#FINALLY i got out the javanese

[naresnani]

on Violence

Chapter 5

Chapters: [1] , [2], [3], [4], [5], [6]

Fandom: Ikemen Prince | Nokto Klein / Adam Kain | Words: 2k

Tags: Scriptfic, screenplay format, Political stuff, Slow burn, Route spoilers

Summary :

Confrontation.

tagging: @altairring @tiny-wooden-robot @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

notes: Just for clarification, in my format the underline is for emphasis, while italic means something is said in another language besides Rhodolitian. When something is said in Yashpari, it's actually in Javanese. The translation would be right below the sentence.

ACT FIVE

INT. THE OUTSIDE OF ADAM'S CELL - MIDNIGHT 

A warden lays unconscious on the floor. No one dares to approach the door towards the stairs, not even to check on him. 

Because, they’ve been told that...

Prince Nokto is inside with his arms up, and a person disguised as a guard had a gun pointed at him. They want the other Rhodolite princes. If anyone else attempts to get inside… it’s his life on the line.

Sweat running through his skin, he could only see Adam standing behind his cell door, having all the power in the room.

NOKTO

You planned for this.

ADAM

...A little.

NOKTO

You’re a bunch of Obsidianites, after all, huh? I should’ve known.

ADAM

No. Sura doesn't speak Rhodolitian. At least she’s willing to compromise with a language you’ll understand.

NOKTO

She?

The person behind him did not sound like a woman. Before he could care any further, the door to the cell block blasts open, letting in numerous heavy footsteps inside.

In the instant that Nokto turned around, Sura had already stepped behind him again, now pointing their gun towards his befuddled brothers that had just witnessed the scene. 

He saw Licht amongst them first.

LICHT

Nokto!

NOKTO

Licht, don’t step closer!

Someone steps closer anyway. There’s no other man that silhouette could belong to but Chevalier Michel. He draws his sword faster than Nokto’s eyes could register.

BANG!

The gun’s explosion blows right past Nokto’s ears. His heart stopped dead. But Chevalier’s sword hitting the ground sounds more deafening.

CLANG! The bullet had shattered the sword hilt, missed his fingers by a miracle. The blade then lands behind him.

ADAM

There are six round bullets in the chamber. That was the first. There are five of you in the room.

All attention points straight towards Adam, and his shooter. That small, peculiar firearm produces so much smoke, it’s engulfing the nose, eyes, and throat. Noone had seen something that compact making that sort of sound, much less an explosion. Chevalier, Licht, Leon, and Clavis, they all stare with faces just as shocked. Who knows where the rest of them are. Nokto couldn’t hold in his coughs— Licht wants to jump towards him before he is immediately restrained by Leon.

ADAM

—Five. It’s enough for each of you. Now listen carefully.

[Read more on AO3]

[grainjew]

Nikaposting Pt 4: Sun God Tropes

This is the fourth of a series of posts about Nika & associated religious practice in the One Piece world. As I write and post the rest of the series, I’ll add links to this header.

Pt 1: Crypto-Religion | Pt 2: Symbology & Syncretism | Pt 3: Joyboy was Shandian

Enormous credit to @oriigami for being my discussion partner through all of this and having a substantial influence on the final product. Check out our ao3 series Joyful for a narrative rather than analytical take on the Nika tradition, and definitely go read her OP blog @kaizokuou-ni-naru for meta and translation fun facts.

-

#JustLittleSunGodThings

So Luffy’s a sun god, or the embodied power of the wishes for one, or whatever. But does he do mythological solar deity things?

Yes actually.

This post is the fourth and last (as of now) in this series, and it’s entirely for fun. I’ll almost certainly miss things as I go down the list here- if you can think of other solar or dawn deity things he gets up to, please add them in the replies!

With no further ado, here is a list of sun god things Luffy has been known to get up to, & which will no doubt inform the mythology developing around him in the One Piece world. (How many people were deifying this guy even before he awakened his devil fruit? Like it was definitely not zero is all I’m saying.)

Getting eaten by snakes

What started this whole list was me turning to @oriigami in the middle of the night after we’d been rewatching Little Garden and trying to make an accurate count of how many times Luffy’s been swallowed whole and going “you know what’s sun god shit? getting eaten by snakes.”

Sun gods are often doing this. Take Apep in Egyptian myth, who tries to devour the sun god Ra every day. Or Rahu, the Hindu shadow planet and serpent, who swallows the sun to cause solar eclipses.

Luffy is also often doing this. The most notable example is of course the Nola Incident in Skypiea arc, but if we expand the definition of snake to include generally snakeish sort of guys, he also gets briefly ate by Kaidou very shortly after awakening, and just now by Mister Sandworm in ch 1110. (And by Kaidou fish-fish fruit equivalency I’d argue we can also count the Little Garden goldfish and the crocodile that ate him as a kid here but obviously that’s more tenuous and mostly just funny.)

Slightly more tenuously as well, there’s Amaterasu of Shinto lore retreating into her cave (a cave is a kind of snake), as well as the Norse wolf that chases the sun Sköll (occasionally merged with Fenrir), the Javanese god (described as an ogre) Batara Kala who eats the sun and moon to cause eclipses, and the alchemical Green Lion that devours the sun.

Storm and sky gods are also often interacting with, killing, and being eaten by snakes, which is less relevant here except that Nami is storm god coded and she also got ate in the Nola Incident. So that’s fun!

Having a chariot that circumnavigates the world

Many sun gods, especially in the Indo-European sphere of traditions, have some sort of chariot or boat that they ride from east to west each day to carry the sun across the sky. Often they have attendants (sometimes dawn and dusk gods; or sometimes these gods have their own chariots or horses as well) to help them with this.

If you want a list of sun vehicles the wikipedia page for solar deities has a whole bunch of them. Have fun.

I think Thousand Sunny speaks for herself on this front: not only is Sunny a ship designed, destined, and dreamed up to herself circumnavigate the world with Luffy as her captain, but she also has the Sun on the front as her figurehead in a manner that does kinda remind me of some depictions I’ve seen of the sun being carried across the sky in such a chariot. Also, she can fly!

Association with royalty

Kings and emperors love to use sun gods to give divine legitimacy to their rule. This is in no way universal (there’s lots of storm gods out there who also do this, just off the top of my head) but take Amaterasu (Shinto), Inti (Incan), Amun-Ra (also Aten) (Egyptian), Sol Invictus (Roman), etc.

Obviously Luffy is going to be King, and is currently an Emperor. But also, he tends to go around and toppling kings and gods and tyrants and vaguely lending legitimacy to whoever is stepping up to the throne in their place. He’s got the Mandate of Heaven (this is a joke mostly but we HAVE all read Loguetown)! And also distributes it to people he likes. Thanks Luffy.

Solar discs, radiate crowns, and beetles

A solar disc is a flat circle, sometimes with rays, that symbolically represents the sun or the sun personified. If you have read pt 2 of this series, you will recognize the Nika symbol in this description.

In the same vein, when applied to a personified depiction of the sun, the solar disc has the habit of becoming a halo or a radiate crown (such as the one worn by the Statue of Liberty - the radiate crown used to be an emperors and sun gods thing and has since become associated with personifications of liberty. So That’s Fun). Obviously Luffy is not in the habit of having either of these representationally, except of course for. The hat that encircles his head in gold.

The final note on symbology I have here is that the Egyptian god of the morning sun, Khepri, is associated with scarabs/dung beetles. A fact that I think known beetle-lover Luffy would appreciate. Get this guy some scarab symbolism stat. Check these bugs out!!!

Bonus: descending into the underworld and eclipse stories

Katabasis, that is, a descent into the underworld, is in no way a sun god exclusive, although solar myths do often involve the sun god, having traveled across the sky by day, needing to find their way through the ocean, the underworld, or some other sort of nether realm to return, overnight, to their morning home in the east. And it’s very fun to look at in the context of Luffy, eclipse myths, and the Marineford saga.

So obviously the Impel Down arc is is a very literal katabasis. It’s Hell, it’s got all the Dante’s Inferno theming, and, like in so many katabases, Luffy descends to the depths in pursuit of some goal, eventually emerging miraculously alive but unsuccessful (see, for a very quick shortlist of katabases of this type, Orpheus & Eurydice, Inanna, and Izanagi & Izanami).

So that’s delightful. But I think it’s even more fun to think about the Marineford saga in general, eventually culminating in the timeskip, as a prototype for an eclipse story.

Solar eclipses, though predictable, are something like a rarer and more frightening form of night, and so their associated myths have a general tendency to involve a more dramatic and/or violent symbolic death of the sun- see, for example, the various devourers of the sun mentioned in the first bullet point of this post.

So, we have the timeskip. The fire goes out. The sun, having descended into the underworld and pushed himself past his own limits, is defeated, disappearing completely from the world for two years. Until- In a way that was, technically, predictable, if you had the correct sphere of knowledge, he returns, miraculously renewed.

I’d incorporate that into my belief system, is all I’m saying.

-

Thank you all for reading! This is all for the series so far, but not, I hope, forever. Many more thoughts to have and webs to weave!

Have a lovely week!

[heaven-is-in-your-arms-series]

The Romance of Inao

The story of Inao originally comes from the Javanese and Malay Panji stories, centered around Prince Panji and Princess Kirana.

The stories have spread throughout SouthEast Asia and they have their own versions of the tales with different names for the characters.

I am going to focus on the Thai dance drama version where Prince Panji is called Inao.

Brace yourselves, this one is long and complicated and a lot of information is not easily available in English so it's not as complete as I would like it to be but here goes.

Inao is the son of the king of Kurepan

Bussaba/Kirana is the daughter of the king of Daha

At birth they are betrothed to each other

When Inao is 15, his grandmother passes away in the kingdom of Manya.

The kings of Kurepan and Daha send him to represent them at the funeral.

In Manya, Inao meets and falls in love with princess Jintara.

After the elaborate funeral celebrations are over, he wishes to stay in Manya with Jintara.

But his father orders him home and Inao leaves, after sending a lovelorn letter to Jintara.

At home in Kurepan, his father decides to speed up that marriage! (Clearly sensing trouble.)

But Inao refuses to go along with this plan and goes off hunting.

Having left the palace, he takes on a disguise, along with a few loyal followers and after an encounter with a bandit, he acquires two captured princesses.

They all head to Manya where the king happily welcomes him and Inao makes Jintara his wife.

Jintra, clearly drunk on love, decides to magnanimously invite the two princesses to be Inao’s concubines (polygmy was standard in this time.)

Inao’s father orders him to return home and marry Bussaba but Inao send’s word that he is no longer willing to go along with those plans.

The king of Daha felt slighted and angry and Bussaba too, felt shamed by Inao’s actions, although at this point, they had never actually met each other. (Can you guess what is going to happen?)

Rather recklessly, the king of Daha decides to marry her off to the next person that asks and the king of Joraka, famously ugly, promptly proposes, much to the King of Daha (and Bussaba’s) dismay. Unable to back out of his rash declaration, he reluctantly accepts the proposal.

But, plot twist, the king of Kamang Kuning ALSO wanted to marry Bussaba, because unlike Inao, he knew what she looked like and he was prepared to fight to have her.

Daha Vs Kamang Kuning

Fight!

The King of Daha was obliged to ask Kurepan for help (which must have sucked) and Inao was ordered to go to Daha and help the king sort out this mess since it was all his fault for backing out of the betrothal.

Jintara does not want Inao to go, fearing the worst but Inao decides that this is one summons that he cannot ignore. Perhaps a twinge of guilt at work there too. He promises to return though. (do you think he will?)

(now in SOME versions, an alternative situation occurs where poor Jintara is tricked away and murdered and Inao goes mad with grief for a time before finally regaining his senses when his original intended comes to save him. In this version poor Jintara is usually a commoner and so, sadly, easily got rid of.)

Inao rides in to the rescue and kills the king of Kamang Kuning.

Entering the palace of Daha to celebrate, he finally comes face to face with Bussaba.

(I like to imagine a Bollywood slo-mo moment here, where a mysterious wind blows Bussaba’s hair back from her face, as their eyes meet and a song starts to play.)

He instantly falls in love and realises what a MISTAKE he’s made. (It’s really all your own fault Inao. Minimal sympathy right now.)

I particularly enjoy the accounts where he is standing by Siyatra (Bussaba’s brother) when he spots her and he is so overcome with passion that he repeatedly kisses her brother, mistaking him for her. (Ok, Inao, you tell yourself that.)

The King of Joraka was ALSO on the way to help Daha but he arrived too late to be of any assistance. (Ugly and useless!)

Inao was now desperate to prevent Joraka’s marriage to Bussaba and the king of Daha was sympathetic but he had already given his word. (Unlike some, he doesn’t renege on a promise.)

Beach holiday filler episode time!

Ok, not really but the king of Daha and his wives and followers decide they simply must climb the mountain Wilismara to make offerings and worship to the Buddha image there.

Madewi, the king's second wife, suggests that Bussaba go and ask the image about her fate. Using lighted candles to decipher the Buddha’s message.

She lit three candles, one for Joraka on the left, herself in the middle and Inao on the right.

Bussaba asks the sacred image to extinguish the candle of the person who is not her soulmate.

Inao had secretly followed her and overheard this conversation and he plays a trick, pretending his voice is that of the god’s and persuading Bussaba and Madewi that Inao is her true soulmate.

He sends his follower Prasanta to drive out the bats and extinguish the candles and the darkness he finds and embraces Bussaba.

Madwei is furious about this (Bussaba less so,) and she argues with Inao who has the audacity to claim that he never refused Bussaba. (I think your dad has a letter suggesting otherwise buddy.)

Inao reluctantly hands Bussaba back to Madewi but asks Bussaba for a piece of cloth from her clothes, to hold when he is missing her. (smooth.)

What comes next is a cycle of adventures where the lovers are separated and have to search for each other before they are eventually reunited in a happy ending but they are not all told in the Lakhon Nai dance drama.

In many versions, Bussaba has to temporarily take on the disguise of a man and she has an active role in trying to help rescue Inao.

In a Javanese version, a demon takes her place and pretends to be the princess, called Candra Kirana in this story and the real princess appears at the court, disguised as a man to win back her man.

[zante-selachi]

Haunted items AU! Shadow Company

So the SC brainrot server talked about an AU of KIA Shadows being attached to items they liked a lot and I wrote one with Orion :3 (copied from dc so pardon the mistakes)

Not usually what I would write but I hope it flowed well enough!

-

There was a rumour in the base to never go into the room of a Shadow formerly known as Shadow 2-15 but with how more new Shadows have been recruited now, there was no other choice but to assign the room to some of them.

The room looked fine, some dust and perfectly fine furniture as if it was never used. One thing caught their eyes though, the box under the bed used by Shadow 2-15.

It gave off bad vibes even from the get-go but they all agreed to not disturb it and nothing happened the first weeks of their stay other than the knocks from the box.

However the longer they stayed in the room, it seemed that whatever was in that box got bolder. Every night, desperate fists hit the beds one by one with a voice accompanying it.

"Le t me out" It said.

It went on to the point where the rookies felt frustrated and finally opened the damned box. In it was a pristine keris, evidently well taken care of but the yellow cloth that was wrapped around it was unraveled which gave them a foreboding feeling.

"Let's put it away, yeah" One of them nervously said, not liking the sight of the traditional Javanese weapon in an American PMC base. Shadow 2-15 was a Malaysian with a Javanese lineage too...

"No, I'm burning this cursed thing!" The one in front of the box exclaimed as he snatched the keris up alongside the cloth.

And burned it, he did.

Their nights were calm since then, no more knocking or ghastly voice asking to be let out... until it came back. The dagger was back but how? It was burned! Handle turned to ash and blade blackened with ashes! Yet it laid on the table and untouched like the day they opened the box.

"I am nOT tHAT eASiLY DISpoSed OF..." A disembodied voice growled from behind them, the dagger suddenly bled until the red liquid pooled with a stench that they would only smell on missions.

-

[Image of what a keris would look like]

So yeah, Orion would totally haunt his favourite keris and unknowingly activate his family's pact with a jinn or sumn (common in malaysia during the past)

[miss-bread]

Final Portfolio: By Chelsea Brandon

This semester I've written so many different pieces in this First Year Writing class. Now, for the second time, I’ll be able to take my favorite pieces that I've written throughout the semester and compile and display them for this final project. The process for compiling all my favorite works was quite simple, I just followed the theme of  “me.” In every piece I've written, they were all about me. I think writing about oneself is one of the best themes to write about and that's exactly what I've done this whole semester. All I did was carefully pick out my favorite pieces that I've written and compiled them together! I also focused on picking out pieces that have the similar theme of culture. Culture is so versatile because there are so many different types of cultures and each culture goes into depth as well. When talking about culture, you can talk about food, music, dance, language and so much more.

I chose to display my Literacy Narrative because I just really wanted to talk about my culture again. I felt that I would be able to go back to edit and include more information and knowledge about my Surinamese culture which not many people know much about.

Literacy Narrative:

Literacy is so important to one’s life. It teaches people about their heritage which is such a beautiful thing. My culture is Surinamese. A lot of people have not heard of the small country located near the earth's equator. I honestly don’t blame them though. Paramaribo, Suriname is not a well known country. People always ask me what I am and when I tell them I'm Surinamese, they look at me like I'm crazy. The cool thing about being surinamese is that it’s a culture filled with a bunch of different cultures. Suriname is one of highly diverse countries in regards to biodiversity. There are surinamese people who are black, white, hispanic, asian, indian and more! That’s one of my favorite things about being surinamese. It’s just so rich with different cultures. Another one of my favorite things about being surinamese is the food literacy. Surinamese cuisine is a combination of many international cuisines including Indian, African, Indonesian (Javanese), Chinese, Dutch, Jewish, Portuguese, and Amerindian cuisines. I find it so cool that all these countries come together to form the country we call Suriname. Another personal favorite is the music. Traditional Surinamese music is called “Kaseko'' music, however, Surinamese people tend to listen to a lot of West Indian and Caribbean music. This here is another example of multiple cultures coming together in the Surinamese culture. There’s one song that I honestly don’t even know the name of but it’s a birthday song and when it’s being played, family members link arms and dance back and forth with the birthday boy\girl in the middle. It has the same tune as the song “When the Saints Go Marching In.” It's one of my favorite Surinamese traditions. Attire is also a quite beautiful thing about Surinamese culture. My cousin recently got married in september and as one of her outfit changes, she changed into a traditional surinamese dress called a “koto.” It’s typically worn with a head wrap. It’s a very beautiful outfit. However, there is no purpose for wearing the koto. All that is known is that it was originally worn by Afro-Surinamese women before the emancipation during the Dutch colonial period in 1863. These are just some of the beautiful things I get to experience in Surinamese culture. And as I'm writing this, my mom is playing Surinamese music in the kitchen!

