#Prompt Ask

[thepenultimateword]

Hello. How about writing about a possessed vampire with his new victim. Thanks.

Sorry it took me longer than expected to write this prompt! I hope this ok! I tried to include some of the details that you mentioned over message!

Vampire gripped the rosary tighter, fingering each bead with an almost hollow, automatic desperation. The little wooden cross at the end burned into his clavicle, but the sweet scent of blood was stronger than the pain.

The woman shone her phone flashlight around the dark room. Vampire wasn't sure what had brought her here to this old building, but she'd been easy enough to track. And even as she paid careful attention to each corner and crevice, she didn't seem to notice his presence. She hadn't noticed him at the station either. Or the store.

Eat. Eat. Eat.

It wasn't so much a voice as a feeling. An overpowering, all-encompassing instinct, so strong he could almost taste it. It tasted like darkness.

It used to be easier to resist the bloodlust. Not perfectly, but...better. But ever since the shadows came into his head, heavy and hungry and pressuring, resisting his predator nature was a losing battle. He clutched the rosary tighter even as he crept toward his newest victim. What was the point in pretending? He'd followed her all the way here. No matter the regrets, no matter the resistance, he'd always known he wasn't letting her go.

He let the floorboards creak under his weight as he stepped into the open. It seemed fairer when they knew he was coming. They could at least believe they had a fighting chance. Even if they actually didn't.

The woman whirled around with the scared quickness of all prey, but as they locked gazes, he wondered if maybe...just maybe...she'd known he was there all along.

[tigereyes45]

Going through some writer's block so feel free to send in some Star Trek Prompts.

I've seen all of

TOS,

AOS,

and Lower Decks.

EDIT:

DS9 (finished it yesterday!)

Voyager (I'm in the middle of season 2)

I'm two episodes into Enterprise. So try to keep the prompts restricted to the shows I've seen. (Perferably not Enterprise unless you're willing to wait a long while for it haha.)

I'll write for most ships, but you don't have to send in a ship prompt. Just feel free to send in whatever ya want. Hoping something pulls me out of this rut.

I'll be accepting new prompts for as long as this is pinned to the top of my blog. Feel free to send in as many as you want. I wanna be buried in them like Kirk was buried in tribbles. (Something has to ignite the creative side of my brain, right?)

[kitweewoos]

"D... did you just make that noise?" + Kinkley

make a noise

Summary:

Tommy laughs, and Evan reassures him.

[augustwritingchallenge]

Does Retail AU refer to any sort of store or only specific types? Or am I completely off base? Thank you, haha!

It can be any type of store - groceries, hobby, crafts, etc. A retail worker can be a shop assistant, a cashier, or the person who restocks the shelves. It is usually a very frustrating job, like any other jobs where you have to deal with people in all kinds of moods. 😅

[tealcicada]

Would megatron be interested in trying to make the repair crew defect?

I mean,they're repair crew that have wasted talent,would be a shame not to use them to his own advantage somehow,since clearly the autobots don't really care about them,they're literally considered dead in the bots database-

Democracy and Government at it's finest am I right

Exactly my thoughts. Megs is going to be like, if I can't kill them at least I can use them as bargaining chips and maybe do a prisoner swap but then finds out that autobot high command couldn't give less shits about a measly repair crew and doesn't negotiate. Megatron's perplexed now cause these bots put up one hell of a fight for a repair crew so he starts demanding their assistance on his own space bridge projects (like when bulkhead and isaac had too in the show)

Megs is completely at a loss when he finds out how much of intellect on space bridges Bulk head has

Rachet can't let it go when he finds out the decepticon's dont have a properly trained medic so he starts taking that over

Bumblebee and prowl are the first to get over the revaluation of who Sari is and go back to being big brothers to her.

Op is forlorn at first when he's told that autobot high command didn't even want to negotiate their rescue and distracts himself by working on the space bridge and leading his team through the obstacles of being involuntary contract workers to the Decepticons. Megatron gets impressed by his ability as a leader and does start to treat them more as non aligned civilians than the enemy. The autobots also see how good of a family the Decepticons are to Sari and she shares the history that she was taught (that was censored on cybertron) and everyone just learns to respect and appreciate the struggles of one another until they all become one big happy mixed family that is able to overthrow autobot high command together.

