#The Turbulent Fury of Emotions (fighter tag)

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 2

So much love to @theobscurepotato and @peregrinealpha, you guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support, it means the world to know that I’m not the only one excited for this! <3

I have no excuse for this one. Pretty sure this is the purest definition of an id fic, because it just kinda wrote itself, and when I was done and went back to read over it the front of my brain was like ‘what the hell did I just create’ and my lizard brain was purring ‘yesss, good’ like goddamn Palpatine. This is definitely not a scenario that I think would actually have happened in canon, but apparently it’s a scenario my brain wanted to play with, and I definitely do blame it on Gerald canonically having way too much fun needling Damien for no obvious reason other than for the sake of winding him up. 

Much like day 1, this is right in the grey area where I wasn’t sure whether to tag it NSFW or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution because I’d rather be overly conscientious than not. I also wasn’t entirely sure how to word the content warning tags, so I tagged it for general self destructive behaviour, because uh - what Gerald is doing here is not how to have a healthy relationship, kids. This is ‘personal experience with adolescent trauma’ meets ‘horrifically bad coping mechanisms’ with a dash of ‘really really warped views on intimacy’. This is also a consent nightmare, because Damien is not aware that Gerald is intentionally provoking him. Please do not try this at home. 

Day 2 - Theme Chosen: Choking

Gerald Tarrant wasn't above using deception to further his own interests, but he preferred evasion to direct falsehood, and he certainly wasn't in the business of lying to himself. Thus, he was well aware of why he was engaged in his current endeavour – that being, inciting yet another argument with his companion, intentionally goading the priest he'd spent the last few months travelling with into a heated debate over the fate of the little girl they'd unintentionally absorbed into their group after encountering the Terata. The part of his mind that was coolly analyzing his actions, though, was smaller than the part which was focusing on the argument itself.

Both of those part combined were smaller still than the part of his brain that was fixated on what the priest's hands would feel like closing around his throat.

“For the last vulking time, I am not just abandoning her!” The Knight's fraying patience finally snapped, and the bulkier man took a step toward the adept, his eyes blazing. He was only letting go this much because Jenseny was well away from the cave that was currently their refuge, gathering sticks with Hesseth to make a fire; the rakh-woman had sensed the building tension, and had deliberately taken the girl out of the way so that the two men in the group could clear the air.

“I don't care if you think it would be easier, I promised to keep her safe -”

His hands were clenched into fists at his side, the force of his indignation expressed through the whitening of his knuckles, the corded tension in his arms as he held himself back from violence. Gerald fired back a retort on autopilot during an appropriate pause in the priest's rant, his own manner cool and detached, his mask of indifference firmly in place despite his mental preoccupation. God, the strength in this man – Damien Vryce was a fighter, and the proof of that was in every line of his body, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the thick muscle that layered his naturally-sturdy frame. His hands were large and strong-boned, the skin tanned and weathered by years of travel, thickly calloused by the tug of leather reins and the hilts of weapons. Fae-augmented healing or not, if Vryce hit him, it would hurt. It would leave a mark, at least for a while.

It would feel real, in the way things rarely did now, isolated as he was by his own carefully crafted cocoon of power.

The words of a past lover drifted through his memory, that long-gone voice dripping with disgust. You're pathetic. So desperation for attention, you don't even care what it looks like. I could make you bleed and you'd say 'thank you', wouldn't you?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Gerald snapped back into the present moment fully, his unnaturally slow heartbeat accelerating a little as he registered the building fury in Vryce's voice. His lack of attention had been noticed, it seemed, and the priest's handsome face was turning an alarming shade of red as his temper swelled. Pride simmered in Gerald's chest at the reaction he'd provoked from the normally level-headed man, satisfaction slithering through his veins even as he replied in a deliberately bored tone.

