#ch; magic space guy

[anki-of-beleriand]

A heart Made of Glass ch.12

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

Okay, this chapter had some tricks in it that are surronding Reader and Wanda, this is their story and this time around Reader would need to make the right decision if she wants to get what she wants and what she needs.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 12

In a different world

The universe started with a spark of bright golden light.

Loki Odinson had seen it several times, he had witnessed the birth and death of multiple universes and timelines that were destined to perish in a myriad of colours that would soon be forgotten. He had sat on the throne, and while he was not a King himself, he could recall the faces of all of those poor souls that disappeared into the nothingness, just as he could remember the beauty behind the first spark of life.

However, what he was experimenting right now was nothing like it.

Whatever, or whoever had decided to intervene had messed up with his own spell and everything had exploded into nothingness. A single spark of red, green and golden then, nothingness. Black spaces that disappeared without any traces left behind.

Loki started at the empty space that was Wanda and Y/N’s basement before he sighed. He sat down shaking his head, a headache approaching just as he thought on the oncoming conversation he would need to sustain with the Avengers.

“Fuck.” The word rolled out of his lips in such a natural way, he could do nothing but leaned back against the wall.

What the hell just happened?

What did he do?

What did Wanda and Y/N do to get this reaction?

The silence soon became deafening, Loki located the book Strange had died trying to recover. He frowned while leaning over to pick it up, the spell was done correctly with all the right wording as well as the right drawings on the ground. So, why did it go wrong? His eyes scanned the pages, re-reading the passages over and over until his heart dropped at one particular line, something he had overlooked the very first time he read that passage.

“…this, however, may be counterproductive if there is a magical or multiversal energy interference, the amount of energy converging at one point may created an unexpected result and…”

Loki knew the rest by heart, he knew there could be troubles but…well, how many energies were involved in the spell? He had counted on those signatures coming from Wanda and Y/N, he had even counted on his but…was there anybody else out there? Was there anybody else at the other side of the multiverse?

“Shit.” Loki stood up fixing up his clothes before flickering his hand to open a portal. He needed to face the consequences of his acts, and the first stop would be the Avengers Tower and Steve Roger’s office.

The former Captain America was going to enjoy telling Loki ‘I told you so’, just before hitting him in the face.

With one last glance to the basement, Loki turned around and left the place.

He never worried to test the energy fields around, or to tap into the timelines flickering in front of his eyes. It never occurred to him that, as soon as the explosion happened, a new singular timeline appeared right before his eyes just to blend itself with the other timelines flickering in front of Loki.

No one but the Watcher could see it, The Watcher stood in the sidelines furrowing his brows and waiting.

The world would either collapse in itself, or it would fix the anomalies by itself.

Either way, he was watching history, and the future of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

_________________________________________

Darkness had always been your friend.

You were born in it, and it had been your weapon and your refugee in the hardest of times. That was the main reason you didn’t panic at first, everything around you was filled with the purest form of darkness with a single touch of coldness that sneaked inside your clothes. The hairs on your arms stood up, a shiver went right through your muscles making you groan as you finally experience the pain in your body.

Your mouth opened inhaling deeply filling your lungs with gusts of cold air, your chest contracting itself just before you started coughing. It was then you opened your eyes, and the darkness that you had experienced moments ago was nothing but you woke up from unconsciousness.

The first thing you noticed were different white dots in the sky winking back at you. You tried to grasp a single thought, seeking around your mind for a coherent idea but it was almost impossible to do so when the rest of your body was finally receiving different stimulus in the way of pain and coldness.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice called to your left, you tried to sit up but a single hand placed itself on your shoulder pressing you to the ground.

“Ease there, pal, you were really hurt back there.”

Even if you didn’t get a chance to sit up, your world started spinning around. The voice was so familiar, yet so different to what you were used to; with some reluctance you turned your face to the right and soon you found yourself looking at yourself.

The other woman offered a tentative smile, though the way she was squinting her eyes and the pursed of her lips told you she was just as confused as you were at the moment. Soft footsteps approached you, America Chavez was wearing a single cut on her cheek and a bruised eye, this time around you didn’t let you counterpart to stop you, you sat up to check over the teen kneeling beside you.

“America, are you alright?” Your eyes rolled back for a moment, your knees fell harshly on the ground while you held yourself with a single hand placed on your leg.

“Y/N, please…” America winced lightly glancing at you then at your counterpart. “I think you were the one that suffered the most…”

“It was my fault, actually. So, sorry?”

You blinked a couple of times, shaking your head made the headache worse and the dizziness settled on your lower abdomen. You lifted your face blinking a couple of times before checking America over, the young woman softened her features with her cheeks colouring pink while her lips tried to offer a single smile. You tried to ignore the other Y/N for as long as you could before turning around to settle your eyes on her.

Just like America, she was wearing a single cut on her forehead with her clothes dishevelled but otherwise nothing else. With some reluctance you lifted your eyes looking deep into those eyes that you knew so well.

“This is the weirdest shit I have ever had to live to date.” You finally said shaking your head, “I hope it is the last weird shit ever.”

“Agreed.” Y/N tilted her head furrowing her brows while giving you a quick glance. “Before this happened, I’m afraid I was in your body fighting with someone that got lucky…so…”

“So, that’s why I feel like this?” You cracked smile, your counterpart nodded mirroring the smile on your face. “Okay, got it, so…what the hell is going on?”

America and Y/N glanced at one another then at you, it wasn’t until then that you decided to take a good look at the surrounding area. The place in itself was nothing strange, yet you got a feeling that this was not your universe or even that of your counterpart.

The sky was completely dark filled stars but as you got to observe them above your head you realized there were not your stars. The constellations you had come to know thanks to Natasha and Carol had been changed and were replaced by different forms you did not recognize. With a single frown you lowered your eyes to find yourself in a plain of land filled with dried grass that extended beyond what the eyes could see. It was an empty land, with nothing beyond the darkness of the night without any moon it was hard to actually see something that could give you an idea of your location.

The sound of whistling called your attention, and soon you found yourself being wrapped tightly by two pair of arms. Before you could protest or ask what they were doing, you experience the sharp bite of wind, A cold, merciless breeze that soon turned into a whirlwind that left as suddenly as it had come.

“Wh-what the hell?” Your eyes opened wide, your teeth chattering while America and Y/N leaned back wincing.

“We need to move.”

You furrowed your brows shaking your head, “move where? I can barely see you two, how are we going to see the path or…where the hell are we?”

America sighed standing up, she stretched her hand to you offering a tender smile.

“You haven’t figured it out?”

You stood on weakened legs, your mouth opened ready to protest until you finally realised it. While it was true there was nothing much to see beyond the darkness and the starry night, you could see America and your counterpart just fine. It took you but a few minutes until, you lifted your hand and the shadows followed you giving you a good glance of what was around you.

“We can manipulate shadows, the night in itself is darkness and filled with the main source of our power.” Y/N stated matter-of-factly while standing before you, you nodded curtly feeling foolish for not even thinking about it.

“Are you guys going to tell me what’s going on?”

America grabbed your hand, then turning to Y/N she shrugged also grabbing her hand as well.

“We may as well update her while we continue walking.”

“We saw lights coming from what we think was a village a few kilometres away, were trying to get there until these weird whirlwinds came in and we couldn’t carry you anymore.” Y/N explained shrugging. “We’re guessing once we get to some sort of place filled with civilization we will know more…”

“Why didn’t you try to travel through the shadows?” You asked ready to do so when the warning tone from your own voice stopped you.

“I couldn’t do it without leaving America here, and I have a bad feeling as soon as I tried it…so…” Y/N shrugged looking ahead of her, “I always follow my instincts, they have never failed me.”

The comment sent a sharp pain straight to your heart.

Your instincts had never failed you either.

Nothing else was said after this, the three of you were following the direction America had pointed out but you were just lost not really knowing if this was the right path or just a wild guess. The temperature was dropping even more, soon your teeth were chattering alongside those of America and the other you. You felt a sharp pain through your head, whatever had happened before you woke up had left your body quite bruised and right now all you wanted was to find a bed, an analgesic and something to eat. For a brief moment, an intrusive thought came forward in the form of Wanda, panic rose through your chest and filled your mind but before you could ask anything about her your counterpart spoke.

“I still don’t understand how everything came to be,” she spoke with a tone of voice you were familiar with, you let your eyes wandered around the landscape holding onto every word resounding into the darkness of the night.”

“I remembered when Wanda and I saved America the first time, and then trying to safe her from these creatures chasing her down.” Y/N trailed off with her memories making her falter, with a single shake of her head she continued, “I know I was out for a while, so you can guess how surprised I was to wake up in the arms of someone that wasn’t my wife…”

“Not really.” Your reply was filled with coldness, tension building up in your body, “I have always had the luxury of waking up alone in my bed.”

America winced lifting her head to glance at you, her dark eyes begging you to listen before jumping in whatever discussion you wanted to start.

“Agatha Harkness.” The name reached the inside of your mind with the memory of the file you read on her, not only that, but also the different videos you saw surrounding her story inside of Wanda’s world.

“That was the woman you woke up to every day, Y/N.” America chimed in shyly, she lowered her gaze squeezing your hand tenderly. “She had been dragging Scarlet and Wanda around, draining them of their powers and leaving them defenceless for quite some time, and since…well, since Y/N was under her spell…”

You opened your mouth to speak, you wanted to say something but finding your counterpart’s eyes on you whatever argument you had built inside your mind came crumbling down and soon you were given their side of their story.  Little by little the story started making sense, the building of a different world and the intrusive dreams you were having in the last couple of weeks, the purple and red magic surrounding you on that day as well as the mixed-up realities that ended up with you thrown into another’s body. You had always known that Wanda was special, and powerful, you never imagined just how much.

America had been a part of the plan, of course. Her powers would be very beneficial to someone like Agatha, and your powers would make sure no one would ever find her. Everything was about the most basic reason of all: Power. You pursed your lips disgusted; you were dragged into a confrontation with Wanda because there was a woman chasing after power. You had been running from Wanda for more than ten years, and all it took was this woman to ruin everything.

And now, now you were walking down the darkness of the night with a girl that could travel through different universes and your counterpart, a woman that got the life you had dreamt of a long time ago.

“Life is not fair.” Y/N stated glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, “but it is what we have, and we must…”

“…deal with it, take what it is being offered and try to be happy with it.” You finished shaking your head.

“Ah, so not everything is lost, I see.” Y/N allowed a single smile to break on her face, you pursed your lips snorting.