[depressed-sock]

Hi im stressing the fuck out so in order to distract myself im offering to do 100 word drabbles. Just send in a character and a word from any of the tagged things.

Examples:

[Commander Fox and Scars]

[Drifter and Longing]

[Liara T'sonia and Sunset]

[jen-with-a-pen]

Alice idk what the FUCK kinda drugs you smuggled into this simple, singular ask, but goddamnit it made me sprint to my docs and start writing for the first time in God knows when. I literally have created an au in a matter of hours of seeing this. Fuck you and thank you🫣😋😈

[this is currently an untitled au and a WIP]

Photographer!Dark!Bucky Barnes x RunwayFashionModel!Reader

The overhead spotlights drop the second the showrunner points to the cameras, who, in turn, point to you. Big white bounce cards blind your peripherals and the sound of murmurs throughout the studio, executives and assistants alike, work their way into your ears. The voices swirl into one drone of static and the lights start getting brighter and brighter. Your grip on the arms of the chair grows tighter. Manicured fingernails threaten to dig into the upholstery, the gaudy necklace resting on your chest beginning to brand into your skin. The makeup caked onto your flesh feels like it’s melting, taking your dermis with it.

You can't tear your eyes away from behind the host's head, staring off into space and trying not to focus on the bile beginning to bubble in your pitted stomach.

You knew you should've eaten something.

As the host waits for her after-ad-break cue, shuffling her question cards and sipping coffee from her custom show-branded cup, you feel restless. Legs bouncing out of sync, begging to get up, to run off set and out onto the bustling streets below and never look back. Maybe a bus or cab will make it end, make it stop. You were never cut out for this, never supposed to be here.

"Bunny."

You gasp, your trance broken as the deep bass sounding out your nickname cuts through the noise. It's like oxygen for you. He is oxygen for you. You can’t escape him willingly- he’ll only find a way to be there. To always be there.

You whip your head around to face the herd of people and producers staring at you. Out of all of them, through the blinding lights, you meet his gaze. All six feet four inches, built-like-a-god, broad shoulders of him. His eyes shine like sea glass behind the camera operator, baby blue and looking only at you. For that moment, you are the only one he sees. His target. His. You are the only one he can touch, who he can feel, halfway across the room.

The pit only grows larger, filling your hunger with nausea. You'd bet all the money in the world he schmoozed some P.A. just to make sure he was there to see you. To surveil you.

You wish you were playing in traffic.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Love prompt #18 (why can't you just accept my help?), Harry time travels back to when Tom is in his early Hogwarts days before he discovers his identity and is having a hard time.

thank you for giving me a prompt! this was fun, and it got longer than i intended. honestly, it could be even longer 🤦 but i decided to cut it off. i hope you like it, anon! and if anyone else wants to send a prompt, please feel free. you can make your own or pick from here.

-

“Up late again, Riddle?”

Tom didn’t easily startle. He supposed it came from growing up in an orphanage where the walls were thin, and there was no such thing as privacy. With no locks on the door and no way to stop whoever from entering whenever they wanted. So when Harry Potter had entered the common room in the dead of night and hovered by the alcove to the dormitory stairs, watching and contemplating whether or not he would say something, Tom had known immediately. 

He had felt those green eyes staring like a cool rain on the back of his neck. Something about them was profoundly unnatural, especially now in the dying light of the fireplace, the sparse candle-lit lanterns, and the single stick Tom had beside him for reading. 

Tom expected their world-weary sombre during these times of war, but there was something greater to their depths. Much like the Black Lakes’ green-tinged water from the window on the far side of the common room, hinting at what could be beneath the surface but so vast that once one tried to see past the few tens or so metres in front of them, they only found deep inscrutable darkness. 

Tom turned away from Potter’s never-ending green and continued to read through the never-ending book before him. Picking a poison, his thoughts supplied unhelpfully. “No, Potter. I am obviously a figment of your imagination.” Tom felt Potter’s careful approaching steps pause and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, “It’s rather revealing that you think of me enough to consider that a possibility.”

Potter huffed, his steps louder with his ire towards Tom, “I don’t think about you, Riddle.”

“Then why are you here?” And though Tom asked it with an air of indifference, he was curious. 

