edges of the wound, and then to press his forehead directly over it, trying to measure how much it hurt. The red sprite chirped weakly.

The pain was weak. The red sprite felt numb, his body unresponsive. His numbness counteracted their own nausea and started clearing their thoughts. Was that what the bug's venom did to creatures on this world? Paralysis? They preferred the nausea.

They were glad he wasn't suffering, but the numbness meant he might not be able to feel his own injuries. Third pulled back and they stretched their heads out, looking over him from all sides, searching for any further signs of damage.

All they could see was wings and a beak and jagged stone skin and wild unreadable alien eyes. From a distance his shape looked so much like a parody of their own species, but up close...

Did they still want to keep him? Seeing like this how strange he was?  Knowing they might never understand each other? Knowing he might not be something that could be kept?

The warm rain beating on their back felt cold compared to the heat the red sprite was radiating. Each time he shifted his head, trying to see all of their faces at once, knots tied and untied in their throats. They thought of how viciously, courageously he'd fought against them, how he'd bowed to them, how he'd followed them into battle. Yes. They wanted him. This precious, fierce little warrior.

They tensed at a cracking sound, and Second whipped around to look in the direction they'd come from. The little king, with the bug clinging to his back, was crushing half-fallen buildings under him as he trudged closer. They curled their wings protectively around their red sprite; then uncurled again and stepped away to stand between him and the little king. They spread their wings wide, tails raised and rattling, hissing.

The little king hesitated for a moment, but then let out a hoarse roar. Fine. They lowered their heads, preparing to strike. If he didn't know when to stay down and take an undeserved mercy...

The bug butted her head on the little king's jowl, pricking one of her scythe-like legs in the crevasses of his neck armor. Oh, they hated that little bug. She was too much like them in a way that wasn't appealing—her mind could touch other minds, like theirs could—they'd felt her brushing up at the edges of their minds before, even from a distance. They feared that she was better at it than they were; they were far weaker at it than they used to be. They wondered what she was slipping now into the little king's mind.

His head jerked down, looking toward their feet under their wings. They crouched, trying harder to block their red sprite. This time, their hisses crackled with the threat of lightning. Of course the bug knew what they were trying to protect; she'd put the glowing wound in his chest. What were she and her thrall thinking now? Did they want to take out the red sprite while he was weak? Did the bug think her little king would stand a better chance against them if they had one less ally? Did she just want to spite them before dying? If either of them even tried to move toward their red sprite...

But they didn't.

The little king stared at the bottom of their wings, like he thought he could still see the red sprite behind them; and then looked up to stare in their faces. Stupid animal. What was it that he wanted? They couldn't read his eyes, couldn't read his face. There was no chance that they could focus well enough or get close enough to read his emotions. What was he going to do?

He widened his stance. They prepared themselves for an attack.

He lifted his head and roared at the sky.

They froze.

They recognized that roar—that specific, high, carrying roar. He'd made it to them, only once, a very long time ago, when they'd been new to this world and he hadn't known what to expect of them and they hadn't yet known what he was trying to convey. They'd heard him make it countless times to the other creatures of this world, as they argued or sparred or tried to kill each other. They didn't know what it said, but they knew what it meant. It meant, yield now, and the battle is over. It meant, I will spare you if you acknowledge me the winner.

Who did this insignificant brat think he was? How dare he?!

Second lunged for the little king's face.

First lunged for Second's throat.

Second screamed, as much from shock as pain, and Third echoed it. First spat and dragged his tongue on the ground to get rid of the taste of his own scales.

Snarling, the little king lurched forward; but the bug butted his head again, and he settled back, waiting.

No. Stop. They could kill the little king later. Eventually, this world would burn, and no one in the galaxy would know of their humiliation. But they could kill the little king at any time. If they tried now, it would only take one stray attack to kill the red sprite. They only had this one chance to save him.

Awkward, off-balance, they tried to copy the gesture their red sprite had performed when he'd bowed to them at the base of his own volcano. They bent forward, trying to contort their wings to stretch out to the sides and lie horizontal over the ground at the same time. Their tails stretched behind them over the red sprite in a futile attempt to maintain their center of balance. They had to pull their heads close to their chest to keep from losing their balance and toppling forward, necks arched up painfully—but even though it would be easier to hang their heads upside-down and stare at the ground, they never looked down. They all glared up at the little king.

They yielded. But only this time.

The little king looked down at them, snorted, and roared. Weak blue lights ran up his back plates, but none came from his mouth; it was just to remind them that he could. His victory was confirmed. The battle was over.

He turned away, already trudging tiredly toward the ocean. The bug picked her way over his back plates to turn and watch them as he retreated.

They lost their balance and landed on their knees. Their wings flopped to the ground, followed by Third's head.

Surrender.

They'd surrendered.

They hadn't surrendered since...

(Eons-old memories floated like pale ghosts up and down their spines: cages and airless moons and commands inserted in their heads that they could not refuse to obey.)

They felt nauseous again. Nauseous and furious. Second ground his forehead and nose into the rubble to try to muffle a scream of frustration.

But the red sprite hopped stiffly around in front of them, surveyed the two heads on the ground, then looked up at First and chirped.

First looked back at him tiredly. They wondered when the happiness would begin.

###

(Replies/reblogs are welcome! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of Ghidorah-centric and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

[inquisition-curations-blog]

Black Library: Damocles by ukitakumuki

artist’s commentary:

Black Library: Damocles

Check out the e/book here! : www.blacklibrary.com/warhammer… Illustration © Games Workshop Art director/producer: Karen Miksza ++++++++++++++++++++++ The brief for this one was a three-way melee between Kor'sarro Khan of the White Scars, Tau Commander Shadowsun, and Captain Kayvaan Shrike of the Raven Guard, amidst a mixed-force battle of White Scars, Raven Guard, and Cadian IG versus the Tau fighting atop a rocky promontory with jungle. The main focus of the show is Shadowsun, whom according to the reference and specs sent to me, often fields two shield drones. I thought that could be a perfect excuse to not end up in an awkward “2 on 1” prong attack. So that resulted in our assault marine captain Shrike pulling off a DFA and Kor'sarro timing a strike to take out her shield on one side. Given the hardback template/format I decided early on to have two back to back crisis suits behind the main trinary to visually frame the action and hopefully some narrative link to what was going on in the background. While sketching in comp ideas I was thinking of World in Conflict FMVs (yeah I watched a compilation vid of the different sequences but set to just Audioslave’s Shadow on the Sun… how apt for our Tau commander ) which inspired that jungle crossfire for the back cover (left of image), along with some physics logic I thought should be observed such as “if plasma based weaponry gets spammed in the general direction of a forest, there should be a moderate to high chance of a forest fire occurring” which kinda explains why we see the charred dirt and branches and hints of trees on fire in the back. Other favourite points of interest that I recall from half a year back: -Singed/scorched Imperial armour versus cracked/gouged tau armour -Drones buzzing a tree (near the sun) -Devastator Raven going head on with the battlesuit turned away from us, armour in the process of being seared off chunk by chunk. -White Scar reading poetry on the lawn in an admirable last stand -Unfortunate IG, now literally half the man he used to be. Courtesy of being in the open when Tau heavy artillery drops.

Check out the e/book by Joe Parrino here! :

www.blacklibrary.com/warhammer…

Illustration © Games Workshop

Art director/producer: Karen Miksza

++++++++++++++++++++++

This piece is, in my own way, dedicated to two very unique creatives whose achievements and trust in me have both inspired and helped me take my work to higher levels. Ghislain Barbe(

NOT because he is coincidentally now the art director on Eternal Crusade at BHVR  

, but because when I was a kid I played a PC game called Heavy Gear by Dream Pod 9/Activision, and along with it came a printed game manual with wonderful mecha illustrations and diagrams that blew my little mind, and he was the illustrator of my favourite designs in the book.), and Peter Cooper(an incredibly kind and talented writer/director who years ago offered me the opportunity to do the illustrated set pieces for his HALO fan-film, Operation Chastity). Moreso because I think they might appreciate certain aspects of this image in their own capacities, like the pew pew lazars. Ok really its just about the lazars and the airburst munitions.

And my special thanks and apologies to my truly professional and patient producer, Karen Miksza, for enduring and evaluating a chickenscratch-sketch of mine that resembled more of a Rorschach exercise than anything. You rock!

As for the artwork:

Reading the brief, and visualising the narrative and technical approach, made me want to crawl under a rock somewhere and just go into a coma. But it dawned on me it was really about huge battlesuits and powered armour on bikes in a desert--the very stuff my favourite SF childhood memories were made of. So I put on some Bubblegum Crisis tracks to remind me of what I felt was special about the genre and what I would like to see happen again, and got back to work. "Say Yes!" by Maiko Hashimoto in particular, really helped bring back those memories.

Bearing in mind this is meant to be a triple-fold/paneled illustration; I was to illustrate a White Scars Stormseer fighting a Crisis Battlesuit with a tulwar on the front cover(rightmost third of image), looming Riptide in center third, and miscellaneous combatants filling up the remainder. The White Scars were to seem joyous in the midst of their hunt, armed with lances or tulwars in addition to the bolters on their bikes. All this was to take place on a dusty plain. I immediately thought that a scene showing a breached frontline would work best, to help put across just how fast moving and aggressive the White Scars are known to be, and for all the long distance planning of the Tau once up close and personal with Space Marines on bikes, it can quickly descend into unmanageable chaos. Troops having to divert their attention from the front to acquire stray bikers without hitting their friends, and crisis suits engaging their thrusters to quickly manoeuver along the ranks and train their guns on the bikes. Crisis suits... in a crisis of their own... aha..haha..h-

As a Chinese guy, I felt it got really hilarious at one point painting Fu Manchu 'roid mongols in sun-bleached white armour going to town on the Tau. So I just rode that wave as best I could  Having my own front row seat and getting into the mentality of what it means to create a 40K flavoured illustration is making me more and more of a fan of what I think the franchise represents on different levels. When I say I find 40K really insane, I mean it in a sincerely optimistic way, and I think I am finally getting better at understanding where that balance point between grimdark outlook, cautionary tale/social commentary, and outlandish spectacle sits.

This reflection of what 40K meant to me, had me throwing out the idea that maybe in order for the Stormseer to even be in close combat with a Battlesuit twice his height, required he be presented in a way that could rival the nuttiness of the idea to begin with. So imagining a narrative, I assume these guys could have force-lances that they could also throw, using that as a medium range large-caliber stopping weapon (illustrated at bottom right) and then move into closer combat with their shorter range tulwars. (This of course sets up the visual excuse for the flapping blood-soaked hair plume on the end of the lance up front.) The stormseer would realise that his bolters might be ineffectual at getting him within close enough range so he would opt to just pop a wheelie off the frontline Tau and use the bolter riddled chassis of the crisis suit as a landing ramp and shield to buy him precious seconds to plan his next move. They're Space Marines. Seemed legit. "SAY YES!"

Other favourite details:

-Please excuse the slightly overdone prismatic effect on the Riptide's shield. I still think it looks nice and it makes some sense. Just riffing off similar idea in the previous Tau codex supplement. I also wanted to illustrate how the hexa-projection areas might be linked to individual projection nodes, and we would see how individual 'tiles' pulse under stress as opposed to having a continuous 'texture pattern'.