“You don’t know the story.”

“But she does, that’s why she told you those very same words, didn’t she?” Your counterpart stopped all of a sudden, you let out a heavy sigh before turning to face her.

America was standing in between the both of you, her brows knitted together with her gaze travelling around the terrain before settling on the both of you.

“Look, I know that you and Wanda had a different experience than mine, I’m glad you did because…” You trailed off holding onto your emotions, “I don’t wish on you the pain I went through…”

For the very first time ever you saw your own face breaking into a broken-hearted smile, with those eyes losing all light and those lips curving into a crooked smile. It was you looking back, and you understood right there and then that you weren’t the only one.

“You forgive her?” You asked with a hint of hope in your voice, you hated how the question left your lips and how your counterpart understood what you meant.

“How could I not if my heart beats for her?” She replied clenching her eyes closed, her hands rested upon your shoulders before you found yourself looking into your eyes. “There is a difference, though, isn’t it?”

“You guys were not together…” You started but she merely tilted her head.

“You know it wouldn’t matter if we were a couple or not, she chose someone else when we have always chosen her.” Y/N squeezed your shoulders lightly. “The difference is that I gave her a chance because I want to do so, you didn’t because…”

“I don’t believe in second chances! If I have done so she would have broken my heart all over again when she went into her imaginary world with Vision!” You exclaimed enraged, surprising Y/N and America.

The other woman furrowed her brows, she was ready to argue back with you and asked questions about the imaginary world. It was quite evident a lot of things had happened in this strange world and Y/N could only imagine the pain and rage engulfing your heart at the moment.

America could see darkness surrounding the three of you her eyes opening wide almost losing into the shadows until her eyes caught glimpses of red and purple right ahead.

“Guys?” America stuttered lifting her hand and pointing to the distance.

You two stopped your discussion turning around to see the same sparkles of red and purple. It was a formation of dusty colouring breaking into the darkness of the night sky, you turned to the left to see Y/N frowning with determination and America shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“It’s not that far away, I mean it could be at least one kilometre?” Y/N faced you holding onto the previous tension of your conversation with her, you clenched your fist shrugging.

“Looks that way.”

“Are we…” America started but you lifted a hand to silence her.

“Before we jump in to do something I think we need more information, we don’t even know what we are going to find over there.” You looked out of the corner of your eyes; the lights were still gleaming pretty much intensely but you could tell your two companions didn’t want to stay still and do any planning.

“What do you propose?” Y/N asked lifting her chin, “you know pretty well those sparks of crimson are Wanda’s, and we know this woman, this Agatha has been using purple magic. Are you really suggesting we stand here or keep walking in circles?”

“No! All I am asking is to first think about what we are going to do! We’re not even sure where we are much less what we are going to find there.” You asked back lifting your hands in the air and stepping back, the pain you had forgotten in favour of the discussion came back making you winced.

“Look I know you guys think the world of Wanda, and that’s cool, I guess your Wanda,” this time around you pointed to your counterpart trying to remain calm, “she is all love and kindness and that’s fine. The Wanda in world had a total breakdown that enslaved a bunch of people in a reality she created for herself and that microwave she called husband, so forgive me if I’m not going to jump in without any additional information.”

Your tirade echoed through the night, your voice carried by the wind with a dropped in the temperature. The moon that had been travelling with the three of you flickered all of a sudden, and the darkness grew around the three of you. America didn’t miss the flickering lights of crimson and purple, but she couldn’t stop herself from grabbing your hand in hers, the warm she shared with you made you shivered and with some reluctance you lower you stare to her. Even in such a darkness you could see her brown eyes gleaming with emotions.

“You still love her.” America mumbled squeezing your hand tenderly.

You clenched your jaw tilting your head to the side, America bit her lower lip glancing from you to Y/N.

“I don’t know why this has to be so complicated, but she needs you.” America took a deep breath stepping closer to you. “Wanda is sad, and I know she messed up and that forgiveness should not be given just because you feel that way. But she really needs you, she and Scarlet.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened between the both of you.” Y/N stepped in making sure you could not look away from your own eyes. “But the woman I love is out there, being it in this dimension or another Wanda Maximoff would always be MY Wanda and I won’t leave her out there to get hurt. If not for you, then at least do it for me.”

It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by darkness and coldness that your heart finally gave in. With a nod, your dropped your shoulders in defeat missing the smile coming from America but never missing the satisfied glance coming from your counterpart. The three of you finally turned to the source of the magic, and without a simple plan you three started making your way to the source.

You were not prepared for what was waiting for you over there.

Agatha Harkness smirked at the woman kneeling before her.

In less than a year she had made it possible to crumble away the legend of the Scarlet Witch while placing herself as the most powerful witch in the multiverse. Her smile never faltered, not even when the world spined around changing into a familiar setting; a place and time Agatha had suffered before but that now she could alter with a single flicker of her hand.

The place was filled with passersby ignoring the presence of the two women; nobody seemed to care that one of them was on her knees with a single neck shackle made of light red and blue tied to a crimson necklace Agatha wore on her chest.

“What do you think about this arrangement, dear?” The dark-haired woman asked, her eyes dropping to the kneeling Wanda who was shooting her a stare filled with anger. “Personally, I think this could be more lively, but don't worry soon enough we will have a show to die for.”

Her laughter was accompanied by a flash of violet, and soon the scene changed and they were transferred to a great marketplace located at the centre of the village. Everyone had reunited around four pillared pyres that were guarded by at least ten knights all dressed in black.

Wanda lifted her face, her ears twitched hearing the sound of angry screams cursing someone she couldn't make out yet. Agatha stirred in excitement; her smile grew until it was a crooked grin with just a hint of madness behind it.

“Here they come…”

The crowd spread around just as four figures came in walking on naked feet wearing red robes and bruised faces. The hatred and fear coming from the crowd was quite evident as the torches and the pitchforks drew wild patterns above the townspeople’s heads. The light of the torches ignited the night, Wanda tensed under the grip of the woman standing beside her, the hairs on her arms raising up while her eyes narrowed to follow the events unfolding in front of her.

The four women were pushed forward, each one of them had a single knight standing behind them with heavy hands they were dragged to the four pillars tied to them facing the crowd. It didn’t take her too long to guess what was about to happen, and what exactly were those pillars; the pyres had been set up to ensure everyone could see the women died. The crowd cheered cruelly, laughing and cursing while the four women glared at the people with more bravery than they actually felt. 

“This was my coven.” Agatha spat out, her hands sparkling with a mixture of red and purple, “they saw my power, they read my intentions and instead of supporting me they dared to try and stop me…”

“I wonder why.” Wanda couldn’t hold the sarcasm behind her voice, Agatha pulled harshly on the ropes holding her neck making Wanda fall on her back.

“You really are more daring than your counterparts, dear. I would be careful, if I were to be honest I don’t need you alive.” 

Agatha caressed the necklace smirking at Wanda, the woman couldn’t hide her anger and the magic that was pulsating inside her was not enough to protect her from Agatha’s anger. Soon Wanda let out a scream of pain, her body twitching painfully until he couldn’t keep her eyes open and all she could think about was the searing pain on her limbs.

“It has been so long since I was just a lowly witch like them, afraid of fire and the angry crowd. I grew to be magnificent, to have power beyond anyone’s imagination…” Agatha continued with his rambling observing with gleaming eyes as the Major of the town stood forward proclaiming the sins of the four women.

“I just had to find you, Wanda, you and that so-called Scarlet Witch.” Wanda took a deep breath, half hearing the woman while watching with horror as the night above her head flickered from one setting to another.

“It was not easy, you know?”

Agatha flickered her hand to the right and soon Wanda was on her knees watching as the world around her changed. It was like watching a movie in a dome. The world changed to day and night flickering images of Agatha dragging her burnt body through the ground whispering spells that only she could hear. The image soon changed showing the passing of time, Agatha looking around the world and stealing the magic of others while seeking something out of desperation.

She finally found it after more than a century.

Wanda opened her eyes at the familiar setting, Kamar Taj stood under stormy winds and heavy snow. Agatha sneaked around, distracting the inhabitants of the temple by provoking landslides that would certainly have killed innocent people if it hadn’t been by the protectors of the temple. She had enough time to steal a single book.

“Y-you…you stole the..th-e…the Drakhold.” Wanda leaned forward resting her hands on the ground, she was shocked to find the snow under her hands was real and that everything she was seeing was not an illusion but a real event.

Her mind was trying to comprehend what was really happening. Her knowledge of the Darkhold had not been as broad as it had been for Strange and even Loki. But she did know one thing or two about the origins of her powers, Chaos Magic had been called and it gave her the power to bend reality and life in ways not many could access to. The darkness inside her had been contained by her family and her loved ones, but the same could not be said by others, apparently.

“I did.” Agatha finally answered tilting her head, soon the scene changed and they were taken to a place Wanda was familiar with.

Westview.

“Yet, I was still not strong enough, or the only one with powers beyond our imaginations.” Agatha made a face, stepping forward strolling down the streets with Wanda following her. “When the Avengers showed up it was quite evident that people with powers could no longer be hidden. It was my time to shine until you, my dear Wanda, showed up.”

Wanda saw herself in a building in Sokovia, it was a place she was familiar with yet the story that was unfolding in front of her had nothing to do with what she had lived once. Her other self struggled to control her powers, to live her life, to be who she was supposed to be but failed every single time. Agatha had never been too far from those events, and whenever Wanda failed, Agatha would clutch the young woman closer to her. The red and purple magic intertwined without anyone noticing.

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, finding herself in the middle of the square in Westview. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining right above their heads and not a single cloud in sight. 

Agatha smirked, her eyes changing colours to one of deep crimson, “I finally became who I am supposed to be, and soon my dear I will have all the power to bend the universes at my will. And now, I will finish what I started all those months ago with your pathetic counterpart and you will help me out with this.”

The world suddenly exploded around them, Wanda clenched her jaw closed, lifting her eyes to the sky to see the runes above her head.

“You…” She gritted her teeth, her eyes closing right away trying to gather her thoughts and power to stop the woman standing beside her.

Agatha chuckled darkly, her gripped on Wanda tightened allowing the influx of memories to invade the mind of the redhead. It was a life she was no familiar with, a suffering she had not experiment in the same way but that generate in her an understanding of the mess this world was in. She could see the moment Agatha entered the story, the failures and the almost victories until finally she got what she wanted.

A weakened Wanda Maximoff without anyone in the world to stand by her side.