Potter was odd. He arrived at the start of the year with little to no fanfare: an introduction, a pat on the back, and a timetable of classes. He blended in with the Slytherins and was welcomed with passing intrigue; after all, a mysterious Potter child appearing out of the woodwork so late in his magical education was something to pitter about. However, his confidently revealed halfblood status hadn’t earned him any favours or lasting interest.

And with his odd attachment to Tom, of all people, Slytherin House’s poor little orphan mudblood—Tom’s jaw clenched at the thought—Potter indeed hadn’t remained coveted company. 

Potter fell into the seat across from Tom, a low-backed inky-black tufted velvet armchair, and shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. When I got up to wash my face, you weren’t in bed. I thought-“ Potter’s mouth moved in odd shapes like he was making words but couldn’t produce their sounds. Eventually, he gave up with another smaller shrug.

Tom’s gracious mood was steadily declining. He wasn’t Potter’s pity project. He didn’t need a minder. “Potter, your misplaced feelings of concern or whatever odd obsession you have with trying to be my friend are unnecessary and unappreciated.”

It had only been once during Potter’s time here—but clearly the boy was holding onto it much longer than Tom—that Tom had an…unfortunate after-hour run-in with some of the older Slytherins. He had given as good as he got and begrudgingly acknowledged that Potter’s spontaneous arrival and subsequent assistance had been a significant factor in Tom’s more-than-minor but less-than-major injuries. 

It didn’t mean he had to be grateful to Potter or anything. He certainly wasn’t grateful Potter had seen him so battered and weak. So stupidly helpless.

It hadn’t helped that after the incident, Potter, who had mainly been avoiding everyone and especially Tom, had become his unrelenting shadow. And given Tom’s vicious nature and Potter’s clear competency in Defense, they had only become further ostracised in their House. Though, somewhat pleasingly, the avoidance seemed more out of fear than disgust.

Potter frowned, “I don’t get your problem, Riddle. What’s the big deal? Is it so bad that I like hanging out with you?”

Hanging out? More like hanging around, Tom sighed. “You don’t like ‘hanging out’ with me. And the ‘big deal’ is you clearly have some sort of saviour complex. You aren’t interested in who I am or what I’m doing,” and Tom rathered Potter to stay that way, “you’re just latching on to someone you think is hapless. Making yourself feel better about your own life and situation by ‘helping’ me.”

Tom glanced up from his text, Potter’s face was comically agape in horror. He continued, “I’ve seen you talking with that Hufflepuff half-giant. It’s the same for him. You like outcasts because you know that with your own halfblood status in the Wizarding World, you’ll never truly be accepted even though you’ll get much farther and have greater opportunities readily available than any of us. You enjoy that sparkly look he has in his eyes when you talk to him, and you want me to treat you with the same sort of awe and admiration for daring to stand by my side and associate with someone so far ‘below’ you.”

Tom’s chin held high throughout his little speech. Confident in his deduction of Potter’s inner thoughts and machinations. But then Potter started laughing.

And laughing. And laughing.

He laughed so long and hard that Tom feared someone would come and find them. Students hating him was one thing, but Tom had nearly every professor eating out of the palm of his hand and would like to keep things that way. He hissed, “Potter will you cease your incessant laughter.”

It took several more moments and several large, inhaled breaths before Potter could manage to pull himself together. And when he did, it was simply to shake his head and say, “Riddle. For someone so arrestingly smart, you are an idiot.”

Tom was struck speechless. He’d never been called an idiot before. And never by a person barely passing something as simple as Divination, of all things. 

“Why can’t you just accept my help?” Potter asked after a small beat of silence. “I’m probably the only person around you that doesn’t have shitty intentions. And I am interested in you and what you’re doing.” He stood up from the chair to pick up one of the other tomes Tom had scattered on the table before him. “I know you’re trying really hard to learn more about yourself. That you think you aren’t just a muggleborn. I believe you.”

Tom blinked once, blank-faced. Potter believed him?

Potter flipped quickly through the pages of the genealogy book Tom had discarded as useless, with no trace of the name Riddle anywhere. He stopped suddenly and turned the book towards Tom, holding it open on his lap, the spine of the book against his stomach, “You talk to the snake carvings, and sometimes the portraits with snakes scattered around the dungeons and some of the upper floors when you think no one is looking. I’m looking.” Potter points to a single name: Marvolo Gaunt. “Parseltongue is a Slytherin trait. Extremely rare in England. Only one family left alive is known to speak it.”