-I keep reading in the fluff how much advanced targetting tech the Tau pack, technically a Fire warrior would have onboard sensors and targetting aids, that eventually gets meshed with higher level networked data from sensor drones, add on to that markerlight data and more... basically it just sounds like a Tau shooter could be drunk, falling over, and still hit a fly in between its eyes having accounted for atmospheric disruption from 600 meters away. So that I felt gave me the right to imply that they can shoot incoming rounds out of the sky. Which we can see to great effect in the background and right behind the Stormseer. There of course is the consideration for fans who think its unreasonable, so they also look like they could be randomly hit because the relatively slow moving missiles are travelling through a firestorm of plasma. But I just wanted to say what the original intent was  Also to the left is a inverted Phalanx-CIWS looking burst cannon drone that seems to be in charge of clearing the skies for ground troops (when I saw that design I almost stood up and clapped at the screen). And for those of you who absolutely do not buy any of that, there's this:

warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Ai…

-Poor Tau loses his head in the background-The bikes were initially block-modelled in Sketchup to help me give a sense of their geometry and what I could do with them.This took over a week to do, the longest I've spent on any of the illustrations to date and burnt a weekend or so (gladly so) getting it done. I hope it makes the Tau and White Scars fans amongst you happy and rooting for your favourites and for mech heads in general  

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

OT3FIC: Pitbull

22 - hate locket hammock

The first time she only heard about it at the other’s querying - and she’d sat outside on the steps whining to the massive wolf for over an hour the next time he visited.

The second time, she hadn’t been at home at all and had received the text advising her that ‘he’s here again’ and then neither man had answered her calls for far too long in her book that Jo had been tempted to abandon her hunt and turn her car around immediately.

The third time, she actually spotted his godforsaken coat disappearing around the corner of the house as she came out the side door with the washing basket on her hip. He actually deigned to say the first words to her in long enough that she stumbled on the final step in surprise. That they were a slight at how domesticated she’d become felt like a slap in the face more than she ever thought that word should be.

It was after that point, when the weather was turning warmer and the fireflies were starting to float through the woods and over the field as the snow gave way to rain and then to sunshine, that she finally decided enough was e-fucking-nough.

Sitting in the swinging hammock chair, knees crossed and feet danging just off of the ground in a state of complete relaxation, she knew that it would give the desired outcome the moment he was compelled to arrive as she lent down to light the single candle and set herself swinging calmly with a push of her bare toes in the warm dirt as the nighttime creatures began to scurry back to their holes and nests as the sun began its journey across the sky for the day. Jo felt the clumps of dew coated grass and the dry dirt brushing against the bottom of her foot as she swung her feet, waiting his arrival.

“A bit early for a house call, wouldn’t you think Joanna?” The clipped tone was from behind her shoulder, as if the man had thought it made a smarter choice to sneak up on her rather than appear in front, as if it would make any difference between them that he thought he could surprise her.

As if it wouldn’t result in a deep, dark growl from the dark shadows at the back of the tree trunk as the other demon stared with yellow eyes fixed on the new arrival. Jo felt herself smirking as she turned her head slightly to see the once King appear to almost jerk to the side in the surprise of his own at the other’s attendance. As if he thought Jo would have come up with a plan that had her unsupported and alone in such a space. Not that she thought she needed any back up when dealing with this demon - the sigils carved into the tree trunk behind her ones that she’d seen as a child and copied direct from her father’s battered old journal ones that acted like those of the angelic type she had once used right before meeting this very same demon, and if that weren’t enough, she still had her knife tucked into her boot, ready to show him as good a time as those who’d been under it had if he tried a single thing - but when she’d growled out the suggestion that very first time, the solemn paw on her knee and the whispered query if he wanted to help that got an equally solemn nod had made the choice simple.

“I just thought I’d catch you on one of the gaps in my busy schedule. I’d had it mentioned how much you’d love to catch up with me sometime,” She replied, smirk wider still as the suited demon shifted away from the tree where the wolf padded forward and then stood at the ready, eyes focused entirely upon him, and moved to kick at the small alter Jo’d assembled to summon him with a look of disdain. “So since I am the busy one of us, after that whole...dethronement-”

“I was not dethroned, you tempestuous brat.” “Weren’t you? I thought you got bumped down to just the Crossroads.” “Oh what you think and what is reality is often so very clouded, Joanna.” “I doubt that very much.”

“Is this what you requested me here for? To discuss the hierarchy of your future home?” Crowley hissed the questions out, the accent making the words seem all the more sinister as he kicked at the bowl and candle again until they fell and the candle rolled to a stop near her toes and the flame suddenly flared up a little more than such a candle should ever achieve. Jo pulled her foot up for a moment before it flared back down and then out, her expression turning from surprise to bemusement. “You desperate to know where you’ll eventually fit in, are you?”

Usually such barbs from anyone else - from the asshole monster, from another demon with the most evil of intents once upon a time, from the dark haired woman and her angelic puppet, from the dark haired girl with the same face but evil intent, from the face she saw in the mirror every morning - would make her shrink, but from this one made her let out a peal of laughter into the crisp morning air as she lowered her feet to the ground fully. From the demon she all but vanquished, it was more of a joke than any comedian’s set could dream of.  “Oh, that’s funny! That’s very very funny. I didn’t know Hell had stand up comedy nights, you must have been practisin’ that set for quite a while.”

She could tell immediately that wasn’t the reaction the demon was after, as Crowley’s smirk slowly morphed into a look that would have made her shudder in fear once upon a time. That would possibly still make the hair on the back of her neck stand up if she didn’t know there was little to be frightened of while the darkness stood next to her.

“You and I both know you do not find that so entertaining an idea-” “No, but from you it’s hysterical.” “I look forward to seeing just how... hysterical you find it down the line in the depths of Hell one day, Joanna.”

“If you’re still kickin’ by then!” She rebuked cheerfully, pushing herself out of the hammock and letting the multicolored fabric swing behind her as Jo got to her feet and stepped forward, over the upturned bowl and moved to stand defiantly before the King of the Crossroads. Hands firmly on her hips, and the gentle wind of the morning not bothering her at all despite the coolness on her bare legs. “But that’s beside the point ain’t it? You want to know why I summoned you here.”

“You do know some of us are more important than others, darling, so I’d appreciate the abbreviated version. If you know what that word means.” “So witty. So funny. No wonder you’re the king’a laughs.” “I’d watch your tongue if I were you, Joanna, before you find it missing one day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jo snarled back at his own nasty growl, and if she’d held a mirror up beside his face then she might even recognize the same curl of their lips as the pair glared at one another in hate and disdain for a long moment. Pulling back a second, not giving ground but resettling her position to herself as in control of this conversation, the blonde rolled her shoulders a few times adjusting as the demon’s own snarl turned into a dark sneer at the thought she’d backed down to him. “Anywho - you’re here so I can tell ya it’s the last time ya goin’ to be on this property.”

“What makes you think that, darling? You think that you can command-” “Oh, that’s exactly what I think, darlin’.”

There was a beat, as Jo watched the sneer trip for a second to disbelief before coming back full force with even more venom than she remembered seeing in him since she stared him down across the edge of a trap with two fingers tracing out and finalizing the symbols that would suck his borrowed power from him and back where it belonged; and taking another step back, Jo found herself smirking as she sat back down into her hammock seat as she awaited what was sure to be an explosive response.

“You dare to think that you - a pathetic, stupid, insolent and worthless little human - can command me to do anything? You believe you’re something greater than me?!” Crowley’s voice was slowly rising as he spoke, the relaxed hands in his pockets drawing out as the words spilled out of him, fists formed tightly before he stalked towards where she swung gently with a finger out and pointed straight at her as he practically bit down around the words. “You do not frighten me, Joanna, you do not dictate to me and you do not command me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Crowley,” She replied, swinging her foot as she heard a growl coming from beside her as if trying to hurry her along or confirm that it wasn’t her commands that the demon should be worrying about but she couldn’t quite tell which. “I’m not even commandin’ you by the way - I’m givin’ you a friendly warnin’. Do not come back here again, there is nothing here for you; and if you do come back, you’ll never be able to again.”

Crowley growled in response, his hands retreating back to his pockets whereby she could no longer tell his frustrations by them alongside the twists of his face, and even glared towards the dark, furred demon that Jo felt the tickle of his fur next to her foot as she swung back a little too far. “And you, Marquis, are following the little girl’s commands too?”

Jo let out a small yelp as she felt the side of the hammock press in closer to her and then the giant wolf’s head appeared, white teeth snapping out at the other harshly, as he pushed past her towards the other at the comment. Pulling her feet up into the nest of the swinging fabric, pressed unfortunately against the hot, heavy haunches of the demon-wolf beside her, Jo looked on in surprise at the almost silent battle of wills happening as the wolf moved further - her seat swinging a little as the support left - and forced the other demon stumbling back at his approach. They looked so clearly were at odds and the match more favoring the one cloaked in fur and darkness this time around if they’d square up from what she could feel of the electricity in the air, a hand reaching up to smooth down the fly-aways caught up in the static energy radiating from the pair.

There was a moment of silence, and Jo found herself relaxing back into the warm cocoon of the woven colorful fabric that held her so comfortably and safe compared to the friction outside of her locket, before the Marquis sat down with an almost smug look upon his face as the King of the Crossroads took a minute footstep backwards.

“Well then,” Crowley’s voice was tight for a moment, his accent clipping the words off for a moment as he tugged and righted his sleeves as if they had moved even an inch from where they were supposed to be, before his eyes drew back to the blonde’s with a harsh glint to them. “What is it you believe you have to your name that gives you the right to order me about, little girl?”

“More than you could know-” “So nothing then?” “If you do not leave us be, I will show you.”

“What have you got then, Joanna?” The demon snarled back, stepping closer again and Jo could feel the way the Marquis’ head merely tilted but made no move to interject as the British man approached and held either side of her hammock in his hand, dragging her closer as if tugging open the sides of her locket to reveal her secrets. “What can you do to stop my visiting my dear friend? Or acquainting myself with your other little friend? What can you do to - what was it? - make me never do so again?”

“I’ve got-” “You have nothing, little girl. You are not a Winchester - you have no demon killing blade. You’re not an angel - you cannot sanctify me. You are nothing.”

“I have an angel blade.” Jo hissed the words out, leaning forward towards the demon’s leer as he’d ran an eye over her considering until she pushed up towards him into his own space in return. The look that flashed across his face felt powerful for her - the way there was a hint of surprise and hesitance as she shifted her weight forward, tilted towards him and pushing him back out of her domain - and pushing forward further, her hands wrapping and gripping over the demon’s own live vices as she shifted her weight, almost standing a top the hammock chair as she pressed into his realm with a sneer. “I also have a knife, still imbued with the power of Purgatory that someone so thoughtfully gifted to me.”

“You’re bluffing-” “I also have an archangelblade-” “Liar!”

“And worst of all for you? In case that driving through your heart wouldn’t be enough to burn you from the inside out all the way out of existence?” She snarled harshly, standing upright and nails digging into the other’s hands who looked up at her in a mixture of disbelief and disdain, his lips curled harshly and the flex of power and electricity in the air again as they stared one another down, the flash of shadows through the others eyes reflecting back her own fire to her. Jo could feel it - powerful and dark and making her skin crawl - but releasing her grip over his hands to hold the wooden bar above her that held her attached like the loop of a locket attached to the chain that was the tree, the woods, the field, every piece of ground that surrounded the little house far behind them, her lips twisted into a dark grin as she hissed the next words out, “I can just lock you away-”

“How.. would you achieve such a task, little girl?” Crowley returned the question with the same amount of loathing as her own words as he flexed his powers over her again trying to crush her down back from her stance; but Jo could feel something holding her upright through it as if there was something else supporting her defiance in return that she thought may have a very furred origin. “You wouldn’t be killing virgins to throw me into the less entertaining afterlife, you’re too frightened of your grubby little soul going downstairs to do so.”

“No. But I can lock you away in a little box I own.” “Oh really? A box?” “Yes, a box. You’d have great company in it. I have some... friends of yours already locked away in there.” “Do tell, little Joanna, what little box and which little friends are you trying to frighten me with? I know for a fact I’m not at all interested in seeing your box.”

Jo rolled her eyes at that, before hissing quietly. “Maybe you’ll see it the next time you’re here. And as to who’s inside?” She slowly stepped down from the fabric beneath her to solid ground, the same support helping her push through the electric-air that buzzed as she glared back with a tiny quirk to her lips in a smirk. “At the moment it’s a handful of mooks and the last of your kind I sucked into it was someone called... Sitri?”