“It's not as if you're saying anything you haven't said before, Reverend. Given the intensity of our pursuit, the girl would likely be safer out of our presence than in it. Regardless, though, it comes back to the same point; our goals are too important, we can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked by one insignificant chi-”

He read Vryce's intentions through the fae before it happened, the sudden resolve bleeding off the priest in an unmistakable wave of crimson, but his own surprise at finally eliciting such a concrete and visceral reaction kept Gerald from responding in time – not that he knew, necessarily, what response he might have tried to make. In a single smooth movement, the Knight grabbed Gerald's shoulder with one hand, shoving him forcefully backward while the other settled around Gerald's neck. As the Hunter's back slammed into the rough stone of the cave wall, Vryce pinned him there, leaning in as he snarled out his words in a voice gone guttural with rage.

“Don't you dare call her insignificant.”

The vitriolic reply he would have given in any other situation died unspoken as Gerald's usually turbulent mind went utterly, blissfully quiet, only a single line of thought remaining to him.

Yes. That's it. Do whatever you want. Hate me.

Hurt me.

Just don't let me go.

A dark and twisted lesson it might have been, but Gerald had learned one truth of human nature early in life, and had never forgotten it even as centuries passed. People were more than happy to lie and cheat their way through life, and would deceive you at every turn; you could so rarely be sure of  where their real intentions, or attentions, might lie. They could talk, laugh, eat, fuck, and at every moment their thoughts could be elsewhere – but not when they wanted to hurt you. If they were that angry at you, no distractions existed.

Once you drove them over the edge enough to put their hands on you, you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Gerald tipped his head back against the unyielding stone behind him, just to feel the way Vryce's hand was clenched around his neck a little better; he didn't technically need to breathe to sustain himself, but he was reeling and lightheaded nonetheless, from the heady mixture of triumph and adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sensation of mingled horror and satisfaction, so deep it made him nauseous, made him swallow reflexively against the way his mouth flooded with saliva in response – and then swallow again, when Vryce's grip tightened on his flexing throat, strengthening the whirl of emotions in his mind until Gerald felt a very real stab of fear that he might actually faint.

All of it lasted, however, for only the briefest moment.

He could see it as the Knight came to his senses; their faces were only inches apart, wide grey eyes staring into burning hazel, and he saw the exact instant that the blind haze of fury fell away and Vryce realized how far he'd lost control. A wave of horror doused the smouldering blaze in those warm green-and-brown irises, and Vryce wrenched himself away, his hands going lax and falling back to his sides as he stared at the Hunter in horror.

“I'm – I didn't mean – hell!”

Gerald drew in a ragged breath, now bracing himself against the cave wall intentionally as his head spun; there was a vague sense of loss echoing in his mind, but far louder was the roar of victory, the greedy hunger in his chest transmuted to a throb of purring satisfaction.

Yes, I can hold you, I can draw your focus, I can make you care...

Careful this time to show nothing of the emotional tempest in his mind, Gerald lifted one hand to rub lightly at his no-doubt-bruising neck, casting the Knight a sardonic glance.

“Don't flatter yourself, Reverend,” he muttered, with a icy steadiness that he most certainly did not feel. “I assure you, if I felt you posed a genuine threat, you would never have gotten that close to me. You couldn't truly hurt me if you tried.”

At least, not when I can make you look at me with that much fire in your eyes...

Vryce seemed to have registered his words as the subtle threat Gerald had meant them to be taken for, though, if the priest's thoroughly shaken expression was anything to go by. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply conflicted and vaguely sick. Finally, he shook his head sharply, and bit out a curt few words.

“It won't happen again.”

With that proffered statement – surely meant to be reassuring, or perhaps pacifying, for no doubt he assumed the Hunter was furious about Vryce's presumption in laying hands on him – the priest turned and strode hastily out of the cave. Gerald stayed where he was, hands splayed out against the cold rock behind him, feeling his pulse beating forcefully in his throat as he closed his eyes.

Oh yes, it will. If that's the only way I can have your hands on me, I'll make sure it does.

[asflowersfade]

Scribble-Doodle: Diplomacy

A parabatai pre-series fic. Alec’s tasked with delivering a message to Hotel Dumort. Jace tags along. Luckily.