Tom’s eyes, which had been staring at the name in shock and wonder and elation and confusion, found Potter’s again and saw no expectation. No mischief, ridicule, or pride in showing Tom the errors of his desperate searching. Tom saw no building exchange, no intelligent, craftily prepared trade for Potter’s revealing of Tom’s most sought-after answer. 

Tom simply saw hope. He saw Potter’s open and encouraging face. He saw Potter’s desire for Tom’s happiness—not his appreciation or gratitude. 

At the realisation, something warm and coiling had settled in the centre of Tom’s chest. And suddenly, those fathomless green eyes were the clearest shards of sea glass, exposing the wonders of wreckages and treasures and the unexplored if Tom would only dive in. 

[pizza-rina]

RAHHHHHHH I LOVE MOICY SM GIVE MY PROMPS NOWWWWWWWWW

[bearlytolerant]

hi bear!! i saw that writing prompts meme you reblogged, so: 4 for the Arisen and Phaesus? :D

Hello! Ah, thank you so much! ☺️

4. I still remember the feel of you under my palms; every curve, every line 

Wake

She does not cross his mind.

Not for days. For weeks. Months.

He is not counting.

Close to his goals and he can almost touch his fingers to this world and spin it off its axis. The idea thrills him. Though it is late and he must sleep, he walks the shore of the Olta’Battahl Coastline, hoping the waves will quiet his mind. The morrow will be the day of change and tonight he will quietly celebrate with the hushed clapping of the waves.

Twilight horizon, amethyst locks, a sharp intake of breath and he halts. Heels digging into the shifting silt of the pebbled beach, he knows that silhouette standing stoically at the shore. Knows the arch of the back in front of him and the tattoos he’s traced with his fingers countless times. The curves of those hips that his hands have held, squeezed. Lips have kissed. Those shoulders that his palms have cupped while he smooths them up the soft skin of her neck, pulling her close as he whispered words that he told himself were lies; manipulations. But now he beholds this half of her in whole memories, and knows in his heart that the only lies told were the ones to himself.

The urge to experience her, rediscovering every inch of her body swells in his chest but his feet remain planted. Heart pounding, frozen in a wave of indecision, he wonders where her pawns are. Why she is alone. Why she is here, near the shore at all.

She bends, removing her sandals one at a time and tosses them far out into the water. The brine’s now shadowed tendril’s lash out, splashing and swallowing her boots and he imagines what little clothes she wears must be soaked now. Unbothered, she steps out past the shoreline, her ankles deep in water and desire is replaced with panic.

Boots slipping in the rocks, his feet feel caught in slowed time. He stumbles and slides, jaw agape with horror as she sinks into the grasp of the brine without a single cry from help passing from her lips. A crumbling to his knees, palms now bloodied with the sharp, jagged edges of stone in his skin and he reaches for her with shaking hands.

“Gwyn,” he whispers against the cacophony of the insatiable brine tendrils that have now swallowed her up.

Crawling to the edge of the shore just as the splashing settles, he falls prostrate, curling his fingers around the soaked pebbles, burning his wounds with silt and salt. There is a hollowness in his heart where maybe relief or tears or something should be. But then the brine stirs, shifting with a subtle scarlet glow and she reappears next to him, soaked, and eyes closed in peace.

He scrambles, hands closing over her body, pressing against her cheeks. “You must wake,” he tells her fervently, though without her, his goals would be easier to achieve. But he’s never expected ease.

Her hand finds his and squeezes, lips pulling into a slow, soft smile. “Phaesus,” she says, hushed like the waves lapping at the shore. “I have missed you.” She kisses his palm. The inside of his wrist.

Closing his eyes, he clenches his jaw to dam the emotions that threaten to flood him. Of course this world would not let her go so easily. The only redeemable quality about it.

[super-weed-ninja]

for a ficlet or doodle prompt, leo and mikey getting up to shenanigans?

Hi! I really appreciate your patience on this one! The writing demon took some time getting back to me. Enjoy some shenaniganery <3

Michelangelo stepped from one foot to the other and back again as he rubbed his sleeves together.  His brother pulled the bottom of the zipper together for him, patiently reaching around his arms to zip the jacket closed.  Leonardo then pulled the hood low over Michelangelo's head until it covered his eyes.  Michelangelo giggled, blindly reaching out to retaliate with the soft hood of Leonardo's denim jacket.  He was shushed gently, and both boys crept to the front door of the apartment, all smiles between them.