Power.

And a way to get away with her plan.

“You…you won’t win.” Wanda finally got out; her eyes gleaming dangerously at the other woman who made a face rolling her eyes.

“I already did, dear. You just haven’t realized it yet.” Agatha let go of Wanda stepping away.

The brunette straightened up lifting her arms in front of her, her hands creating a purple mist while the necklace she wore zealously around her neck gleamed with intensity. Those eyes that moment’s ago had been brown, were now a deep black and the world around Wanda trembled under the electric shift of power the witch was gathering around her.

“Now, I have all the pieces in place, in my world…under my rules.” Agatha stated tilting her head to the side, “I will bend everyone to my will…and you, Wanda, will be nothing but a bad memory.”

The sky above their heads changed into darkness, the temperature dropped and Wanda felt the heavy weight of the atmosphere overwhelming her. She could sense her counterpart weakening inside the prison Agatha had chosen for her, her thoughts were still a mixture of memories she couldn’t quite place while the heavy emotions running through her soul threaten to overwhelm. Wanda could read the intentions behind the woman standing before her, she could read the hatred and violence behind those dark eyes. Lifting her chin to the sky, and her eyes showing off her own magic she decided if this was going to be her end, she would face it with defiance.

The ball of energy flickered in Agatha’s hand, the world stood still and the with smirked ready to give the final blow.

Agatha was so concentrated in her final goal, she never noticed she was no longer alone and what she though was illusions of her own invention were actually three people she didn’t think would be a problem until one of them stood right in front of her shielding Wanda from an imminent dead.

You had crossed the protective barrier around the strange town with a single thought in mind. Your intention was to get this over with and go back to your life on Norway, your heart beating fast while your mind protest for the easiness in which you were trying to go back to a life in which you were ignoring the woman that had never left your heart. It looked easy, just do your thing and then fixed whatever mess you were in and then…go back.

But the universe and the Powers That Be decided that it wouldn’t be just as easy as a flickered of your hand.

As soon as the three of you crossed the barrier you were face to face with flashes of memories that presented you with a film of the lives of Wanda and Agatha. The stories of the coven and the search for power, as well as the fall of Sokovia and Wanda’s struggles with her powers and her life.

“This is so wrong.” Y/N stated clenching her fist while stepping forward until she was finally standing beside you, the both of you stood on an empty street hearing the sounds of muffled conversation.

“Any plan?” You finally stated ignoring the piercing pain in your heart, your counterpart shrugged nodding to the darkened street that was flashing a mixture of red and purple.

“I think the best approach is a straightforward one.”

“Humph, so go there and just start fighting?” You replied with your lips breaking into a single smirk.

“Yep, pretty much.”

“That doesn’t sound like a solid plan.” America mumbled unsure, she furrowed her brows turning to you and then to your counterpart.

You turned to America placing a hand on her shoulder, “but it is what we have. You are going to stay here and wait.”

“But…I can fight! I can help!” America stepped back frowning, “I won’t be left behind…”

“I know you can fight, kiddo.” You replied tilting your head, “and that’s why you are staying behind.”

America opened her mouth to protest but Y/N came forth shaking her head.

“You are our backup, America. If anything were to happen to us and Wanda…” Y/N stated dropping her gaze for a moment, she turned to you until finally she locked eyes with America. “You need to do anything you can to ensure Agatha won’t scape, you understand?”

America pursed her lips, a part of her understood the mission but another part wanted to go straight ahead and face the woman that had been chasing her through the multiverse. America clenched her fists before nodding curtly and stepping back. You offered a single smile, your hand squeezing comfortingly the shoulder of the teen.

“There would be time, America, for now just watch our backs.”

“I will.”

“Good then, let’s go.”

You nodded curtly allowing your powers to spread in front of you, there was resistance when trying to reach the shadows and for the very first time you understood what your counterpart meant about your instinct. Everything in your body was screaming danger as soon as you came into contact with the shadows, your body shivered under the piercing weight of a million needles. You clenched your jaw closed stepping into the shadows with a single thought in mind.

Wanda.

Without any hesitation and moving through the invisible obstacles in that universe you appeared right before Wanda and Agatha just in time. Your eyes went black with your right arm lifting in front of you and creating a protective barrier just as Agatha’s hand came into contact with your shadows.

There was a flickering of power, the older woman snarled a curse lifting her left arm in the same fashion and launching a second attack. Your eyes opened slightly only for your shadows to slithered away grabbing the woman’s midsection to pull her away.

The world crumbled for an instant; Agatha was completely shocked to see not only you but your counterpart standing right in front of her. The woman straightened up, sweat rolling down her forehead while her right hand closed around her necklace and her other hand summoned the Darkhold.

“You really are a pain in my behind, but at least I won’t have to go around looking for you.” Agatha stated tilting her head to the side, her annoyance giving way to a confident smile. “Now, how about the two of you are good girls and give up, I would hate to spend my time submitting you to get what I want.”

You spread your feet positioning yourself in a fighting pose, your eyes narrowing slightly while the woman in front of you got her magic ready. But before Agatha could do anything at all, another set of shadows grabbed her arms putting them back making her woman lose her grip on the necklace and the Darkhold, your body tensed when Wanda stood up behind you, her voice quivering slightly as she pronounced your name with reverence and love.

“Hey, I hope you didn’t forget about me, Agatha dear.” Your counterpart said winking at Wanda while flickering her hands away, Agatha grunted freeing herself with a blast of energy and stepping a few feet away.

“Hn, I didn’t expect this.” She stated summoning the Darkhold, the world around the four of you changed, shaping itself in a familiar setting you had come to hate in your mind.

Westview.

Agatha never wavered in her confidence, if anything it seemed to grow the same way her magic was doing at the moment. You took a fighting stance, your shadows flickering around waiting for your command. You glanced out of the corner of your eye, Wanda had been trying to stand up but her knees and feet seemed uncooperative. Before you could offer any help, your counterpart came in wrapping her arms around Wanda while placing her forehead against Wanda’s one.

“Hey, love.”

“Hi.” Wanda replied with easiness, Y/N sighed in relief before placing a single kiss on her wife’s cheek.

“I miss you.” Y/N said softly, your heart shrank with emotion when your mind caught up with what was really happening.

You furrowed your brows, sweeping around the place until your darkened eyes fell on Agatha who was smiling playfully at you, her right hand playing absentmindedly with the necklace.

“Where is…Wanda?” The question left your lips before you could stop it, Wanda and Y/N both glanced at one another before they set their eyes on you.

A sinking feeling settled on your lower stomach, you were afraid of the answer when you realized this Wanda was trying to look everywhere but you. Tilting your head, you finally got a good look at your surroundings where the suburban houses filled out the imaginary world; the Wanda you had come to know from another universe held onto your counterpart tightly though right now her green eyes had been focusing straight ahead of you.

“Where is she? Wanda?” You asked again, this time around there was a demanding undertone that the other woman couldn’t ignore.

“Agatha has them under her control, she is using a powerful and dangerous book, Y/N.” Wanda could tell her answer was not of your liking, she stepped forward ready to join you and her wife in the fight glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes.

“You don’t know where she has Wanda?” You asked again never taking your eyes off of the older woman standing before you.

“I have my suspicions but I’m not sure how to interfere with that.” Wanda winced trying to ease out the pain on her neck, you frowned pursing your lips while taking a closer look at Agatha before your eyes found the same house you had come to know as Wanda’s place.

“Well, then let’s get this over with and get Wanda back.” Your arms stretched to the sides, the silent command spurred into action the shadows around you flying straight ahead to try and get Agatha.

Before your counterpart and the other Wanda could help you out, the creatures summoned by Agatha launched their first attack. A great explosion was heard while you evaded the flashing balls of power sent over by the witch.

The fight soon broke over, you didn’t notice it but the dome surrounding this part of the universe tremble sending waves of energy all through the world until they came into contact with the timeline and America. The young woman lifted her head, her eyes gleaming brightly as she tapped into her powers; bouncing on the balls of her feet she waited. America could hear the sound of explosions and the muffled sound of conversations and screams, she glanced at her hands thinking about the lessons she had been learning in the last couple of months. She closed her fists, opening them again before lifting her face. This people had been putting their lives on the line for her, they had been trying to protect her without expecting anything in exchanged. It was about time she helped them.

With a glance to the sky, America took a deep breath closing her eyes for a brief moment. As soon as she opened them, her lips curled into a single smile.

Time for payback.

The street had been completely destroyed during the fight.

There were no more homes standing up, or nice cosy gardens decorating the suburban setting. The world soon became a mixture of nothingness with the flickering holograms of reality that you could not touch. Agatha had learnt a thing or two since fighting with Wanda, you could see her ability to hold onto her powers while also making use of those she had stolen from your Wanda.

You shook your head hating the thoughts running around in your head, the overwhelming emotions that seemed to try and govern your decisions. You tried to focus your energy on what was right in front of you, the problem you were facing went beyond your own emotions. There would be a time for you to deal with them.

Agatha lifted her left hand above her head before letting it fall fast to her side, the sharp pain of your skin being pierce made you grunted. You could feel the wounds on your arms, your eyes igniting in a deep black that soon went right ahead to engulf the witch in front of you.

At some point, Agatha had become faster than your attacks, she stepped aside flickering her hands and soon two more creatures appeared out of nowhere.

“Is that all you got?” You asked almost losing your concentration when you heard the voice of your counterpart in the back.

“Get away from my wife!”

Agatha smirked grabbing her necklace, tilting her head she settled her eyes on you.

“Oh, dear, you would be surprised with the number of tricks I can bring on you.” Agatha stepped forward, her feet never touching the ground. “I could make your dreams come true; I can be what Wanda never was for you.”

You pressed your lips together taking into a fighting stance.

“You know nothing about my dreams, and I am certainly not looking for a replacement.”

Agatha snorted her hand gripping tightly on the necklace, soon a red mist grew from the space between her neck and chest and the world around her turned crimson. Agatha stretched out her arms and the whole world vibrate around you changing in the blink of an eye.

“Are you sure? I can tell by the pathetic way you are always looking at her, but the way you talk about her that there is nothing else you want more than her…” Agatha’s voice rose above the new scene, your eyes flickered around while your stomach dropped when you realized where she had taken you to.

For a brief moment you could make out the screams and grunts of the fight going on right outside this small world. You took a deep breath trying to get a hold of your powers ignoring the runes glowed above your head a clear sign that this was still being controlled by Agatha. You creased your brows knowing that your options were limited if the other woman decided to use her magic at its full potential. She was playing with you, leading you on and one until it was quite clear she was mocking you by placing you right in front of a memory that had broken your heart at some point.