There was a beat and then the forces from both sides that had been waging around her evaporated as the black eyed demon stumbled a foot backwards at the name while the demonic wolf jerked himself to his feet as well, pads kicking up at the dirt almost furiously for a moment as the Crossroads King jerked back even further. She’d been surprised the demon had thought himself all that when she had trapped him inside the strongest trap she had known of before a twenty-hour straight exorcism to drag the demon free of his form and into the  inky depths of her father’s heirloom. She’d looked up the name afterwards - the twelfth and a Prince at that - but all she could think at the time was just how much she needed a glass of water and a hamburger.

“You dare-” “Now, I’m not playin’ ‘round.” “I don’t believe a word of that, darling.”

“Well, how ‘bout this, Crowley,” She replied, running a hand up to pull her hair back from her face with a smile. “You head on back to your important work and then you go see if you can find who I say I have-”

“Like I believe a word you say.” “See if you can locate him, and if you can - then you know my threats are nothin’, and if you can’t...”

“If I can’t, what?” The demon returned with a smug look, as he tugged his jacket back into line and looked down at her. “I don’t come back here? Leave you and the other one to your happy little abode-”

“And leave Grey alone.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, as if Jo’s words could be seen drawn out in front of one another and waiting for the other to accept them. There was no sign to it, that Crowley was even considering their existence, until a growl started up again - as the wolf glared at the pair of them, the support for the statement but not the rest of what have been revealed - and the Crossroads King took another, almost imperceptible step backwards.

The sharpest shards of the sun’s first light streaked across the field behind him, his face thrown into the same darkness that was inside, and Jo was forced to blink first. Her hand came up to shield her eyes from the glint that went straight into her face, and when she managed to blink her eyes clear of the echo of the bright light from her gaze - there was nothing to look at and the smell of sulfur and ozone in the air.

Blinking her eyes rapidly, Jo wasn’t surprised to open her eyes to see the bright white teeth in her face, and what might be perceived in a real wolf as a rabid snarl directed right back at her as she took a step back, sinking into her woven cocoon. The wolf approached again, and stepping backwards as the fabric draped about her and she ended up against the trunk of the tree she had hung from; and giving a sigh, Jo muttered quietly, “He was causin’ trouble, and I didn’t know who it was.”

There was a louder sound, as if suspicious, for a long moment, before Jo added gently. “I don’t know how to reverse it, and I didn’t think he was even a friend of yours, anyways.” That got another noise one she thought, as the shape stepped away and then turned to prowl off towards the house without another look at her, that was more of a laugh than she’d ever heard before from the demon.

Tucking her feet up under herself again as the sun started to warm up the air as well as the sky, Jo bit down on her bottom lip as she started to swing gently, wondering to herself if she’d once again succeeded in something to do with the foul demon.

[thatsweetsexypsychotroyotto]

I'm Not a Bad Person- Chapter 6

SUMMARY: Troy Otto does have feelings you know. He's in the process of figuring them out; especially when it comes to his childhood friend, Jaymie. Whatever they are, they're rooted deep, and they're growing.

WARNINGS: Language, Warped thoughts, Violence.

WORD COUNT: Fuck if I know.

PAIRING: Troy Otto x OFC

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My plan is to follow along with the events of season 3, but with my OFC involved. I'll veer off plenty of times and probably switch shit up completely. Not sure yet. We'll be exploring different characters' perspectives throughout the series. I'm not great at this writing thing but I try my best. Hope you like it enough. All characters except my OFC don't belong to me.

*******

Chapter 6

(Jaymie's POV)

The next day, a memorial service was held to honor Charlene- Jeremiah's goddaughter. She was the pilot of the helicopter that Jake, Alicia, Luciana, and Travis were on. She survived the crash, but the dead got her on the way back to the ranch.

To be honest, I didn't like Charlie. She was such a bitch to me. It was because her dad had an affair with my mom, and her parents split up. So she took her anger out on me.

One particular day she was talking shit; telling our mutuals I'd end up a whore just like my mother. That was stupid of her, mostly because Troy happened to be walking by. He turned and made a beeline straight to Charlene and decked her; no questions asked. I laughed my ass off when I found out. Wish I could have seen it first hand.

Naturally, Troy got in sooo much trouble. Mainly because he hit a girl. Pretty hypocritical of Jeremiah, but he was a "Do as I say, not as I do," type of parent. So, Troy was grounded for a month. That didn't stop me from sneaking in to the Otto's house every single night though. I'd take him desert and we'd stay up till 3 or 4 in the morning playing cards and board games.

Anyway, after Charlie's service, it was lunch time. I worked the line with my friend Gretchen, scooping globs of mac and cheese onto everyones' trays. Madison and Alicia were approaching, and I heard a community resident giving them a hard time. I felt bad for them, until Alicia said that people should be harassing Troy instead of them. Madison responded, 'I think they would be if they knew what he had done.' I know what Troy did was fucked up. That won't stop me from defending him though. Nothing will. I guess that makes me fucked up too; and I'm fine with that.

Both Madison and Alicia stopped abruptly, making eye contact with me. They realized I was serving, and that I most likely heard what they said. I tried not to let it show that it bothered me, but I know my eyes looked sad.

Gretchen broke the awkward silence with her subtle humor and kind words. Then she invited Alicia to attend one of her "Bible studies" (which was actually just a handful of our friends getting together to drink and smoke pot). There was no hiding Alicia's reluctance, but Madison practically made the decision for her to go. I'm grateful for it, because I need to figure Alicia out. Is she trustworthy? Could I see myself becoming friends with her?

***

About 2 hours later...

(Jake's POV)

How am I going to convince Troy that he needs to stay away from the Clarks? Ever since T.E. began he's been harder to control. I need Jaymie's help on this. She's the only person who has more influence on him than I do.

I find the two of them working together on mending one of the crops' fences. Both their faces are plastered with smiles. They kneel, preparing to wrap extra barbed wire around the bottom of a post. I can't make out what they're saying, but Jaymie throws her head back with a vivacious laugh. She nudges Troy with her shoulder, and he retaliates with a playful shove, causing her to topple over. She counterattacks by throwing a handful of dirt at him. They're honestly adorable.

It's a heartwarming sight to watch my brother in normal-human-being mode; and genuinely happy. Jaymie's good for him. Except on occasion she tends to enable his psychotic side. Though I'll admit that many times his semi-sociopathic behavior has been in her defense. He saw nothing wrong with it when he ki- ...never mind. I don't want to think about that. Anyway, the pros still outweigh the cons by a long shot, and they really are a good match. I kind of thought they'd have gotten together by now.

Troy offers Jaymie a hand and pulls her back to a kneeling position. She tries to wipe the dirt off that she threw at him, but she's actually making it worse since her hands are covered in soil. They're still laughing when I reach them.

Troy notices my presence and his smile falters slightly. "The boar's back. Keeps digging up the fence posts to get to the cabbage. Could use an extra pair of hands tracking it tonight."

May as well cut to the chase. "Stay away from Madison and her family."

"They're my friends."

"They came here under my invite. They trust me."

"They came here not to get eaten. I wouldn't flatter yourself."

Jaymie snickers at Troy's response, then looks at me with a grin she tries to suppress.

"Yeah, but they're staying cause I said I'd protect them- from you.

"And how are you going to do that?"

I knew this would be difficult. "Please don't do this, Troy. Please. I'm the one who still believes in you."

"Well I don't need you to anymore."

"Yeah, you do. If the ranch knew what you really are-"

"And what am I Jake?"

I look to Jaymie for an assist, but she's clearly upset with me. She stands and stalks toward me, grabbing my arm to pull me away from the scene. "What the hell would you say that for?!" She scolds me quietly.

"You know he broke in to Madison's cabin and threatened Nick?"

"And you're dumb enough to believe she's not over exaggerating?"

"Do you have any idea what he was doing at the depot? Do you?" Her expression is unreadable. "He was murdering people, Jaymie; timing how long it took them to change."

She sighs. "Yeah, yeah I know."

"Then why are you standing here upset with me?" I don't understand. She's acting like it was no big deal.

There's venom in her response. "Because of what you said to him back there, about what he is. You act like he's some kind of monster, Jake. He's your brother! Why would you say that?!"

I cannot believe what I'm hearing right now. So much for getting Jaymie on my side. I walk passed her and reapproach Troy. "Do you really think you were helping those people out at the depot?"

"I think I was helping all of us."

Alright. This is going nowhere. Let's try a different angle: "Troy, when Dad's gone, this is all on us. We have to take care of this place. We have to lead."

"Together." His tone sounds incredulous.

"Yeah. But I need you to do something for me. I need you to stay away from the Clarks. Do you hear me?"

"Yep. I hear you."

"Do you mean it?"

"I always mean it, Jake."

There's nothing more I can say. I turn to leave, and as I pass Jaymie, I beg her in a commanding tone, "Please help me with this. I need you on my side. Troy needs you on my side. He just doesn't realize it." She narrows her eyes at me with annoyed inquisitivity. "Just, think about it, alright?"

***

(Troy's POV)

Jaymie's so pissed off at Jake. She's always got my back. It doesn't matter who it is or what it's about. I know she doesn't agree with everything I've done. She does try and steer me in a different direction sometimes. I don't listen to her as much as I probably should, but whatever I end up doing, she never ever judges me. She's the only one. God, I love that girl... Wait, what?

"You alright?"

"Huh?" I didn't even notice she was by my side again.

"Forget what Jake said."

"Wasn't even thinking about it."

"Good." She gets back to helping me with the barbed wires, in silence, until, "Maybe we should both avoid Nick and Madison. Just for now?"

"Nah, I'm gonna have Nick help out with the boar tonight." I feel her looking at me. "It'll be fine, Jayms."

She considers my words for a moment then nods. "Alright. Well, I gotta get ready for Gretchen's Bible study. I'm gonna try and get to know Alicia; see what I think of her."

I give her a half-hearted smirk. "Have fun with that." I'm just bummed out she's leaving.

"I'll see you later?"

"Yeah. Later, Jayms." I watch her walk away, lost in the thought I had just a minute ago.

*******

[breachy-breeches-creation]

Break and Mend

Pairing: Thea Hawke/ Anders; Thea Hawke/ Fenris

Summary :

After the unfortunate event befell upon the Hawke estate, Thea had drowned herself in an intense self-identity crisis for being a mage in addition to much grief and sorrow. One day an idea strikes a light within her heart that finally wakes up from her depression. Thea decided to follow her instinct and seek out her friend, Anders to learn healing magic from him, in hopes to find salvation upon her broken soul.

—

Carved into the cliffs that lead to the port of the Gallows, at least six feet under Lowtown lies a den of iniquity. Where shadows crawl and crimes maul. Where blood lingers and maggots fester. Where only the most pitiable souls dwell.

A labyrinth that is pleasantly named 'Darktown' was once a mine controlled by the Tevinter Imperium. Once exhausted, the mine shafts were extended under the city to dispose of sewage from Kirkwall's overcrowded population of slaves. The "Undercity," as some call it, is home to the diseased, the insane, to criminals, and even the dead—unwanted corpses are often discarded here by murderers and lazy undertakers.

The only source of any natural illumination is from the large cavern-like overlooks that are in full view of the gigantic weeping humanoid bronze statues across the passage. They are a sore reminder of why Kirkwall is also known as the 'City of Chains'. Anyone travelling within this pit hole after dusk is usually either fatuous or deranged.

Yet if one wishes to find generous medical treatment: "Look for the lit lantern--”. The deplorable and downtrodden have spoken fondly, "--there you will find a healer that gives everything, but asks for nothing"

It is exactly where Thea was heading.

As soon as the lift landed on its destination the ashen-blue eyed woman made a bee-line straight towards the direction of the clinic, not caring as she usually would that the haste of heavy footsteps could attract hunters looking for easy prey. Then again, when was she ever easy?