They had woken up before everyone else and already watched some cartoons and played with their toys.  What, in reality had been just over an hour of compelled quiet time, to the two early risers felt like eons of waiting.  Leonardo was bored, and Michelangelo's stomach had started growling.

It was Michelangelo's idea that they go to the little bodega down the street. He mimicked the motions of the inattentive clerk, nose in the newspaper and one eye on the tiny box tv next to the register. April had taken them a few times, and while she always handled the transaction, the man had never spared them a look, so Leonardo happily agreed to the excursion.  Besides, they were both starving.

By the time Michelangelo's stomach grumbled a third time, he had dragged Leonardo over to the closet and started pulling their coats out. Leonardo made sure they were well prepared for the trip.  He didn't think to hesitate for very long.  They all knew the way to the store, and Leonardo had watched his brothers outside before, so this adventure seemed perfectly reasonable.  Just a few nights ago April had commented on how grown up he was!

"Remember the rules?" He asked. They shuffled down the stairs to the building's exit together.  Michelangelo rubbed his sleeve back and forth against the side of his coat in little swipes.  The sound was grating to Leonardo's ears, but he talked over it.

"We gotta stay covered up so humans don't see us," he began, the most important rule.  Michelangelo pulled on the drawstrings of his hood; he remembered that one.  They pushed open the glass door together and stepped out onto the cool concrete, and Leonardo realized they forgot shoes.  Michelangelo was already plodding down the sidewalk towards the convenience store.  At least the pants he'd chosen were a little too long for them.  Leonardo caught up with his brother and took his hand.

"Make sure we stay together now," Leonardo instructed.  "Like Splinter said!"

Michelangelo made a face at him and he responded by sticking out his tongue.  "April said I did a good job being leader last time we went to the store, so you should listen to me-WHOA!"

Michelangelo gripped Leonardo's hand, stopping him in his tracks before he walked right into traffic.  Leonardo grimaced and back-peddled.