It was playing in slow motion, the video and the room with everyone just as shocked as you were to see Wanda in the arm’s of another. The passing of time, every single moment that you had suffered the betrayal while facing your sadness alone in a world of pure darkness. Your fit closed, the shadows on your feet stirred violently sensing your anger when you heard Agatha laughing. Mocking you.

“How did it make you feel knowing she was happier with a man?” Agatha purred making sure to be as far away from you as she could. “How did it feel knowing you were never going to be chosen in this world? In this universe? I bet it pierce your soul knowing you were the one destined to be alone.”

“Shut up.”

“I can make it go away, I can help you out…say the words, and I will make sure you get what you want.”

Your knees gave under your weight, furrowing your brows you tried to close yourself to the mocking film playing around you trying to focus on the fight. Agatha chuckled tilting her head, this time around the runes above her head pulsated and the two creatures grew before your eyes attacking viciously at your counterpart and Wanda making sure that your conversation and fight with Agatha wouldn’t be interrupted. Agatha centred her eyes on you, her hand grabbing the necklace while the same video seemed to be on replay.

“She won’t be a problem for you anymore, and after I’m done with you…you won’t have to worry about the pain of your broken heart, dear.” The laughter sent shivers down your back, but it was everything you were waiting for.

Your lips curled into a smile, your right hand twirled clockwise and the shadows broke into waves catching up with the witch. Just as you had located her, ready to give her a lesson, the woman was ready to use the magic Wanda and Scarlet were giving to her to make sure the next stage of her plan could be completed.

It never happened, though.

Your attack never stopped reaching out to your objective, while Agatha tried to return the hit she was surprised by a sudden punch to her face. The punch glow white, and her body bounced back and forth until she lost the hold on the necklace, America Chavez didn’t stop there and your shadows went straight to hold onto the witch to bring her down.

Everything happened so fast, your eyes went from America to Agatha and finally to the object on the ground. The necklace bounced on the ground, and without thinking too much you went right ahead to grab it. The object was warm to the touch, you could tell by the vibrations that magic had been contained between the object and this magic could only belong to one person. You closed your hand around it, you could sense Scarlet deep inside your mind. It didn’t take you too long to recognize the woman that had been haunting your dreams as of late, right with her you could also sense Wanda trying to hide, trying to survive.

“NO!”

The scream coming from Agatha was everything you needed to drop the necklace and stomp on the piece of jewellery creating an explosion that blew you and everyone around you away.

“Humph…” Your mouth opened letting out a shaky breath, your body hurt all over while your eyes got use to the sparkling lights that appeared before them when your head hit the ground.

“Y/N!!” You tried to sit up, a pair of arms held onto you for a brief moment until you were capable of making out the figure sitting beside you.

America had her brows creased; her eyes shone with worry while she tried to hold you up. The fighting was still ringing inside your ears, your counterpart was finishing the last of the dimensional creatures while you could spot her Wanda holding back against Agatha. For a brief moment, panic rose inside you the sudden need to throw up became almost to much just as you leaned forward trying to stand up your eyes looking frantically for the women that had been haunting your dreams and reality as of late.

“They are unconscious…” America started but she could not finish her sentence as you stood up without any warning.

“Wanda…” Her name escaped your lips without meaning to, at that moment with your body exhausted and your mind already carrying the weight of so many memories and thoughts all you could do was staggered forward until you reached both women.

You stood on shaky legs glancing from Wanda to Scarlet, both of them unconscious wearing the same bags under their eyes and the bruises all over their faces and arms. You hesitated not really knowing where you should focus your attention until, as an afterthought you went to Wanda. Turning her to the side you ensure she was comfortable, her lip had a deep cut and her forehead had traces of a scratch that left her with blood and dirt. She looked thinner than you remember, with her face wearing still the same defeated expression she wore to your home all those months ago.

“Wanda.” You said her name again, this time around firmer and demanding, your hand trying to help her out until you heard her exclamation of pain. “Wanda, are you alright?”

The young woman stirred in your arms, her eyes flickering slightly until she opened her lips and let out an exclamation of pain. You put her back on the ground, turning around you could see Scarlet was stirring awake as well while the fight seemed to have no end.

“Y/N…” You turned to see Wanda’s eyes fluttering open, her green orbs looking back at you with sadness and tenderness that had your heart beating a tad bit faster.

“Hey, are you alright?” You leaned in but Wanda looked away helping herself up, you tired to assist her but your body froze for a moment unsure on how to proceed with the woman sitting before you.

“I…I am a little sore.” She replied, her eyes never leaving the form of Scarlet, Wanda furrowed her brows glancing at her hands then back at the other woman. “She…she is…Scarlet Witch.”

Her words trembled as she pronounced them, her face lowered thinking to herself knowing full well your attention was on her. She remembered the moment she had separated herself from the legend, the words of Agatha had haunted her at that moment when she realized there was something inside her giving her powers a deeper meaning. She had hated that idea, and the world that had been created out of it.

When Wanda finally dared to look up she found herself looking into your eyes. Her heart stirred with emotion, the words that wanted to pour out of her mouth entangled around her throat for she knew it was not the time for a heart-to-heart conversation. She wished everything had turned out different, but after her confrontation with Agatha and everything she had discovered whiled trapped in that reality she knew what she needed to do.

“Can you…help me up?” She asked shyly, you nodded curtly stretching your hands for her to take them.

She was cold under your touch, and a little sweaty.

Her cheeks coloured pink, and her eyes glanced everywhere but at you. You felt a piercing pain going through your chest, but you ignored it while helping the other woman up. For a brief moment, you thought she could walk on her on until Wanda’s legs trembled and almost gave up on her. You caught her just on time, her body pressing against yours making your traitorous heart stopped for a brief moment.

“How convenient, Wanda.” Scarlet was on her knees; she had sweat falling down her face breathing hard and glaring at the two of you though her eyes were completely focused on Wanda. “You…you don’t do nothing, yet you get to be with her.”

Wanda tensed in your arms, she took a deep breath while pushing you away taking one step at a time until she was standing before Scarlet. You lifted your eyes to see America just as focused on the two women as you were, the sound of the fighting was till rumbling in your ears but it was almost impossible to pay attention to something else that wasn’t the scene playing out in front of you.

Wanda held herself up, conscious of the hatred inside the eyes of Scarlet.

Inside her own eyes.

“We don’t get to be with her.” Wanda mumbled dropping her shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes as she spoke. “I’ve been trying to make amends but I just…”

“You always failed, and you make it worse.” Scarlet spat out lifting her chin in defiance, her position on the ground was not an inconvenience. If anything, it gave her the power that Wanda couldn’t show at the moment.

“I tried to reach out to her, to make her world and mine…to…”

“I know.” Wanda offered a weakened smile, looking out of the corner of her eyes she could see you had your attention on the both of them. “I tried to do the same. I just…I can’t do it alone, and I’m tired of failing every time. I don’t…”

Wanda swallowed down her tears, she leaned in lifting her left hand until she was cupping Scarlet’s cheek. Red mist appeared in Wanda’s hand, and soon her eyes as much as those of Scarlet were shining brightly.

“It hurts so much.” Scarlet said letting the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I just…

“I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to be without her.” Wanda finally said her own tears falling down her face.

You clenched your jaw, looking away for a moment while your chest felt a myriad of butterflies fluttering inside.

“But I can’t keep fighting alone, or divided.” Wanda stated, she wiped away Scarlet’s tears before adding. “I think we need to be one, you saw just how powerful we are together and…”

“You need to fix this, or we would never…”

“I know, but this may not end the way you want it.”

Scarlet drifted her attention to you, her eyes found those of yours and in there you could read everything you had been so afraid to interpret the first time. There was pain and sadness, emotions that broke into her heart in ways you could only imagine, and then there was love. You looked away stepping back under the intensity of such a stare, you missed the broken smile on Scarlet’s face and the defeat she wore while facing Wanda again.

“I know, I think we will cope when the time for that comes.” Wanda nodded in understanding; her hands gleamed brighter than ever while Scarlet placed her hand on top of hers.

“I promised you I won’t give up.”

“Good, then let’s do this.”

The crimson mist grew around them glowing with a bright, red light making you trembled under the intensity of the magic. You could see America kneeling down, her eyes going wide open as they stare the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Wanda and Scarlet were no longer two different entities.

Standing before you was a single woman, her head was adorned with a red crown that made match with the bodice and the black leggings. Wanda stood there with magic coming from her hands, her eyes a deep shade of red that gathered the power you had always known she had in her. The woman stood still for a moment, she glanced at her body and her hands before her face lifted to stare at you.

You tried to hide your expression, your lips parting to speak but not words came out. Wanda hesitated before nodding her feet moving slowly until she turned around making her way to the fight.

“Is she gonna be okay?” America stood right beside you, squirting at the woman now using her magic to help her counterpart in the fight against Agatha.

“I think so…” You trailed off finally realizing that even though the both of them had finally become one, Wanda was still wearing the bruises and the exhaustion on her face.

“Are you okay?” America asked quite concern, you turned to her offering a half smile.

“I will be.” You sighed scratching the back of your neck. “Stay here and be careful.”

“What are you gonna do?” The teen asked slightly scare, you offered her a half smile turning towards the fight that was a tied between the Wandas and Agatha.

“What we came to do, just stay out of trouble and be ready to help us go back home, okay kiddo?”

America doubt there was anything she could do, but she didn’t contradict you. With a single nodded of her head she watched as you ran towards the fight, your shadows already creating a protective barrier around you and Wanda. Something, America though, you probably were not aware of.

_____________________________________________________________

Loki rolled his eyes once more, he was tired of hearing the fight going on in the meeting room while he stood by the window waiting for the right moment to intervene.

The world outside was highly active, Monday had always been one of the busiest days in the calendar and that day was not the exception. The young god leaned forward, his fingertips touching the window while his eyes observed the golden and green lights of the timelines. His eyes soon fell upon the one he did not recognise, a red line that he could not tamper with but that he was certain contained the answers to the questions everyone in the room were posing.

Loki turned around his eyes finding those of Billy who had not leave his side ever since Pietro brought him into the Avenger’s Tower. The young boy had his eyes narrowed, his hands playing with invisible threats only he could see.