When she arrived at the clinic entrance, the lantern was not lit, but she knocked on it anyway.

She waited for a moment, then paced back and forth like an agitated caged tiger, debating whether she has made the right decision. She received no response.

She knocked again, this time slightly harder. Thea tapped her foot impatiently as she waited…. again met with no response. Thea frowned.

When, for the third attempt, Thea was just about to bang her fist on the door, she heard a click of the lock. The wooden door creaked slightly ajar and Thea was greeted by a half-asleep dirty-blonde haired man, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Andraste's flaming knickers, the lantern is not lit for a reason. Can you com—”

“Anders, it’s me.” Thea pulled back her hood.

“Oh, Hawke! What are you doing here at this hour?” The man’s amber pupils snapped wide open and blink hard a few times as if he’d been splashed by a bucket of cold water.

The mage held the door a bit wider and moved aside from the entrance as a gesture of invitation. Upon entering the clinic, Thea caught the familiar heavy scent of elfroot and other herbs. The rusty hinges squeaked as the door closed behind her, it was followed by sluggish footsteps as Anders turned towards his work desk, the one that Thea brought him as a Santalia gift a few months prior.

Thea’s vision trailed up the back of the moon-illuminated figure; Anders was wearing all but a simple pair of trousers and a light blouse. Without his usual coat and the fluffy feathery pauldron, his stature looked a lot leaner and perhaps even a bit more vulnerable. Admittedly, it was a sight that Thea wasn’t used to. His shoulder length hair was down with tangled bits sticking out left and right. She wondered how long since he had last paused from the relentless campaign he got himself into to take care of himself... Not that she was really in any position to judge.

Thea strolled through the room like it was her own, towards the makeshift balcony, bordered with wooden fences and barbed wire. The towheaded woman leaned against the frame and gazed upon the velvet dark sky, decorated with the crescent moon married to poetry of stars. It was the softness of the sky that called body and brain to rest and let the heart go to its steady rhythm.

She felt a sudden wave of warmth from behind as Anders lit up the fireplace. The mage soon joined her at the balcony not long after, with a hot beverage in hand.

“Did I ever mention that you have a knack for choosing places? You have a grand view of the port to the Gallows and giant creepy statues.”

“What can I say? I have a talent for it.” the mage chuckled, “At least it's open-aired, you know I hate closed spaces. Plus it reminds me not to lose sight of what we— of what I am fighting for...” His voice grew small as he passed the drink to Thea. She received it with a thankful nod.

The mug was pleasantly hot to the touch. It was made of clay, covered with ivory paint and sprinkled with dots, like the freckles on her face. It was exclusively for her to use. Her cup. The beverage itself was mesmerising indigo — Butterfly Pea tea, her favourite.

As Thea brought the mug closer to take a sip, an earthly herbal fragrance waffled towards her with a hint a lavender essence and a touch of salt. A slice of lime was placed at the rim of the mug, just how she liked it.

It was a funny story of how they acquired it in the first place. Long story short, they did a job for a Rivaini merchant, but unfortunately one of the crates was already partially soaked with seawater by the time they found it. But since they did complete the objectives amongst other things, the merchant gifted them the crate as ‘a token of friendship’. Isabela explained those exotic flowers were uniquely grown in only the northern part of Rivain and were frequently enjoyed as tea and sometimes used as a natural dye. Although Thea has no idea what the pirate queen was snickering about when she said the flowers had another name but refused to explain it.

At least Anders found some positive healing properties regarding the tea, which was good she supposed. Since then he always seemed to have it in stock.

Comfortable silence passed between them as Thea enjoyed her tea and listened to the distant waves clashing beneath the cliffs. Her eyes wandered around however, back inside - the shelves of ingredients, the stretcher beds in which some were still stained, where the fireplace crackled warmly. She finally settled her gaze on the desk, its quality making it seem out of place amongst its surroundings.

“How’s the new writing desk?”

“Sturdy and stable.”

“That’s good,” Thea smiled, “we can’t have ink all over the place while you’re working on the manifesto because the legs have been chewed off by rats, can we?”

“I appreciate that, and Justice seems pleased too.”

Another moment of stillness elapsed once more, eyes caught momentary of each other from time to time. Until this time it was Anders who was the one to break the silence.

“I haven’t heard from you for a while ”

“I know.”

“How are you holding up?” his voice filled with noticeable worry.

“I.....”Thea took a deep breath to reflect on herself for a moment and decided to answer honestly since it is too obvious and no point hiding. “... am not well.... but I’m getting better. Trying to, anyway”

“I don’t imagine you are here simply for small talk then?”

“No.” Thea’s focus shifted back to the rippling liquid that is in her hand. Thea then set her mug aside and kneaded her fingers together like there was an invisible coin gliding in between, in a reminiscing manner. Thea then snapped her fingers like a tinder striker, a small flame appeared at the tip of her index finger Ember shadowed the two tired faces with a ghostly cobalt glow. “‘What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?’, a question I have pondered often.”. The light dissipated as the word landed.

“You cannot possibly believe—”

Thea’s downcast eyes implied otherwise “And yet it stings. It stings because it holds a certain truth doesn’t it? My magic has caused nothing but destruction, even I am to aid someone, there’s always the other party who is hurt...”

“If his words hold much weight to you, I thought you’d go to him instead ....to move on that is...” Anders winced at his own words, regretting the instance the words are spoken from his tongue, trailing off with the hint of envy.

“We did talk briefly some time ago, about what happened to my mother, about magic.“ Thea said simply, although her eyes have then shifted to the quivering liquid that is in her mug, or perhaps to the constant tides down below. Anders cannot tell.

“You know what his belief is on magic. Hardly an ounce of sympathy in them”

Thea tilted her head to such a statement “True, we have differences in opinions and he has every right to hold those beliefs. He is no mage from southern Thedas, and I am no ex-slave from the Tevinter. It is not for me to demand remorse, regret, or repentance from anyone. We are all mortals and cannot be anything other than what we are, We are shaped by our own experience” Her lips tucked into a solemn smile “But this isn’t about him”.

“What is it then?”

“My father’s words echo through my mind much these days: ‘ Magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base.’ To be the best version of the person one can be, especially the likes of ‘us’” Her lower lip quivered as words slowly made their way out of her mouth…"I wondered countless times that if I was just a little more aware, a bit more attentive, my mother would still be alive now. “ Thea bit her bottom lip in attempted to still her cracking voice “And yet, with all the supposed power I have, I cannot, did not, prevent my mother from being kidnapped and murdered by insane man for sickening agenda, who, not to mention is also a mage. Looking back, ever since my family and I arrived Kirkwall, or perhaps even further back, all I have ever done is ‘surviving’. The jobs I took, the coin I earned, the words I said, the choices I made: what I thought was necessary to simply survive this unrelenting, unforgiving world that the Maker has supposedly turned his gaze away from. Yet to those do not require to ‘magic’ to do so, they are excuses. ‘Normal’ men can just do the same without it. Thus the question still stands”

Those gravity-drawn shoulders is a sight that Anders can never bear. The healer reached out his hand to place it just below those storm-sky blue eyes, attempting to catch the rain that threatens to fall from them. “You are doing your best Hawke. Not everyone can keep their heads above water”

“But is it truly?” Thea’s sighed as she softly deflated; it was as if the tension had lifted yet left her with a melancholy instead of relief.” I always believe that the Maker is just and merciful and the unjust is created by the hubris of men. I believe that the Maker still watches over us — over me. I...want to believe He has given me the ‘gift’ of magic for a reason, although I admit I cannot say I always comprehend what He wishes of me or why his guidance is in such a roundabout way.”

“I’ve been thinking, searching for signs....” Thea gave another quick look at the clinic area and back to her own hands“.... and it’s here, it has always been here.”

Thea raised up her hand, placing it on Anders’s that is on her cheek and removed it. Yet she did not release her hold but rather placed her other hand into his palm. “I have a favour to ask of you, would you help me?”

“Always, I’m listening” Anders cannot help to notice that, although perhaps just as battle-worn, how small and delicate her hands are compared to the larger callus one of his.

The pools of ashen-blue sprung up to meet the pair of amber. The emotion in her eyes was fathoms deep, yet they carried the warmth and life of the sunlit surface. They had a thousand hues of blue and a small touch of hazel radiating in softly swooping arcs. “Teach me how to do arts of healing magic”

At first, the healer furrowed his brow, baffled by her request then closed his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose seemingly trying to suppress his amusement. Anders’s expression softened as the corner of his lips curved into a grin and he opened his eyes once more. “Is this the reason why you barged into my clinic in the middle of the night?” Feeling mischievous, he flicked his finger lightly against Thea’s forehead.

“Ow! I did not barge in, I knocked!” Thea grinned a little.

“You still haven’t answered my question”

“Well...it just that... sometimes there are things that come to mind that you know have to be done immediately or else you don’t know when you would ever get the chance again....” Thea sheepishly rubbed her forehead.

“... I’ve been going to the barracks from time to time in the past few weeks, actually. Taking jobs here and there to occupy my mind with something else.” Thea tapped nonchalantly against her lips as she paused once more, trying to find the right words to articulate her thoughts. “Apparently getting myself drunk does not dull the ‘pain’, I only end up giving myself nothing but huge hangovers and upset stomachs.” Her words earned a troubled glance from the healer, but he made no further implications to interrupt.

Thea sighed and tilted her head. “I know all of you are worried, I know you visit my estate every now and then...I just wasn’t in the mood to face anyone yet.”

“In any case, I visited Aveline at the barracks on one of my more sober days last week. She told me about her little story about her father. He used to read books to her and always let her decide when to turn the page, so that each step is her own story. She told me that no one can tell me when to move on. It is my choice.” Thea briefly smiled at her own words. “I thought about these last couple days and...I think I am ready to turn my page....”

“Glad to hear that.” Anders pushed aside a tumble of blonde curls that fell into her face and tucked it behind her ears, ever so tenderly, fingers brushing against her moonlit cheeks “Though you do understand that healing magic so no simple matter.”

“Is magic ever simple? This is why I came to the best healer I know.”

“When you put that way, how could I refuse?” Anders huffed in beguilement. “I suppose I could use an assistant here in the clinic.”

“I thought of it as well; you overwork yourself too much too often. Someone should keep an eye on you.”

“Try not to get too distracted.” He teased.

Thea chuckled. “Hardly, there are plenty of other things that can keep me occupied I’m sure.”

“You wound me.” Anders made an obviously-actually-not-that-offended expression that earned another giggle from Thea. “Regardless, it wouldn’t be just about magic. There’s also the basic principles we need to go through, hygiene for example”

“I’m a fast learner. I believe I had enough practice with my siblings to at least get the bandages right.”

“I’m sure you are, I’ve seen you work. It won’t be long before you mastered it....and I will not be needed anymore....” Each word grew ever more hushed as they melted into whispers. His soft lips stretched into a smile but didn't quite reached his amber eyes. They were lit with sadness, and the forced expression of the contrary on his mouth would have looked comical to Thea if it didn't make her heart feel heavy. For a few moments, Thea stared at him, almost sure his expression was trying to mirror hers. It broke her heart. She didn't want to be the smile that squeezed his chest somewhere far away.

Thea reached out to cup Anders’s cheeks with both hands, lifting up a little so he is facing directly at her. "Hey, I am here not simply because your skills as a healer, but also because I appreciate your company, you. You are a good man. You have worked so hard and risked so much just so others can have a better chance at life and I admire greatly about that. You are my dearest, most treasured friend, and I would never abandon you. " Thea took a step closer and pulled Anders into an embrace. "Honestly, I don't know where this path would lead me. But one thing I do know: the magic that my father taught me became part of me... and so will yours."

Countless emotions rushed within Anders - joy, gratitude, relief, and perhaps even triumph? But it was mixed with worry and fear. Anders hesitated for a moment as he felt tingling in his hands before wrapping his arms around her as well and placed his lips against the top of her head. Thousands of words he wanted to say, especially those three simple words that would summarize it all. But he knows they aren't his to speak. Instead he sighed and murmured into her hair "I don't care, I will drown us in blood to keep you safe." clutching a little bit tighter.