"Whoops!" he squeaked, and Michelangelo elbowed him lightly.  Leonardo pushed him back, keeping hold of his hand.  "Ok, good job remembering to look both ways!"

~~~~

"Ya can't have all that," said the store clerk.

Michelangelo shook his fists over his head. One hand held several bags of chips, and the other held bags of different kinds of candy.  Leonardo stood on his toes next to him, careful not to poke his beak too far out from under his hood.  The man had his nose in the paper and hadn't even looked up at them.

"I forgot about money," he frowned at Michelangelo. "April always does it."

Leonardo looked up at the clerk.  "Uhm, could we take the chips and come back with money?" he asked.

"You come back with money, and then you get the snacks.  This ain't no charity."

The man hadn't started reading the morning paper yet, but had still paid them little mind since they entered the bodega. Leonardo opened his mouth to plead again, and caught the man's eye moving to look past his overgrown eyebrows at them. He tugged on his brothers sweater until Michelangelo took a step back, pouting.

"Come on," Leonardo said, carefully adjusting his hood and turning Michelangelo around.  "Let's go back and ask April. We can wait a lil longer."

Michelangelo whined and dropped his arms at last, handing over the many bags of treats he'd picked out.  Leonardo placed them on the countertop, ducking his head slightly.  The man watched uncharacteristically closely until the boys turned to leave again.

"There's usually more a' you inn't there?" He gruffed.

"Yes," Leonardo answered. "Our brothers and April."

The man beckoned them back with a finger, then sighed when they hesitated.

He pointed at the pile of snacks, then held up a finger.  "One each," he said. "For you an' the other two. Make sure next time ya bring enough to pay it back!"

Leonardo and Michelangelo blinked at each other once, then twice, then grinned.

"Thank you!" Leonardo chirped, quickly picking two of the treats for Donatello and himself, while Michelangelo picked Raphael's and his own.  They dashed from the store giggling to themselves and feeling light as air.

Leonardo found it easy to keep track of directions, and nudged Michelangelo the correct way home.  The smaller turtle insisted though, pointing out a cat that was snoozing on a chair outside the shop a few doors down in the opposite direction.  Curiosity piqued, the brothers crept up to it.  They'd seen Splinter shoo away cats that wandered the sewers like them, searching for scraps and a safe corner to sleep.  Never had they been close enough to touch one.

Eyes blown wide and shining with excitement, Michelangelo reached out first, carefully stroking the top of the orange kitty's head with one finger. His delighted squeal stirred the creature, who blinked lazily up at them, and brought Leonardo to giggles as well. The cat, apparently used to the attention, allowed them to pet and scritch his ears, until an anxious voice exclaimed behind them, startling him.

"Leonardo! Michelangelo!"

While the cat darted into the shop, the boys turned to see April jogging up to them, frazzled and looking less put together than she normally did before going out. As she reached them, she took their hands and ducked over them, guiding the pair away from the storefronts and muttering about them leaving without saying anything. Recognizing her concern, the boys pulled their hoods low over their heads again, still smiling at each other as April led them back to her apartment.

[woofgang69]

for reverse trope: Divorce of convenience + gofushi, pretty please!

this was so fun to think about!!! it is short but i wrote it in a couple of hours 😂 thank you so much for this!

[myth-blossom]

hey myth! for the “only one bed drabble” how about #3, “Person A waking up to Person B curled up and sleeping on top of them” but 47 is person B 👀

Hi! Thank you for the prompt ask 😊 I wrote lil morning reflection fluff for Diana featuring sleepy 47. Enjoy! ❤️

———

Diana slowly came to as the early rays of sunrise lit the room. She tried her best to stay awake through the night and greet 47 upon his return, but it seemed exhaustion had staked its claim. She opened her eyes to see her lover on top of her, his arms wrapped around her in a sweet embrace as he slumbered soundly. 

“Welcome home, love,” she whispered.

She wrapped her arms around him in return and noticed the water droplets trailing down his warm back. He hasn’t been home long, she concluded. The book that failed to keep her attention had been carefully placed on the nightstand along with her reading glasses before he slipped under the covers and snuggled against her. She smiled at the peaceful expression on his face as he slept, a sight that she was still getting used to and would never tire of.

What a difference a year makes, she thought wistfully.

Her year as Constant was filled with lonely evenings and cold mornings that made her dread going to sleep each night. But once she reunited with 47, everything changed. There was no hesitation to accept his invitation to move in together, to build a home that was truly theirs for a future that was solely theirs. She looked forward to their nights spent together, of falling asleep in his arms and finding themselves comfortably entangled at morning’s light. She loved waking to his head resting on her chest, her heartbeat softly orchestrating his dreams.

Diana trailed her fingers along his broad shoulders and the toned muscles defining his back. Normally, he would stir at the gentle contact, but she knew he was too exhausted to notice. “I never sleep better than when I’m with you,” he told her once. After five days spent apart from her, she knew he truly needed to rest, and she was more than happy to oblige him with comfort. She caressed his cheek and softly kissed his brow, letting herself enjoy the view a moment longer before joining him again in sleep.