So I included these screenshots in my assignment because I felt that it was just a good example of "everyone makes mistakes" and it's not that uncommon! I know it doesn't have much to do with the common theme but I just wanted to include it!

This discussion post that I sent in was one of my favorites. I was so proud of this assignment. It was all about not being fine and sometimes that's okay.

The "I Remember" mimic assignment was a personal favorite for me because I was able to reminisce about my childhood. It was just overall a fun assignment and meant a lot to me to be able to write about it!

[windyblight]

bells & sore ankles | caitlyn x southeast asian!gn!reader

pairing: caitlyn x southeast asian!gn!reader

summary: As Caitlyn faces pressure from her family, you're there to remind her that she doesn't have to face it all alone.

word count: 1k

tags: southeast asian & gender neutral reader (i visualize them as indonesian), modern & uni au, traditional dancing, gentle touches, fluff, established relationship

author's note: caitlyn & traditional dancer!reader has been haunting my mind lately so here! enjoy yet another addition to my southeast asian!reader insert collection. the dance itself often performed by afab people, but it's not entirely uncommon to see amab folks among the dancers!

additional notes: the dance that they're doing is tari remo, which is a traditional Javanese dance that i used to do as a kid. the dance tells the story of a prince who struggles during a battle, so it incorporates a lot of powerful movements and sharp facial movements.

gamelan is a traditional music ensemble. the kind of music you'd often hear in most traditional dances in indonesia! at least from my experience, it's the kind of music we used for remo.

available on ao3!

“Then, tap, tap, tap and turn!” You shift your body to the side.

With your thighs bent, you maintain poise as your feet stomp the ground with confidence. Bells around your ankle ring adding a flair to your dynamic movement. And all Caitlyn could do is… stumble. A lot.

Her mind’s taking in the erratic melody of quick-paced Gamelan that echoes through the room. All while her eyes try to follow your movement step by step.

“No slouching, your thighs aren’t bent.” You give her a side glance, observing her posture.

Caitlyn bends further. Grunting a little at the sudden stinging pain. She could feel her calves wobbling.

"That's it! That's it!"

And, and-

She falters. "I can't."

Caitlyn slams herself to the ground. A loud groan escapes her as she begins to let out heavy pants. God, her legs just could not take it.

You rush to your phone, tapping it to stop the music.

"You’ve got your steps right this time! That’s a major improvement." You look down at her with a smile.

"Are dancers usually this optimistic?" Caitlyn grins.

You shrug, "If I wasn't, I'd be a terrible teacher." She'd say it was smug, but your cheery smile speaks otherwise. A tease.

But at that point she can't argue. It dawned on Caitlyn that the room's lit in a deep, shadowy orange. Quite the time has passed and a glimpse of the evening sky solidifies it. She picks herself up in an abrupt standing and posture, despite the biting pain on her thighs and calves.

"I have to finish up soon. There's," She sighs, reluctant to even acknowledge the words she's about to say. "A matchmaking party."

Her fingers instinctively go to pinch the bridge of her nose. The idea itself wasn't hers, nor even her mother's. Cassandra Kiramman may be the epitome of a strict, overbearing parent, but to choose as lovers is a decision that only Caitlyn herself makes. That's what her mother did when she married Caitlyn's father, Tobias.

It wasn't her. No, the idea came from someone a little higher up on the ladder.

"Matchmaking parties? They still do that?" You're a little shock to hear it, but you know some families maintain some old traditions to a tee but didn't expect the Kiramman would be so. "That's taking Tinder a little bit too old school, no?"

"Yeah, well, I'd like to see you try introducing the concept of Tinder to my grandmother. She'd be horrified."

You laugh. "Seriously though, I thought she gave up on that."

"Nope," Caitlyn shakes her head. "If anything, she's more persistent than ever now that I'm halfway into my final year."

"And your mom? Wouldn't she have something to say about it?"

She would. Her mother wouldn't really force her into making decisions. She'd persuade, and possibly everything in her power to try and change her mind. But her mother knew best where Caitlyn's stubbornness came from.

Her grandmother is different.

"Just entertain the idea for a night. It'd be rude to refuse your grandmother since she's already sending out invites." Her mother tried to console her the other day. To save face, is basically what was left unspoken. Caitlyn felt bitter about the whole ordeal, but it's not worth losing her mind over. So, she will entertain it for a night. But only for a night.

"She said it'd be rude to not go. My grandmother already had it all planned out before it got to me. Classic." Caitlyn tugs a little too hard on her tied ponytail while adjusting it.

The bubbling anger clenches her chest tightly. Courtesy is an absolute bitch, and the thing is: Caitlyn understood why it was necessary. It doesn't mean she wants it, but has that ever stopped anyone to meddle with her life?

Your hand touches her shoulders. Warm, gentle. She turns swiftly towards you, realizing the closing gap between the two of you. Your brows furrowed. A look on your face pulls her in. Comfort. So, she rests her hand on top of yours. To reassure your worries, easing the tight knot between your brows.

No words exchanged between the two of you in that moment, but there was no need to.

Caitlyn’s hand traces to your face. Your breath hitch at the sudden gesture. She hums a smile. Lately, it’s been difficult to keep these feelings from blooming. Too often she wants to touch you, feel you, embrace every bit of moment the two of you can have together just to savor this.

“Y’know, I could always put on a disguise as one of your suitors and have you marry me. Then bamboozle the fuck out of your grandma. Sounds like a plan, no?”

To that, Caitlyn laughs heartily. “You’re a riot.” She pauses. “...Actually…”

“Oh my god, you’re considering it!”

“What?! It’d be hilarious! Just how often do I get a chance like this, to really cement my identity as the disappointing Kiramman. Just imagine,” Caitlyn tugs you to the floor. The two of you sit facing each other with your legs crossed. “Imagine you sashay your way in there, dressed in your fanciest fit, unbothered by those around you. And then I’d dramatically gasp at your appearance, running to your embrace and absolutely shattering my grandmother’s party.”

“Have you always had this planned out? Sounds a little too detailed to be a plan you came up with out of thin air.” You raise your brows at her playfully.

“Always wanted to cause that kind of trouble.” Caitlyn beams. She bends forward, resting her head on your lap. “Just think of all their faces.”

“Just think of your grandmother’s face.”

She laughs. “It’s not possible, though. I couldn’t do that to my parents.”

You don’t reply to that. Your fingers trace over her face, fondly looking down at her. The two of you relish yourselves in each other’s company. It’s rare. Having grown your relationship to this level of intimacy has been a trial of its own, mostly on Caitlyn’s end. But you’ve reassured her there’s nothing to worry.

“I’ll always be here.” You tell her and you’ve told her before thousands of times. And you’d do it a thousand more.

Her eyes widen slightly, but quickly a smile etches on her face. Eyes that once were hesitant, now glimmer with promise. Her palm reached up to your face. You lean down, pressing your lips on her forehead, tugging out a giggle from Caitlyn’s lips.

“Fuck them. Let's do another set.”

Caitlyn groans. “No.”

“Yes!”

[lemon-sweety]

Half Indonesian Hajime: A crack headcanon that i took too seriously

Since i saw some people doing this i also would like to share my HCs, I'll start with this one because honestly-- this is the stupidest thing that i've ever thought, and i'm still keeping it anyway. (Also, i'm sorry if my english sucks, it's not my main language)

Ok so first of all, Hajime is still half japanese, His dad is japanese, his mom is indonesian

in japan he's still called hajime, but in indonesia he was called as Haji/Bang Haji ('Bang' is like, a call for an older male)

On his childhood he lived with with his mom, and grandparents

His dad stays on japan (well, kinda??) he still came to visit

He's an active young boy, quite stubborn, and still a dumbass :)

Whenever he came home from school, he went to his friends and play soccer instead of actually come home (which makes his mom worried and mad then gave him full one hour talk)

He finally moved to japan with his dad when he's junior highschool

before kusamochi, there is this thing called 'Bakpao pandan' (it's green, small, and has chocolate flavor) it's his favorite childhood food

for someone who just came to japan, he's still nervous with some foods there, until he saw kusamochi that he found it similar to bakpao pandan and end up liking it

living in indonesia is not that great for him sometimes, his neighbors keep calling him skinny, and the roast always got him

on japan he starts to exercise and work out, including play basket ball and skateboard

he can't use chopsticks, he get used to eat with his hands

he really likes spicy food, since his childhood he's been taught to eat spicy food by his mom

he will mostly cursed in javanese when he mad/frustrated (yes, including j*nc*k)

i guess that's it for now on, it's not much tho, i could try to think more

him enjoying his snack while waiting for his friends :)

[shyrose57]

Brothers anon back again. I had a sort of writers block for the last like 2 days which made it really hard to do some questions, but I got em done finally. Sorry about the wait. This one is split between the numbered questions, and next ask is the other questions you asked!

I think I accidentally skipped a question in the last one. I honestly don't completely remember but in case I did skip it by mistake, the groups first travel out of the city's limits and even further beyond in a carriage. When they reach the end of how far the driver is willing to go they then get out and start walking. With Jackie screaming about how their finally going on a adventure. 

1: It thankfully doesn't get to to bad before the others notice. And he immediately told them about Dream, wanting to be very clear with what happened and what they where getting themselves into. But they accepted him anyway and helped him. 

2: Isaac is the leader cause Cletus is too much of a wildcard and too impulsive to lead safely, Charles is too shy to lead, and while Benjamin is perfect for leading he doesnt really like leading and is more of a follower than a leader. But Isaac can joke around and gets along with everyone but also be able to take things seriously and know when something needs to be handled.

5: They do not, they last for a few minutes and unless its a healing or regeneration potion (in which it can take a few days for it to fully go away) they have no long lasting affects. They do know of eachothers past to an extent, they know enough to avoid triggers and enough to know what not to do when around eachother. They know through telling eachother, and they feel awful Grievous and Jackie had to deal with that, but leave it in the past and focus on making their current life better. 

6: Yes and no, while Jackie did mean to throw it at Ran, he ment for it to just hit nearby him, not directly hit him. It was ment to be more of a scare/intimidation tactic than anything else honestly. Grievous's luck is for basically everything, he has won the lottery twice before actually but only those 2 times, he's correctly guessed how many items are in a container more than a few times as well. 

7: I use the height charts and they help mostly for comparison, problem is I have trouble applying it to real world stuff and because of that I still have trouble knowing if something or someone is to tall or short. Jackie can get very mean, like he can make fun of someone who just lost a loved one or experienced a traumatic event at the worst. But he usually doesn't get nearly that mean, most he does normally is making fun of how someone looks or how they do certain things. The others comfort him the best they can when he gets sad, and when he gets mean they either encourage it (Grievous), or discourage it and stop him (Watson. Ran is between either encouraging or discouraging it).

8: He was! He spent most of his life adventuring actually! He misses it somedays now since he lives in Subbin, but he believes giving up his adventuring life for a family and friends who needed him is a more than far trade and would happily pick his family over adventuring again. For around 4 years after Ran left Mizu (including the day he left), Ran traveled everywhere, and learned how to survive himself and taught himself different things, like sewing. Ran has made new socks, fixed clothes, and made blankets for everyone at least once. Watson also designs bows and arrows for show, for top functionality, and for just simple (training) gifts to the others. Ran (and Watson) has visited the nether, though Ran tended to stay in it longer than Watson cause he could withstand the temperatures better. And while digging a new tunnel across the nether he ran into ancient debris, which he then messed with until he figured out to mix it with gold and coat his sword in it. He tried to find more ancient debris but sadly hasn't found any, leaving his sword permanently damaged and at risk of breaking. Jackie isn't good at all at painting, its more of a hobby he's trying out. They try to camp out there at least once a week, where Grievous will sometimes build a pillowfort and either force everyone inside or play a game of capture the fort with them. Sometimes Ran will also read during the pillowfort nights, but not to often. Jackie wants to vist a Snow, Savanna, Jungle,  Tagia, and if possible, a Ice Spike biome. He also wants to vist the nether but he'll have to fight Ran on that. Ran and Jackie's secondary titles are in Javanese!

9: Ran just kinda went "Hey Jackie, stand still for a second." "Ok?" And then he just picked him up and threw up. 

10: When he's first given dinner after already eaten lunch, he just kinda stares at the food. Then asks if they meant to give him food, and when the others say yes, he asks why because he thought people only ate once every few days. His answer shocked the others and they ask him to explain, and he explains futher that he was only allowed to eat and drink once every 3 days. Their horrified by this answer but explain to him how theres 3 meals a day and he can drink whenever, he doesn't believe them at first but eventually accepts it. 

11: When the fishermen first come to Ranbob about their worry, he expresses the same worry as them. But says that it's unlikely Ran will hurt the fishermen specifically, because Rans haunting are already friends with them, and Ran wouldnt risk breaking the friendship unless he deemed it necessary for their safety. 

12: Ranbob is sad that Ran goes to such lengths to avoid him and keep people away from him, but he has resigned himself to it. As he knew that if Ran was alive it was greatly unlikely that he would trust him and knew he would be avoided. Which is actually particularly why he believes Ran will never trust him again and why he views Ran as a kind of lost family member. One he'll never get back no matter what he does.

13: Their first stop is a nearby flower biome, and after that Watson has planned to lead them to a waterfall he found with a shattered Savanna somewhat close to it. They plan to travel for a minimum of 6 months, they can actually travel for as long as they want to, but Prokius made them agree that they must be back before the next General Pit Battles (which happens once every 5 years). 

14: He would 100% run himself into the ground until he's barely alive while searching for them. Benjamin compares Ranbob wanting to go back to Dream, to an abused person wanting to go back to their abusive lover. They believe they've changed and that they truly do love them and want the best for them, but in reality that's not it at all and others have to help them see thats not true and help them save themselves. So it doesn't surprise Benjamin or Isaac that much (it surprises Charles and Cletus though), and after its explained to them, their all more than willing to help Ranbob get over Dream and help him be himself again.

15: Oh definitely. Once they hear the Green-Eyed Enderman is back from hiding they all set out again, and after the group gets attacked and once word spreads that its in a group and there's another enderman with them, they all get targeted. With the Gladiators and Fishermen being targeted as bait or hostages to try to trick the enderman into following a trap. Ran wasnt affected like his brother was. Im talking about trauma and maybe even a bit of PTSD that came from Mizu, caused by Dream. Though both of the brothers have gained different amounts of trauma and PTSD from Dream. I may give the raven to either Watson or Ran, I think its fits both of them really well. I want to have them come across ruins of other Tales but im not sure which ones. Maybe they could find the remains of the Wild West Tale and the Haunted Mansion?

Glad to see you, Brothers Anon, and excited to read!

1: The perfect start to an Adventure. And a funny mental image. Imagining these two groups cramped into carriages is pretty amusing. How ready was everyone to get out by the time they could?

2: The fishermen are really great, and Ranbob is very lucky. I love them.

3: Isaac sounds like he’s a pretty good fit for it then. But nobody’s perfect! What are some flaws of his, leadership-wise?

5: Interesting. What makes Regeneration and Healing last longer? I suppose it’s not relative to the AU, but I am a bit curious. What’s the world’s potions mechanisms, if you don’t mind me asking? And that’s good! They may not know everything, but they know what to avoid, and that’s important. Everyone’s moved forward and are making the best of life, and honestly, that’s pretty cool of them.

6: Welp, Jackie, it seems intimidation tactic failed. However, you have managed to anger Ran, so..there’s that. He won the lottery? Dang. Well, if they ever need money, they can just send him to the nearest casino, I suppose.

7: Aight, so I may have a solution for you there. Whatever height you’re going for, find something in real life that’s just about the same height. Like a tree, or something. Or not, we can always just leave it at short enough to be tossed and tall enough to be the tosser. Jackie sounds like he knows where to hit to make it hurt, honestly. It’s good that they comfort him, though I am curious why they all react as they do to him being mean. Why does Grievous encourage it? And is it more of a depends on the day thing for Ran, or a depends on what was said to Jackie, and what Jackie’s saying thing?

8: Nice! What kind of places did he go? Does he have any particularly interesting knickknacks from that time period? And Ran personally sounds like he knows what he’s doing. Watson’s weapons sound really cool, where did he learn to make them? Is visiting the Nether not a common occurrence these days? Or is it simply that the others never got around to it before? Well, hobbies are always fun to try. Does Jackie keep at it and get better or get bored and try something else? How does Capture the Fort go with these guys, considering they’re gladiators? Why does Jackie want to visit those particular biomes? Is there a reason, or do they just sound cool to him? And why would Ran not want them going to the Nether? Because of the danger?

9: FDXGHJ- He just- tossed him?? No warning?? Oh my gods, I’m dying. How did Jackie react to that? Heck, how did Porkius react to that? I doubt anyone was expecting that display.

10: Oh, no. Now I really want to punch Dream in the face. What the heck, Dream?! He legit asks if they meant to give him food...If one of the fishermen or gladiators doesn’t eventually find a way to punch Dream, I will be forced to travel realities and do it myself. 

11: Kind of sad that Ranbob was equally concerned about it. But hey! He won’t have to be, one day!

12: Poor Ranbob. I hope he’s proven wrong, eventually. Do the fishermen know that he thinks this? If so, how do they feel about it? Or does he kind of just keep those thoughts to himself?

13: Flower biomes are really pretty. What did everyone think about it? Did they bring any flowers with them? So this roadtrip could possibly go on for a few years. Did they leave just after a General Pit Battle, or do they have like, less than five years? Speaking of General, is Jackie still the General in this AU? Does he have extra duties because of it? Or is that not something that happened in this AU?

14: Yikes. Reactions to this? Why does Ranbob believe Dream’s changed, as you put it? Is Dream still able to talk to him, or is it because he just misses being there? So Benjamin and Isaac aren’t all that surprised about it. Do they take the reins in helping out? And how do they all do so? It’s good that they’re helping him though.

15: Well, this sounds like it can’t end well. They try to use the hauntings as bait? Is anyone actually captured? Rescue missions? And alright, that makes a bit more sense. I can see how they’d both be effected differently, and honestly, they’d probably both have very different perspectives of the event, all things considered. Ravens for the win! And it’d be really cool for them to come across the ruins of old Tales buildings. Can you imagine the kind of things they’d find? Diaries, faded photographs, moth-eaten clothes, blood stained floors...Like a walk in the past, but they’ll never know what came to be for the people of that time.

[jayfrost-designs]

This is also from November of last year.

This is a character who I love dearly and always meant to make a design for, but never got around to it. Now I've finally gotten off my lazy butt and made this Best Boy a ref sheet. ^^ So here, have a Thrushpelt.