“Where are we going?” Jace asks when he joins Alec at the front door of the Institute.

Alec rolls his eyes while pulling on his fingerless gloves. “We aren’t going anywhere. I was ordered to deliver a message to Hotel Dumort.”

Jace immediately perks up. “Is it about the disappearances? Did the Clave finally decide to do something about them?”

Nodding, Alec opens the door and steps outside. Jace follows him, of course, which makes Alec roll his eyes again.

“Yes, if you must know,” Alec replies in an exasperated tone of voice. “Intel says that Camille Belcourt, the head of the New York vampire clan, is having… guests over, from France. And they don’t seem to follow our rules. Mother sent me to ask them politely to cease and desist what they’re doing.”

Jace stares at him in disbelief. “Politely? Those creatures are taking and murdering mundanes!”

Alec starts down the front steps. “Yes, but we have no solid proof of that. And without proof, we can’t actually accuse them of anything, not officially.”

And Jace follows him again, of course. “That’s bullshit.”

“That’s politics.”

Now it’s Jace’s turn to roll his eyes. “As I said, bullshit.”

Alec doesn’t deem it necessary to answer that and keeps walking. Jace keeps following, of course.

“And Maryse thinks that a stern warning delivered by her teenage son will force a possibly centuries old vampire - or vampires, plural - to stop snacking on people?” Jace asks, his voice once again full of disbelief. Then, when he sees Alec’s annoyed glance, he hastily adds, raising his hands, “No offense.”

Alec stops glaring and sighs. “That’s the whole point.”

Jace frowns. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m fully aware that I’m a tool - oh, shut up,” Alec snaps, hitting Jace in the shoulder when Jace starts snickering. “I’m simply means to an end in this case. Without proof, the Clave cannot accuse Camille’s guests of anything, all they can do is deliver a warning that, should the vampires prove to be the cause of these people’s deaths, they will be punished.”

“And you fit into it how exactly?” Jace still doesn’t get it.

“Imagine a stern warning from a body as powerful as the Clave - delivered by a kid,” Alec explains patiently. “Yes, the son of the Institute’s head, which is very courteous - but still a kid.”

It finally dawns on Jace. “So, it’s a warning and an insult in one?”

Alec nods. “Exactly.”

Jace huffs in irritation. “Politics! By the Angel, I hate politics.”

Alec rolls his eyes again. One day, they’ll get stuck like that and it’ll be all his parabatai’s fault. “I know that, which is why I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“Well, you’re not going alone!” Jace states that as a fact.

Sighing, Alec stops. “Jace, you’re a great fighter - don’t look so smug! - but when it comes to political affairs, you have the sensitivity and the tact of a bull in a china shop. You’re not coming with me! This is a delicate matter.”

“Well, you are a ‘delicate matter,’ too!” Jace objects, poking Alec in the chest. “I’m not letting you go alone into the vampires’ den!”

“Listen--” Alec tries again.

“No, you listen,” Jace cuts him off. “These vampires are killing people. They’re murdering them,” he says slowly and deliberately. “And you’re planning on just waltzing in and telling them that we know. No way will you do it alone!”

Alec’s face softens a little, but he still sounds irritated when he says, “Jace, if this is supposed to work, I need to go in alone. They need to realize that we’re not afraid of them.”

“We are not afraid of them. I am not afraid of them. But I’m also not stupid,” Jace snaps, now irritated, too. “I’m not risking your life to make a point!”

Alec sighs. “Jace…”

“How about a compromise, then?” Jace suggests. “I’ll come with you and wait outside, stay in a shouting distance, just in case.”

Alec throws up his arms. “Fine!”

Jace grins at him. “Great. And if they nibble on you, I’ll single-handedly hack them to pieces!” he adds with gusto.

“Jace!”

Jace meant it as a joke. It should’ve been a joke.

Jace’s loitering around the main entrance of Hotel Dumort, idly kicking an empty beer can around, while he waits for Alec to conduct his business. And that’s when it happens - their bond’s flooded with a turmoil of emotions, so turbulent and overwhelming that Jace can’t pick them apart. But whatever it is, whatever’s happening, it’s not good and that’s all that matters to him.