"I know you would, I just hope it would never come to that."

How long they stood in the same position, they did not know, and perhaps it was not as important as simply enjoying each other's presence. The Sun peeked indolently from the horizon, casting her tangerine warmth over the dark twilight sky. She comes in the way that natural forces do, needing not invitation yet feeling her welcome. Its hue gently illuminating each crevice of the land. Mellow blues and pinks blurred together in a silver mist and the sea glittered in gold as the air that grows brighter with each passing moment until it becomes a new bold day. The light is her gift, bold and free, for anyone who cares to open their eyes in the dawn and watch the world awake.

"I should go." Thea hummed "You should get some rest, I have bothered you long enough"

"Don't worry about it, I don't plan to open the clinic today anyway."

"I’d probably give Orana a fright if she didn't see me in my bedroom without notice, the poor girl is still trying to adjust around the estate."

Anders gave a reluctant wry look but release his arms nonetheless.

Thea looked aside and found where she left her mug. She picked up the slice of lime and gave it a little squeeze and dropped into the mug, watching the juice contacting the tea and staining the liquid into elegant lilac. She perked up at Anders and grinned.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Anders nodded.

Thea took a couple of steps back before turning around and walked toward the entrance.

"....Thea." Anders called out to her just as she reached to open the door.

"Hmm?"

"It's good to have you back"

Thea turned her head back and smiled. "Thank you, Anders, it feels good to be back." and proceeded her way out, closing the door behind her.

Anders stared at the wooden door for a couple of minutes, trying to reflect what happened this night. To his surprise, there weren't any sudden of intrusive thoughts; perhaps he was expecting Justice to more agitated due to his swell of emotions, but his friend seems to be rather placid.

He traced the rim of the freckled mug that had long since devoid of warmth and yet still tingled to the touch. Anders lifted the mug and drank the rest of the content. Whether it was the hint of salt or the touch of sourness, he was certainly awake. Anders scanned around the room and sauntered towards one of the beds. He picked up one of sheets and start to fold it, beginning his daily routine.