Here is the reverse side of his design.

I used to headcanon that Whitestorm was Graystripe's father, but when Graystripe's Vow referred to the Willow/White kits as his half siblings, I decided to try and think of a different father for him. After poking around ThunderClan's allegiances for a bit for a suitable tom for the job, I finally settled on Thrushpelt. I know he was Willowpelt's sistser's mentor (though only briefly), but there wasn't anyone closer to Willowpelt's age who was really available, and I see them as only getting together much later, when both of them are older warriors.

As far as I imagine it, Willowpelt missed being a mom after Darkstripe was all grown up, and was good friends with Thrushpelt. When he admitted how much he missed being a dad since Bluestar's litter had died (or so he thought), Willowpelt offered to have a litter with him for them to raise together. They weren't in love or anything, only good friends, but Willowpelt had always been a very chill, easy-going sort of cat, and was perfectly happy with the idea of raising a litter with a good friend who she knew would be an excellent dad. After some thought, Thrushpelt accepted, and thus little Graykit was born.

Unfortunately, Thrushpelt died of an illness when his son was only two moons old. Willowpelt was heartbroken that her dear friend wouldn't get to be around to help raise his son, but she and Thrushpelt made sure that he got as much time with Graykit to be a good dad as he could before he finally passed, and Willowpelt made sure to tell Graykit about his dad even after he was gone, so that Thrushpelt was never forgotten. Thrushpelt now watches over Graystripe from StarClan, waiting for his second son to join him as he enjoys his time with his adopted daughter and son in the stars. Willowpelt eventually found love with Whitestorm seasons later, and Graystripe was always happy to help look after his half-siblings once he rejoined the Clan (and was particularly outraged when Darkstripe tried to kill their little half sister).

For his physical description, Thrushpelt doesn't have any description other than his coloration, so I made up my own build and look for him. I always imagined him as on the taller and scrawnier side, with kinda a scruffy pelt. It just seemed to fit him to me - and it doesn't hurt that he's a quarter WindClan, so he's inherited some of that WindClan skinniness. I used some images of javanese cats as refs. He's got a nice, scruffy, medium/long pelt, though it's not quite as long and thick as his son's - that comes more from Willowpelt.

For his pattern, Thrushpelt is described as a sandy-gray tom with a white flash on his chest and bright green eyes. I based his coloration on lavender cat, a nice lighter dusty-gray color, and I gave him a nice shade of bright green eyes. He's only described with a flash of white on his chest, not an entirely white chest, so I just gave him a little smudgy bit of white on there. I did cheat a little bit by giving him a stripe down the back of his tail that he wasn't described with - but I wanted Graystripe to get that stripe from somewhere, and it's only on his tail, not down his entire back.

Overall, I'm really happy with how he turned out.

[swanlake1998]

Article: Why I Left My Classical Ballet Job to Explore My Roots in Javanese Dance

Date: February 6, 2021

By: Cat Woods

At the peak of her career, dancer Juliet Burnett left the Australian Ballet to explore her Javanese roots. Now, the Indonesian-Australian ballerina is drawing on her heritage to expand the often narrow world of performing arts.

When Juliet Burnett smiles, the full gloriousness of her high-cheekbones and angular face are both feline and balletic, not dissimilar to the finely boned, regal faces of Javanese dancers. Her facial expressions, like her body — sculpted by almost two decades of professional dance — are deliberate and refined.

It's been five years since Burnett left The Australian Ballet at the peak of her career, having been steadily promoted, over 13 years, to the role of senior artist within the Melbourne-based company.

From her family home in Sydney, where she is temporarily living while borders are closed for travel due to COVID-19, Burnett is fired up about the attitudes of classical dance. She has memories of feeling like an outsider amongst a largely middle-class, white company that espoused creative adventurism but failed to appeal to — or recruit — more than a couple of Indigenous dancers, nor to make the Asian-Australian dancers in the company feel that their cultural heritage was encouraged in the imperial values of classical ballet. "Black dancers, Asian dancers, and dancers of color aren't made to feel like their cultural provenance is celebrated," she tells Allure.

"I felt like the role of women in classical ballet is to be subservient," she says now, reflective and thoughtful in her wording, though not cautious. Burnett is not one for tip-toeing about. "Not just the roles for women, but the very system of classical ballet.”

The Australian Ballet encountered backlash in June this year after it published a black square on social media. The national ballet company was accused by its Instagram followers of being "lazy," doing the bare minimum in its response to Black Lives Matter.

In 2019, in a review of the Australian Ballet’s version of The Nutcracker for Australian arts publication Limelight Magazine, the critic viewed the production as perpetuating "racialised stereotypes of Chinese characters." The lack of diversity in the ballet industry as a whole has been brought to public conversation by numerous dancers over recent years, including Misty Copeland, who, via a  2019 Instagram post, called out dancers who were in blackface during a rehearsal for a performance for the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow. (Following the post and media coverage, the New York Times reported that the general director for the Bolshoi said in a statement at the time that the ballet company "will not comment on the absurd allegation" of racism.)

A statement provided to Allure from The Australian Ballet says: "The Australian Ballet aims to reflect the diverse Australian community that we operate in and foster an inclusive environment for all. We’re continuing to learn and we are working on longer-term strategies to increase participation in dance across all communities, and provide more access to The Australian Ballet for all Australians, it may take time, but we are committed to working on the bigger picture."

The statement continues: "The Australian Ballet recruited its first Indigenous dancer [Ella Havelka] in 2012, and since then has recruited a second First Nations dancer."

While Burnett would eventually become an outspoken advocate for diversity in ballet, her experience with dance began without an agenda towards a career, nor even the intention to practice classical ballet.

"My grandmother, Raden Ayu Catherine Ismadillah Brataatmaja, was a professional Javanese dancer," she says. "As soon as I was five, my mother was curious about whether dance was in my blood too, so she enrolled me in ballet with the idea that I could follow in her footsteps. She was totally not a pushy dance mum."

Brataatmaja was the star palace dancer of the Surakarta Sultanate (Javanese monarchy in Indonesia), performing the royal court dance Bedhaya Ketawang for Indonesian royalty. Widyas Burnett, while also fully encouraging her daughter to embrace classical ballet, endeavored to make the costume for 14-year-old Juliet's first school choreographic effort, "Campursari." The final number combined classical ballet moves with Javanese dance positions, set to the soundtrack of traditional gamelan music.

Like many young dancers who are recruited to train endless hours through their pre-teen and teenage years to be auditioned for international ballet schools, her talent was spotted by her dance teachers, Valerie Jenkins and Christine Keith. Her graduation from The Australian Ballet School led to the beginnings of her career in 2003. As a dancer with The Australian Ballet, she embodied Odette in Swan Lake, Juliet in Romeo and Juliet, Giselle, and La Sylphide.

In 2011, Burnett was awarded the Khitercs Hirai International Scholarship, intended to allow members of The Australian Ballet companies to travel internationally. She used the scholarship to visit Indonesia to study her grandmother's art of Javanese dance and to initiate workshops for Indonesian kids — particularly those in underprivileged "slums" along the Ciliwung riverbank in Java. Burnett also trained in the theatrical, dance, and meditation techniques as pioneered by her uncle, the actor, poet, and activist, W.S. Rendra.

"When visiting my Mum's side of the family in Indonesia, we'd arrive in Jakarta and there's this big fly road that was built during Suharto's time, and you go across this modern freeway and you peer down the side and there are all these shanty towns," she recalls. At a young age, Burnett was struck by the financial inequity in such a big, prosperous city. Her parents were very open about the fact that many children didn’t have access to clean drinking water, but "then I'd go to my aunt's place and have a beautiful home-cooked meal and watch their big screen TV and everything’s clean and they’ve got their maid cooking for us." Once her dance career started taking off, she "wanted to go back and try and reconnect and bring something back to [those children]."

"Ballet dancers can live in a bubble," she says. "The level of training, rehearsal and performance becomes more than work, it's a lifestyle. I knew, from early on, that I would have to work to maintain my curiosity for other cultures, other forms of dance, to ensure I was not losing my own spirit."

There was no sudden event that resulted in Burnett's choice to leave The Australian Ballet. In fact, Burnett says she had been open with the Ballet from the beginning of her tenure about the fact that she found the hierarchical structure to be outdated and felt that it clashed with her values, and saw the system of promoting dancers destroy careers. Since leaving The Australian Ballet, Burnett has been more creative and vocal in demonstrating how dance can be a political and social statement, and provocation to limited perspectives on culture, poverty, justice, and gender. She created and shared “Injustice: a short film” on her website last year. To get the clips seen in the film, Burnett made a call out on Instagram, inviting people to submit videos of themselves following her choreographic instructions.

In pre-pandemic times, Burnett resided in Belgium, where she is a dancer for The Royal Ballet of Flanders. Burnett has also just launched her own company, A-Part. "It's purely online for now," she explains, "but obviously, once the travel restrictions allow and it is safe to do so, it will be a real-world dance company that travels and performs."

For Burnett, working with the Pina Bausch Company and alongside Akram Khan as a first soloist dancer with The Royal Ballet of Flanders allowed her to shake off the shackles of rigid, classical training and methodology in favor of the liberation, the sometimes feral and primitive nature of contemporary dance and to finally indulge her need to journey into her own Indonesian roots.

"What's wonderful about the Royal Ballet of Flanders is that it's enabled me to dance the choreography of Pina Bausch, Akram Khan, and Édouard Lock, all these contemporary choreographers who I'd never have had access to in Australia," she says. "After I left The Australian Ballet, I wanted to delve into my artistic identity."

Burnett's activism has been creative, positive, and aligned with her belief that education and collaboration are the only ways to provide inclusive, safe environments for those in the dance world. She has presented master classes in collaboration with Ballet.id (Yayasan Bina Ballet Indonesia), which is a non-profit foundation enabling partnerships between Indonesian and international dancers and academics.

In an essay for Pointe in August, writer and educator Shaté L. Hayes writes that the only meaningful response to racial insensitivity within ballet is to genuinely commit to change within ballet schools through major companies. Posting PR-approved hashtags isn’t enough.

David McAllister left his role as artistic director of the Australian Ballet last year. In the statement provided to Allure, the new artistic director, David Hallberg, says, "The future of The Australian Ballet will continue to uphold the rich repertoire of classical ballet but as well, search for new ways to communicate the spirit of dance in this country. I am absorbing the diversity that makes Australia the great country it is, full of varied voices in dance, music, and art, that will be a part of building the repertoire at The Australian Ballet."

That can't happen too soon. Burnett's bravery in speaking of her own experience of working within the ballet world as an Asian-Australian also echoes the experiences of Black, Latinx, and multiracial dancers internationally. “For those of us who were mixed race or fully Asian, Black, or a dancer of color, the ballet world can feel really homogenous, and difficult to find your place and to find a way to celebrate your cultural identity with truth and authenticity,” Burnett says. “It’s important not to be afraid to question the systems that we work in, to say things to your directors. I really hope for a day when the structures we work in don't ask dancers to be mute, subservient, and to comply all the time."

[lilhawkeye3]

An Overdue Chat About Harry Potter

...because no fandom is safe from Tea Time with Hawk.☕️🦅

Oh boy. Harry Potter. Where do I even start? This is just a summary of the things I know/remember, so I apologize if I miss anything major. Warning: this is a long one.

•Described the only black female character’s hairstyle as “worms.”

Pansy Parkinson to Angelina Johnson in Order of the Phoenix: “Hey, Johnson, what’s with that hairstyle, anyway?” shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. “Why would anyone want to look like they’ve got worms coming out of their head?”

•Had Seamus Finnegan, the explicitly stated Irish character always blowing things up due to his nature. (This is troublesome because it feeds into a stereotype influenced by bias against the IRA).

•Also had the Irish-coded Weasley family be: all ginger, lots of kids, and in poverty (partly due to them having so many kids). This also leads them to be Catholic-coded, as they are in the minority of how the rest of Wizarding Britain is presented.

This stereotype was so well known in Protestant UK that Monty Python even made a whole musical sketch making fun of it. (Context: Ireland is majority Catholic. The UK (England, Wales, Scotland, N. Ireland are majority Protestant.)

•Personally, as a BIPOC: I’m fine with JKR supporting a Black Hermione Granger being cast in the stage play, but she lied when she said she never described Hermione’s race... especially considering she went out of her way to describe the skin color of her non-white characters. Further, she described Hermione’s skin more than once.

Prisoner of Azkaban: “Hermione’s white face was sticking out from behind a tree.”

Half-Blood Prince, after Hermione got a black eye: “Hermione was sitting at the table in great agitation, while Mrs. Weasley tried to lessen her resemblance to half a panda.”

•Kingsley Shacklebolt is a mix between the “Magic Negro” and “noble savage” stereotypes. For those who don’t know, the noble savage is typically seen as an outsider who is untouched by corruption of ‘civilization’ or the society they find themselves a part of. The “Magic Negro” is a term coined by Spike Lee and refers to a Black character that has deep spiritual knowledge, enlightened and selfless, and of course, powerful-- but cannot save the day because... he’s not “fit” to be the protagonist. Kingsley is a Black man, portrayed to be African in the movies by his accent and dress (so doubly an outsider), who is part of the “noble and good” Order of the Phoenix, which fights against the corruption in Wizarding Britain. He is powerful, wise, and beloved enough that he becomes the first Minister post-war. 

And then this essentially happened again with Seraphina Picquery. Yeah.

@cobaltexpositor also pointed out that Kingsley’s name including “shackles” is also extremely tone deaf and they’re right.

•The Patronus is a blatant bastardization of the Native American belief of spirit animals. (Link is to a Native American blog post explaining spirit animals.)

Let’s not forget that time JKR rewrote Native American history to suit her needs and in the process belittled their spiritual beliefs, healing practices, and medicine... and also made them white saviors. And, y’know, used real cultures as props for her imperialistic, fictional history.

Oh yeah, and thunderbirds are sacred to some tribes/Nations, so fuck her.

•Nagini. Oh dear, was that some racist, misogynist content right there. Someone decided it’d be a good idea to have Voldemort’s pet snake, who he used as a soul vessel, start out as an Asian woman who is cursed into an animal form. A South Korean woman was really made into a white man’s pet. I... I have no words. It was so unnecessary and so incredibly racist.

And then JKR explained herself by saying she got the idea from Indonesian mythology, and that Indonesia includes “a few hundred ethnic groups including Javanese, Chinese and Betawi.” Except... the actress, Claudia Kim, is Korean. Which is easily Googleable. (And she’d also previously called Nagini Albanian. And Nagini is actually a spiritual Sanskrit name. Oh, how the list goes on....) So JKR is either stupid, or racist. At this point, I’m inclined to go with both. 

•Leta Lestrange is a tragic mulatta stereotype (”mulatto” is an old term for someone who is mixed white and Black. Please don’t call anyone this now. It’s racist). This caricature was prominent in 19th and 20th American century literature, where a mixed-race person was depicted as sad or suicidal because they didn’t fit into the white world or Black world. It was used to make slave characters more sympathetic to white readers. With Leta Lestrange... her white aristocrat father used a slave spell (Imperius) to kidnap and rape her Black mother. I cannot even begin to explain how fucking racist that is. She’s shown to be bullied at Hogwarts over being an unwanted child. And then on top of that, Leta dies to further the plot and emotional climax of the white male protagonist.

Y’all... I’m so livid about Leta Lestrange. It’s fucking disgusting. 

And then, some tea for the fandom:

•The Death Eaters are literally modeled after the KKK, so please stop saying the main conflict in Harry Potter is not an allegory for race. 

(I also don’t understand the fad with fans tattooing the Dark Mark permanently on your arm when there’s so much more positive symbolism from the series to choose from besides what’s essentially an Burning Cross tattoo, but... whatever.)

•And finally, many fans of a certain character need to hear this one: Severus Snape emotionally abused Neville Longbottom to the point that he was Neville’s greatest fear. He tortured a child under his care (plus used his teaching position to bully nearly a generation of students). That’s... so not okay.

Well. That was quite a bit longer than I expected. Feel free to add on anything I’ve missed.

[normal-thoughts-official]

Words that you bury

A retelling of the most meaningful moments between Raphael and Magnus, when Raphael was staying at Magnus' home.

Or: 6 times Raphael and Magnus said "te quiero" to each other, and one time they said something else

Relationships: Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago

Rating: M

Category: gen

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Past Abuse, Found Family, magnus is raphael's dad fight me on this, blink and you'll miss it Trans Magnus Bane, camille belcourt is an abuser, lots of crying ngl

Read it on Ao3

“I’m sorry,” Raphael says. Again and again and again, “Dios, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Magnus says. His hand hovers over Raphael’s shoulder, debating whether or not to touch it with the air. Every time it moves, Raphael lets out another sob, and Magnus recoils like an animal being attacked. Which is absurd. If anything, Raphael should be the scared animal in this situation. But there Magnus is, scared of a little touch, unable to help him.

“It’s so disgusting,” Raphael continues, and Magnus takes it for the yes, there is that he knows it is. His chest feels like it’s closing in on itself. Magnus tries not to fold in half under the force of it. “Why can’t I stop?”

“You’ve gone over a month without eating,” he tries to reason. “You can’t help being hungry, my boy.”

“This is not- it’s not hunger. Look around you! Look what I did!”

“It’s just a kitchen.”

“It’s- it’s all red.”

“From donated blood,” Magnus repeats. “I told you that, dear, no one was hurt for these. It’s okay.”

He had arrived home to find the kitchen essentially covered in his blood stock, which he had been keeping for Raphael ever since he first rescued him, over a month ago. It was the first time Raphael had used it.

The fact that it was splattered everywhere, and that Raphael had been at the middle, sobbing and bloody, told him that he might not have made that choice, though.

“I lost control,” Raphael continued, like Magnus hadn’t said anything. “I lost control, I just launched at it, now it’s everywhere, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Magnus says, “you were hungry. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not hungry. When I’m hungry I eat frijoles, I eat arroz de choclo, tortillas, enfrijoladas, un chicharrón que sea. This is blood."

"Donated blood. From mundanes with the Sight who want to help people like you. You didn't hurt anyone, Raphael."

"It doesn't matter! I don't want this. I want to be normal. I want to see Rosita. She was having such a hard time adapting here, she needs me-"

It pains Magnus to have to hold Raphael down, but he has no idea what Raphael might do in this state, with his super speed and strength. There's still sunlight outside and he could burn himself. And he worries Raphael would also hurt himself in… non-accidental ways.

"You need to be well first, dear. You're still weak. And still hungry," he says, trying to make his voice as comforting as he can. Raphael still recoils like he's been punched, though.