Instinctively, he pulls out his Seraph Blade and starts running, in through the door and up the stairs, shoving aside, pushing down, even cutting down anyone who tries to stop him, consequences be damned. Maryse and Robert, the Clave, they can all punish him later for messing up their politicking, right now, all that’s on Jace’s mind, is to get to Alec, nownownow!

When Jace gets to the top floor - it only takes him a couple of minutes to get there but even that seems too long because the storm of emotions roiling through their parabatai bond’s dulling, growing hazy and that terrifies him! - he throws open the door to Camille’s audience room that’s all made up in black and gold and burgundy red, and the first thing he sees are arrows, Alec’s arrows, two of them lying in two small piles of ashes - vampire ashes. Shit!

Then he looks up, he follows the clues on the carpeted floor - another arrow, Alec’s Seraph Blade… - and then he freezes, his blood running cold. Because there, on the other side of the room, by the elaborate fireplace with its blue gas fueled fire, there’s a vampire, an old, gray-haired one in an elegant black attire, kneeling on a lush rug, bent over Alec who’s not struggling anymore - and he’s feeding from Alec’s wrist, fangs sunk deeply into Alec’s pale flesh. Hell no!

With a roar, Jace throws himself at the vampire but in the last possible second the creature moves out of the way with a terrifying speed and Alec drops limply to the floor, barely conscious, his breath a loud, rattling rasp. Jace spares him only a glance, though, then he pursues the vampire because he knows that he needs to destroy the creature, he has to, or they’ll never get out of here alive. The vampire cannot allow them to escape now, not when he attacked and bit a Shadowhunter diplomat, however young.

They chase each other through the room, Jace having slammed the door shut and locked it to stop reinforcements from arriving when their positions changed once more and he stood with his back to the door, and now they’re both snarling in fury. The… thing is trying to talk, to say something, but Jace’s not interested. All he sees is Alec’s blood on the vampire’s lips, running down his chin. Jace will make him pay, he’ll make him pay, he will!

They’re running and slashing at each other, ducking and jumping back, and Jace’s glad, so very glad that he’s a fighter, as Alec told him before, a fighter and not a diplomat. To hell with diplomacy! But even though he gives it his all, it’s still a stalemate because the vampire’s old and skillful and he just fed and Shadowhunter blood, too, and Jace’s starting to feel tired… 

And that’s when the vampire stumbles.

Both the creature and Jace pause and look down - and it’s Alec, he came to enough to activate his bow and he snagged the vampire’s foot with it when the vamp was running past. And though Alec has no real strength left, it was enough to make the vampire stumble.

And Jace doesn’t let his chance pass, just the opposite, he uses it to his full advantage - and slashing across with all his might, he cuts the vampire’s head off with one swing. The creature turns into ash and hot, glowing embers and dissipates.

Then Jace’s at Alec’s side, his Seraph Blade back in its holster, and he grips Alec’s arm, the bitten and torn one, and lifts it up high to staunch the blood flow because the wound’s wide, gaping and bleeding hard. There’s a loud banging on the door but right now, this is more important - there will be no saving his parabatai if Alec bleeds to death!

“Aren’t you glad you took me with you?” Jace tries to joke as he tears a strip from his t-shirt and binds Alec’s forearm with it tightly.

“Ecstatic,” Alec rasps, his voice breathy and eyes glazed with more than pain.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, the lock smashed, and the vampires pour in with Camille and Raphael Santiago at the head of them, their faces set in masks of fury.

Jace moves to stand in front of Alec, but his parabatai grips his hand hard and whispers, “Help me up!”

Jace doesn’t like it because Alec obviously won’t be able to stand on his own and supporting him will restrain Jace’s movements, on the other hand, facing a horde of vampires while lying on the floor isn’t the best idea either. So he helps Alec to his feet and throws his parabatai’s arm across his shoulders; he makes sure the vampires don’t see just how heavily Alec’s leaning against him, they would be dead if the creatures knew.