For a brief moment, Loki stood there observing the child with growing curiosity. Billy was tapping the air with his fingertips, concentrated in something only visible to him. Loki frowned with his mind already forming an idea of what exactly was happening.

“Billy, what are you doing?” The question was low enough for the child to hear it but not for the rest of the room to notice it.

Billy lifted his face this time around his eyes went wide opened showing off the innocence of his age, but also the brightness he had inherited from both his mothers.

“Mommy always says to follow my instincts.” There was conviction in his tone, his hands tapping still as if waiting for something.

“And, what are they telling you?” Loki knelt to be on the same height of the child, Billy tilted his head creasing his brows before answering.

“Uncle Loki, momma and mommy need my help…look!”

Loki looked in the direction Billy was pointing to, he gasped with his eyes wide open and a smile forming on his lips.

“Billy you are a genius.” Billy offered a timid smile glancing at Loki shyly.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I think thanks to you we are going to be able to help Wanda and Y/N.” Loki could see the excitement in the little boy, he couldn’t help but smile back.

Without giving to much attention to the room, Loki sat right beside Billy closing his eyes before letting his magic to spread around. Billy was slightly confused at first, he had continued working on invisible threads trying to get into contact with them. Now there was something different, with his uncle sitting beside him Billy could sense the magic. He pressed his lips together before sitting down and, imitating Loki, he closed his eyes and just went with his instincts.

_____________________________________________________________

Whatever power she had tried to drain from Wanda and even Scarlet was no longer active to give her the stamina or even the strength to keep up with the fight. She was not even up to sustain the world she had created by tampering on the Chaos magic she could barely tolerate.

Wanda Maximoff gathered her power while circling the woman in front of her, she could feel the hurt she had created for her counterpart had reached out beyond the boundaries of the multiverse and it was something she would not tolerate. Beside her she could sense Y/N, a close shadow that was ready to jump in when necessary to offer protection and support; Wanda couldn’t help but smile.

“You won’t win.” Agatha tried to put up with a fight, she tried to hold onto the last threads of power inside her to get into the fight but she could no longer hold onto her powers for far too long.

You came from behind her your hands wrapping around her wrists while your shadows covered her feet spreading through her legs and body. Agatha was struggling, her eyes going wide open just as she started chanting in a language you did not recognize. Wanda opened her eyes wide, she stepped closer spreading her arms and chanting just the same, the runes trembling right above your head just before a myriad of images surrounded you breaking the darkness before going completely white.

“NO!” Agatha let out a guttural exclamation, her elbow hitting you square in the face but whatever strength she had in her to fight was haltered by your counterpart finishing what you started.

Wanda knew at that moment why she had been feared by Agatha, the power that was held inside her sent electric waves through her body. The power concentrated on her hand, and soon a single jewel showed on her palm while her counterpart continued with the ritual. The runes appeared right above her head, and without any indications, she started chanting as well.

You stepped back falling on your ass, blood rolling down your nose just as you saw the black figured being swallowed by the jewel. There was a moment of flickering lights and then, it stopped. Both Wanda’s stood right in front of the other, the jewel resting comfortably on the hand of Y/N’s wife.

The jewel took into a purplish colour, falling to the ground with a single thump.

The world went silent.

The darkness around you grew, with the stars twinkling right above your head.

Everything was still, with only your hard breathing breaking the tension around your ears. Your body was aching, your mind filled with memories of the past and the present all of them pilling up to overwhelmed you line of thoughts. You closed your eyes trying to forget and wait for everything to be back the way it was in the last year.

But you knew it was just an illusion.

Your world had been shaken up the moment Wanda and America showed up at your doorstep. The fight with Agatha brought back the memories you had tried to forget, it brought with it the truths you were not ready to face. You had always thought that you could outrun your motions, but the world has always taught you this was not possible. Not for someone like you, and certainly not for someone like Wanda.

When you opened your eyes you saw Wanda, your Wanda staring at you, but before anything could be done or said her eyes rolled back passing out of exhaustion. You caught up to her on time, her body falling on yours your face a mask of pure concern just as you ensure she rested comfortably on the ground.

You knew everyone was looking at you, but you decided to ignore them while checking Wanda over to make sure nothing else happened to her.

“Are you alright?” The other Wanda came to you, her voice sent shivers down your back, you didn’t dare to lift your eyes for fear of revealing far too much.

Instead, you nodded taking deep breaths while feeling the ground under your knees, without thinking too much about it, your hand brushed Wanda’s hair tenderly. The attention you were giving to her was something you never thought you would do again. The woman standing beside you shifted her weight and soon she was sitting right beside you; this time around you did turn around only to see her staring at you with big, curious eyes.

“She is still unconscious, but I believe she is no longer two halves of the same person.” Wanda lifted her face to the sky, her lips parting slightly. “Her magic is still erratic, but I believe she would be okay.”

“What about Agatha?” Your question entangled in your throat, scrunching up your nose you decided to conceal your emotions not ready to face the conversation or to address the white elephant hanging around you two.

“She will be trapped in this jewel until you and her decided what should be done with her.” Wanda handed over the jewel, you pursed your lips in disgust before grabbing the artifact.

“The book she had with her, it is the Darkhold, isn’t it?”

“It is.” You nodded this time around locking your eyes with hers.

“Are you taking it with you?”

Wanda broke into an easy smile shaking her head, “it’s not mine but yours. It would be better off in your world, where it belongs.”

“It should be destroyed.” You leaned back resting your hands on the ground.

“It should, but that would be your prerogative not ours.”

Your eyes drifted around the place before they settled on America and Y/N, both of them were engaged in a heavy discussion and you could teel this was the moment America had been waiting for a very long time. The feelings of guiltiness and sadness had been quite evident in her when you two met, right now this was the chance the young woman was waiting for to make amends. To reach for forgiveness.

“So, any idea how we are going to leave this place?”

Wanda nodded leaning back until she pointed to America and your counterpart.

“She is ready to use her powers, I believe she is the only one that can help us right now.”

Not sooner had Wanda said this the world started to tremble, the light of the stars flickered until they disappeared one by one. You straightened up with Wanda standing up as soon as she noticed this.

“I guess…we should try it right now.” You stood up turning to glance at the darkened world, everything was coming in and out of reality with the ground shaking for small periods of time.

“It was a matter of time.” Wanda placed a hand on your forearm, you couldn’t help the tension on your muscles the other woman softened her features stepping closer. “You will be back, and she will need help to recover from this.”

“I know.”

“Are you ready for that?” The question caught you off guard, you knew what was expected of you and what you could do with the woman that had broken your heart at some point.

You could hide behind that excuse until the end of time, but it would run out of any validity at some point. Sooner or later, you knew you would have to face Wanda and decisions must be made. The Wanda standing before you softened her features, her words would made your mind pound with the imminent decisions you would need to make.

“How deep is your anger, and how deep goes your love for you to not face what your heart already knows?” Wanda leaned in and you found yourself in a embrace you didn’t know you miss. Her voice was just a whisper, but it was everything you needed at the moment. “I won’t tell you what to do, but I will tell you my love to follow your instincts. They had never failed you.”

America glanced around the group with a nervous smile.

She glanced at her hands then back at you and Y/N, the words of encouragement were ringing inside her head while she tried to gather the courage to move onto the next step.

“Just think about it, kiddo.” Y/N stated grabbing the hand of her wife, America almost winced at those words because her mind had been a myriad of thoughts since they delegate the task of going back home on her.

You fixed the unconscious woman in your arms, putting her closer to you while looking over at America. The young woman closed her eyes, ready to open the portal when Wanda stopped her.

“Wait, America.” The redhead stepped closer placing her hand on America’s shoulder. “Remember, it is more than opening a portal, is about opening the right one.”

“I know, I know…it’s just…easier said than done.” America pursed her lips, she took a deep breath closing her eyes.

“Then, let yourself be guided by your emotions and what you remember of the place you want to go to.” Wanda squeezed the shoulder of the teen tenderly, and for that brief moment America felt it.

It was vague but it was there.

The same kind of energy she had felt on Wanda and Y/N, it was familiar yet different. She had felt it when she first fell upon that universe, the twins had carried with them a strange kind of energy that seemed to engulf the best of Wanda and Y/N.

America closed her eyes and, without thinking to much, she followed the familiarity of that energy. Her mind bringing over the memories of her time in that land, finally easing out her fears and trusting in the women she had surrounding her.

The young woman clenched her fist, and with a single punch she opened the star-shaped portal.

All of them were ready to go home.

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

[thegnomelord]

CH:2 You Were Made For This At Least You're Good For Something

CW: NSFW, blood, gore, scars, cannon typical violence, dissociating, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, survivor's guilt, military inaccuracies. Heavy description of reader having scars, reader gets called 'sir' once but overall GN.

AO3: 13.7k words. Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Magic is often described as a loaded gun, a double edged sword, a grenade with a missing pin, an unmarked minefield — and a thousand more little comparisons parents have come up with to frighten their children, to drill the dangers of magic into their heads. And, should their spawn unfortunately present with said aptitude, to teach them how to spend the rest of their lives vigilantly holding the leash on their emotions tight, lest the magic consume them the next time they throw a tantrum.

Your own parents spoke about magic like it was a beast sent by a vengeful God; a venomous insect hiding in your boots, a beautiful creature luring you to touch it's deadly skin, glowing eyes peering at you from the darkness, a handsome wolf stalking your red hood from the tree line. Something so desperate for a single chance to devour you. Famished. Ravenous.

What a load of shit.

—Ethereal mana rushes through your veins like water through a busted dam, your fingers forcing it to form into skin chafing ash. Large dark clouds swirl around you like a shield, stray cinders brush your feverish skin in a distorted attempt to mimic a lover's touch, smog curls around your head like blinders to focus your eyes forward so you don't need to notice if it's a combatant or a civilian your ash consumes—

If magic was half as unpredictable as people made it out to be, you would have never reached the heights you did.

—The thick disgusting scent of gas and burning human flesh tenderly presses down on your chest, sharp claws persuading you to breathe out by gently caressing the spaces between your ribs. Your breath fogs over the darkened lenses, steam rising from your chest as the generator inside churns out more mana—

What does that make you?

—Sparks nip at your heel when your body thinks of faltering, sharp needles pricking half dead nerves and commanding your limbs to move in order to evade obstacles and falling debris and whatever else is thrown at you, magic strengthening your muscles so you can rush through the streets like a forest fire—

A weapon? A fellow beast?