[augustwritingchallenge]

Hey, sorry for the question, really excited in participating, the prompt list is fiirree, but I was just wondering, how would you define a found footage au? I honestly have no idea what is it lol

Have a good day and take care🌻🌻🌻

Originally, it is a kind of horror, but the AU-gust Discord server has already found many new meanings for it. XD The way it was intended to be, found footage is horror Outlast-style. In outlast, you use your camera to see. If someone found the camera and watched the footage, they'd be pretty chilled. That is found footage horror. Often it's formatted as a documentary, a bunch of kids going ghost hunting or someone video-blogging as they are being chased by something dangerous.

If you want to take it in a different direction, you can go steamy (pornographic footage), fluffy (a surprise, hidden message from a loved one), or sad (a previously undiscovered video of someone who has recently passed). Or you can make your own definition! AU-gust is here to inspire. :)

[tealcicada]

Will Sari be punished for being associated with the Autobots? How do the Autobots feel after learning who Sari really is?

Ooooh yes. To both. Megatron is livid that she's been going behind his back for months just to be buddy buddy with their sworn enemy and she is promptly grounded (both in child and plane sense) but it's through her insistence that he imprisons the autobots instead of executing them.

As for the autobots, their reality has been shaken to it's core. They don't know what's harder to believe, that Sari was a techno organic this whole time, that she was a decepticon, or that she's Megatron's own kid and heir to the Decepticon Empire. That she's supposed to be the elusive Decepticon master tactition the autobots have only heard ghost stories and rumours about before. They're bickering, not knowing who they can and can't trust anymore, imprisoned for an indefinite amount of time just waiting to see what the Decepticons will do to them. When Sari does visit their cells they don't trust her or talk to her at first but eventually she proves that she's still the Sari they were friends with but she is also a Decepticon

I really want to make a comic page or two of this, I'm always a sucker for when Megs learns that the autobots are just repair technicians and having a lot more respect for them because of it. I also wanna see Sari struggle to choose between he family or her friends and how she'll build bridges between the two groups.

Thanks for the ask!

[alexanderlightweight]

I would really love more of the deruned AU, like how does the new rune that ties Alec to Magnus affect him? How possessive are they are of each other? Does it activate when someone comes after Alec [his siblings, clary, the circle, etc?]

Thanks @fallenqueen2 for the prompt, I do love this fic so I enjoy writing for it. Hope you enjoy!

—

Alec wakes and for the first time since his deruning; he doesn’t want to throw himself off Magnus balcony.

He feels whole again but raw, like all of his aching scars have been reopened and then healed.

Like a piece of his soul is no longer missing.

“There you are darling, look at those gorgeous eyes, finally open.”

Alec blinks up at Magnus. The smile that he normally manages for Magnus curls easily across his face.

“Hi.” He whispers, voice hoarse and throat sore.

“Hello Alexander, I’m so glad you’re awake.” Magnus tells him, like Alec being awake is a blessing, not a burden.

“Magnus.” He rasps and then he’s being hushed, his head raised as a straw is guided to his lips.

He tries to drink slowly, but his thirst is overwhelming and it isn’t until he finally finishes and is let back down that he notices the taste.

“Potion?” He asks quietly, enjoying how his throat no longer feels bruised. It’s the best he’s felt since his deruning.

“A little bit more than just a potion.” Magnus murmurs but Alec doesn’t understand.

“Here darling, let me sit you up.”

Magnus is gentle as he guides Alec up and even gentler as summons a mirror and uses magic to dangle it in the air.

“I, Magnus. I don’t understand.” Alec admits helplessly as he looks at his own reflection and he lets himself go limp.

Collapsing against Magnus.

Trusting him entirely.

—

Magnus gives a soft croon as Alexander melts into him and holds him tighter, his chin hooked over Alec’s shoulder.

“You gave yourself to me, darling. So I took you, and I found a way to keep you.” Magnus summons the old stele Jem gifted him and lets Alexander see the red glow.

His boy is startled, but not afraid.

“Very few alive know this, but I am of Asmodeus’ line. His defiled and divine blood flows in my veins and I have a power very few others do.” Magnus twirls the stele and very slowly, presses it to Alexander’s hand.

“The runes you bear will no longer be angelic. But they will still protect you, aid you, enhance you.” Magnus takes a slow, even breath and adds, “they bind you to me. Tie your soul to mine, since your tether to Raziel shattered.”

“Why would you—“ Alec starts and in the mirror, he looks so very lost. “Magnus, I drove you away. I was going to marry Lydia, all to keep my parents and the Clave happy. I don’t understand, how can you still want me?” And then with a soft, broken noise that Magnus never wants to hear again he adds, “I don’t know why you ever did.”

Magnus’ heart breaks and he stores away the mirror and stele and carefully lays them both on their sides.