----

Six feet below, in the underbelly of Kirkwall, lies the perilous maze that is ‘Darktown'. If one wishes generous healing, look for the lit lantern they say. There you will find a healer that gives everything and asks for nothing but the smile of a radiant soul that is his heart.

~~~~~~

Author's notes:

To clarify just in case - Anders is not Thea's LI (that is Fenris; I do plan to explore it in a later date)

PS: If anyone was wondering what was Isabela amused about, just google it & look at the scientific name

---

many thanks to @fabled-heroine beta read for me!

---

(Reposting bc I’m an idiot who initially doesn’t know how tumblr html works lol)

—

[toushindai]

and here’s another Hades ficlet. Spoilers for the Murder Death Kill update in this one--it was written effectively in response to it--and there’s also a brief, glossed-over mention of sexual assault wrt the parts of Sisyphus’s backstory that he hasn’t shared with Zag yet.

[ Read on AO3 ]

*

Megaera is pacing. She doesn’t like to pace, but it alleviates the boredom and the aggravation and the insipid suspense all at once, so until Zagreus shows up this time, that’s what she’s doing. If he shows up here this time. But now Lord Hades has called Tisiphone and Alecto in, because no matter how hard Megaera tries she can’t seem to knock any sense into Zagreus (what else is new?) and the idiot needs to be stopped. So, he’s going to meet her sisters at last. That’ll show him for his curiosity and his stupid crusade.

The meeting with Hades had been unpleasant. Megaera knows better than to take Alecto’s contempt personally—had known better than to respond to her youngest sister’s mocking laughter as he’d explained the situation. She knows better, but the fact that she just can’t seem to rise to competency in this task still galls her. Humiliation and self-disgust boil together in her stomach, and so she paces.

She’d tried, on her way here, to let off a little steam against Sisyphus. He’d been halfway up the hill anyway. A few strategic lashes had him stumbling, and then all it took was a little push to send his pet rock tumbling down over him, crushing him to death on its way back to the bottom. Megaera verified that his mangled corpse wasn’t breathing and then snapped her fingers. At the foot of the hill, the sigil that bound him to Tartarus began to glow. Sisyphus reappeared, blithely cracking the muscles in his neck, and Megaera shoved the butt of her whip up under his jaw.

“You’ve been telling the Prince sob stories,” she accused the shade. “He came home and tried to tell me I’m too hard on you.”

“Ah.” Sisyphus swallowed, his smile shifting from optimistic to humbly polite. “Forgive me, kindly one, I may have bragged a little the last time he came through.”

“Bragged?” Megaera laughed. “But wrapping those chains around Thanatos was hardly your proudest moment. Don’t you want to tell Zagreus about the rest of it? About Tyro, and your dear, sweet children?”

Then his smile was gone entirely. “To be honest, I’d prefer not to,” he confessed, vulnerability in his face.

She held his eyes with hers for a long moment, tormenting him with his own discomfort until he swallowed again.

“What do you want from me, Mistress?” he asked. What would convince her to keep the rest of his crimes to herself, he meant.

She removed the butt of her whip from beneath his jaw and gestured with it towards his boulder. “Back to work,” she ordered. “And stop socializing with the Prince, or I’ll make sure he loses interest in friendship with a worm like you.”

It was one of the more inane threats she’d ever made, but it seemed to do the trick. Sisyphus bowed deeply and then cracked his knuckles. “Understood,” he said, and obediently turned his attentions to his boulder once more, muscles straining as he began his slow ascent. Megaera watched him struggle for a moment, and then moved on.

She has no faith, frankly, that he will do anything differently the next time Zagreus wanders through. For all she knows, they might be chatting right now, Sisyphus regaling Zag with the bit about the coin and utterly forgetting to mention that time he raped his niece so that her children would dispose of his brother. He doesn’t deserve mercy. Zagreus is naïve and ignorant to think that he does.

He’s naïve and ignorant in a lot of ways, each more infuriating than the last. If—or when, she supposes—he runs into her sisters, she’s certain that he’ll greet them very prettily and cordially, even if context should make it clear that they’re there to kill him. Either of them will quickly disabuse him of the notion that friendship might be possible. The thought makes Megaera grind her teeth without knowing why. Jealousy, she supposes—her natural vice, a sharp territorial urge tainted with fondness. Alecto is just eager to do violence, and Tis is Tis; neither of them will bother to understand Zag’s crusade, not why it’s important to him and not why it must necessarily be thwarted. Megaera thinks he deserves better than that. It’s not a rational belief, but she forfeited her ability to be fully rational about him long ago. Stupid of her, really. But what’s done is done.

Megaera looks towards the door to her hall, which remains resolutely shut. It’s been a while; has he run into one of the others? She closes her eyes and strains her ears, trying to pick up some clue of what’s going on in the rest of Tartarus. Will he hesitate to kill her sisters? Because they’re her sisters, or because he wants so desperately to be everyone’s friend and with them he doesn’t have a shared history, a growling half-matched frustration that sublimates into barbed but familiar antagonism? If he hesitates, he’s dead. And if one of them manages to kill him, Megaera supposes, then Hades is right to give up on her.

As she wrestles with that thought, though, she hears a distant scream of a familiar timbre. Alecto. The sound resolves into one of wrath and aggravation, and then Megaera hears —stupid redblood piece of TRASH thinks he can just saunter in here and kill me, aaAARGH—

Turning her attention towards the sound—towards Alecto’s hall—Megaera raises her eyebrows in curiosity. (Maybe, very slightly, in amusement.) So, it’s Alecto he met with. And the battle went in his favor.

Her sister rages on. I’m going to paint the walls with his blood the next time he gets here, I’m going to ENJOY it, I’m going to have fun with this damn assignment even if it IS all your fault, Meg, and YOUR BOYFRIEND CAN GO TO HELL!

And with that, shouted loud enough for all of Tartarus to hear, Alecto quiets. Megaera finds herself smirking; finds herself picturing, unkindly, Alecto with Coronacht’s arrows through her throat or spitted on Varatha’s business end. She imagines what Alecto’s enraged smile will look like, rather than her cocky one.

“He’s my ex,” she corrects her absent sister, and settles in for a longer wait than what she’s used to.

[mariacalirfs-blog]

Exploring the South Island

Currently writing from Queenstown on the South Island. If you’re a bit unfamiliar with NZ geography, the country is (mainly) made up of two large islands, the North and the South. They’ve got slightly different cultures and environments, and I’m excited to see what’s going on down here in the south. It’s a bit chillier, and more rain for sure, but some very beautiful mountains and lakes. 

I left Danielle and Eliza in Wellington while they headed South to do a hike on their own (the Routeburn trek, which me and the fam did in 2013 when we came!). I had one more night in Welly, then took the ferry across the Cook Strait to arrive in Picton on the south island. The ferry ride is around 4 hours, and it was a perfect day for it. Blue water as far as you can see, some lovely sunshine and a cool breeze, and no choppy waves to make me sick. 

I’ve spent the last week or so meandering my way down to Queenstown to meet back up with D & E, and it’s been quite a journey! On the first part of my drive, I came across a rocky area next to the highway (which is right on the coast) absolutely covered with sea lions, including a bunch of little ones! Adorable and an awesome side of the road discovery. About an hour later, I decided to eat my lunch on the beach in this little town called Kaikoura. As I sat there, I got a text from my old college roommate. She is in NZ as well, and though we hadn’t seen each other in a few years (she moved to Alaska after sophomore year), we knew we’d be in NZ at the same time, and I plan to visit her in a few weeks. However, we did not plan to meet in this random town on the northern part of the South Island, but had both happened to stop for lunch at this one part of a very large beach. She’s heading north, I’m heading south, but fate pushed us together at this random spot! It was so fun to see her, so unexpected, and we enjoyed an hour or so before heading our separate ways. Gotta love a huge coincidence. 

I spent an incredibly windy night in a poorly staked tent in Hanmer Springs, and so quickly headed down to Christchurch the next day for a more comfortable, indoor sleeping situation to avoid the coming heavy rain and more wind. Christchurch was hit with a huge earthquake in 2011, and is still in the process of rebuilding. It’s a fairly small, quiet city (or at least was while I was there), but has some cool reworkings of urban spaces post-earthquake. When we were here in 2013 they had a shipping container mall, but more permanent locations have been built since and the mall closed down. They also decided to restore the central cathedral, a beautiful building, but which will remain at risk during future earthquakes. 

After leaving Christchurch, I spent two nights in Lake Tekapo. It is an incredibly blue, glacial lake, and was such a peaceful spot to exist in. Tekapo is in a part of NZ called the Mackenzie region, which is a protected dark sky reserve. There are limits to the amount of artificial light that can be produced, which leads to incredible night skies. My first night was cloudy, which is why I stayed the extra day in Tekapo, and it was fully worth it. My second night was full of an immense, star filled sky, and the band of the milky way passing through the center. It was a very special night laying out under the stars, and I kept the rainfly off my tent so that even when I was sleeping it was right under the beautiful night sky. Moments like these are ones that I’m keeping close to my heart during this trip. Nature is darn incredible.

I also did some hiking around Tekapo, which got me beautiful views of lakes and mountains. During one hike, I accidentally veered off into horse territory, and had to hop a barbed wire fence to get back to the human path and off the private property--sorry horse farmers! Laughed at myself the rest of the way down :) I also hiked around the bottom of Mt Cook glacier, a NZ icon. The trail was packed but it was a really fantastic day to check out the glaciers.

I’ve now met back up with D & E in the much busier, more touristy Queenstown. It’s still a beautiful spot, overlooking Lake Wakatipu, but a big change from my very quiet nights traveling solo. I think I really need both though, and was fully enoying the live music last night (first a bagpipe performance by the lakefront, then some local singers in a pub) and the range of food options available in the city. Here for a few days, then playing it by ear for the next little while! Hope no one is freezing too badly back home!

Sea lions near Kaikoura!

Hello Maryam!!! Old Roomate

Views looking over Hanmer Springs. Quite nice when wind isn’t keeping you up all night!

Tekapo monument to sheepdogs, the region is big area for sheep farming

The last of the lupines on the edge of Lake Tekapo

Sunset in Tekapo (and obligatory selfie to show I’m here too!)

I love this lake so much!

Monument to those who have died while climbing in the glaciers of Mt Cook and surrounding area. Humbling reminder to proceed with caution, that nature is a powerful force. 

Clouds making it look like a glacial eruption!

[empressxmachina]

by Imperial-Radiance (aka me)

     "Damn, I can't believe I haven't been ambushed, yet. It's a good thing I planned ahead because, whew, that's rough."

    The day had finally come for one of the biggest games of the year - not the Championship and not Nationals, but the rivalry gridiron game of the season. Of course, it was all in fun, but the heat and intensity of all the fans were always at their peaks during these games, especially since the two schools were relatively close to each other. 

    Madeline, or Madi as her friends and family referred to her as such, had already had the experience of what these games were like, but she and the rest of the people there representing her Kingston University Royals were even more happily hyped as they demolished their rivals in score, and she wasn't even on the sidelines to see it.

    Madi and her twin sister Caroline had been the best of friends since birth, and the only time they had ever separated in their lives was their choice of schools. Once diverged, their number of similarities decreased from there, but despite being away from each other, they maintained to share a few commonalities like major choice, clubs, GPA, and more. However, the one main difference that had resulted in Madi running in a panic right to her sister in the middle of the game was Cari's sudden relapse.

Read more on DA, or...

   She was so relieved that her coach was so understanding to let her go and care for her, but the time it took for Cari to return to some sort of stability using her specialized health kit was a lot more than she wanted.

   "The things I do for my sister," Madi sighed, trying to hustle back to her team's temporary locker room to change back into her cheerleading uniform before getting back on the bus to return to her own school. "I'm glad that I got it to her in time. But, God, I am not living for this insanity!"

   While the cheers of the Royals could've been heard from Cari's dorm room as they won and Madi tended to Cari's needs, the groans and yells from the Nash U. Knights' majority surrounding her on all sides and the reputation they had whenever they lost were things that she didn't want to experience firsthand, especially after barely making it out alive after their last clash on her own campus. As soon as Cari kicked her out to care for herself rather than call for help - the immense pride the sisters had was always their downfall - Madi found herself in the eye of an accumulating storm of brawling and spats.

   Only by the grace of God, her sport-influenced speed, and her non-school-affiliated sweats worn over her uniform, she made it back to the stadium's public but reserved, empty, co-ed locker room unscathed, practically collapsing on a bench in exhaustion.

   "Oh, thank God!" she panted, setting a hand on her side and the other over her heart, slipping her backpack off herself onto the floor. "I, uh, better get out of here before some nasty Nashers barge in on me or something. But, why did Coach have to make that cursed policy of having to be in full uniform during all parts of travel? Is she trying to kill me!?"

   With a groan, she stood up, getting ready to disrobe her casual wear until she suddenly felt how dry her throat had become and how tired she was. She was about to go look for a water fountain until she remembered the unopened can of soda she had grabbed from the squad's cooler while they were taking a cheer break. Unfortunately, the jostling of the bag as she ran to and from her sister didn't come to mind, resulting in it exploding upon opening.

   "Oh. Oh, God!" Madi exclaimed, stammering from the flow of carbonation shooting onto her face, the rest of her body, and the floor. "St-Stop! Jeez!" The amount of liquid in and on her person eventually built up to the point where she was coughing some of it out and her hand was too slippery to maintain a grip on the can, causing her to drop it. The spray of soda spread to lower levels of her clothes and doused her backpack before crashing and fizzling out on the floor where the can broke in two on impact. "Shoot, I need to get this mess up, or the school's going to get charged. Wait, my uniform!"

   Trying to juggle two problems at once, Madi took off her sweatshirt and pants as quickly as possible and threw them onto the elongating puddle on the floor before running to a sink to dab the not-as-large stains on her uniform with water. As she focused on her clothing, she was unaware of the growing stickiness and hardening of the soda on her exposed skin and hair. Taking a shower occurred nearly every night, anyway, but having to go into the strenuous and lengthy routine that was treating, washing, and drying her uniform was something that she hoped wouldn't have to happen.

   She had gotten to the point where visible stains on her clothes had faded to half of their previous intensity when the familiar sound of a notification chirping from her phone reached her ears. Knowing how late she was and figuring that her team was probably worried about her, she cut off the sink faucet and ran for it. When she returned to her stuff, she was happy that her clothes were doing what she had wanted - absorb as much of the spilled drink as they could. Much of the liquid mess had retreated into the fabric. Still, seeing how the list of fabrics also included her bag wasn't relieving, bringing another sigh out of her as she grabbed and shook her phone that was poking out of a shallow, brown pool like a rock in a mud puddle.

   Remembering how the captain of the team tended to snap at some of the smallest issues, Madi hesitated at unlocking her phone to see her new message. But, she was a big girl, and if she wanted any chance at possibly being a leader next year or a front-row starter at Nationals, then she was going to have to answer, and so she did. However, the message she read had only little to do with her as it had been sent to the entire team.

   "Huh? A recall?" she read, confused and worried. "'Due to adverse effects in direct correlation to being exposed to the following drinks, DO NOT CONSUME THEM.' Well, that's not ominous at all. Another health scare, oh boy!" Madi started simply going back to cleaning herself until she thought about the drink company and expiration dates in the text. "Wait, my drink doesn't apply to that, right? I didn't drink my soda since it fucking-erupted on me, but it said just 'being exposed' was an issue. Hmm."