“Where’s Guillaume?” Camille asks sharply having come to a stop barely ten feet away from them.

Jace smirks at her with false bravado; he mustn’t let them sense his fear so he feeds his anger instead. “If you want to see him again, you’ll have to invest in a good vacuum cleaner, I think.”

Camille hisses. “You’ll pay for this, Shadowhunters. I’ll--”

It’s Alec who cuts her off. “Watch your words, madame,” he warns, and though his voice’s quiet, his tone is firm. “We are the Clave’s emissaries and we were attacked, unprovoked, in your home.”

“Nobody will find out if we get rid of you!” Camille snaps back. But Raphael, standing behind her, shuffles uncomfortably.

Alec continues, seemingly unafraid, “If we disappear, others will come and they’ll burn this place down, with you inside if need be, to find us.”

“Are you so sure about it, boy?” she growls, taking a step closer.

Alec stares her in the eyes unflinchingly. “Yes,” he answers plainly.

Camille hisses again and throws herself forward, but Raphael catches her arm and pulls her back, then he whispers something urgently in her ear. She glares at him but doesn’t try to stop him when he steps forward. 

“What do you want?” Raphael asks coldly.

Alec takes a deep breath and Jace can feel him starting to tremble minutely; the blood loss is taking its toll. “I was here to deliver a message from the Clave regarding the mundanes that have gone missing in your territory in the past few weeks when... Guillaume, was it?”

“Guillaume Lacroix,” Raphael fills in.

“When Mr Lacroix attacked me,” Alec goes on. “I think this pretty much confirms our suspicion that it was your guest who was kidnapping - and killing - mundanes in your territory. And that’s what I’ll report back to the Clave, that the threat was neutralized. If no other people go missing, the Clave won’t interfere in your business anymore. Unless...”

Alec looks straight at Raphael, then at Camille. “Unless you’re of the opinion that Mr Lacroix was innocent and we breached your hospitality by killing him. Then you can either kill us, which will result in the Clave’s further - and much more thorough - investigation or you can file a complaint against us, which will result in the same, I’m afraid. But I’m sure you have nothing to hide, madame.”

Raphael turns to Camille who just stands there, gritting her teeth. Then, after a long while, she snarls furiously, “My dear friend Guillaume seems to have betrayed my trust. I… thank you for bringing this to my attention. And dealing with him, Shadowhunters.” Then she waves her lackeys back. “Let them go.”

When the vampires file out, leaving Camille and Raphael alone with Jace and Alec, Camille steps forward and growls, her eyes on Alec, “I’ll kill you one day, I swear!”

In a heartbeat, Jace has his Seraph Blade out and activated, its sharp point bare inches away from Camille’s throat. “Bring it, leech!” he growls back.

Baring her teeth at him, Camille hisses - and then she’s gone, simply gone, as if she’s never been there in the first place.

With a sigh, Raphael bends down and picks up Alec’s deactivated blade. Stepping around Jace’s still pointed weapon, he hands the Seraph Blade back to Alec. “Be careful,” he warns in a quiet voice. “You can’t even imagine what Camille’s capable of.”

“Oh, I have a big imagination,” Jace assures him bitterly, but Alec just nods.

Raphael nods back, then he turns and walks out, slowly and without another word.

Once they’re alone, Jace lets out a heavy breath, dropping his hand with the blade. “By the Angel, that was close,” he whispers.

Alec smiles at him wanly. “That was diplomacy.”

Jace’s mouth twists wryly. “I’ll rather stick with my blade, then, thank you very much,” he says, hefting his weapon. Then, with more concern, he asks, “Can you make it? Can you walk?”

With Jace’s help, Alec takes a wobbly step, his torn arm pressed against his chest. “Yeah, probably. If you don’t drop me,” he adds.

“I should,” Jace replies, “just to see if you would bounce.”

But then he pulls Alec a little closer in reassurance. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says softly as they shuffle towards the door.

Smiling, Alec leans against him a little more heavily for a second. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

Jace smiles back at him. “Always.”