“Sweetheart, I’ve never needed a reason to want you. But if I must, you’re a vision to behold. You took my breath away, quite literally. You came to my aid, helped protect my people and gave me your own strength even though the problem wasn’t yours. You tried to clean my home so I wouldn’t use more magic and trusted me enough to drink and sleep in my lair. You’ve fought every single instinct and horrible thought the Clave has drilled into your mind, and you’ve protected your family to the detriment of yourself.

“Alexander, how could I not want you?”

Magnus asks, his sincere honesty conveyed through his tone and words. Magnus is genuinely curious about who wouldn’t want Alexander. It’s both baffling and infuriating.

—though a dark part of Magnus is viciously satisfied that he is the one who has Alexander—

Alexander looks lost, as if Magnus’ answer is outside the realm of possibilities he’s considered.

As if it’s impossible him to see the good in himself without Magnus explaining it.

“You’re a precious existence, Alexsnder. A treasure the Clave is going to regret throwing away. But I—“ and here Magnus leans closer, closing his eyes and letting their breath mingle as their brows touch. “I will never throw you away. I will never let you go. You belong to me now, darling. And I protect and cherish what is mine.”

Alexander sobs against him; relief shuddering through his heaving gasps as he curls closer to Magnus.

“Magnus, what do I do?” He whispers, later, when he’s cried himself dry.

Magnus stokes through his hair gently, “well, you heal up.” He kisses Alexander’s cheek carefully. Alec turns his cheek up, asking for another and Magnus obliges happily.

“When you’re well enough, we’ll work together. See how the new runes affect you.”

“I, even if I’m runed againZ I’m no longer a shadowhunter.” Alec gives a shake of his head, “I can’t be. Not after what they did. Even if they wanted me back, I won’t go back.”

“And you won’t be. I would never let them take you back.” Magnus promises, and then in an attempt at levity. “I happen to be in possession of a lovely club that can always use a handsome, intimidating bouncer.”

It earns him a little scoff of laughter.

“More seriously, I understand if you need something to do. But I’d rather you recover, safe by my side. At least until this mess with Balentine is over. Take a break, Alexander. Heal, here with me. Be protected by me and protect me in turn. Stay by my side.”

—Magnus doesn’t add, worship me, love me, adore me, that will come later—

Alexander looks at him in awe, like Magnus is too much for him to handle, but in a good way.

And Magnus falls the rest of the way in love, but it’s fine, because Alexander won’t leave him.

He can’t.

—

Magnus is floating in a cloud of euphoria as he sets up dinner. Alexander is awake, alert and even —if hesitantly— asking for food.

The bond to Magnus is healing him —claiming him— and Alexander is thriving with the new connection.

And then for a moment it comes crashing down.

“Izzy and Jace.” Alec asks him quietly from the doorway. “Have you seen them?”

Magnus raises a brow at him and then finally, carefully nods.

“They’re alive?”

He nods again.

Alexander looks like he’s afraid to ask the next question, but he has to.

“Were they, did the Clave—“ Alec bites his lip, hesitating.

And Magnus, Magnus shakes his head. Whatever punishment they received, was a mere slap on the wrist compared to Alexander.

Alexander looks wrecked. The part of him that hatefully loves them is relieved, but the part of him that resents only grows.

“Can you, can you make it so they can’t find the loft?” Alexander asks cautiously, carefully, like he’s worried he’s asking too much.

“Oh, sweet boy.” Magnus finds himself saying and he crosses the room to cup Alexander’s jaw. “I already moved the loft and made it unreachable, as soon as I found you. I also denied them the privilege of my continued services. They can no longer afford my fees.”

Alexander frowns, “fees? Oh, they said they had worked it out with you. I figured they were giving you more of your stuff back. Did they run out of it?”

Magnus blinks in astonishment and throws back his head in a mirthless laugh.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he finally says when he’s done. He’s angry, on his own behalf but more importantly, on Alexander’s bewildered behalf. “Darling, the necklace is the only physical payment I received.” He rests a palm over Alexander’s heart. “There was no other deal. The unspoken payment for my services was filled by the pleasure of your presence.”

Alexander looks surprised, like he honestly never guessed the reason Magnus was so generous with his time and abilities.

Magnus thought Alexander was playing hard to get at first, but now, after the horrible self-esteem and awareness Alec revealed earlier, he knows better.

“The important thing,” Magnus stresses as he places a covetous hand on the small of Alexander’s back. “Is that they are no longer welcome here. And that they will not be finding their persistent way here, no matter what.”

Magnus guides him to the table and pulls out a chair with magic, ushering a bemused Alec into it.

“Now then, something simple.” Magnus says and snaps his fingers.

And Alexander looks at the table and then he smiles, small and real.

“Simple?” He asks, a soft tease for the nearly overladen tables of soups and soft foods Magnus prepared.

Magnus smirks and sits, his feet capturing one of Alec’s ankles, keeping them physically connected as well.

“You’ll find, Alexander. That this is quite tame. You’ll get used to it.” Magnus winks and begins portioning his own food.

Alexander watches for a moment and then follows Magnus' choices. “I’d like that.” He almost whispers and Magnus feels a thrill.

He did that.

He made Alexander look forward to another day alive, and Magnus will continue to do so, forever.