   She turned back to the mess on the floor, and after looking at the can fragments, she felt that something was off.  Nevertheless, she went for the bottom half of the can to check its information. Its size seemed much larger than what she remembered when opening it – looking more like the 12-ounce size rather than the 7.5 fluid ounce type that she could've sworn she picked up – but the labeling was a greater concern because it fit right into the drink batches in question. However, as soon as Madi made her realization, she found herself on the floor, putting all her hard stain removal work in the trash as she fell face first into a soda stream and darkness.

   When Madeline and Caroline were younger, they and their family would frequent to the lake that a family friend of theirs had property on. Each visit was lovely, except for the one where the twins were a bit too confident in their swimming skills and drifted too long and far into the lake. Madi couldn't forget the feeling of water filling every orifice more and more as her appendages gave out over time and the heavy coughing that tested her lungs as their father swooped them back up above the surface to receive air once again. She imagined that Cari had similar experiences, but they had never discussed it - the memories were too bad.

   So, why was she thinking of them now?

   Madi's vision faded in from black as light reached her eyes once again, but in conjunction with the light, a sensation of liquid also came to her, flowing into her slightly open mouth, a nostril, and an ear as a surprise, forcing herself to pop out of lethargy and raise up to breathe. As her sights cleared, she could feel wetness falling from her head, down her curves, and into what felt like a sticky lake around and beneath her. Gumminess and saturation in all her orifices were two feelings that she never wanted to have, and her outfit now being painted in a shade like the fluid surrounding her and stuck to her skin like latex, along with almost drowning, only made it worse.

   "What the hell is this?" Madi screamed, throwing her hands up and down, rippling the aqua around her upon impact. By doing so, she became aware of how heavy all her muscles felt - each one needing more force than usual to move - as if she had been in a twenty-four practice... or trying to keep from drowning. "Where even am I!?"

   To figure out her location, she looked around, only to find blurry white as far as her eyes could see, except for the dirty collection in which she sat. This was something she only saw in movies and creepypastas, and it got her terrified, not knowing where to go or what to do - sitting in a blank, unknown, quiet room alone, almost. It was almost quiet, except for the sloshing noises that her movements made and a faint bubbling that couldn't have been too far from her.

   Madi searched for its source, running her hands through the dark goop and feeling around or anything out of the ordinary. When she detected nothing, she decided to trudge toward the sound, not bothering to stand up as he figured that she would just fall back down. So, she got on all fours and began to crawl.

   With each movement, she could see her optics slowly improve, introducing more and more colors and shapes into view. However, her good news was countered by the difficulty of dragging through the murky goop, comparable to those barbed wire mud crawls she saw soldiers do in a documentary once. As much as she wanted to quit, she knew that locating the sounds were more important, and so she persevered. In not too long of a lumber, she found the origin of the bubbling - her submerged phone vibrating and blinking below the brown surface.

   "What the-? This still works?" she questioned in utter shock.

   Pulling her cellular device out into open air, through the strain it took to do so, Madi saw that the waterproof case she had on it stood up to its claims, along with the tens of messages from her coaches and squad family asking where she was and if she was okay. It devastated her to know how so many people were worried about her, but she was even broken by the fact that her hands were so gluey that she couldn't make precise movements on its screen to respond to them that she was at least alive. Each touch appeared to open every app she wasn't trying to interact with, thus frustrating her to no end. She only had a brief calm when the camera application open, and only a brief calm it was.

   The back camera was on, and through it, she saw that her eyesight had returned to normalcy, seeing her pile of sweats and bag in the distance as she had left them. She sighed in bittersweet relief, understanding that she was still in a Nash University locker room like before. However, she noticed how they appeared to be farther away from both herself and each other than what she last remembered as well as the lockers, floor tiles, and bench being much wider and/or taller, almost comedically large. Intrigued, Madi turned off the camera and chose to look at the bench at her side for herself, just to then find herself awestruck and lock-jawed at not only a wooden bench that seemed to tower over and overshadow her like a building but also a not-as-high yet still twice her sitting height, sliced, metal, hollow cylinder in front of her with jagged edges that could make her bleed infinitely and the same brown slop streaming from it into the pool around her.

   It didn't take long for her to realize the truth, looking back and forth to other spectacles of the room - the other half of the cylinder behind her also pouring liquid, the skyscraping and never-ending lines of lockers, the heavenly white lights way up high, and the walls that seemed impossible to reach no matter how far or quickly she ran - but she just didn't want to believe it.

   "This is some sci-fi shit," Madi mumbled to herself. "There's no way I've... freaking shrunk. How in the-?" She paused her questioning when she remembered the one cryptic message she had received earlier that evening and looked at its reference - the colossal can, taunting her with its girth. "Youdid this!" she yelled at the metal container with a shaken voice, frightened at how in this wide, empty room, her voice neither carried nor echoed at her dimensions. "No wonder there's a fucking recall! This is literal chemical warfare! What the hell!?"

   With the recall in mind, she could only hope that no one else had been affected by it, especially with a whole school full of enraged Knights stomping around. After all, how else would they have known about it, in the first place? But, Madi tried to keep a relatively cool head, hoping by the grace of God that she was the only one, even though there was much greater chance that anyone else would've had someone nearby to care for them in her scenario. Would she ever be that lucky?

   "What do I do?" she wondered, analyzing the situation. "I can't move. My everything hurts. I barely know my way out of here, if I can even get there without passing out, getting lost, or worse."

   Her sentence nearly faltered as she started visualizing the most terrible scenarios, all of which a Nash Knight of any age finding her, a cup-sized K.U. cheerleader, or them coming across her unknowingly, perhaps even literally. Each idea brought its own chills down her spine.

   “I'm totally screwed!" she continued. "The only things I can do are speak and hear, I guess, but who knows how well those would do against a 'normal-sized' person."

   Though, after saying her somewhat positive qualities aloud, she gained a bit of hope and curiosity, looking down at the phone in her hand.

    "Yet, this thing is small as hell, and it still works," she regarded, rubbing a syrupy finger across the screen and seeing how it was more responsive than before, perhaps calibrating to her new touch and feel. "There is no logical reason, I think, that this thing should still have a signal or a working battery, and yet it does! It can't hurt to call for help, but if I can even get through, who do I call?"

   Looking at her contacts, scrolling down the page to the best of her ability, Madi juggled who would be the best choice. Her ICE numbers were her parents and Cari, but with Cari needing to heal on her own and their parents being far away, none of them would be able to get to her before it got dangerous. Her next choices were anyone on her squad and the coaches. They had already shown their unease toward her absence, so it would make sense for them to want to help her in her time of need. However, as she only listed full names of people in the list without prefixes, titles, or grouping, she would have to go at least halfway through before reaching one of them.

   "Jeez, did every single cheerleader this year have to have a name that starts after M!?" she moaned, failing time and time again to use the letter quick scroll on the side of the screen, eventually resorting to flicking her thumbs and indexes to go down the hundreds of numbers, email addresses, and names.      

   As the list grew longer, her fingers became pained, and her head starting to go dizzy, not able to take in so much changing information and action at once as well as her viscid finger pads only allowing bits of movement at a time. So, she had to stop at some point to work out the kinks in her hands. However, when she did, she wasn't aware of where her fingers landed and how they had started a dial tone. It was only when a familiar voice broke the silence did she comprehend that her prospects had come true, even if the way of doing so was unexpected.

   "H-Hello?" a disembodied male voice called out through what sounded like a party. Madi gasped, knowing only a few people that could be that orotund in a crowd but only one with a voice like that. She looked down at her cell and thanked God at the name on its screen. "Madi, are you there?"

   "Yes? Yes, I'm here!" Madi tried to answer back through tears, nearly dropping the phone in anticipation and excitement. "P-Please tell me you can hear me. Please."

   "Uh, yeah. You're coming in fine on my end, even through the craziness on this bus." Madi had to hold back crying out loud from happiness, even though she wanted to express it.

   "Oh, thank God! I honestly can't believe I reached you. Are you nearby?"

   She figured that with nearly a hundred players on the team, including him, and them constantly giving their hardest and being switched in and out during the game for as much as she could remember and hear from Cari's room, that it would take a lot of time for them and the squad to reenergize, grab food, and re-board the buses to go back to the Kingdom aka K.U.'s main campus.

   However, her interlocutor then lowered her sentiments when he continued, "Uh, I'd say 'close' is pretty dependent on where you are. I mean, the team and I are still in the parking lot, but we're going to be heading off soon. Why do you ask? We're all going to end up back at K.U., right? Did something happen to y'all or the bus?"

   Madi realized that the squad's coach bus must've already left. It was the tradition for the cheerleaders to return first to join the JV and smaller squads that were already on campus to support the team, win or lose, but she didn't think they'd just leave without her.

   "Uh, I don't think so?" That was all she could say about them, considering that she wasn't there to know for sure. "I hope not, or do I? I don't know."

   "What's with the lack of clarity? That's not like you." Madi couldn't help but agree. However, it was all that she could be. Nothing was going right or making sense. "What's wrong?"

   There was so much that Madi could say, and she knew that explaining her body issue would've probably been the most logical thing to describe, but there was no way that he would believe her. So, she went on a just-as-true but somewhat indirect route.

   "I-I'm not on the bus?" she admitted lowly.

   "What!?" her friend yelled, most likely being the cause of the quieting background noise. In a more hushed tone, he resumed, "Why? Where are you, then?"

   "I'm in the NU locker room, and I can't move."

   "You can't? They're not keeping you hostage over one loss out of, like, eight games so far, are they?" he asked in a whisper-shout. "No one hurt you, right?"

   "No," Madi replied bluntly. "No one's here, but there's nothing to stop them from doing so if someone does show up. I came in here a while ago, but I passed out, and I'm just coming to." Explaining the horrific doings and possibilities raised Madi's already-high stress levels even higher, and she had to pause to compose herself. "No one touched me, but it sure feels like someone did."

   After saying that, the other side of the call went coldly silent. Madi prayed that the call didn't drop, and she was too scared to look on the phone and check for herself.

   "Jake? You're still there, right?” she tried worriedly.

   A few seconds passed before the man, Jake, answered back,

   “Yeah, I'm here. I'm just moving stuff out of my way. I didn't think I'd have to go back to the front of the bus until we got back, but here I am doing just that. I’ve got to let the coaches know about you, girly - mine and yours. We may need some backup going back on that cursed ground."

   "Wait, what?" Madi cried, not expecting Jake to tell someone. "No, no! Don't tell anyone about this! That's just asking for trouble!"

   "How is a search party for you more dangerous than me going in alone? Sure, a coach makes the plays, but the players do them, and I don't think the one player that scored the turning point of the game that led to their ultimate demise should go in alone on rival turf."

   On one hand, Madi felt that his thought was selfish, but she also understood what he was saying on the other. She hadn’t thought about what would happen after Jake or someone else found her as she was, but having more people dealing with her, especially those she didn't know or trust, was just something that she didn't want.

   "Plus, you know there are, like, five locker rooms in the proximity of the stadium, right?" Jake continued. "You never said which one you were in, so more people looking would make finding you a lot easier."

   "Don't sass me with your valid logic! Jake, I'm having a crisis right now!" Madi shut him down before breaking down herself. "Jackson, please. With everyone I know, and everyone that must deal with me, why would I call you of all people first if I didn't need you and only you?" Of course, she knew him being her callee was a lucky coincidence, but she would never admit that. Her argument was too good.

   It proved to be true as Madi was met with another silence before sighing broke through the phone,

   “Madi, you better be in some deep shit, because I'm not going to risk myself getting suspended for basic pettiness."

   "I swear that this is as real as it gets, as much as I don't want to believe it, myself," she promised tautly. "I can't do this on my own. I'm scared."

   "Don't be. I'm coming for you," Jake assured with a smoky tinge. "Just sit tight unless you have no other choice, and I'll find you."

   "Please do."

   And then, the call ended, leaving Madi alone to collect her thoughts and wait on the sidelines of a soda can for whatever or whoever was going to come with nowhere to turn and nowhere to run.

[pixelpolaroid]

All curtains drawn- Chapter 8

<Previous Next>

The Contract

The crimson wearing dealer had been rummaging through his chests, flipping through books for around 10 minutes now, all the while Marvin just sat there watching. He pulled out a long blank scroll across the table, setting next to it a quill with red ink. Phantom searched through what Marvin could only assume were law book, as he kept mumbling, “Need this to be right,” repeatedly the entire time. He set on book down next to the scroll, waving a hand over, as the quill began to move and write out lines and line onto the parchment. A few paragraphs in, Marvin realized this was a contract, he recognized it from signing many before when they lived in better apartments.

Phantom hand books flying off the shelves, opening to pages, the quill writing things down, and all Marvin could do was just watch in wonder. It was like a magic show, a real magic show. Marvin has seen enough magic acts in his life to have left a sour taste in his mouth, but in recent days, those opinions were changing.

After a long time of chaos, things flying off shelves, moving on their own, everything was neatly put into place, and the contract was written up. Phantom lifted the parchment, reading it thoroughly. “It’s perfect,” He stared at it gawking for an extra second before moving it down. “But before we get to that, there are still two things I need you to do,” Phantom said. The red dressed man beckoned for Marvin to come around the desk. He stood as soon joined him. Phantom turned them the a line of 7 books on a shelf, they were the ones that looked like his.

Phantom wrapped an arm around Marvin’s shoulder as they looked at the books. “Now since that book was stolen, part of our deal is that you’ll return it to me. But I’m giving you the chance to pick a new one to learn from. Just look deeply at them, and pick the one you think will fit you perfectly Marvin. Which one do you want,” Phantom stepped aside and let Marvin make the decision.

He glanced that the man one more time before turning back to them, only to the that on the bottom of the spines of each book, a number had appeared. Most of the numbers were gold, but two were red. “Oh,” Phantom interrupted. “If the number is red, then you can’t take it.”

What stood out more was that the numbers went from 1 to 8, with number 2 missing, he guess that must be the one he had. The book of Daydreams and Nightmares. Numbers 1 and 4 were red, so he couldn’t take those. Marvin reached out to grab a random one so he could look inside it, but something told him that if he did, then that would be the one he was bound to, so he pulled his hand back.

“Choose carefully,” Phantom instructed. Marvin looked over each number individually, as if they were Taxi cars, each one leading to a different destination. Which one did he want to get in. He looked at 5. He saw an endless maze, leading into different parts of the world, different opportunities. No that wasn’t what he wanted, Marvin knew where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do, he just needed to get there.