—Silent black flames devour the corpses your magic creates, leaving nothing behind. Stifling heat straddles your brainstem and burns away the weeds of empathy before they can spread the seeds of hesitation in your mind, isolating your heart so it remains too hot to harbor any mercy, regardless of how many lives you cut short—

Yeah, sounds about right.

—The roar of fire deafens the screams and sirens, the soft crackle of flames is indistinguishable to the crack! of breaking buildings and snapping bones. It makes it so easy to retain the single minded focus you were praised and cursed for. To remind yourself of what you are; a mage, a soldier, an Ifrit, a Red Right Hand—

What else are you good for?

You—

Breathe.

You need to breathe.

You need to think.

While you still can.

Your brain is a jumbled mess of puzzle pieces a frustrated child threw into the fireplace. Burnt edges and missing corners prevent your mind from its natural configuration and forces your thoughts into obtuse positions. It takes time and effort to open your eyes, needles of stagnated mana stabbing your irises and making what should be a pitch black room feel like you're staring into the sun. Your body feels light like you're falling, your vision swims with spots of blurriness and sharpness, the back of your throat tight in an attempt to get you to puke up your empty stomach. You only manage to cough, but the vestigial impulse gets some other thoughts to trickle from your mind.

You focus your eyes to one point and stare until the blurriness retreats to the edges of your vision and the tripling shapes solidify into one. It takes more time for your brain to understand what your eyes are seeing through the steam, but you manage to make out. . . your glowing hands. . . your knees. . . dark ash, muddied water, bathroom tiles.

Your vision improves the longer you keep your eyes open, the room steadily darkening and becoming more bearable as the stagnated mana is forced to recede.

You concentrate on what you feel; water pelts your naked body, only to sizzle and turn into steam after rolling an inch down your skin. Cool ceramic tiles brush against your spine every time you shift, rapidly warming up to your body temperature. A drizzle of discomfort nibbles on your nerves when the hot air you breathe out burns the corners of your dry lips. Your fingers feel like rusted pistons as you intertwine them and numbly watch your 'skin' bubble, and those bubbles 'pop', giving you a grim glimpse of your blackened muscle and sinew and bone before the surrounding lava covers them up.

You don't even notice the ringing in your ears until your slowly sharpening mind forces it to go away, replacing it with the sound of running water, of the ventilation fan uselessly trying to suck up the steam, of your own heart beating like a hummingbird against your ribs, woodpeckers drilling into your skull from all angles as the world becomes so fucking—

—Loud. The world is Loud. Nothing like the calm and quiet brought to you by the battlefield, nothing like the sense of safety that comes from familiarity. No. Now the world feels like a swarm of angry wasps are burrowing into your ears to build a nest in your skull, sharp pincers gnawing on your bones and flesh and nerves and—

No.

You got this far.

You're not allowed to fall back into panic.

You force your chest to expand and take in a deep, unfiltered, unrestricted, breath. Ash with the disgusting undertone of rotten eggs curls inside your nose and doesn't let anything else pass. But a small hint of you manages to register in your brain, light and calming; your body’s lackluster attempt at incense to cover up the stench of rot.

And you taste. . . a lot. Too much; morning breath, ash, smoke, blood, the peppery battery acid quality of your blood — all blended together into a disgusting cocktail tailor made for you by what's left of the butchered angel sitting on your shoulder.

You don't think when you reach out to grab the glass of whatever shit liquor past you had bought. 'Glass' is far too kind a word for the tin can you're using, but metal doesn't shatter in your burning hands like ceramic or glass.

Your head thunks against the wall as you throw it back to gulp down the alcohol before it can boil, swallowing in big gulps like it's water. Your stomach cramps, the devil's finest piss would taste better going down your throat than the booze, but it's as effective as it is disgusting and bleaches your mouth until it's the only thing you can taste — sweet relief wrapped in thorns.

You don't revel in it.

The tin can bends like playdoh as you squeeze your burning hand, quickly reddening metal molding to your palm before you crumple it into a small ball. You flick it into the corner where it becomes another piece of the small pile that's been steadily growing there over the months.

Breathing in deep makes your ribs creak and groan like rusted hinges, your lungs burn and complain as you keep the air trapped in them until they're forced to function properly and a shuddered breath escapes your parted lips. The water feels nice and a part of you wants to stay under the stream forever, a part of you would be content growing moss and listening to the soft apologies your mana murmurs as it nibbles on your blood vessels.

You would hit that part of yourself if you could.

The thinning steam urges you to move. Shifting to your knees is difficult with Atlas's burden weighing on your shoulders, forcing your fingers to find purchase in the scorched grooves previously melted in the wall. Pulling yourself to your feet causes them to grow a few inches deeper, your burning hands leaving singed handprints on the ceramic walls.

The weakness in your knees forces you to spend a few seconds just standing, watching your magic slowly start to slumber. The once runny lava consistency of your 'skin' shifts to that of cooling magma, the vast excess of loose mana still in your blood slowly coagulating atop your 'skin' in the form of large chunks of volcanic rock, little cracks remaining between them to simulate blood vessels.

Washing yourself isn't a relaxing affair in general, but it's made worse by the heavy duty soap and rough sponge you have to use in order to scrub away the grime and ash stubbornly clinging to your skin. You try not to look at your body more than you have to, your eyes transfixed on the way the dirty water carries the signs of your violence down the drain. You never get any blood on you, your fires burn too hot for that, and you don’t know if seeing the water turn red instead of black would make you feel better or worse.

The most painful place to wash is the sharp transition between mage marks and living tissue at your shoulders; magic cares little for appearances, volcanic rock abruptly transitioning to soft skin that boasts spiderweb cracks — a tell tale sign of your mana intending to spread further. The nerves there are partially eaten away too, turning your skin into a minefield of zero sensation and absolute hell when one of those nerves is prodded.

You get out when the water runs clear, the residual droplets turning to steam the second you turn off the shower. You stumble as take a few steps, bracing against the small sink next to the shower, staring at the tap to keep your gaze from doubling again.

Something gnaws on your heart as you recognize that you're standing naked in your small safehouse. You should have recovered by now, gotten your shit together and went off to carry out whatever other massacre your employer wanted to commit. Your mind, ever the problematic thing, chimes in: How improper.

Your eyes skirt to the dog tags sitting on the sink, those little plates of steel chastising you "Fuck's sake firebug, this isn't a nudist beach!" like their owners did before. . . before.

Just thinking about it gives you the phantom taste of blood and something acidic, makes you feel a ghostly ache in your bones as if your chest had been ripped open one rib at a time. Invisible glass digs into your throat as you swallow, fish hooks tug on your skin. The mirror hanging above the sink calls for you, mocks you, dares you, orders you to look at the horrid thing that replaced a sweet young child.

Burning flames greet your gaze, swallowing up every last bit of natural color in your eyes just as the hungering beast devours those stupid enough to enter its woods. And you were that fool. The raised bumps of veins and arteries snaking across your chest and throat like creeping ivy attest to that, each inch of your blood vessels meticulously, painfully, pulled from the safe depths of skin and bone to heal on the surface of your skin (or bleed and rot. You could never tell when torture turned into intended murder.)

Your body tells a tale of your survival (for whatever that's good for), most of your scars old and healed, created at a time when you didn't know how to heal yourself. Dimly glowing lines of hardened mana occasionally stretch across your skin, spiderwebs of deep cyan peek beneath your hair on one side of your head and pulse across your throat, glittering amber swirls across your side — small and pretty testaments of wounds so horrendous only magic could keep you in one piece.

An eternal flame burns in your chest, its steady unfaltering glow outlining your sternum and each rib in such clarity it's like you're a cadaver in a morgue, a textbook example of a person slowly spiraling towards lichdom. The light emanating from within you makes the jagged dark ink curving along the space of your ribs stand out like a sore thumb, D.O.D. 2016.01.01. Your fingers ache to trace the little shaky messages of not Today, Guess again, yuo wish, NO, just one more day that circle it, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

You can't sully the last few things you have left of them, you can't, you can't you can't—

Crack!

You realize you've broken the mirror when you pull your hand back and see large shards stick out between your knuckles. Little reflections of yourself continue to mock you as you pull the pieces out. It doesn't hurt, it hasn't hurt since the mage marks first cracked the pads of your fingers, though you're still unsure if it's a gift or a curse —"leave it for the scholars to bicker about" as your Commander loved to say.

A shadow flickers in the corner of your eye, almost like a silhouette of someone you think you knew. Glowing lines of a magic circle burst into the air before you can physically react, mana simmering beneath your skin as magic comes to you easier than breathing.

The hallway lights up to reveal nothing. The thing you saw was just the shadow of a tree branch moving in the wind. You unsummon your magic before it can burn anything, the dwindling sparks nipping your fingers before they’re snuffed out as a way to show your mana is not pleased by the false alarm.

There is nothing there.

You are alone.

Again.

Your phone rings, the factory setting music grating on your ears. The phone is a piece of shit Nokia brick that belongs in a museum, but it works fine as far as burner phones go. Archaic technology like this plays better with magic than the flashy electronics people use nowadays, and the fact it doesn't connect to wifi helps make you harder to track.

You use the back of your knuckle to answer the phone, luckily not needing to pick it up as your mana enhanced hearing is a lot better than human. You manage to force a rough "Yes?" out of your throat.

"Nicely done my friend." Khaled sounds pleased with the death you brought, "You put on a very nice show." The eloquent Arabic he speaks makes the praise sound even nicer to your ears, like a balm of milk and honey to soothe your mind after what you went through. You can see how he's amassed as many men as he has, you could see yourself joining him full time if you were younger and dumber.

Your thoughts sit on your tongue like hot coals, but you swallow them down. "Thank you sir." You say instead, politely. Respect for your superiors was beaten into you years ago, yet exhaustion makes your words sound far rougher than his. Thankfully you're able to keep the accent of your mother tongue from deforming the fragile vowels.

"Ever the modest one." Khaled's chuckle is deep and just at the edge of mean, the subtle change in tone making the fine hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. "I need to pick up some more toys." And by 'I' he means you.

Toys — guns, bombs, other weapons intended for mass destruction; you're not surprised he's using slang instead of saying it outright. Your employer may be an overgrown murderous warlord, but he's not dumb, there's no doubt heavy surveillance has been put on both of you and Al-Qatala as a whole after your stunt.

It makes sense why he'd want to send you for the weapon's deal instead of going himself, there's no telling when some military group or pmc will try to bushwhack them in hopes of body bagging Khaled. Hell, you'd be disappointed if the CIA wasn't already in the final stages of planning a counter terrorism measure. Nosy fucks.