"No, I'm not gonna- I'm not. She's my sister! I wouldn't- no!"

"I know you wouldn’t. But seeing her like this will make you feel worse. You can barely stand up, dear." He doesn’t say that he’s seen it happen. Way too many times. Desperate vampires, wanting so bad to be normal, thinking if only they can stay away from eating long enough, everything you go back to normal. Then they see mundanes, and they snap, and it makes them feel worse. Magnus doesn’t want that to happen to Raphael. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to take it.

And Magnus doesn’t want to see any more suffering in this world.

“I-” Raphael says. Then he drops down back on the ground, cross legged, hugging his knees. “I know.” He looks at Magnus with his big, brown eyes, and they’re so full of pain it makes Magnus feel like his guts are bursting, ugly and everywhere. It reminds him too much of himself. “I can never see them again, can I?”

It’s a question, but doesn’t sound like one.

Magnus still hesitates to answer it.

“Maybe you can still say goodbye,” he says, because he knows the silence will just hurt Raphael more. “I know some people who did. You just need to be- well, first.”

“How can I,” Raphael says, his eyes puffy and red and angry, “ever be well?”

Magnus stops.

He could be cheery. He could be bubbly. He could tell Raphael that everything’s gonna be okay, that he’s okay, that he’s gonna be rich and happy and find a family. He could keep up with the detached, perfect persona he’s been playing since way before Raphael arrived, but particularly after that.

Instead, he says, “my mom killed herself.”

Raphael’s whole face transforms, from anger to a mix of confusion, understanding, sympathy, and something else Magnus can’t quite put his finger on. Something that looks that an older brother taking his sister to school. Something like- caring.

Magnus looks away.

“She- my eyes,” he continues. “She was so scared. My stepfather kept telling her about the devil, and then- then she saw it in me.”

A beat.

“My stepfather tried to kill me. I- I killed him first. It made me feel like the devil my mom feared I’d become.”

He turns to Raphael again, and that- undecipherable look is stronger than before. It takes up his whole features.

“It’s not- well. These kinds of things don’t- go away. I didn’t just lose my family then, I lost my city, my culture, my people. Myself.

“It’s not okay,” he continues, “but I am. Or- as much as I can. You find out that life goes on. That there’s more to it than the pain, even if it’s still there. I have more people now. I have another family. And you,” he gives him a sad smile, “you have me, at the very least.”

Raphael’s lip starts trembling, so he adds, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Raphael breaks down.

It’s ugly, loud tears, sobs that rip him in half, burning all the way up. It’s hands gripping onto nothing so hard that his nails are about the break the skin. He shakes in a silent yell, already hoarse without a single word; raw and trapped in his pain.

And Magnus holds him. He slowly takes Raphael’s hands and put them around him, so he can grip Magnus’ shirt instead. He doesn’t want Raphael to hurt himself.

“It’s okay,” he says when Raphael visibly strains not to grip him, “it won’t hurt me, I’m a warlock. Let it out.”

It’s a lie, because Raphael has super strength and the way he grips Magnus digs his fingers into his skin and burns him in pain. But he doesn’t let a single sound out, knowing that soon the grip will make the skin numb. Raphael needs it, and he doesn’t mind.

“Mi hermanita,” Raphael cries, “está tan sola, tan…” he sobs, “me muero.”

Magnus struggles to remember the little spanish he had learnt when he went to Peru. He knows it’s something about his little sister, and- dying?

“Lo siento,” he says, because that’s something he remembers. I’m sorry.

“Me muero,” Raphael repeats.

“You’re not dying,” Magnus shakes his head. “You’re alive, okay? You’re a person. You’re a human. Estás vivo.”

Raphael keeps crying, albeit more silently. Magnus tries his hardest to think of something comforting to say to him, with his limited vocabulary. He knows that sometimes hearing Malay is all he needs to feel grounded, comforted, home. Aku cinta kamu, his mother would say to him before he went to bed. Her native tongue was Javanese, but since his stepfather didn’t speak it and she mostly had to speak Malay in the docks, that’s the language he was raised in. He never learnt Javanese, which makes him feel like a piece of him is missing sometimes.

“Te quiero,” Magnus says, suddenly inspired. It’s all right to say te quiero, right? Raphael has been living with him for a month after all. “Te quiero bién,” he adds on second thought. I want you well. Or at least he hopes that’s what he’s saying.

Raphael nods, still a little lost in his tragedy stupor. Magnus lets him, and keeps stroking his hair and repeating softly, te quiero, te quiero, estarás bién. Until Raphael finally stills, head still hiding in Magnus’ shoulder, but no longer shaking with sobs. Magnus idly realizes that his legs hurt from kneeling besides Raphael for so long, but he doesn’t care.

They stay like this, lost in stillness, until he feels Raphael’s hands letting go of his back. The blood flow returns to the abused areas, and Magnus has to hold back a hiss at the sudden mix of pain and relief. Then Raphael looks up at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I made a mess.”

Magnus looks around, at the bloody state of his kitchen. “Oh, this?” he asks, deliberately light, and then flicks his wrist in an also deliberate flourish. Suddenly the kitchen is sparkling clean. “Pay it no mind, dear.” The wet stains in both his and Raphael’s clothes have disappeared, and he also took away the pain in Raphael’s eyes for crying so much.

It takes Raphael a second to recoil. “Warlocks got all the fun parts out of this whole ‘devil blood’ thing, huh,” he says. It borders on bitter, but there’s some humor in it, too.

“Demon blood,” Magnus corrects, because he knows the weight the word devil carries. “And I think we could do with super strength or speed, but that’s my personal opinion.”

Raphael barks out a laugh, which clearly surprises him more than anyone.

Magnus smiles at him. “Come on, there’s more where those came from. Are you still hungry?”

Raphael’s wide-eyed nod tugs at Magnus’ heartstrings, but at least he’s not disgusted by it anymore. Magnus’ smile widens in encouragement. “Okay. Sit down, let’s give you a more proper meal.”

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t say anything. Magnus knows that, if mexicans are anything like javanese people, the concept of a meal probably involves several dishes, a lot of people, and at least two hours.

The look in Raphael’s face indicates that mexicans are exactly like the javanese. With a flourish of his hands - more ostentatious than necessary, so Raphael isn’t surprised by the sudden apparition - he conjures up a new bag of blood, except the bag is a dark blue instead of transparent, with a few jasmines along with the plate.

“Flowers?” Raphael says, amused, “What is this?”

“Well, you were clearly disdainful of my meal offer, so I thought I’d step up my game. Can’t have a warlock leaving people unimpressed, my dear.”

Raphael lets out a full, smooth laugh this time, one that doesn’t feel punched out of him. “Thank you,” he says, then looks between him and the plate, hesitating.

Magnus takes that as his cue. “Right,” he says swiftly, “I should probably go check the inventory of my apothecary. If you’ll excuse me.” and turns around to leave in long, fast strides.

“Magnus,” Raphael calls for him right as he’s about to reach the door.

He turns back to him almost sharply. “Yes?” he asks, with a small tilt of his head and raise of his eyebrows.

“Te quiero también” Raphael says.

I love you too.

“Oh.”

Raphael gives him a small smile, and when Magnus turns to leave again, his steps are a little less elegant, but a lot lighter.

*

“Magnus, what the fuck?” Raphael asks.

Magnus pauses, stick still halfway on hitting the dummy. He turns to Raphael quickly, but in a small movement; stopping with legs close together, feet touching, arms down, head slightly tilted to the right. He makes sure his shoulders are relaxed so his stance doesn’t seem guarded, but holds still so it doesn’t seem threatening, either. Glamor up, stick gone, breathing silent. He widens his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

The vampire is suddenly behind him, and Magnus resists the urge to jump. He knows the boy would not attack him, particularly not in this weakened state. He doesn’t want to act frightened and make him feel worse. He takes a deep breath and does not move.

The boy’s hands touch his back where it’s exposed under his tank top. His touch is so gentle it’s barely there, and Magnus thinks his hand might be only hovering close. He remains still and tries not to invade Raphael’s space.

Raphael takes in a sharp breath. “You’re bruised up.”

Magnus frowns. “I was only practicing. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“No,” Raphael says, almost angry. “This is not- This is-”

Magnus turns again. Slowly, small movements, hands raised but close to his torso, feet touching again by the time he’s done. Raphael is pursing his lips repeatedly, head shaking slightly like its thoughts are scrambling up its balance. Magnus stays still.

Finally, Raphael speaks, tone so icy it burns. “I did this.”

“My bo-,” Magnus shakes his head. Condescendance won’t help. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even know it was-”

“Perfect shape of my fist. It was- You fucker, you said it wouldn’t hurt you.”

Ah. “It didn’t.”

“It’s purple, Magnus.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. Come on, sit,” he says, pointing at Magnus’ own couch. Magnus drags it towards himself, silently showing Raphael that he’s fine. Raphael snorts, but there’s no humor in it.

Magnus sits down.

“Dónde está….. Que coño,” Raphael mutters to himself. “Don’t you have some sort of balm to treat these wounds?” he speaks up. He’s pacing around Magnus’ apothecary so fast Magnus feels dizzy. Fledgelings are like kittens, way too energetic and way too unaware of that. “An apothecary as big as this, and you only-”

Magnus doesn’t keep a lot of balms. He doesn’t need them himself, and when he needs one for someone else, he simply brews it. He thinks over a way to help Raphael calm down.

“I can magick it away,” he offers.

“No,” Raphael answers, turning his head towards Magnus sharply. “I did this, I have to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Magnus protests.

“I gripped you so tight it bruised, Magnus.”

“I told you, it doesn’t hurt. It’s, uh, a warlock thing.”

“Then why does it bruise?,” Raphael hisses. Then he takes a quick step back, like he’s been spooked. “Please don’t lie to me,” he says, voice small, head down.

Magnus’ heart aches. “It really didn’t hurt,” he tries.

“I know warlocks feel pain. I’ve seen Ragnor stub his toe, remember?”

Despite himself, Magnus snorts. “The old man is just dramatic.”

“I’m not about to dispute that,” Raphael mutters, “but I know that you don’t have a higher pain tolerance. And if you had, it would make no sense for the body to bruise. That’s a reaction to hurt.”

“Fine, it didn’t hurt a lot, then. I knew I could take it. I’m used to it.”

Raphael’s face turns even sadder, and Magnus scrambles his brain to find what he did wrong.

“I shouldn’t hurt you at all, Magnus.”

“Nonsense, it’s fine-”

“No mames, cabrón” Raphael mutters to himself. Magnus doesn’t know what that means, but with the way it stings with barely concealed anger, he doesn’t have to. “Just tell me where the balm is. Or whatever you use to treat this kind of wound.”

Magnus sighs, deciding not to argue over this anymore. Raphael is having a hard time, after all. “Third drawer to your left,” he says, silently magicking a little pot there. It’s not as good as his hand brewn one, of course, but it’s a little thing that will certainly lessen the purpleing. Raphael is by his side within a second, balm in hand. Magnus does jump this time, then curses himself for losing control like that.

“Sorry,” Raphael says.

“It’s alright,” Magnus says, “superspeed does that.”

“No,” Raphael clarifies, “well, yes, but I also meant- I’m just sorry.”

Magnus softens like a balloon deflates; so quick it’s scary. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says, turning to Raphael on instinct.

“I hurt you. You are already letting me stay here-”

“Don’t.”

Raphael scoffs. “It’s true.”

“No. I brought you here. I invited you to stay. I told you it was okay-”

“Right, and now I can’t believe you, can I, because clearly you would tell me that it was alright, and let me take and take, and get hurt!”

Magnus’ vision feels foggy. For a second, he doesn’t know why. “I-” he begins, but finds himself with no sentence to form.

Raphael’s tone is a lot quieter now. It still rings on Magnus ears, clear as water over the deafening silence that Raphael’s scream left behind. It’s like his shout itself created stillness.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, biting his lip, “I don’t want to, I- I’m scared of hurting anyone.”

Magnus’ tear falls, but his vision only clears for a second before the fogginess returns. “I’m sorry,” he says, feeling like a kid who just got scolded.

Raphael shakes his head, but there are no tears for him to wipe. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” he says, and it would sound like a laugh if it wasn’t so bitter. Magnus shrinks into himself again. “But don’t do that again. Don’t hurt to make me feel better. Te quiero, ¿sí? Y te quiero bién,” he says, so smoothly even Magnus feels calmed by the words, despite them being nowhere as familiar to him as they are to Raphael. “So your hurt won’t do me any good.”

“Okay,” Magnus says simply. He vaguely has the presence of spirit to admire Raphael for using Magnus’ own words against him like that. This boy is way smarter than he gives himself credit for. “Okay.”

Raphael’s lips quirk up, pursed and sad. “All right then. Let’s treat these bruises. Can you take off your shirt so I can see them better?”

Magnus nods. “Of course, my boy.”

*

Raphael crashes home like lightning on a sunny day; so sudden and loud you’re not even sure it happened.

He slumps against the door, shaking slightly, eyes shut like he’s trying to lock them away.

Magnus’ magic reaches out to him before he even thinks about it. “Raphael,” he says, getting up. There’s no sign of injuries. But he can barely stand straight.

Magnus doesn’t have the time to ask. He draws in a sharp breath, shaky and pained like a dying animal’s. “I went to see my sister.”

“Oh,” is all Magnus can say. Did he try to tell her? He knows Raphael’s family is very religious; maybe she didn’t want to accept him. His heart aches, filled with worst-case scenarios: did she try to kill him? Was he hurt? Did she cry? Did she scream at him to leave, terrified-

“I said goodbye,” Raphael finishes, words leaving his throat like a final breath. He shuts his eyes again, fists tightly against the door like they’re supporting him more than his legs are.

“Okay,” Magnus says, “okay.” He takes a deep breath so his voice sounds smooth and quiet, “let’s take you to the couch, yeah? Let’s rest a little.”

Raphael nods, slowly like he needs to think hard to remember how to do it. Magnus doesn’t let it deter him. “I’m going to put your arm over my shoulders, is that alright?” Raphael nods again. It’s a short walk to the couch, and he doesn’t need to support the entirety of Raphael’s weight, Raphael being more shaky than weak. But it feels like a run on the desert, feverishly painful.

He makes no move to go away once Raphael is settled (maybe he should have, he doesn’t know if he wants company, doesn’t know if he’s intruding, this is about his family, after all, what does Magnus understand-), but Raphael still grabs his arm once he lets him go. “It’s alright,” Magnus says, squeezing his knee slightly. “I’m here.”

Raphael nods again.

They stay in silence.

Magnus doesn’t know how long. Feels like years, his heart beating anxiously in his chest as Raphael cries, terrifyingly still. He shakes is an almost defiant way, his body held tight and tense, the few tears that manage to break free quickly wiped away. Magnus doesn’t know what to make of it, so he settles for caressing Raphael’s hair and repeating estarás bien every once in a while.

You’ll be alright. He’s not sure how effective it is, but every time he says it, Raphael nods, so he thinks that at the very least, it’s helping ground him a little.

Eventually, Raphael opens his eyes.

It’s only then that Magnus realizes he had been holding his breath, too.

His body is still tense, but he doesn’t relax, not yet.

His heart beats anxiously, and Raphael stays still.

“I said goodbye. It’s done,” is the first thing he says, tone boiling with finality. “I told her I couldn’t see her again.”

“Did you say why?” Magnus asks.

Raphael shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t.” He finally turns to look at Magnus, searching him like he expects to see judgement there. Magnus can’t judge him. Not one bit. Raphael turns away again, “It was dangerous enough to go see her, but- I knew how to not hurt her, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t not-”

He stops abruptly, taking another deep breath.

“She started crying as soon as she saw me. Hugged me so tight- if I was still a person she’d have broken my bones.”

“A mundane,” Magnus corrects; heart clenching and unable to let it go unchallenged.

“That’s what I meant.”

They look at each other.

Magnus caves. “So what did you tell her?”

“I told her that I’m okay. That she doesn’t need to worry. But that she won’t see me again. I used- that encanto thing, so she would think I told her before disappearing. I didn’t want her thinking I disappeared for almost four months only to-”

He puts his hand over Raphael’s. He’s gripping his own arm so tight Magnus is almost scared he’ll tear it off.

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he says, “she begged me to stay.”

Magnus’ heart goes out for the boy, and a part of him tangs with ugly, bitter jealousy. Rosa didn’t care what Raphael was. Didn’t care what happened. She still wanted to be with him.

He bites the inside of his mouth, trying to get rid of these thoughts. Raphael is suffering, he’s in pain, he’s lost the person he loves the most and yet here Magnus is, selfish as always-

Raphael finally turns to look at him, eyes puffy and shining with caged tears, and all of Magnus’ thoughts silence before the pain that he feels for him. “I’m so scared of leaving her alone, Magnus.”

“My boy.” Magnus is unable to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Raphael into a hug. The boy is shorter than him, and smaller, and he buries his face in Magnus’ chest as he doesn’t shake, doesn’t sob, doesn’t wrap his arms around Magnus too tight. It burns in a thousand different ways, this not-closeness, this cage of fear Raphael put himself in.

They’re both trapped within themselves, desperately afraid to step out, but still weakly trying to reach for each other.

“She told me we’d find a way. That I didn’t have to tell her what was happening, didn’t have to explain, that she would help me anyway. She kept- she kept trying, Magnus, and there was nothing I could do-” he laughs wetly. “I’ve always hated saying no to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says, because he is, and there’s nothing else he can say. Raphael can’t stay with her; that never goes well with anyone. Besides, the clave has been particularly adamant on keeping downworlders and mundanes strictly separated lately; Rosa’s life is not the only one at risk if Raphael stayed with her.

She might even accept him, but it’s worthless. All that means is that he has to be the one to leave.

It’s a completely different kind of tragedy, not at all like what happened to Magnus’ family all those centuries ago; yet it feels exactly the same.

“Lo siento,” he repeats, hoping the familiar sounds of Raphael’s language bring him comfort instead of pain. All he does in response is nod, so Magnus can’t be too sure, but he’s shaking a little less, seeming to ease a bit into the hug and the way Magnus strokes his hair.

“When we moved here,” Raphael starts. The sound of his voice startles Magnus a little bit, and he chides himself for getting distracted by the touch; he’s not the one who needs comfort, “Rosa was four. It was all- pretty fast. One day we were helping my mom sell enchiladas on the street, the other we went on a days-long trip. And suddenly, we didn’t know anything. Even the way we sat would get us weird looks. We couldn’t understand anyone. No one could understand us. She was terrified.”

Magnus swallows down the lump on his throat. He understands this way too well, having seen his mom’s language suddenly become forbidden in her own house. It’s scary, being locked away from the world like this.