He looked at number 3. Leading up a golden staircase, thought the stairs were made of people, where he would stand at the top. Showered in his riches. No not quite. That path seemed lonely.

His eyes landed on 7 and he stopped. He saw what he wanted. In this moment, it didn’t seem like a permanent thing, just an obsolete concept. He saw it right in front of him, waiting for it;s master, waiting for Marvin. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly, almost as if he could just reach out and grab it. So he did. Marvin reached out and took the number 7 book off the shelf without a second thought.

Phantom smirked, mainly to himself. “I thought you might pick that one,” He said. “Now why don’t we get to signing this contract. Take your seat again please,” Phantom brushed past Marvin while he just looked down at the book. It seemed much heavier than the other for some reason, thought they seemed the same size. He decided not to open it just yet, to wait for later as he took his seat at the other side.

Phantom over into his cupboard pulling out a medium sized grey box with a shining silver hinge. He opened it, and Marvin saw that in it were 5 perfectly spaced writing quills inside. Though he couldn’t help but notice that there was empty room inside the box, enough for at least 2 more quills to fit in.

Phantom carefully pulled out the second to last quill in the line, very obviously picking that one specifically, before handing it over to Marvin. Phantom skimmed over the contract once more before signing the top of it himself, then turning it around and sliding the ink over. “All you have to do is sign on the dotted line and you’ll be one step closer to what you want.”

Marvin looked down at Phantom’s large red signature. He tapped the end of the quill into the ink, then leaving his own signature, right where he said in a dark black ink. Marvin leaned away and looked up at Phantom. ‘So, is that it?” He asked, fiddling with the quill in both hand.

Phantom rolled up the parchment. “Give it a moment, this might hurt a bit,” Before Marvin could ask what he meant, there was a sudden burning pain in his hand. He looked down and saw a orange glowing crack starting from the tip of the quill, and spreading up the barb. It kept burning deep into his palms, but as he tried to let go, he found the quill was stuck to his hand. The vanes coming from the center began burning away, turning to ash and sticking to his hand. The ashes felt like they were melting into his flesh. “What the hell? What is this!” Marvin demanded, screaming in the pain. “What’s happening?” He begged. Marvin never thought he could feel anything this painful.

As the vanes all burned away, the remaining feather shaft infused with the palm of his hand, leaving a long, red indent. He felt his body being overwhelmed by, not only the pain, but alongside it there was something else. Another presence inside him, traveling through his body, through his mind. The speed of this presence was unbearable, he couldn’t keep up with it.

Finally he just couldn���t take it. He pushed away from the table, but as he stood, began feeling dizzy. With a tight grip still on his hand, Marvin fell to his knees and the world around him went black.

Phantom looked down at the unconscious man on his office floor, before turning round and putting the scroll in a large chest full of other scrolls tied in red string. The walked over and stood over Marvin’s unconscious body. “Lust!” He yelled. Immediately, Cris entered the room, looking at Phantom, then down at Marvin.

She chuckled slightly to herself. “So you were right. He signed it.”

“He actually held on a lot longer than I expected. Now, Lust could you be a dear and take him back to his apartment, and take his book too,” He instructed. Cris nodded and bent down, picking the unconscious man up with ease.

“Oh Cris, one more thing,” Phantom called as she was almost all the way out the door. Phantom walked around the desk again, looking over his books carefully, before pulling down number 4. He walked back over to her, holding it out. “You’ll be in charge of making sure everything goes smoothly with his one, so you’ll need this.”

Cris looked down wide eyed at the book, holding down her joy and she hastily reached down and took it. “Of course sir. I’ll take care of everything,” She promised.

Phantom closed the door behind the two, going back and wandering about his office a bit, deep in thought. He stopped in front of his books, looking at the empty space between 1 and 3. His library was shrinking, but their numbers weren’t growing. He still only had one successful spirit to have overcome their host; Cris. He glared at that empty space. She better not screw this up, I can’t lose another deal.

[verifiefangirl]

Tenerife Sea

||Summary: Nesta Acheron had been feeling the aftereffects of the war, slowing drowning in her anguish. Everywhere she turned her failures greeted her. She had managed to push everyone away, but one person refused to budge. His insufferable smile taunted her. Cassian. Even his name sent her blood roaring. She was happy to go under, into the ageless dark but he kept leaving her afloat

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Chapter 5

Nesta’s eyes swallowed up Feyre’s livid features as she stared directly at Cassian with her lips pursed.

“Alone.” She spewed out, shaking slightly. Cassian stared at her calculatingly and nodded once he found what he was looking for her. Nesta grabbed his arm as he moved and winced at the pain the sudden movement caused her.

She jutted her chin out stubbornly and hissed through the pain.

“Whatever you have to say to him you do in front of me also.”

Feyre glowered at her in return and crossed her arms in front of her as she stared between the two of them, lingering especially on the two’s entwined fingers. Nesta held her stare with her ice grey eyes but didn’t drop Cassian’s hand.

Whatever Feyre saw made her face soften and she let out a defeated sigh before plopping down on the free seat. She took her other free hand and grasped in between her own.

“What happened today?” She asked, looking at Nesta but knew the question was more so directed at Cassian who looked down at his feet guilty.

“I’m sorry Feyre.” He told her with an elongated sigh as he slowly sat down at the edge of Nesta’s bed, never once letting go of her fingers. She liked the feel of his rough callouses on his hands. Those hands had been through so much, had learned so much, had experienced such joys and horrors. Her thumb unwittingly started stroked the back of his hand as a comforting and soothing gesture. His body shuddered lightly and he she watched him relax only slightly. She couldn’t understand the feeling of sadness going through her for him. She didn’t like that despondent look on his face. He looked more like a sad little boy than the Night Courts Army Commander.

“I let you down and should have kept a better grip of things.” Nesta gritted her teeth and glared at Cassian this time.

“It wasn’t Cassian fault.” She told her sister. The two looked at her in surprise that she was defending the oversized brute. “I don’t blame him.” She told her sister stubbornly. She didn’t like the idea of anyone making Cassian feel worse than he already felt.

“She and I both knew what we were doing.” Nesta spewed out, not daring to utter the blonde wenches name. Feyre watched her like she was peering into her soul and discovered something she hadn’t seen before which left her furrowing her brows. Nesta squirmed uncomfortably and for the first time, looked away, from a person’s stare.

“Alright,” Feyre spoke softly now staring at Cassian with gentle expression her face though wearisomeness still marred her feature. She scanned overs her form. Cassian cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ll be right back.” He told them, seeming to get the cue that Feyre was trying to send him. “I’m just going to bring Nes something to eat.”  She hated the multiple nicknames he seemingly had for her but some she let him get away with each and every one.

Once Cassian had vacated the room Feyre a brushed a tender hand through her hair, something which Nesta also allowed her to do. She liked her space and hardly ever liked people touching her, even more so after the Thomas episode.

“How are you feeling?” She asked. Sometimes Nesta felt like she was the younger sister. Days like this she hated herself for robbing Feyre of her childhood and other days it was unbearable to live the guilt and burdened of all the times she had messed up in her life and the moments she wished she could change.

“I feel like shit,” Nesta said bluntly. She wasn’t one to sugar-coat things as she looked into Feyre’s eyes. So alike hers yet they were so different. Feyre’s eyes held warmth, kindness and life. Nesta was just cold, lifeless and calculating.

“Did the Madja give you something for the pain?” She watched Feyre’s face fall at the thought of her being in unbearable pain. So, she gently reached for her sister’s hand and squeezed gently.

“Cassian said she did. Maybe it takes a while to set in.” Nesta explained.

Feyre gazed at her in that way again, like she knew all her secrets and she had to resist the urge to squirm. Nesta Archeron did not squirm or let anyone make her feel anything she didn’t want to feel.

“Cassian huh?” Feyre prodded, slyly but her face still very much so serious. Nesta blinked back her surprise at the direction the interrogation was going and the fact she had referred to him by his name rather than a brute or oversized bat. The displeasure must have shown on her face because Feyre had a wry smile on her face as she gently patted her hand on top Nesta’s grip.

“He’s one of the good guys, Nesta.”  Feyre spoke with fondness to her tone. She didn’t know why she was finding it hard to hold Feyre’s gaze all the sudden. Instead, she studied the interesting patterns of her quilted blanket. Of course, he was a good guy and she was just some heinous monster to everyone who didn’t deserve Cassian according to Mor.

“I know.” Her agreement with the statement startled both. Nesta liked acting aloof. She used her ice and barbs as an armour and without it she was nothing. She was open to any attack, she felt too much, too hard. Those blows would not bruise but cut deep with the knives they’d throw twisting deeper and deeper. Her eyes shuttered again, and she broke away from Feyre.

Her sister knew she was divulging into feelings too deep. Things Nesta didn’t know if she wanted to come to terms with yet.

“You should get some rest,” Feyre said, standing, indicating to her departure. “I’ll get Nuala and Cerridwen to run you a bath later.” Her heart quickened at the thought of sitting in one, but she had been getting slightly better lately, hence why Feyre had mentioned it.

She gave her one last tender brush before leaving out the bedroom door, clashing with Cassian in the entryway. She watched her sister give him an encouraging pat before shooting her a meaningful look over her shoulder.

Cassian’s gaze turned questioningly onto Nesta when she had left. He had a whole tray of food in tow which had Nesta’s stomach grumbling in hunger.  

She ignored his pointed stare and grabbed some bread and assorted meats off the platter. The food in Velaris really was better and spiced to perfection. She withheld her moan and continued to devour the food in front of her. Once she was full, she leaned back onto the bed, satisfied.

Cassian took it all in silently. Their eyes met across the bed and he still had the shameful look in his eye. She growled.

“Will you stop beating yourself up. This,” she told him, gesturing to her bruised body. “is not your fault.”

Cassian head was hung low and his beautiful wings were tucked in tight, almost curling around himself protectively. He looked like a fallen warrior more than the confident cocky man he was. Her heart clenched painfully at the sight.

“I’m always letting you down, Nes.” He told her softly. She scooted to the edge of the bed slowly and sat across from his chair.

“You don’t owe me anything.” She told him, firmly, hoping he’d get it in his mind. Cassian did everything for everyone. So selfless, he seemed to forget his worth sometimes, but she would not let this brave man forget. This man who crawled and fought his way to her, protecting and serving her family. All for what? Nothing. He got no glory or fame for it, no reward.

“I made a promise to you.” He told her, voice breaking, still refusing to look up at her.

“And you have fulfilled it a thousand over.” She told him, her tone soft for once. She gently grabbed his face with both her hands and made him meet her gaze.

His eyes were filled with sadness, yet he peered at her like she was the most beautiful, breathtaking, creature he’d seen. She had never had someone gaze at her in such way, Elain sure. She was the most beautiful sister. Most people avoided Nesta like the plague.

One of his calloused hands came up and rested atop of her hand and she watched him nuzzle into her hold. The pad of her thumb slowly stroked his cheek and she could feel the stubble that was forming there. Her breath caught as she realised slowly but surely, she was falling for this playfully, strong and loving brute. It was like an ice, cold slap to the face and she was left reeling. Cassian seemed to pick up on this.

“What’s wrong?” He asked worriedly. Concern was written all over his face. She wanted to recoil from him and hide. She wanted to stop feeling the way she was feeling but seeing him here, in front of her, so, concerned, so willing to give her everything, she decided to take the plunge into the dark and let herself open a little.

“You’re exquisite.” She told him, breathlessly. He looked at her with disbelief, astonishment marring his features at such a sentiment. He enlaced his fingers through hers, eyes shuttering as he pressed his forehead against hers once again.

“Nesta Archeron, you are the most beautiful, deadly, witty, being to ever grace this land.” Her heart stopped at the utter irreverence in his tone. Their breaths mingled together, and she found his was just as uneven as hers. Her eyes honed into those pink lips and the small scar near his bottom lip. His mouth tilted up to one side in a half smile as he peered at her with half-lidded eyes.

“Just don’t tell Amren that.” She didn’t have control over the snort that came out of her mouth. Her friend loved all things beautiful and liked to be complimented equally as much.

“What if I do?” She asked her voice coming out husky and full of want. His nose brushed against hers softly.

“I’ll be a dead man.” His speech equally as thick.

“I’m still not seeing the problem.” She taunted as one of his hands slid down and caressed the side of her arms. She had to repress the shivers that were wracking through her body from the touch. He leaned in ever so slowly and kissed one corner of her mouth, gently.

“Now do you see the problem?” He asked deep with desire.

“N-no.” She stumbled, hooking one of her arms around the back of his neck. She was practically on his lap. “I’m going to need more convincing.” His lips tilted into that arrogant smile she loved so much. Her heart stuttered. He leaned in again and kissed the other corner of her mouth before leaning back and quirking a brow.

“How about now?” He asked gruffly.

“Nope.” She said stubbornly, shaking her head as she gripped his face in her hands again. Before he could say anything further she crushed her lips to his in angry, violent kiss. She was mad at him, for teasing her. For making her feel this. For making her want him. The tortured groan he released had her toes curling in pleasure. He laid his broad hand on her lower back to steady her as she was perched quite precariously on his lap.

His lips reciprocated her assault with a gentle coaxing as his other hand slipped to the back of her head, weaving into her hair. Her teeth snagged onto his bottom lip and all his muscles coiled under her as he was jolted. Another sound of pleasure left his mouth. Nesta realised she liked those sounds and continued. She felt his wings flare out and cocoon around them. She pressed closer to him and ran her fingers down his chest. His lips left hers and ventured down her neck. Her mind flashed back to the other time they had been in her room and how he’d done the same thing.

“Cassian.” She mumbled, gasping. Her eyes flickered shut as he continued.

They stayed embraced for a while and she didn’t know when it was that Cassian had managed to make her stop attacking his mouth with brutal ferocity and instead slow, lazy kisses. Her legs remained on either side of him and her fingers twining into his hair playfully. Both Cassian’s hands rested on her ass as he light-heartedly nipped at her lips. She let out a small humming noise at the wholesome feeling that filled her.

She felt the bond they shared roaring at her more than ever now. She tried to ignore it as much as possible since she found out, but it was times like these that it refused to stay unacknowledged.

He pulled back to stare at her, seeming to know her mind had wander elsewhere.

“Hey.” He uttered in a soft tone. “Come back to me.” He told her. She kissed his chin and let a small smile slip. He looked at her in wonderment whenever she did that, smiled. It filled her with warm feelings. He ran his thumb over her puffy lips and she shuddered against him.

Her steel gaze softening into liquid metal. She roved her lips over his neck lazily and buried her face in the crook, breathing in his scent.

“Stay.” She uttered the words that said so little but meant so much to the both of them. Whereas Cassian was a giving person Nesta wasn’t as forthcoming with everything. The double meaning weighed heavily on her and Cassian seemed to grasp the meaning of what she was asking.

“I never left, sweetheart and I never will for as long as you want me.” He spoke, resolutely.   

I’m planning this to be either 8 or 10 parts.

tags: @lady-nesta-archeron @krm00623  @dreamingofazriel @watermelonwiggle17 @a-trifling-matter @cmhmama @pattyb324-blog @rhysand-darling @maddieimhot @darlingfireheart @kaliejane26  @dreamilyzealousbird @dayanna-hatter @mylifeisafangirl @aelinashgalathynius @urbisie