"Understood sir. Send me the shopping list." You feel your brow twitch with irritation when Khaled abruptly cuts the call. A sigh escapes you; your stomach feels like a witch is using it for a cauldron, all sorts of nastiness bubbling into a disgusting brew — your body's trying to warn you of something you can't see.

Not like you listen.

Dropping the last of the mirror shards into the sink you reach over to grab the dog tags and slip the cold chain around your neck. The metal warms up quickly, becoming indistinguishable from your skin. You rest your hand over them. If you try hard enough, you can just about sense the last remaining dregs of their magic— cool water, nibbling ice, soft soil — but the rest blend together into senseless mana, nothing but whispers of the past.

16 other tags rest against your skin, your own nestled somewhere between the dead.

You should have died instead.

You tear your hand away with a scoff, shaking those thoughts off and go get dressed. You slip on your helmet last, the tension in your shoulders evaporating when your face is hidden. Your lungs stutter for a second before adapting to breathe normally. You throw a glance at the shattered mirror and this time it's the helmet that greets you; just another soldier, just a mage.

Yeah. . . that's you alright.

Your phone vibrates, telling you you've received a message.

Right. You have a job to do. Here's to hoping this one isn't your last.

You're not holding your beath.

. . .

The briefing room is silent as Laswell goes over the census: 200 confirmed dead, hundreds in serious condition, thousands more who will be affected in the coming weeks and months when the seasonal storms wash the toxins into water sources and pollute the earth. And that's not talking about the long term effects, who knows how many will be lost in the coming years trying to neutralize the poisonous magic and rebuild.

Toxic gas itself is problematic when they don't know what specific kind it is, but when it binds with loose particle magic like ash or sand it can linger for decades, eroding concrete and skin alike. A whole generation will be born in hazmat suits.

Kate finishes speaking. A minute of silence follows.

Soap takes the time to try and visualize the dead as people rather than just a statistic, but his mind falls short. His tail twitches with irritation, fists clenching by his sides; he just can't understand how one person could do all of that without rockets or explosives.

His brain births a grim thought — fire hot enough to burn through concrete wouldn't leave behind any bodies, so he can tack on several more hundred deaths to the census, ones that have no way of being confirmed, leaving families without a body to grieve over.

"As far as we know." Kate begins again, her face grim, deep dark shadows stretching beneath her eyes. Only caffeine and determination have helped chase away her exhaustion. "This was a terrorist attack organized by Khaled Al-Asad," She pulls up two pictures on the interactive board, one of Khaled, the other — the same featureless helmet they'd seen on the news. "And carried out by a mage mercenary called Ifrit. True identity unknown."

Soap's ear twitches and he tilts his head at Ghost. "Bet yeh he's an ugly focker."

Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him. "Didn't think that 'bout me did you?" He mutters, eyes returning to the screen, staring at your picture as if it'll reveal some deeper meaning; an insight into a murderer's mind. Soap holds off on doing the same, he doesn't want any of the sludge on him.

“Could also be a ‘her’.”

Their gazes turn to the two women sitting at the front, the captain and lieutenant of another pmc the US has contracted to help them deal with this problem.

The one who spoke is a woman in her late 30's, brown hair pulled in a tight bun, green eyes occasionally flickering with whisps of unnatural blue; Captain Roberts – if Johnny remembered her name correctly from orientation – continues. “Women are better at using magic, and control it with the finesse required for more complex spells.” She explains with a dismissive look, absentmindedly waving her gloved hand like they’re just insects buzzing around her head.

Yeah, Johnny doesn't like her. And it's not because she smells like sweet lotus mixed with the stench of rancid fish rotting under the sun. It's because she's as hoity-toity as every other mage he's met (thankfully he's only met a few).

The shorter woman sitting next to Captain Roberts shrugs, black hair pulled into a similarly tight bun. "A little biased there captain." Lieutenant Martinez says, her black eyes flickering to look at the monsters. "Though, I can't say it's unwarranted." He hears her mutter.

Johnny notices striped patches velcroed to their arms, 2 icy blue ones on Martinez, 3 deep blue on Roberts. Distantly he remembers them to signal the power level of a mage on the international power scale, though he's blurry on the finer details.

Johnny’s ears twitch as he hears Ghost mutter a “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” under his breath before the wraith gruffly speaks up loud enough for all to hear. “Nail Ifrit and you’ll get the chance to check for bollocks.”

Roberts turns her head to look at Ghost. Her eyes look him over and the initial scowl (which Johnny's sure she was born with) turns into something that makes Johnny's fur stand on end and gums itch with the need to bare his teeth. She opens her mouth to speak—

A low rumble wafts through the air as Price blows out a puff of cigar smoke, the soft cloud escaping through the open window but the strong scent remains. "Hush." Price's pupils are thin like needles, shutting up Roberts with one look before he looks at Kate. "What do we know about 'em?"

Kate frowns, "Not enough." She pulls up a map of the world, a red dot placed somewhere in Libya. “Ifrit first appeared on our radars 2 years ago under the employment of a Libyan warlord called Ahmed Saleh.” Next she pulls up a video, playing it. The camera work is shaky, but Soap's able to make out said warlord speaking in a language he doesn't know, Ifrit standing by his side like some freaky statue. The camera shifts to focus on the row of men behind them, all bound on their knees with bags over their heads.

Johnny knows immediately what this is.

He still flinches when glowing circles spring beneath the mens knees, violent flames shooting high up into the sky as if Ifrit just used their personal key to open Satan's backyard. The camera flickers like an old TV, catching the last few seconds of glitched dying screams and magic burning away skin and muscle before the the video ends.

"Jesus." Kyle mutters next to Soap, his clawed fingers carding through the black feathers on his other forearm in a self soothing motion. "Just. . . Jesus."

"Ah dinnae think he’ll help." Soap mutters back, nose wrinkling as if he can already smell the burning bodies.

"A few weeks after this video was taken, Ifrit went into hiding before resurfacing again under a different employer." If Kate's bothered by the public execution, she doesn't show it. "Cross referencing the attack in Uzrikstan we’ve found over 50 arson attacks with the same M.O.” More red dots spread across the world map haphazardly, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. “As well as indication of Ifrit's involvement in numerous organized crime groups. Khaled is just their latest employer.”

Ghost lets out a low whistle. "Our arsonist's been busy."

"So what?" Soap's fur bristles even more, "The torcher just pop oot like a weed aw o'a sudden an' immediately jump intae terrorism?"

"Maybe?" Kyle scratches the back of his neck. "If they're a late bloomer and unbound then it makes sense why some crime rings would want them," He turns his head to look at Captain Roberts, "Right?"

She doesn't spare him a look, chewing on her words like Kyle had put something foul in her mouth. "I suppose developing strong magic after adolescence is possible." She begrudgingly says, "And unbound magic is stronger than bound, making Ifrit look like an appealing attack dog." She crosses her arms over her chest, stroking her chin in thought.

"But unbound magic also damages to the body." Lieutenant Martinez pipes up. "And that type of mage marks would take more than just 2 years to develop even if they used magic 24/7."

"You're correct." Captain Roberts finally glances at Kyle, giving him a look as if he had asked the difference between a pug and a werewolf. "It's more likely they had magic for a while. Not to mention received training for it."

Another low rumble escapes Price's chest, the sound reminiscent of construction machinery. "How come we didn't know about the firebug earlier?" His voice is calm, making the sharp edge underneath it cut deeper.

Kate sighs, "I hate to say it, but Ifrit is good." She says solemnly. "Their magic destroys electronics, they never show their face or leave witnesses, and they manage to cover their tracks up so well that we can't find even a partial mana-cule signature on the arson attacks, the most recent one included."

Her words make little sense to him, entering Johnny's ear and exiting through the other. He remembers taking a few classes on the types of magic that can mimic explosive materials when he was doing his demolition course, but all the jargons had made his head hurt and wasn't needed in the end. His tail tucks closer to his leg. "A what?"

Captain Roberts scoffs, but her Lieutenant speaks up. "A mana-cule detector picks up the way magic that's left in a victim's body refracts light. It's specific to every mage, so, like a magical fingerprint." She holds up her gloved hand to give visual to her comparison.

Soap feels Gaz's feathers brush against him as the man folds his wings closer to his body, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the screen. Kyle's eyes wander back to the starting image of the video where you're standing behind the warlord, mentally comparing it with the brief glimpse of you he got on the news. Something about you screams 'professional' to him, like you've done this so many times you got used to it the same way he got used to pulling the trigger of his gun.

"Ifrit doesn't look like some gang banger Khaled or some warlord picked off the street." Kyle finally says, and though he knows Laswell probably had the same thought, he still asks. "Could they be ex military or part of some pmc?"

"We're operating under this assumption, but we can't confirm anything." Kate frowns. "We're still trying to find any personal information about them."

"Getting to the important information." Captain Roberts says, giving them a pointed look. "What even is Ifrit’s level? With destruction like that I can’t imagine anything beneath L3. L4 if they’re 3 seconds away from becoming a lich or just high on Magnus dust."

"Fuck what dust?" Soap asks, but Captain Roberts just waves him off like his question is too stupid for her to answer.

"Magical crack." Ghost shrugs. "Makes the magic stronger, but also turns the mage into a firecracker."

Kate rubs her brows, a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. "By our calculations Ifrit falls into the L5 category." Her words make the rest of them go silent, but Soap just looks around confused.

"Preposterous." Captain Roberts huffs, "I can count on my fingers how many L5's there have been since Christ was born. Ifrit being one is just impossible." A deep scowl etches across her face. "At best, Ifrit is just an L3 high on Magnus dust with no regard for their body. They'll be a lich in a couple months."

"Regardless of what Ifrit is," Price speaks up, stubbing the cigar butt on the window sill and throwing it out the window. "What do we do about them?" A small bit of smoke escapes the corner of his lip, dragon fire burning hot in his chest in response to his well masked anger.

"An insider in Al-Qatala claims a weapon deal will be going down in a day." Kate swipes away the previous pictures, putting on a bird’s eye-view map of a shipping dock. 5 large warehouses circle an empty concrete space bordering the ocean, clearly long abandoned. "From what we know, Khaled has Ifrit secure most of his weapons because they’re careful. If a buyer’s even a minute late they call it all off."

"So punctual and paranoid?" Gaz sumarrises.

Ghost hums to himself. "Quite the work ethic." He side-eyes Johnny. "You could lean som'thin' from 'em."