“She stopped talking,” he continues. “At all. Even in spanish, at home, to our mom- she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t cry out when she was distressed, or in pain. She wouldn’t yelp in surprise. It was like she was mute.”

“She must have been scared,” Magnus says, trying to sound sympathetic, and not like he had no idea what to say.

“It was scary. I think- if she wasn’t there, I might have done the same thing.”

Magnus keeps stroking his hair.

“But I couldn’t, because I had to take care of her. Our mom couldn’t. There was so much on her plate. I was so worried for Rosa. She was so bright, and funny, and smart, way more than me. Still is. I wish you could have met her,” he sighs. Magnus knows he’s grieving over that, too, all the things he didn’t do. “Seeing her so quiet, I couldn’t take it. I talked to our neighbors, they taught me English, so I could speak for her, and explain things to her. We made our own kind of sign language, so I could understand what she meant- and one day she started talking to me.

“Not anyone else, just me,” Raphael continues, “I would go with her everywhere. She would talk to me, and make jokes, and laugh - and then someone else would say something around us, and she would draw back again. It was terrible, seeing her so scared, kept away from the world. But I could be her bridge, and with that, she got to learn at her own pace. I didn’t, so I know that that’s a big deal.”

“It’s terrible,” Magnus agrees, “walking blindly trying to find straws to grasp, knowing you can’t afford to make mistakes.”

Raphael hums. “Did you have to leave after- your stepfather, too?”

“Well, no. I was found by my father soon after. But after I ran away from him - I was in a completely different country, in a completely different time, and I didn’t know anyone.”

Raphael nods again, in a way Magnus knows means he’s paying attention to what he says. His fingers start tracing little circles on Magnus’ belly, and he looks serious, like he’s trying to commit this information to memory.

He doesn’t ask anything, though, and Magnus is glad for that.

“You went through it so she didn’t have to,” he states. “That was pretty brave.” He knows Raphael isn’t a lot older than Rosa. From what he’s told Magnus, two or three years, tops. He can’t imagine it, being only six and having to figure out your own on the world, with the responsibility of someone else on your shoulders.

“I don’t regret it. I kept trying to teach her English, even if she wouldn’t say anything when I did. I knew she was listening. Eventually she started talking again. First with my mom and the neighbors, in Spanish, then a little English then and there. She can speak perfectly now.”

Magnus nods. “She’s strong, too.”

“She is.” Raphael’s smile is unbearably sad, barely a tug, his eyes too still. “But to me- I still see that little girl who was too scared to stand up for herself. She’s so- great, and happy, and I was supposed to be there, to take the blows for her, to make sure she keeps- she doesn’t-”

Raphael shakes his head. “I know she can do without me,” he continues, “but I don’t want her to have to. And I- I don’t want to do without her.”

There’s a sob at the end of the sentence, and then a few more. It’s way more quiet than the breakdown he had when Magnus first found him, or that fateful day when he finally caved and tried to eat the blood on Magnus’ stock; he’s not crying with abandon. He holds himself tight, and hides his face on Magnus’ chest, and doesn’t make too much noise.

That makes it even more heartbreaking.

“I had to run away,” Raphael says. “When she started crying, telling me to stay. I had to run away so she wouldn’t see me break down. I turned my back on her. I’m so sorry. God, Dios, I’m so sorry-”

“You’re protecting her,” Magnus tries to reassure him. He knows it’s pointless, but he tries anyway. At the very least, he doesn’t want Raphael to feel guilty for doing the right thing. “You didn’t turn your back. She knows this. She knows you wouldn’t turn her back on her, Raphael. She knows.”

“I couldn’t even hug her,” is all Raphael answers, muffled by the tears.

Magnus holds him tighter, purely on instinct. He feels a little silly; he’s nowhere near the comfort Raphael wants. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and Magnus is nothing but the reminder that his life is all upside down.

A crazy, lonely warlock who can barely handle his own baggage. That’s all he has to offer to Raphael.

But he’ll still offer it.

“Lo siento,” he repeats again, “cry away, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Lo siento.” Then, because he feels like Raphael doesn’t know it, and he needs to, “you’re a good man, Raphael. You’re so good to your sister. She won’t forget that.”

It makes Raphael sob harder, but he keeps it up, knows he needs to know it, and needs to let it out too. “You did good,” “you’re a good brother,” “you’re so strong,” “I’m proud of you.” He barely notices it when the first “te quiero” slips; probably wouldn’t have had at all, if Raphael hadn’t immediately answered.

“Te quiero también,” he says. It’s the first thing he’s said since Magnus started talking.

Magnus takes that as a win, and continues to comfort him, letting Raphael cry himself to sleep.

Once he does, instead of pulling away, Magnus simply lies down on the couch, and sleeps right there with him, hand still tangled in Raphael’s hair.

It’s as much for his sake as it is for Raphael’s.

*

When Magnus gets home, back from a day of shopping for potion ingredients and getting some more blood to replenish his supply, the sun is about to set. He’s pleasantly tired, ready to waste the rest of his evening away with Raphael, who must be waking up.

He closes the door behind him, and there’s a blur in his peripheral vision. Fast and noisy and going straight in Magnus’ direction, too fast for him to even process anything but the threat.

The worst part is, his first instinct is to freeze. The flinch is all but imperceptible, the move to cover his face and not really defend himself; he doesn’t move, doesn’t jump, his magic doesn’t react in time. Pliant. Helpless.

He registers that, bitterly and with just the narrow - sharp - edge of fear, before he registers that it’s just Raphael.

Who’s looking miserable. And also has a bag in hand.

“Sorry,” Magnus says, at the same time, and his tone just as small, as Raphael. He almost laughs to himself at the ridiculous pair they make, before he’s distracted by his double take. Raphael has a bag in hand.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Magnus says, his body looking as if it’s waiting for the bell to ring so he can move. Undecided on his next step. “What’s going on?”

“I think I should leave,” Raphael answers, and even if it’s a direct answer to his question, it still feels abrupt. “I was just getting my things and waiting for the sun to set. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Oh.

He- wasn’t expecting that, somehow. Raphael had been doing well lately, but he hadn’t really found a clan. Magnus wasn’t even aware that he was getting close to other vampires. “Okay,” he says, like he hadn’t been planning on watching a movie with Raphael that night, or teaching him how to make potions next week - Raphael had mentioned that he liked cooking, but it was too painful to do that just yet when he knew he couldn’t eat, so Magnus was thinking of teaching him how to make some potions that didn’t require magic, have him reconnect, somehow, with his hobby. Then again, it’s not like he told Raphael about any of these plans. He just- assumed. “Where are you going?” is the first thing he asks, stomach churning at the idea that it’s the New York Clan. He doesn’t want Raphael with- her. Then again, it’s not any of his business.

Raphael looks, if possible, even more miserable. “I’m not sure. For now I was just going to look for the nearest one. Then I’d see where would be best.” Then, mumbling to himself, almost like some sort of reassurance, “New York is big, there must be plenty of clans.”

Actually, there is only one, because Camille has been systematically dismantling and destroying other clans for decades now, and Magnus stops and frowns. Raphael doesn’t even know about the clan situation in New York. Why is he in such a rush to move?

Magnus sits down on the couch opposite from him, slowly. Like he’s afraid of scaring Raphael away. Once he’s settled down, legs crossed, arms relaxed, he speaks, “wouldn’t you rather know the clan before you move there? It’s a pretty big commitment,” as softly as he can. Maybe Raphael needs a change, he reasons with himself. Or maybe he just wants to get away from here. “If the problem is the loft, I can always redecorate it. Or I can find an hotel for you to stay,” he offers. Raphael shakes his head vehemently, like Magnus’ words are attacking him.

“No. I don’t want to take even more from you.”

Understanding downs on Magnus like the descending of an elevator, and suddenly he feels silly. Of course. He should have known. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, “you not wanting to impose?”

“I think we can both agree that I overextended my stay here.”

“You must have really good persuasion skills, then,” Magnus answers, raising an eyebrow. Raphael always speaks - clearly, for lack of a better word, almost technically, his terms precise and specific. But when he talks like that, like the lines were taken from a textbook, Magnus knows that he’s speaking from rationality, not from heart. He can’t say he likes it.

Raphael just looks at him for a moment, brow just slightly furrowed. Like even he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the end, he replies like Magnus hadn’t said anything, “I’ve been here for months. Just staying and- crying.” He says it like he’s tripping, and there it is. That little lapse of truth. Magnus tries to grab it with all his might. Subtly.

“If I recall correctly, you also tended to my bruises right on the first month,” he says, “and showed me some really good music the other night.”

Raphael grimaces like Magnus is being difficult. “You know what I mean. You’ve been way too kind to me. I can’t keep taking advantage,” he says, sincerely.

“You’re not taking advantage. It doesn’t bother me.”

Raphael chuckles, like the idea is a joke. “You don’t mind a stranger staying at your house, feeding off your supply, needing your help at every turn for three months?”

“It’s hardly a stranger if they’ve been living with me for three months.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, sighing, like he’s drained, like he’s trying to get every ounce of air to have the energy to keep going. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s because I appreciate it that I can’t keep doing this. I’m pulling you down, taking your space. I have to go and figure this out on my own.”

“I don’t think you’re underappreciating me,” Magnus answers sincerely, and for a second, it feels like his own offer of vulnerability to Raphael, “I think you’re underappreciating yourself.”

“It’s not about me,” Raphael says after a second of silence. “It’s just. I’ve been taking too much from you. And I know you’ll just keep letting me. Don’t tell me it isn’t true,” he adds when Magnus makes just the smallest of moves, “It’s not fair. You’re giving me a house, things to- feed, emotional support. You were there for me after Rosa, you-” Raphael falters, and that’s new. He hardly ever leaves a sentence unfinished, unless he’s having a breakdown. “It’s too much,” he finishes softly, painfully.

“It’s not,” Magnus says, just as softly. He sees Raphael shake his head, like he’s ready to say that Magnus is lying, so he takes a split second decision. “Having you here far outweights it.”

It’s his own display of vulnerability, but it’s not incidental, this time. It’s not an offer for Raphael to take, either; it’s a promise of honesty he makes to the both of them. He doesn’t want this conversation to be over before it even starts.

So he continues. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Raphael looks positively shocked, the force of it taking up all of his features, like he hadn’t even considered that option. He looks more shocked than he did when he first saw Magnus using magic. Magnus tries not to let that sting too much, not to think, did I do something wrong? Does he really not know?. Tries not to wonder if he’s so closed off he’s forgotten how to love. If he’s denying that boy the affection he so clearly needs, even as he feels it. If he’s becoming Camille, or his father.

“Having you here… It’s been doing me good. You have no idea how much,” he confesses, a little scared of how scared he is of saying it. “You’ve been giving way more than you think,” he finishes, nowhere near satisfied with what he’s managed to express, but still not knowing how he could continue.

“I don’t understand,” Raphael says, and the sincerity of it cuts Magnus.

“I-,” Magnus doesn’t look at him. He can’t. There’s something grabbing at his throat, a mix of fear and pride, the kind that’s heavy, that pulls you down. “I’ve been lonely,” he manages.

Raphael still looks lost, almost afraid, like a lone sailor who sees a storm approaching. So out of his depth it’s terrifying.

Magnus sighs and pauses, trying to gather himself, because he feels the same way. He's never even talked about this with anyone who wasn't there when it happened - and even then, Ragnor, Cat, and Dot had gotten a version with more furtive silences than words. Because they were there, and they knew how to fill the gaps.

Talking about his mum had been easier. Hell, even his father.

Camille was different. And he battled within himself, simultaneously sure that he was just telling this to Raphael to force him to stay, and that telling him would drive him away for good. And that's just typical, with Camille - all paths are equally painful, and all lead to the same place, no matter how wildly different and even conflicting.

So, in a fit of stubbornness, and defiance, he does the opposite of what he's convinced he should do. He tells Raphael.

"I had an ex. A vampire. Over a century ago," he begins, and has it been this long? It definitely doesn't feel like it, the wound fresh and rotting like it was carved only yesterday, like it was being carved right now, "she drove me away from almost everyone." He admits quietly, and feels, strangely, like what Raphael had described a confession to be like. "Even Ragnor, and Catarina. I-" deep breath, "I haven't been able to bounce back."

"What did she do?" Raphael asks, and his voice is quiet, soothing, as if it's holding Magnus' hand. But there's a strain underneath, too, something that sounds like the fire that burns in his eyes, that rightful fury that reminded him of hell. A fire Magnus had only really seen in the eyes of those who believe in it.

"Honestly? I don't know," Magnus says, truthfully, despairingly, like he hates the words. "It was just exhausting. Terrifying. Every time I looked, it seemed I was more cornered than before, and I was so scared of being alone, scared enough that I'd just… Let her do what she wanted," he admits, the shame burning hot in his throat, scratching him raw, leaving him defenseless and burning and weak like before. But he pushes through, a miracle in and of itself, "and she convinced me that she was the only one who could ever love, or even like, me."

Raphael looks at him, that fiery gaze even more intense than before, and Magnus can't face it, because if he does, it'll take him over, and he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve its protectiveness. It'll burn him, because he's unworthy, and he's weak, and heavenly fire is poison to people like him.

His hands are clenched so tight they're shaking, and he focuses on them, on the grounding pain, on the movements of his fingers as he rubs them together. "When I freezed, today," he says, his voice sounding shaky, and small, and pathetic, "it was instinct. Something I learnt from her. When she was mad, she would come to me running, just like you did," so fast he just heard the noise of the disgruntled air being cut by her body, sharp and loud and destructive, "sometimes she'd shove me, sometimes she wouldn't. But I never knew, so sometimes I flinched, and that would - really hurt her. So I learnt not to flinch, just freeze and brace myself to keep from hitting my head."

Raphael hisses, and Magnus jolts, seeing his fangs are drawn out. He covers his mouth with his hands quickly, looking a little sorry, but still burning, rage, anger, fury. He's getting better at controlling himself, though, because he manages to draw them back, and say "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, that's - probably the last thing you want to hear now is a vampire hissing."

Magnus chuckles, humorless, "it's ok, my boy. You don't scare me, just- like I said, it was instinct."

"Still, I don't want to force you to remember that. If I had known what I was doing to you-"

"No!" Magnus says, with that kind of strength and conviction that jolts his whole body, his brain only processing that he said it after he already had. "No, no, Raphael, I'm sorry, that's not what I was trying to say at all, my boy, I'm sorry-"

"I just never expected to be hurting you on top of-"

"You don't! That's what I was trying to say-"

"Please, Magnus, what can I do to-"

"No, my boy, no," he says, this time calm, but firm, and Raphael silences. Briefly, he notices that he got up at some point.

Raphael looks at him, and his eyes are big and wild and expectant, like he's waiting to follow Magnus' lead, and it's heartwarming and confusing and helps him keep talking.

"It's not about that. You hadn't even done anything that reminded me of her before this, today," he says softly, softer than he's ever heard himself talk. "And it was just a split second. Believe me."

"I believe you," Raphael answers, nodding. Magnus smiles.

"What I am trying to say," he continues, making a show of sitting back down on the couch, all relaxed body and certain movements, and he can see Raphael visibly relax on his own couch, "is that after her, I was afraid that everyone would hurt me. I was afraid that I'd let them, like I had let her. I put up walls, and I made a front for myself, and I didn't let anyone get close. I didn't make any new friends. And I felt as lonely as I thought I would once she left me."

Raphael looks at him with something akin to shock in his eyes, but Magnus just keeps going, not stopping to think of the implications of that. "You're the first person who got close to me. You're my friend, and having you here has been doing me so good," he confesses, "to remind me that I don't have to be lonely, that I won't be. You haven't just been taking, my boy, you've given me so much. So-," he stops when he sees Raphael get up and walk towards him.

The hug is almost sudden, even if it follows very slow, calculated movements, the kind that is designed to give you every out. Magnus overflows with it, even with the awkward position of him sitting and Raphael standing, even with the limited contact. Raphael's face hides into his shoulder, and he feels fierce, strong protectiveness in place of the vulnerability from before.

"So," he chokes out, "I really don't want you to go."

Raphael nods. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

"None of that," Magnus laughs, a little wobbly, like he's overloaded.

Raphael huffs, suspiciously fond. Then he says, "te quiero, Magnus."

Magnus' eyes widen only slightly, and he answers, "te quiero también."

*

Magnus stumbles down the street, trying to support himself on a nearby house’s wall. He’s close; only a matter of two blocks before he gets home, but he feels like he’s been walking there forever. He’s so exhausted he didn’t even manage to portal himself home.

It had been an emergency call - a friend of Catarina’s who had recently adopted a little warlock girl reported her missing. They went straight to Magnus. He had been dedicating a lot of his time to that, recently, many warlocks reaching out to him when there was some kind of emergency.

He’s always kind of fulfilled that role, helping people when they needed it, but recently the number of calls he’d gotten had skyrocketed.

People have been speaking of making him High Warlock of The City Of New York.

There’s no High Warlock of The City Of New York.

He doesn’t even know if there are any High Warlocks for specific cities; distance is not a problem, so High Warlock positions usually cover a pretty large area. Hell, some of them cover entire countries. The Iberian Peninsula has only one, and most of the time she is so bored she petitioned to be able to make regular warlock work as well.

(It was approved.)

But New York - New York had been messy, and scary, recently. There had been a rise on hate crimes, and most of the downworlder community was on edge - but especially warlocks, who had been preferential victims of kidnapping. Crazy shadowhunters wanting to study “demon blood”.

They weren’t very organized political groups - yet. But the number of hateful shadowhunter groups had been on the rise, and the Clave had done nothing to stop it - not that anyone expected them to.

And New York, well, it had a pretty high warlock population density, and a particularly uncaring Institute in the hands of particularly bigoted shadowhunters. It was the best place for hate groups to start, and the High Warlock of the state hadn’t been managing to handle all the calls from all the population.

Hence why Magnus had been called in so many times, and why people were speaking of giving him a position.

He’s not sure if he should take it - certainly there are people more fit for the job than him. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on his people in such a hard time, and he never believed a lot in institutions such as the High Warlock position in times like this. And - well, he isn’t sure if he would be able to manage all of the region’s problems, his own, and also take care of Raphael.

Not that Raphael needs him a lot - he was more and more independent these days, long used or at least resigned to his vampire life. He has started volunteering as a cook in a nearby shelter, something Magnus had learnt filled him with joy; he’s made a few other downworlder friends, even a few vampires. It has been over a year - soon, Magnus guesses, he won’t need Magnus anymore, and will look for a real place to live in.

Magnus is - scared of that.

He doesn’t want to - he should be happy for Raphael, and he is, he truly is. He’s glad he’s making friends, going outside, finding joy, reconnecting with himself, his love for cooking, finding a place and a community. He’s proud of him, even. He would never want Raphael to be dependant on him, unhappy and lonely.

Honestly, Magnus is probably the dependant one.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Raphael - he had been feeling so lonely before him, even with his small group of friends, with his regular visits to Pandemonium; he had no one to talk to and no one to give him company for more than an hour or two. He and Raphael had settled into an easy routine; for the first time in, who knows, so long, Magnus felt like he had someone to share his life with, somewhere to belong, something he could be a part of.

It scared him to know he’d lose that soon. Raphael won’t want to see him again once he leaves - Magnus is probably a walking reminder of the worst moments of his life, anyway.

Seeing him leave will hurt.

But as long as Raphael is still there, he’ll want to focus on him, because Raphael doesn’t have anywhere else to go, while there are plenty of competent warlocks who could take a High Warlock position. He doesn’t want to leave his people, and he won’t - which is precisely why he won’t take such a responsibility if he can’t have it be his priority. Even if he knows Raphael probably won’t be there for much longer.

But he doesn’t want to prepare for that ahead of time. He doesn’t want to face the inevitability of it.

He’s just so scared of being left. Even if he knows it’ll happen. Has to happen. For Raphael’s happiness. For his good. It’s not like Raphael - owes it to him to keep in touch, to see him, when Magnus knows that he had no choice when he decided to stay with Magnus, and he probably only represents more pain for the boy.

So he supposes he’ll cross that bridge when it comes crashing down under his feet.

He’s alright with that - it’s not like preparing himself will really lessen the pain.

The visits that end up being shorter and shorter, the calls that will stop being returned, the furtive running when Raphael encounters Magnus by chance - Magnus knows he’ll pull away slowly, because Raphael is a nice boy, and he probably thinks that it would be ungrateful to cut Magnus off his life completely once he leaves.

But the disgust- the bad memories will win out, eventually.

And that’s okay. Magnus doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Much less to Raphael - he’s not only company, not just someone to fill the hole Camille left in his heart; Raphael might be the person that comes closest to understanding him. He knows about Magnus’ past, and he understands what it’s like to lose everything you knew in just a day. He’s hilariously sarcastic and never endingly good, he cares for others more than he cares about himself sometimes, he has a patience Magnus could never hope for and a cool head that never meant a cold heart. Magnus was so proud of him, of how he acted and his values, he could cry. He loved Raphael like he’d love a son, and he’d rather die than make Raphael suffer, force him to revisit the times that almost managed to dull his light and pull him away from the very things he dedicated his heart to.

He wishes he could be something other than darkness in people’s lives, though.

At least he managed to save today’s girl - she had been kidnapped by a small, but vicious shadowhunter supremacist group, and even her caretaker couldn’t find her.

Magnus had been trying to find her for a few days, when he supposed one of the shadowhunters slipped up. He got a try. He got to her fairly easily, but he didn’t know what state she was in, or what they were planning. Catarina was working a shift, Ragnor took too long to answer, and Dot was helping the actual High Warlock with another problem she couldn’t tell them about. But Magnus didn’t have time to wait, so it was just him and Kai - the girl’s caretaker.

Kai was also a warlock, although a pretty young one - only starting to venture into their 50s. Noelani, the girl, was only 7, just old enough to start to get a real hold of her magic, and just naïve enough to let people know about that. They had been on visit in New York, Kai having been called to speak about gender colonialism at a Nā ʻŌiwi NYC event. As their tutor - Noelani wanted to be a kahuna lapa’au, a magical healer, and, as the only other warlock and seeing as māhūs were traditionally responsible for keeping alive the traditional hawaiian practices, Kai had taken her under their wing - Kai had taken her with them, and the bright, overly enthusiastic about sharing her knowledge of magic, girl had attracted the attention of shadowhunters. About halfway through the month-long event, she went missing, and Kai called to Catarina, who was helping them both with healing magic, and who called for Magnus’ help.

Taking down the shadowhunters with their combined power wasn’t hard, even if Magnus did most of the work - there were only 4 of them, although he suspects they might have other connections. But the last one managed to cut Magnus with her sword, and, as it turned out, it had magic-suppressing venom.

If Kai hadn’t given her the final blow, Magnus could have been in deep trouble.

As it was, though, they were both fine, and they managed to leave with Noelani safe, the shadowhunters’ little lair burnt to a crisp, and their bodies sent over to the nearest clave branch. Magnus knew the clave wouldn’t mind, because that way they could return the bodies to their families, say they died honorably in some battle, and once it was clear that the crimes were stopping, take credit for solving the problem.

“Protecting the downworlder community is part of our job,” they kept saying, even as they did a piss-poor one.

But Magnus couldn’t portal back, and, because Kai had never been to his loft, the best they could do to help was portal him somewhere in Brooklyn. Magnus didn’t have any money for the subway or a cab either, so walking it was. Noelani and Kai had offered to walk him to the loft, but he had waved them off, saying that he was fine, just needed a magic replenishing potion; and besides, they were scared and needed time to cool down. A walk would probably do him good, anyway, get some exercise and a bit of fresh air after so long working on this case.

It was all true, at the time. But the venom seemed to have longer-term effects that were much slower on the uptake. By the time he reached the street of his loft, he was exhausted, his wound was bleeding out, and he had trouble walking as well as breathing.

By the looks of it, the shadowhunters were succeeding in creating new weapons against downworlders. Fantastic.

He would be fine though. He just needed to get home, take his magic replenishing potion, and then get rid of the venom. Worst case scenario, he’d call Catarina. She’d know what to do, and if she didn’t, she would figure it out. She was smart like that.

So that’s what Magnus is telling himself as he limps down the last bit he needs in order to get home, the magic replenishing potion is on the apothecary, right on the first drawer, you just need to drink it, have a stamina potion if you need to keep yourself awake as well, you’ll be fine, as he stops for a moment to get some breath, almost there, just this little breath and you’ll be fine, no need to panic, it’s okay to go slow, as he starts walking once again, just that corner and a few more steps and that’ll be it, the wards will let you in, it’s so close now, come on, as he turns around the corner, there’s a shadowhunter at my doorstep.

There’s a shadowhunter at his doorstep.

Magnus blood runs cold, and instinctively he freezes, but the shadowhunter immediately turns to look at him. They’re like sharks, they can smell his blood as soon as it starts to drip down, showing his weakness. They thrive on it.

This guy is not here as a clave representative - if he were, that wouldn’t be much better, but the fact that he’s not makes even more anxiety pool deep inside of him. Magnus didn’t tell them he was the one who gave them the bodies, and if they traced the magic back, it would be Kai’s, not his. Besides, the shadowhunter’s alone, and smiling, and shadowhunters never smile when it comes to clave business.

He also has a huge seraph blade drawn and at the ready. And shadowhunters do smile when it comes to using these.

“Magnus Bane,” he says, almost conversationally, except for his distinctly threatening stance. Magnus figures the snarl at the end of his words is just how he’d normally say any downworlder’s name. “I knew we should have come for you sooner. This little chat of ours is long overdue, don’t you think?”

Were he not in a distinctly weakened state, Magnus would be rolling his eyes. Shadowhunters’ one-liners were always absolutely terrible, and the fact that they always said it like they were evil geniuses only made it more cringe-worthy.

But Magnus is is a distinctly weakened state, and he can’t afford himself to relax, not when he know he’s slow and weak and has no magic. So he stays still, and stops his automatic magic functions - his magic already subconsciously keeps his glamour up and his adrenal glands producing testosterone, even when Magnus is too weak to use it consciously, much in the same way that his body would keep breathing if Magnus were in a coma. Right now, though, he needs every reserve he can get, and he’s also hoping that having his warlock mark exposed will make him look more ready for the fight than he actually is. Maybe even make the shadowhunter feel a bit more threatened.

It doesn’t. He’s starting to shake in weakness and the shadowhunter only lets out a low whistle. “Oh, I love it when you do this. You guys try so hard to hide it, pretend you’re real people, don’t you? But this is when you show who you really are. Ugly, deformed animals. You know it, and you can’t hide it, not when it matters.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if he could. He just looks at him, his vision at least a little better with his natural eyes out at night, his legs shaking slightly as he tries to keep himself upright, his throat closing up in fear and the almost childish refusal to let the shadowhunter’s words truly sink in.

He’s too weak to throw a punch. He’s too slow to run, and has no place to go to. He has no weapon. He barely has enough magic to create some sparkles, even now that he ceased all of its functions. He can’t send a fire message to call for help. Raphael isn’t home. Maybe if the shadowhunter lunges at him and he can reach his throat, he can use the last of his magic to taze him, but even that’s a long shot. He can feel his magic getting weaker and weaker, and the shadowhunter’s sword is long. He has no strength, he has no speed. He has just enough adrenaline running to keep up with what’s going on. The shadowhunter lets out a disdainful, “bring it on, warlock,” and makes towards him.

And it hits him. He’s going to die.

He’s going to die the only way he never wanted to - by the hands of greedy, hateful killers, his body to be used to inspire more fear in his people. Weaponized against those he tried to protect.

And painfully.

Bleeding out. Beaten up. Helpless and tired. And something tells him this shadowhunter won’t mind taking his sweet time with him.

Magnus falls as soon as the shadowhunter’s body hits him, a full force launch that knocks him down easy. So easy the shadowhunter himself loses his balance for a second, not expecting so little resistance, and in his stumble Magnus manages to touch his neck.

But not to conjure any magic.

He realizes, belatedly, that he should have gone for his eyes. It wouldn’t require much strength, and if he fell down, Magnus would have a chance of making it to his loft. He could even call Catarina the mundane way from there, not to mention he had his wards.

But he didn’t. He tries to reach up with his other hand, but the shadowhunter lands a punch to his exposed ribs before he can. When his arms fall down from the blow, he steps down on Magnus’ shoulder, hard, not enough to break anything, but enough for him to scream, which is just humiliating.

He’s going to die, and he can feel the cold of the seraph blade against his throat, and the shadowhunter is probably saying something, and he doesn’t know how he could move without cutting himself right now, and he’s too weak to do anything, and the adrenaline is only helping him panic, not think, and the shadowhunter is probably laughing, enjoying his weakness like they always do, and he’s going to die, and that might be his last thought, he’s going to die, alone and weak and hated and not even managing to put up a real fight, this shadowhunter is going to kill him, and he’s going to die.

Raphael lunges at the shadowhunter and breaks his neck.

It cracks like wood under someone’s feet, and just like that, he’s gone.

“Raphael,” is all Magnus can manage, and it’s a useless thing to say, but it’s the only one he wants to right now.

Raphael. Raphael. He’s here. He saved Magnus.

“Magnus,” he answers, his voice laced with all the fear Magnus was feeling before, and Magnus can barely register why. Suddenly, he’s lying on his couch, and there’s noises of things being open and thrown out so fast coming from his apothecary he kind of snaps into life again.

“Mierda, mierda, mierda, carajo, coñ- puta madre, ese desgraciado puso esa mierda en su- vamos, vamos, por favor, Magnus-”

Magnus has no idea what he’s saying, even if he has a feeling he could piece it together if he could think clearly right now, but Spanish is far from coming naturally to him. Still, Raphael says his name with so much anguish, Magnus feels the need to intervene.

“First drawer of my desk. Magic replenishing,” he says, still a little weak. Raphael is at his feet so fast he can’t help but jump, and Raphael’s face does something that Magnus can only describe as twisting.

“Sorry,” he says, and for a second Magnus marvels at the fact that Raphael knows, that he understands. He’s forgotten what that felt like, to have someone know, to not have to fake smiles whenever he was forced to remember. “Please drink, Magnus, please,” he insists when Magnus looks at him for too long.

Magnus gives him a small nod, then downs the potion. He can feel his magic spark to life again, slowly filling back up. He feels more aware, more grounded, even if still tired.

Raphael looks at him expectantly, like he’s hoping for Magnus to start floating or curing himself, so he feels the need to explain, “it’ll take a while for it to fully take effect.”

Raphael tenses in a way that tells Magnus that if he had weaker self control he’d be bouncing around the walls. “We can’t wait. Magnus. What else can I do? Please-”

“Did you- my wound-”

“Applied pressure, bandaged a little, I couldn’t find-”

“Third drawer, the little purple thing. I also need a stamina potion. I’m afraid I don’t have this one at the ready.”

Raphael is back with his balm. “Should I call Catarina? I couldn’t remember her number.”

Magnus shakes his head, even if he’s a little unsure. He doesn’t want to bother Catarina, but he also doesn’t want to put more stress on Raphael. Then again, standing in the sidelines while Catarina works would probably only make him more agitated. “You can make it pretty easily. Just mix some ginger powder, grinded malagueta, honey, and werewolf fangs. Equal parts. They’re in my apothecary, all labeled-”

“Like this?” he has all the ingredients in an instant, and mixes them in front of Magnus, like he’s afraid of doing it unsupervised. Magnus knows he’s far from a boy, but when he’s like this, so eager to help and anxious for his guidance, Magnus can’t help thinking of him like one.

Like a son, he tries not to think, even if he knows, deep down, that that’s what he feels. He’s watched Raphael grow and build himself, has seen him change and open up and look up to Magnus for help, for advice. He’s held him as he cried and been shocked to find out Raphael could do the same, too. Every time he sees Raphael helping others, or making new friends, or starting new projects, pride swells in his chest as if ready to burst. Raphael is his own man, but Magnus also feels that a part of him is permanently with him, and a part of him is permanently changed by Raphael’s presence.

It’s terrible, and he knows it. Raphael has his own family. The last thing he’d ever want would be to replace them.

But Magnus can’t help it.

So instead of saying any of that, Magnus just nods, and adds the last bit of magic that the potion needed to hold up, and drinks it in spoonfuls as Raphael carefully lifts his bandages, cleans his wound up with alcohol - for the second time, Magnus can tell now that he’s paying attention, and either Raphael was incredibly fast or he was more out of it than he thought - and spreads the balm in deliberately slow strokes.

It fills him to the brim with a mix of pride and some sort of love that’s almost painful, aching. He knows Raphael is doing it not to scare him and he feels so- touched, he can barely compute it.

He tries to reign it back in before any tears could make their presence known, and by the time Raphael is done, the wound is already closing and Magnus can feel his glamour snapping back into place and his hormone activity returning to normal. Soon the magic will finish what the balm started and the wound will be closed. He’ll just have to check to make sure the venom is out of his system. But if his simple magic replenishing potion was enough to undo its effect, he supposes it can’t hold up for more than a few hours.

“Water,” Raphael says, resolutely, “and food.”

“I don’t think I should eat,” Magnus protests, and immediately regrets it when Raphael’s eyes widen like he just passed out. No matter how much time passes, he never fully gets used to Raphael’s idea that feeding a person will solve all their problems.

Not that the idea itself is that foreign to him, but - the gesture is. No one’s really worried about that since he lost his mother.

“It’ll slow down the healing potion,” he explains, “I haven’t fully absorbed it.”

Raphael keeps still for a second, like he struggles to process that, but then he nods. “Water, then,” he says in a tone of finality that Magnus wouldn’t have dared to protest, even if he hadn’t noticed that he’s actually pretty thirsty. When he comes back with a cup and the hugest water bottle Magnus had on the fridge, he ends up drinking it all, and then some more after Raphael fills it again, until finally he feels like he’s stable enough to fully settle into his tiredness. His head falls back on the couch, and he closes his eyes as he hears Raphael shuffle about and carefully sit beside him.

Once he’s done, Raphael wraps his arms around Magnus and rests his face on Magnus’ shoulder, and Magnus has the weird feeling that he’s comforting Raphael as much as Raphael’s comforting him, even if that makes no real sense. His grip is so tight it almost hurts, but it’s exactly that Magnus needs, comforting and putting the best kind of pressure over him, grounding him, making him feel- safe. Raphael knows it, he realizes, he’s been living with Magnus long enough to know what he needs for comfort.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Raphael asks, slightly muffled. His hands are rubbing up and down Magnus’ arm, where they meet, like he wants to make sure Magnus knows he’s real.

“I feel fine,” he replies, and it’s not a lie. “My mind isn’t foggy anymore, my magic is going back to normal, the wound is closing. Soon I’ll be good as new,” he half-jokes. Raphael just nods, but otherwise doesn’t move an inch, and Magnus allows himself to just bask in that presence, that feeling of- home.

(He shouldn’t think it, he really shouldn’t. Not when he knows this is the last place Raphael would want to call his home)

“Are you okay?” Magnus finds himself asking, when the silence starts to feel heavy enough to put itself between them. Raphael looks at him like he’s crazy, and Magnus would feel sheepish if he had enough energy for that.

“He didn’t even touch me, Magnus, I’m fine,” Raphael says, in a slightly confused but still reassuring tone, like he’s afraid Magnus hasn’t processed what went down.

“You killed him,” Magnus replies, shame lodged at the base of his throat.

He couldn’t defend himself. He was weak, and dependant, and Raphael had had to step in for him. Raphael, who almost starved himself so he wouldn’t hurt others, who paid penance almost every day, who could barely handle the thought of upsetting someone else. He killed someone because Magnus was too weak.

He imagines catching the boy on his knees again, burning himself with ashes because of this, and the thought makes his stomach churn.

“Yeah,” Raphael says, still rubbing his arm affectionately, the touch grounding, “yeah, he’s gone, it’s okay.”

He thinks of his father’s voice, booming and disdainful. You’re weak. Thinks of feeling stuck, of being a burden, dependant. You need me. Thinks of Camille-

“Magnus,” Raphael says again, a note of desperation in his voice. He always got so lost when it seemed like Magnus lost his footing, and it only made him feel more responsible. “Magnus, it’s okay. You’re safe. He’s gone. You have your wards. I’m here. No one else-”

“I know. I just… I didn’t want to make you do this,” he admits, embarrassed. It makes him feel more childish, the way there’s nothing he can do. Nothing he could have done. He put yourself in danger, and he wasn’t strong enough to end it himself. If-

“Magnus,” Raphael interrupts, sounding shocked, “he was going to kill you.”

Magnus nods, a self deprecating smile on his lips. “I know.”

Raphael swallows, and Magnus can feel the distress in his movements, in the way his hands twitch, and his arms sometimes press a little too tight against Magnus for just a second. “Please tell me you weren’t going to let him,” Raphael says, “please tell me you weren’t- Magnus,” he pleads.

“I wasn’t going to let him,” he says, “I just. Couldn’t win. Of course I would, if I had the chance, I just. Wish I hadn’t made you- I know how you feel about hurting others.”

He turns to look at Raphael, even if it slightly upsets their embrace, and his eyes are wide like he can barely process what Magnus just said. He wonders, briefly, if Raphael hadn’t realized what he had done, until Raphael speaks. “Magnus. He was going to kill you. I would kill him a thousand times over. Honestly, I- I won’t even ask for forgiveness for this one.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to do with these words. They hit him like cold water, shocking but way too quick for him to realize it.

“I don’t care, Magnus,” Raphael says, even more emphatic this time.

Magnus breaks down crying.

It’s - hard to explain. He’s still scared of being so weak, the idea that he almost died still hitting him with shock every once in a while like crackling electricity. And he doesn’t want Raphael to have to deal with these things for him.

But there’s something about being cared for like this, of knowing that Raphael wouldn’t hesitate to protect him, that floods him with something that feels almost like relief.

He knows Raphael doesn’t have a “no-exceptions” moral code; he’s told him all about Rosa, about the fights he would get into when other students tried to bully her, about the people he’s hurt. He told Magnus about how he stabbed a white supremacist who went after a girl in Raphael’s neighborhood, one day. Raphael doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but there’s very little he wouldn’t do for those he loves.

I’d rather it is me making the hard choices, he had told Magnus once. It’s better if these sins are mine to carry.

But he knows how Raphael truly feels about it, from the small, almost imperceptible whisper that followed. I’m already rotten with them, anyway.

And Magnus feels terrible, sick to his stomach, like the worst man on Earth, that he added one more weight to Raphael’s shoulders. And even worse than that, because the fact that Raphael is willing to protect him, enough not to regret it, makes him feel so much lighter, better, relieved.

It’s been so long since anyone stood up for him without utterly despising him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hands going to his face so he can at least hide the tears that he knows he won’t be able to stop. Magnus rarely cries, is very good at hiding it up with smiles and gestures and mean comments, but when he does, it overtakes him with all his might, breaks him down into sobs like his lungs want to tear him apart, shakes him like there’s so much trying to get out that he can barely keep himself from bursting.

It’s ugly, and loud- and obnoxious, and annoying, and pathetic, and weak, and manipulative, and he can hear their annoyed voices in his head, every time we fight you just break down and then I have to stop everything and handle you, we will talk when you’re finished with this little fit of yours, and he can’t stop it.

“Don’t be sorry,” Raphael says, “don’t be sorry, okay? I don’t care, I’m just glad you’re okay, Magnus.”

Magnus nods, letting Raphael draw him closer and hide his face on his shoulders. He feels a little stiff, and cold, but Magnus melts all over him anyway, grabbing his torso desperately like he’s scared Raphael will be torn from him.

Raphael pets Magnus’ head slightly, muttering words of comfort to him, and he really feels like this whole thing is on reverse. He’s been the one to take care of Raphael for so long- and not just Raphael, he realizes.

By this point, taking care of others is something that comes from an almost sense of duty. If it were a choice, he would choose it, of course; but he doesn’t feel like it is. To not be the one helping Raphael feels completely unnatural, and he has a feeling that, if it were with someone else, it’d be good - but he feels like, somehow, he’s losing Raphael by doing this. Like it’s proof that he doesn’t need Magnus anymore.

He knew this. He already knew this. He’s been getting ready for it. But having Raphael hug him and murmur words of comfort to him, seeing himself as the dependant, crying one- it’s really rubbing it in.

He doesn’t even know what to do with it, because he’s not about to pull away, to drive their distance, to put himself together. He can’t. He’s so distraught, and wild, and terrified, all he can do is grab him like a lifeline, and hope that it’ll take at least a little longer for him to go.

“You’re alright. You’re safe. That’s all that matters to me. Okay? Don’t apologize. Te quiero,” Raphael says, in that short, calm, but unbearably strong way only he knows how.

“Te quiero también,” Magnus answers immediately, through sobs, agitated and weak, and just as sincere. He wants Raphael to know. That he loves him. That it’s okay.

Raphael nods and hugs him tighter, and keeps saying it. Te quiero, te quiero, I love you, Magnus, te quiero, te quiero tanto. It makes Magnus sob harder, but it’s good, and he needs it, needs it like his strength and magic, needs it like he needed Raphael to barge in at that moment, desperate and unwavering, and make him safe, and bring him home.

He cries to Raphael’s words, and then falls asleep to them, and by the time he wakes up, startled to see neither of them had moved an inch, and is practically yanked back into the hug as soon as he tries to move, he starts to believe them, too.

*

It wasn’t long after that that Magnus took the High Warlock job.

They got a better name for it - High Warlock of Brooklyn. Less of a mouthful, more respectful, even if not as accurate. He carries it with pride, of his role, of his people, of the lives he’s saved, the people he’s helped. Slowly, he’s using the role to turn the city of New York into a safety net for warlocks, keeping them connected and tuned to help each other when needed. He has to, otherwise there was no way he’d be able to handle the amount of cases they get.

But he’s happy with what he’s been doing with it, with the way his influence has slowly started to gather warlocks closer together, connecting instead of hiding away from each other. He’s proud to be building a community based on mutual support and trust. He’s proud of the way people look up to him.

And yes, part of the reason he did it was because he thought Raphael was going to leave soon. He wanted to have something else to do so the loneliness couldn’t get to him. He wanted to help more people, since it was clear Raphael didn’t need him.

Even if Raphael took his sweet time to leave. It’s been almost a year since that happened, half of which was spent with Raphael all but glued to Magnus’ back, like he was scared that Magnus would be attacked again. Magnus had not-so-subtly started to train more in front of him, with dramatic and impressive bursts of magic and powerful punches and kicks. Raphael smiled in a way that told him that he knew what Magnus was doing, but otherwise took a long time to relax.

But he’s ready for it. He knows it won’t last long. Maybe Raphael is scared of leaving him alone, is looking for a better place to stay, is letting him adjust to this new role he’s taken. Maybe he feels indebted still - he wouldn’t be surprised if Raphael refused to leave because he wanted to “repay” Magnus first.

Magnus tries not to let that part sting. He knows that’s just how Raphael is, never believing he deserves care without giving anything in return; but a part of him keeps thinking, he wants to pay his debts so he won’t be tied to you anymore.

Anyway. He’s ready. He is. Even if he still feels like his home is only truly home once Raphael is back from the restaurant, even if he loves his late night talks with him, even if he’s the first person Magnus has opened up to in centuries, even if he has to hold himself from saying that’s my boy! whenever Raphael brings in some good news, even if he’s growing used to ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead in goodbye and even if he’s definitely way too attached, he’s been preparing himself for it, and he’s ready.

That’s what he tells himself.

But Magnus is a terrible, terrible liar.

"I suppose this is not another guilt-ridden outburst," Magnus says, calmly. Steadily. Still.

Raphael's smile is small, but real. "No," he says, ruffling his hair. "I've given it a lot of thought."

"Of course," Magnus answers, neutral as the diplomat he sometimes is. He pretends to be looking at something in his desk, even if it's completely cleaned out and he always magics what he needs into his hands, anyway. "I assume you have a place to stay?"

Raphael lifts his chin. "I'm joining the New York clan."

"That's…"

"I know," he sighs. "Camille's clan. I hate it as much as you do. But I can't… I can't let her get away, Magnus. For what she did to you. For what she's doing to other vampires. I've only met a few, and she makes them miserable," his fists clench and unclench almost subconsciously, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that Raphael holds himself so tight Magnus is scared he'll snap out of his own skin.

"You don't have to- avenge me-"

His voice sounds almost angry in distress, which is - not what he wants. He very rarely fails to keep his tone in check, especially when it comes to things like these. But Raphael doesn't seem to mind. He knows full well Magnus isn't angry at him. It hurts a little, how easily he can read him.

"I know that," he says with a little tilt of his head, like he's acknowledging all that's going on inside of Magnus in that moment. "But I don't want to watch her destroy so many mundanes' lives. I don't want to go to another city and be away from home. And I don't want you to have to deal with her presence everywhere. I don't want her to go unchallenged-" he takes a deep breath. "She's a monster, and I want to take her down. And I have a plan to."

Magnus doesn't know what to say. Raphael sounds resolute beyond words. And even if he feels guilty - for turning against Camille when she had helped him once, for letting Raphael go through her violence because of him - he can't find it in himself to tell Raphael not to.

He's seen what she's been doing to the other vampires. Even helped a few of them she had turned her back to. If anything, they deserved better - but Camille was good with political alliances, and she ruled them with a mix of painful isolation, favors, and fear, just like she did Magnus.

His stomach turns, and suddenly he doesn't want to think about that.

He doesn't have to, because Raphael keeps talking. “You don’t have to visit me, of course. I’ll come here. I won’t make you see her, I promise. I’ll try not to let her know about us, if she doesn’t already.”

Magnus’ nod is a little dumb. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t go see Raphael. He can’t make it known that they know each other. He has to stay away. He was expecting the distance to stretch slowly; he never thought it’d be like this.

“I understand,” is all he can think to say, soft and with just the smallest hint of the sadness that swirls inside of him. He swallows, and hopes that the motion puts a lid on his feelings. “When are you leaving?”

He doesn’t think the question sounds like an accusation. But Raphael still lunges forward and takes his hands in his. “I’m going to visit, Magnus, I promise. I’ll need it, too.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he replies, a little embarrassed. “Wouldn’t want you to be stuck with her nail polish claws all the time.”

Raphael smiles at him, a tiny thing that doesn’t quite land, just like Magnus’ joke. “I’ll miss you, Magnus. What you did for me… I can’t say how much it means to me.”

“It was nothing,” Magnus says, and it feels like it’s choked out, but the end result is so smooth he’s almost terrified at his own ability to hide it. “Just what anyone would do.”

“No. Most people would help me. You gave me,” he looks down at his own hands, fingers twisting a little around Magnus’, like they’re not quite sure what to do with themselves, “a home,” is what he settles with, “when I didn’t think I could ever have one again. I- this means a lot to me, Magnus. You mean a lot to me.”

“You too, dear,” Magnus answers, a little more firmly this time. “Te quiero.”

“Yeah,” Raphael says, sounding somewhat defeated, and Magnus tries not to think about what that means. “Te quiero también.”

“Well then. Let’s plan your moving,” Magnus says, already thinking about how he’s going to redecorate Raphael’s old room. He does that a lot, and he knows it; his things are too easily tainted with the presence of others. When he loses them, he can’t stand them anymore.

Raphael lets himself be led by Magnus’ automatic rambling, and even when they eventually settle on the couch and Magnus falls asleep on his shoulder, the distance between them feels wider than ever.

*

Magnus has always wanted to have a family.

Even from before he lost his mom. He wished his stepfather would raise him. He wished him and his mother didn’t have a purely contractual relationship. He wished he wasn’t going to leave within a year. He wished he didn’t scream at them both, or look at them with what could only be described as disgust in his eyes, or twist his nose when Magnus came back from his apprenticeship with the dukun. He wished he didn’t hate their food.

He wished his mom hadn’t died. He wished he could feel her hands again, washing his hair, the soothing smell of jasmine. He wished he could make her laugh one more time. Better yet, smile. That wide, soft, careless smile she pointed at him sometimes. He wished she would hold his hand as they walked to the port, feeling the cool breeze when it was day, shielding him from the cold wind when it was night. He wished he could hear her say it again, the this is my child that soon turned, as it was clear what his gender was, this is my son.

He wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t hated him.

It made him sick to the brim, like he could barely stand being inside himself, to think about it. His mother hated him. His stepfather yelled it at him as he tried to drown him. His father was so terrible Magnus couldn’t even wish that he was different - he just wished to get away, to run, to hide, anything. To not be him. To not be his family.

But he wanted family. He wanted the comfort of knowing there would always be a group of people who’d care for one another. A group he could belong to. A group he could love. He wanted to have a home, and he didn’t want to do it alone. He wanted to be soothed by the certainty of having others around, not terrified by it. He longed, and he looked for one in all the right and wrong places - Ragnor, Catarina, Camille, Freddie, lovers and friends alike. In Ragnor he found a quirky and caring uncle. In Catarina a close friend. In Camille, just enough to feed his hope. In Freddie - maybe the closest he’d ever gotten to companionship, even if tainted by both of their fears of opening up, and lost forever to his death. Raphael had been the one who felt the most like it.

He knew it was preposterous to even hope to be Raphael’s family. It was everything to him, too. And he had actually had it once. Magnus wouldn’t know where to start making one. He felt so helpless at his leaving, just like he did when his stepfather yelled at him, when his mom died, when his father brought him to Edom at the end of another day.

He wasn’t destined to have it. He wasn’t supposed to. He was rotten, and immortal. Broken and tainted by bad choices. He lost his chance.

He really wanted some whisky.

“All settled,” he said once there was no other way of stalling. Raphael wasn’t taking a lot, playing the role of a lonely vampire who’d just found out about the Shadow World. He wanted to look lost, so Camille would think he was easy prey. Magnus felt that this plan was mocking him, but he didn’t know why. “Take care.”

“You too,” Raphael answers, taking his weight from one leg to another like he can’t find a way to stand comfortably. Magnus sighs. Goodbyes are always painful for him, and awkward for the others. Sometimes he thinks he prefers it when people leave without doing it. But he supposes Raphael has had his fair share of disappearing suddenly. Besides, it’s not his style.

Still, Magnus doesn’t want to drag this out for him. Or for himself. He clasps his hands, seemingly satisfied with Raphael’s arrangements. “Well, good luck, then,” he says, lightly, like all the weight that drags him down was left at the bottom of his stomach, too deep to touch his words. “Take care. No, I’ve already said that. Well, then I suppose the pleasantries are already done. I’ll see you soon,” he says, purposefully vague, so it doesn’t feel like a promise, or a threat. He almost wants to turn away and slam the door behind him, redecorate the entire loft and then drink some tequila just for the burning irony of that. He doesn’t, though, because a part of him wants to see him leave, at least. He should be cheering him on. When a kid leaves their parents’ home, that’s freedom, right? It’s calls for pride and celebration.

Then again, it’s not like he’d know.

Raphael just stands in front of him. He’s stopped his - swinging, and is now looking at Magnus, something deep missing in his eyes like he’s not fully there. He’s unnervingly still, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that it sometimes feels like Raphael only has two modes when it comes to movement.

He never really managed to teach him how to use body language. It’d be pretty useful. Especially against Camille. Oh, fuck, Raphael was going to try and overthrow Camille. Magnus felt like his whole body was twisting. Was Raphael really ready for that? Magnus couldn’t even help.

His thoughts are forced to a halt when Raphael brings him into a hug, sudden and tight. Maybe a bit too tight, but at the moment, it’s exactly what Magnus needs, that grounding touch and pressure that feels like safety and calms his racing mind. Raphael is small, compared to Magnus, but he feels solid and precious in his arms, both shielding him and needing to be protected. It’s recharging, warm, like his magic when it envelops him after a long day.

It’s a long hug too, enough for Magnus to consider his options. He doesn’t want to put more pressure on Raphael. But Raphael is hugging him. And he feels like Raphael would like to know- deserves to know that he’s loved, that he’ll always have a home with Magnus. That he’s family to Magnus, even if Magnus isn’t to him.

So, when Raphael lets him go, Magnus takes a deep breath and says, “Te quiero.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, putting each hand on one of Magnus’ arms, like he needs him to stay still to absorb this information, “You’re like a father to me. You know that, right?”

Magnus just stares at him, in open shock, frozen like his whole body and magic has stopped still. Raphael isn’t looking at him, which is probably a good thing, because he looks like he’s battling with the words before they leave his lips.

“You’ve taken me in, and you… Understand me… And you trusted me when I couldn’t trust myself. This will always be my home, to me, as long as it is your home. I don’t want to leave, and I…” he lets out a deep sigh, like he gives up on the battle, and then switches back to spanish, where he sounds confident, strong, certain, “Te amo, Magnus.”

Te amo.

It’s like the world is bursting out of Magnus.

Te quiero means I love you, but te amo runs so much deeper than that. It’s the kind of deep, selfless caring where loving a person feels a natural part of yourself. It’s deep, and strong, and calm, all at once, and many people live without ever saying that to anyone who isn’t their spouse, or family.

It’s bigger than when he made Magnus his mom’s special recipe. It’s bigger than the hugs, and the tears, and the time that he saved his life. It’s solid, palpable, words as solid as a spell’s.

And Magnus bursts.

All but lunges at him, forcing him back into a hug that’s, if possible, even tighter than the previous one. It knocks the air out of his lungs with a sob, sudden and desperate and relieved, like he hasn’t been breathing before he allowed himself to let that fear go.

He’s crying, like a kid, suddenly and freely and honestly, and all words escape him, except for the ones he holds deeper in his heart.

“Anakku yang kuhargai,” he says, amazingly clearly considering how overwhelmed he feels, “aku sayang kau.”

My precious son, I love you so much. It’s Malay. Words of his past, of his history, of his making, from so long ago Magnus doesn’t even know if they’re still the same, but still the ones his heart speaks in, the ones that touch him deepest even when he hasn’t dared utter them in years.

Raphael doesn’t know what it means, of course. It’s so silly- but he doesn’t have to, because he understands it all the same. And he knows, because he gets it, just how much Magnus is sharing by saying this to him, like this, in tears, in Malay, in the language that has always been family and home to him.

Raphael doesn’t know, but he knows, because he hugs Magnus back just as tight, and tells him “it’s okay, it’s okay, we will always be family, Magnus, it’s okay.”

And god, Magnus thinks. It just might be.

[mrs-falcon]

Finally, I present you one of my main characters from my universe Shadows of the Real World - Raven. BASIC INFO: Full name: Raven Wintson - street girl - unheathly skinny (indigestion) - lives with Vincent who saved her life - really likes cosplaying (steampunk) - childish, good girl - permanently sad, but her acting skills make her look always happy Family: - father: Charles Wintson (Balinese x Short haired oriental cat) - mother: Sharon Wintson (Czech curly cat) - brother (oldest sibling): Jay - sister: Sparrow Gender: Female Age: 15 years (from the beginning of the written story) Height: 171 cm Species: Javanese cat (long haired oriental cat) Native language: British English Born country: Great Britain Formerly lived in: England, Austria Curently living in: USA Interests: Polytheism Special powers: Empath (feels others's emotions like her own) DETAILED HISTORY: Born into wealthy family Raven comes from a well known wealthy family of black oriental cats (especially from her grandpapa's side) in Great Britain. Many generations lived here until the day a new "trend" showed up - breeding and bringing up new species. By the time of Raven's gandpapa it was a hot topic - for that reason he arranged a wedding with Balinese cat (who moved into England from USA, not only because of the breeding but also because of her love for this country). But to the pair's bad luck their son was still a short haired oriental cat and a small hybrid. Even though their only son didn't have any signs of Javanesse cat, he was still bearing the typical features which inherited his youngest child - Raven. Raven's father, Charles, was very often told about pure blood and how the generation of black oriental cats in England is important to him, however Charles's parents never liked him. On a purpose he found a new wife for himself from a different breed - Sharon, a czech curly cat. The wealthy family had never run any businesses, so Charles came up with one - a fashion factory, "Wintson factory for modern age", were his wife helped him from the very beginning. When first child was born, Jay, Charles saw a perfect model in his son for his fashion factory. Jay worked in his father's factory for a long time until Jay's second sister was born. Jay was sick of that live - everything so perfect, always had to do as their father said. Jay simply didn't want to continue this empty life and didn't want his youngest sister to walk this way as well. Raven liked his brother and with time Jay spoiled her from little princess into gothic girl. Disappointing her parents As Raven grew, her features of Javanese cat were showing up. Her body was slim, eyes green like her grandfather's and tall figure. In few years Raven overgrown all of her family members, except Raven's grandpapa. Raven's grandparents truly loved her. "Look at this precious little girl! A beautiful pure Javanese cat!" Raven's father, Charles, could not stand this - seeing how his own parents preffer Raven over their own son. Charles grown cold inside and everytime he saw Raven, his anger and jealousy grew bigger. Raven's mother, Sharon, saw a perfect fashion model in her but Raven never enjoyed dresses and huge decorative hats. One day Charles decided to cut his relationships with his parents and with England and moved to the new start - his main reason was to separate Raven from her grandparents. That day Raven lost her grandparents and her beloved brother who left to start his own, new life. New country, new problems Charles and his family moved to Austria where his wife's, Sharon's, family helped them a bit. Meanwhile Charles was excited to start his business here, Raven was terrified. She knew Austria was just like Germany - ruled by Germand shepherds, dogs. "Don't worry, Raven. They love cats!" They hated cats - with the first time Raven entered new school, she got bullied by those german shepherds. They were chasing her just like a prey. Thanks to this, Raven was kept in her parents' house and was taught from her house. She was forbidden to leave the house. For another few years Raven spent locked like a rat in cage. Worst decision Charles's business was falling apart and luxury life was on a thin ice. Charles couldn't support all of his children and gave an offer to his second daughter - Sparrow. Sparrow always aspired to be a fashion model in her father's company but thanks to her wide figure, inherited after her mother, it wasn't possible. Charles suggested her a solution: "Either you take her far away from us and I'll let you become new model in my company, or your sister will take away all of  your fame and I won't help you with anything anymore." It was decided then. Sparrow bought fly tickets to America for Raven's birthday. Raven believed her sister and didn't find anything suspicious. However, on one public event Sparrow dissapeared. After few hours Raven went back to the hotel were her and Sparrow were accommodated. But to Raven's surprise, the staff stopped her and told her that Sparrow already left. "We saw her get in taxi which took her to airport." Raven spent her last money for taxi to take her to airport after her sister but it was too late. As Raven ran out, she saw her plane already take off. It was over. She was left alone. Life of a street rat Two month living on streets almost cost Raven's life. Autumn has begin and with growing hunger Raven was forced to enter the great city to find something to eat. To her bad luck, a local gang spotted her and tried to chased her out of "their region". However, Raven ran into dead end and the street rats taught her a lesson. Raven lost consciousness and didn't remember anything after that. Heros do exist After Raven woke up, she found herself somewhere in a metal building, where lived an older wolf. From the very beginning she feared him, but with time they got to know each other and she trusted him. As the time went, Raven built a new bond with her savior. She forgot her old family and accepted his new savior, Vincent, as her own father. Vincent was always there for her until the very end... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I hope the text is understandable This post/text describes Raven's detailed story, however, it's not all! There's so much more what will happen, but hopefully I'll tell you the story through writting or artworks :3 I hope you enjoy this, 'cuz it took so much time for me and I put a lot of effort into this... Vincent, you're next.

Artwork, Raven, story & SotRW (universe) © me

[drv123imagines]

hellooooo! can i get shuichi, gundham, taka, ryoma, celestia and miu with an s/o that loves cats, even "ugly" ones? if that's too many you don't have to do them all!

anon. you have saved my life you have no idea how much i love miu and celeste

Shuichi, Gundham, Taka, Ryoma, Celestia and Miu with an s/o who loves all cats

Shuichi:

he gets it, since he’s a cat lover too

you both have to resist picking up every stray cat you see, though

right now you two owned two cats, one that each of you had saved

you two visited a shelter every weekend to help out with the cats and help them find homes

you two have fostered cats before and it’s honestly one of your favorite things to do together

you two own a siamese and a russian blue!

Gundham:

he sees the cats that come up to you and compares them to his dark devas of destruction

he thinks that the cats are your servants from the underworld

there was a cat that refused to leave your side, so you ended up taking it in

he didn’t mind, and he loved to see the way your face lit up every time you met a new cat

he’d cuddle with the cat with you at home

you two own a norwegian forest cat!

Taka:

he was fine with you loving cats and visiting them at the shelter, but he was against the idea of owning a cat

at first

since they were unpredictable, destructive, and messy, he didn’t want a cat wreaking havoc

but after seeing how much you loved them, he finally said yes to a cat

he snuggles with the cat a lot when he thinks you aren’t watching

you two own a turkish angora!

Ryoma:

loves cats a lot

he was actually the one to suggest fostering cats

you did own one cat as well, and they would snuggle up to you two quite often

you two did pick up stray cats off the street, but you always made sure they got to a good home

even if you both wanted to keep them really badly

you two owned an egyptian mau!

Celeste:

she’s a cat lover in denial

you were the one who suggested you get a cat, she’s the one who picked it out

she won’t let the cat near the closer because she’s afraid cat hair will get on her stuff

she also has to stop you from adopting every cat you come across

one time you got a picture of her cuddling the cat in her sleep and you never let her live it down

you even printed multiple copies and hid them around the house

she still hasn’t found them all

you two own a ragdoll cat!

Miu:

when you first mention wanting a cat, she looks at you in bewilderment

“whaat?! why would you need to get a pvssy if you already have mi-“

you glared and she stopped talking

she had never really been fond of cats, seeing as they would get all over her workspace, but seeing how much you wanted one made her open to getting one

you ended up getting two

her only problem with them was that they tried to get between you two while you were trying to cuddle

you two own a bombay cat and a javanese cat!

okay so i know the prompt said just loving cats but i wanted to add in them adopting one bc,, Cats

thanks for requesting!! ~mod maki

[dhill202-blog]

10 Tips for a Better Travel Experience

Hitting the street once will change your life forever. Fact. You will become more flexible and thinking on your feet will become second nature. Confidence and self belief will blossom as you overcome the trials and tribulations engendered by life on the street, and you'll evolve. Interaction with other people, from all walks of life, will become a daily event. The people you meet and the situations you encounter, both good and bad, will gradually start to define you. Some days may be magic, others could be tough - but every day will leave its mark, and the cumulative impact is life altering.

Whether you travel for a month, a year, or ten years, you'll have an experience unlike any other. But pause for a moment and ask yourself: - is it better?

Here are ten ways to improve your travel experience.

Go Slow - You have quit your job or got time off work, flown half way round the world, and are now desperately excited to see firsthand all you have read and dreamed of. However, by racing though too many nations in a given time you may lose out on much more. Not only will you learn less about the places you've longed to see, but you'll tire quickly and become travel weary. A couple of nights in each place also spells out buses, boats or trains at least ever other day, and packing/unpacking will become a daily event. Tiring? I should coco.

With more time spent in fewer areas you will start to live in your new environment. The extra time in every place may encourage you to explore under your own steam instead of being shackled to a guidebook and its top ten tick off list. Worries about wasting time won't be a problem, leaving you free to go drifting and raising the chances uncovering a lesser known delight.

Have Faith - Be a bit more trusting. Everyone isn't out to steal your money, or cheat you. Traveling with this unhealthy mindset will cause someone to become detached, cynical, bitter, and a very bad ambassador for their country. Do not be dismissive or rude when approached - after all, it is wonderful to be nice.

Ok, sometimes an unsavory cookie can cross your path, but this can be taken care of upon consciousness; but, overall, those who approach you may fall into other categories: people like you and I wanting to earn a living (and assisting you with a service in the procedure ), and the ones which are either interested or favorable (or usually both!) Thus, let the guard down a bit and listen to people out. Judge situations on their unique merits and occasionally be a Yes Man, you can't know where it might lead.

Get Involved - Keep a look out for opportunities where you can make a difference. We learn so much from people we meet and places we see, but all too often its one way traffic. Get prepared to help others and attempt whenever possible to give back something. Perform to your skills and expertise, you might have something valuable to offer. 

Learn the Lingo - Even just the basics will lay the foundation for a better experience. 'Pleases' and'thank you's go a very long way, and, even if they're not delivered properly or understood, they show that you're willing to make the hard work and communicate a respect toward the people you meet. If nothing else it will raise a smile or two, and that is always a bonus. Furthermore, in the event you still need encouragement to acquire a phrase book, some of the local lingo can get you a better price for transportation, accommodation, and the little knick-knacks you can't pass up.

We attempt to taste all the regional delicacies, so why not sample all of the regional modes of transport, also? Ok, the railroad system might be the preferable method of travel for any particular state, but find out for yourself . Moreover, even if the bus station is in walking distance from the accommodation, throw financial caution to the end at least one time by splashing out 50 cents for For the ones which are still worried about value for money, I say sit at the front bucket of a Vietnamese Cyclo and get taken across a busy Saigon intersection - for the purchase price of one beer you'll have a vision etched in your mind for all eternity. Then, for the hardcore thrill seekers amongst you, invite your Cyclo Jockey to sit at the chair of death as you peddle him across the intersection...

Adopt the Weird and Wonderful - Do not miss a chance to try something a little out of the ordinary, be it fresh food, local traditions, children's games, or anything else of barbarous tobacco from Javanese street sellers. Get in the swing of it and make somebody's day.

Stay Alert - Little can ruin a trip and taint your view of a nation and its populous more than being careless with your possessions and learning the hard way. Opportunist theft is a simple fact of life, but you can reduce the danger by staying aware of your surroundings and possessions rather than playing to the minority's control.

Be a 1 Bag Wonder - Travel light, travel joyful. Decrease your possessions and life will become so much easier. Firstly, it makes the mechanics of getting from A to B simpler and less stressful. Easier because it is less fat to be humping around involving transportation and accommodation and less size and weight to be swinging around inside the limits of a densely populated bus. It becomes less stressful since the smaller your bag is, the less probable it is you will be separated from it during journeys- and, judging everyone by my pitifully. Additionally, it is more likely you'll be allowed on an already packed bus out for those who have less luggage. This doesn't ring true in Guatemala however, because you can always fit one more person on the bus, however full it is.

Walk the Path Less Trodden - Now that you've got extra time on your hands in each destination, why not explore a bit? Getting off the beaten path doesn't have to mean single handedly paddling a handmade dugout canoe 500 miles through the Amazonian Basin, it might be something as straightforward as forsaking the guidebook recommends for the day and rather scrounging a map or fliers and opting for an aimless wander in a new town. Some of my greatest discoveries have resulted from doing just this.

Terrific sources of info include Tourist Information Offices (though, where available, they vary tremendously in quality), What's On guides, local papers, handouts, fliers, and, of course, fellow travelers, to mention but a few. Spending less time at the well known and'popular' hangouts will also do your budget a huge favor, too.

Keep a Journal - Writing reams of pulp is not for everybody, but it does not have to be like that. A journal can mean many different things to different individuals. It could be a complete scale daily diary or only a kid's notebook from the marketplace where you place labels from local beer bottles (maybe with drunken scribbling below) - the option is yours. For the geeks among us (me included) there is the choice to travel site, and for the idle geeks among us (again, me included) it is even easier to cut and paste excerpts from emails home to family and friends and keep those as your diary.

Whatever form your personal creation may take, the final result is identical. 

Freelance travel writer and fanatical backpacker Nathan Richards desires nothing more than to inspire and encourage other people to satisfy their wanderlust.

Eclectic and Exquisite Gay Travel Experience

Your work has been preventing you from seeing new terrific things out of your comfort zone. You've been working so hard that you tend to forget there are more to life than your job. Why don't you take some of your time to pull yourself from a thousand paper functions and maintain an adventure you'd treasure in a life? Why not put aside little by little some money for a holiday that will teach you exactly what your job can never endow you with? Why not book yourself for a gay vacation and encounter what's meant by life?

Gay travels have been the cure for tired and weary spirits that wander from the corners of shallow fantasies. These journeys with your fellow beings will certainly open an opportunity for you to look into yourself and find greater things concerning you. Through these exquisite homosexual holidays, you'll be privileged to belong to a community of loving and accepting individuals composed of men, women, lesbians and gay. Not just you'll be communing with nature, you will basically be joining with yourself that you've missed during your hours and hours of tedious work.

Dwelling on some diverse gay travels will bring you into a world of discovery. Some packages will provide you with the opportunity to be showing the presents inside you and using these presents for the benefit of the planet as a whole. What use it is to be true to yourself and the world is instructing you in every manner of not to be ashamed of who you are.

Other offers for homosexual travels include an enlightening about your erotic potentials. Through some enticing team activities, you'll have the ability to spot your sensual facets and nurture them for sexy travel experience. This sort of involvement work your way to your ultimate sexual liberty and unblock sexual inhibitions and doubts. By means of breath, body and hand motion and the soothing magic of audio you will eventually get a real feel of sexual satisfaction. These gay travel experiences on sexual accomplishment and realization are lively and enjoyable to your erotic improvement.

Take more than an isolated island off a exceptional shore or indulge in sensual play activities as you travel your way to revival and rejuvenation of the self. Gay travel experiences are specially made for couples abound who'd want to spend romantic evenings in their communion with love, peace, serenity and dedication. Gay vacations help you explore the hidden and breathtaking views of nature as well as yourself.

At each end of fulfilling gay vacations is a brand new you.... virtually more intelligent emotionally and mentally. The revival of your missing self drained through hard work is invaluable benefit from a journey with your loved one. A week-long time out in the complications of life is a unique opportunity for you to renew your vow for the betterment of yourself and for s more powerful relationship with your spouse. So what are you waiting for? Get booked and travel your way to transformation!

[mikauzoran]

(Prompt Thirty-Three: An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.)

“Are you having a bad day?” Luka tentatively inquired in the middle of a conversation about Javanese gamelan music.

Adrien pulled the phone away from his ear and blinked down at it in surprise for a moment. “H-How can you tell?”

Luka shrugged. “Just…little blips here and there. Nuances to your voice. You’re trying too hard to be chipper. It’s like you’re forcing it. Your laugh is a split second later than usual. It’s like you’ve got something on your mind. Little things that add up.”

Adrien slumped back, letting himself fall onto his bed.

“Sorry,” Luka hastily added. “You probably called me to distract you…. Do you want to come over and watch Disney movies? …I’ll sing along with you too, if you want.”

“You’re my favourite person,” Adrien sniffled softly, deeply touched by the offer. “Be there in six.”

Curled up in Luka’s bed, three Disney movies later (Mulan, Little Mermaid, Wreck It Ralph), Adrien had almost forgotten he’d been upset in the first place, but then as the credits began to roll, Luka asked, “Feeling better?”, and Adrien remembered the events of earlier that day.

“Yes. Much, much better,” Adrien mumbled, snuggling even closer. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Luka assured. “I will sing along to Disney movies with you whenever you need me to.”

“You really are my favourite person,” Adrien mumbled into Luka’s neck.

Luka bit his lip, hesitating. “…Do you want to talk about it, or is it better if you just focus on something else? I mean, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know, but…” Luka let the sentence hang in the air between them, letting Adrien fill the silence at his leisure.

Adrien frowned, pressing his body more firmly to Luka’s side as if hoping to hide from his troubles in Luka’s arms.

“…Ladybug,” he finally whispered.

Luka sighed, tipping his head to plant a quick kiss on Adrien’s forehead. “My poor baby,” he cooed. “What did she do to you this time?”

Adrien shook his head halfheartedly. “Just…the usual. It’s my own fault. I should stop getting my hopes up every time she hugs me or squeezes my arm or confides in me or relies on me for anything. I should…stop. Stop asking. Stop trying. Stop thinking that maybe one day she’ll think I’m anything more than a lame, goof-off sidekick.”

“Adrien, she doesn’t think any of those things about you,” Luka reprimanded softly yet firmly. “She respects you and values you as a partner and friend. I know you’re upset and that’s why you’re saying these things, but you shouldn’t cheapen her feelings for you just because they’re not romantic in nature.”

Adrien groaned miserably. “I know. You’re right. I just…ugh. I just want her to like me. I want her to think I’m wonderful so bad, and it hurts to keep getting smacked down right when I start to think I have a chance.”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, nuzzling Adrien’s hair. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Adrien tensed, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. “…You do?”

“Mmhm.”

Adrien gulped. “…Marinette?”

Luka gave a snort that was half amusement, half exasperation. “That was a couple years ago. I’m kind of over it.”

“Oh.” Some of the rigidity left Adrien’s body.

“Listen.” Luka spoke softly but resolutely into Adrien’s ear. “I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you, but I think you’re wonderful, Adrien Agreste. For what it’s worth, I see how special you are.”

Adrien held Luka closer, face burrowing into Luka’s neck. “Thanks. It does mean something to me. I admire you a lot. I do care what you think of me, but…I mean, it’s not like you’re lining up to date me either, so…” Adrien shook his head, and it had the same effect as a nuzzle, they were so close.

Luka took a deep breath, gave Adrien a squeeze, and replied, “What if I were?”

Adrien pulled back to look Luka in the face. “W-What?”

Luka licked his lips, continuing nervously. “I like you. Really like you. I have for quite some time…. Will you go out with me?”

Adrien blinked stupidly, lips opening and closing, unable to form words to convey everything he was feeling.

“Sorry,” Luka sighed. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward. I shouldn’t have said anything when you’re already having a bad day. I just—”

Adrien cut him off with a kiss. Clumsy and unpracticed but enthusiastic and crystal clear in intent.

At first, Luka was too shocked to respond, but after a few seconds when he had determined that, yes, the guy he’d been pining after for years was finally kissing him, it all clicked, and he happily joined in.

They pulled away several minutes later, all smiles.

“In case you didn’t get it,” Adrien giggled, “that meant, ‘yes. I’ve really liked you for a long time too’.”

“It’s nice to know I wasn’t imagining it,” Luka chuckled, giving Adrien’s hair another nuzzle.