Soap just huffs, his tail bumping against Ghost's leg in retaliation, his snagglefang showing as his lip quirks up into a small smirk when Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him.

"You’ll need to be tight, there's no telling when this opportunity will present itself again." Kate continues, ignoring them. "Team Alfa," A dot pops up on one side of the docks, Price's and Lieutenant Martinez's faces beneath it. "you'll be going in from the north. Bravo—" Another dot appears on the opposite side with Ghost's and Captain Robert's faces. "—the south."

The dots move to indicate how they're supposed to approach the position, ending up with them completely surrounding the docks. "We don't know Ifrit's full battle capabilities, so you'll need to be careful. Isolate and tire them out before attempting capture, but kill if you must." Laswell looks at them all. "We can only assume ifrit's magic is short ranged so under no circumstances do you get close to them, understood?"

"Crystal ma'am." Captain Roberts shrugs, throwing a look at the monsters at Taskforce 141. "Just let us take care of the mage and keep out of the way so you don't become collateral. I would hate to waste my time healing you." Her eyes linger on Ghost, bits of bright blue mana flickering in her eyes. "Well, most of you." Soap feels Ghost subtly stiffen next to him.

That woman's charming as a train wreck; Soap can feel himself prickle with irritation, more and more strands of fur rising to stand straight on his tail the longer he has to stay near Roberts.

Luckily they're let go early to go rest up and prepare while the two mages stay with Price and Kate to iron out the finer details of which mages which team is taking and what spells to use. Apparently everyone but Price and Kate are too stupid to understand the 'complexity' of their spells.

Soap would be insulted, but he takes the opportunity offered to him. He glues himself to Ghost's side as much as he can 'professionally', his tail curling around his leg as Johnny throws a smug look over his shoulder at Captain Roberts.

Johnny catches her looking back at him like he’s a flea ridden mutt and that just makes his tail wag. He forgets about her the moment the door of the briefing room closes, busying himself by subtly rubbing his arm against Ghost's, spreading a bit of his scent on the wraith's jacket. It's one of the few times he's glad wraith's don't have a scent — makes it easy to smell himself on Ghost.

"Someone's territorial." Gaz chirps as he joins them on Ghost's other side, feathers brushing against their backs to throw his own scent into the mix.

Ghost just looks at Soap bemused, his thick paw of a hand coming up to cradle the back of Johnny's head, gloved fingers gripping his skin like he's a puppy. "You bettah not piss on me."

Gaz breaks out into laughter and Johnny feels his cheeks grow warm. "Dirty bastard." He huffs, but stores the idea for later. "Are all mages like that?" He tilts his head back at the door.

"Uptight?" Gaz asks. "Snotty?"

"Wankers with their heads shoved up their arse?" Ghost helpfully adds.

"That's putting it brawly," Soap lets out a breath, amusement tugging at his lips as his tail wags.

"Yeah, I think it's like a requirement to be a military mage." Kyle chuckles, holding up his hand like he's judging someone's height. "You've got to be this much of a twat to join." He grins, passing them as he goes to get ready.

Soap wants to say more but Ghost's hand on his neck demands his attention, tilting his head up. His breath catches in his throat as Ghost bends down until their foreheads bonk together softly, the cool metal of the mask tickling Soap's skin. "Don't go doing anything dumb pup, olright?"

Dark eyes meet his own, a shiver runs down Soap's spine, his mouth dry as a desert when he tries to swallow the rock in his throat; Soap can't even begin to define the strange thing that was born between them on that one night in Las Almas, he can still remember the way Ghost's deep voice had kept him sane and his wolf's demands to blindly rush the enemy and get back to his pack quiet.

Johnny certainly can't define the late nights spent sharing that dog piss Simon likes drinking, nor the rough touches and hickeys they leave on the other, though they never have time to get further than that.

This feels nice too.

His hands sneak to Ghost's hips, thumbs hooking under his belt loops to pull their bodies closer, pressing his chest against Ghost's. "When have I ever done that?" He smirks, lips ghosting over Simon's masked ones.

He feels Ghost's chest rumble as the man chuckles, his other hand roughly gripping Johnny's arse. "You want a list?"

Johnny's tail wags more, "Well, I reckon I'd be up fer-"

"Oi, I’d hate to break the snogfest but we’ve got things to do!" Kyle’s chuckle breaks them up before they can do anything else. Soap turns to flip the bird to the bird, but Kyle's tail feathers have already disappeared into the changing room.

. . .

 The night is calm.

Mellow waves break against the well worn concrete walls of the docks, tree leaves softly flutter in the mild breeze, crickets and frogs sing their songs into the night air. The world itself doesn't care about you or the soldiers guarding the docks. Absentmindedly you track the movements of the men Khaled gave you, the barely noticeable crumbs of magic you stuck on them flickering at the back of your mind like dwindling coals.

All are accounted for. The night is calm. There is nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet your nerves are on a razor's edge. The relative silence scratches down your spine with long crooked claws, the calmness crackles beneath your skin like electricity. Your fingers itch with the need to tap them against your thigh, to do something; waiting has always been your least refined quality regardless of how often you needed to use it. Your body, your magic, Hell — the very essence of what you are — craves the heat of battle, the sweet lull of adrenaline's song to put your nerves at ease.

You resist moving too much. Years of training make hiding the signs of unease and nervousness easy as breathing, your body so still you could be mistaken for a statue if your chest didn't steadily rise and fall.

Taim doesn't possess your abilities. You can feel his nervousness on your tongue, like licking an old battery. His hands shift to re-adjust the hold on his gun for the 6th time in the past 10 minutes. You doubt he knows you're watching him from the corner of your eye, so the tenseness of his shoulders must be from you just being near him.

It doesn't surprise you — many countries that have had Russian or Soviet influence consider mages more monstrous than actual monsters. Mages like you are perversions of God's template, thieves who possess power not intended for you. Urzikstan is no different.

You don't point out how Taim flinches when you raise your hand to look at the time, the watch face strapped to the inside of your wrist; some habits are hard to break.

The deal is supposed to happen at 3AM, and it's 02:57 already. "The seller's taking their sweet time." You say under your breath, lowering your hand. You have half the mind to call it off and tell Khaled to teach his suppliers punctuality. Hell, you've done it before when you had less surveillance on yourself and your employer. This just feels like tempting luck.

Taim looks at his own watch and glances your way. "I understand your frustration sir, but- but we just need to wait a bit more." He absentmindedly holds up three fingers to indicate the minutes left, starting the count from his thumb.

It wouldn't be so odd if middle eastern countries such as Urzikstan didn't start counting with the pinky finger. Americans count with the index. That just leaves the entirety of Europe. You hum a low sound at the back of your throat.

"They-" Taim quickly puts his hand down and grips his gun in both hands, apparently thinking you hadn't noticed his blunder. "They should be here any min- minuta." Another slipup; the hint of a different accent softens and shortens the last vowel of the Arabic word. It narrows down a couple countries, but nothing specific.

Taurus would have made you run around the base for days if you had ever made the same mistakes, provided you survived the consequences of getting caught.

What a fucking amateur.

But Khaled isn't paying you to get rid of vermin, so you let it slide. You catalogue this moment in case you'll need it later, concentrating on the present.

The radio inside your helmet sputters to life, a rough voice speaking quickly in Arabic. "Ship incoming."

Your gaze falls on the dark ocean, mana flowing to your eyes without even having to cast a spell. It's not the same as using a mana sensing spell, those leave your head feeling like you'd volunteered it to be used as a church bell in exchange for perfect clarity of the world around you. But your sight becomes significantly brighter and sharper, enough to see the ship sailing towards the docks. It's a medium sized fishing vessel, the lights inside turned off so as not to attract too much attention, but it meets the specifications Khaled had given you.

You reach up to activate the voice receiver of your radio, pressing the button hidden on the inside of your helmet just behind the gas mask portion. "Our seller's incoming. Get the truck, secure the perimeter and keep tight." You order into the radio, cutting it off again.

You motion for Taim to follow as you walk out from your cover. You had hidden yourselves between two warehouses, their roofs extending to the sides enough to hide you from the sight of drones.

You stop a few feet from the edge of the docks, listening to the truck back up behind you as the boat slowly sails up to the edge of the dock and drops it's anchor.

You don't recognize most of the men on the boat, except for one. "Ah, Ifrit, long time no see," Victor Zakhaev greets you in Russian as he steps off the boat first. You notice a new scar across his face, but otherwise he looks good considering last you've heard of him he'd gotten himself shot and left for dead by some monster taskforce. "I am not late, yes?" He asks in English, offering you his hand.

"Right on time." You say and take his hand in a firm handshake. You try to ignore the way the touch of another human, regardless of the fact you can't really feel his touch, makes your skin crawl.

"Good, good, from you, that is a compliment." He smirks and steps to your side, giving room for his men to unload the heavy weapon crates from the bowels of the ship onto the dock. "I assure you, you'll find the garden hoses and other peashooters are all accounted for." Zakhaev makes a motion with his hand, making his workers put a heavy box onto the ground beside you. "But I know you well, you want to check the goods, yes?"

Needles prick your skin and your mind kicks itself for becoming so predictable. But Zakhaev has known you since your stint with that warlord in Libya, it's only natural he would learn a few of your habits after so long. "You would be correct." You say, your voice betraying nothing.

Zakhaev just chuckles, his workers undoing the crate's top board with his company logo printed on top of it. Inside, nestled between a sea of white packing peanuts, lies one of many M134 miniguns Khaled has been keen on getting — people of your ilk call it the garden hose for the ridiculous amount of ammunition it can spit out in a minute.

Say what you want about the yankees, but their weapons are top notch. Having once been on the receiving end of that weapon, you know first had how useful it can be; both for tearing enemy combatants to shreds and for decimating their morale.

You look over the weapon, unable to find anything wrong with it. Zakhaev takes pride in the guns he sells, you've never had any problem with them. "Looks good." You nod your head at Khaled's men and stand up. "Load them up."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a flash drive. Khaled had paid half of the price up front, leaving you to deliver the second half. Inside the flash drive are wallets with thousands of dollars worth of crypto currency. This is a smart play on your employer's part; you don't need to lug around suspicious briefcases full of cash, and there's no wire transfer some nosy agent can trace back to Khaled.

"Rest of your payment." You say simply, handing the inconspicuous flash drive to Zakhaev.

"Thank you kindly." Zakhaev slips the drive into his pocket. You watch the men carry the heavy weapon crates and put them in the truck.

Zakhaev shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, some Russian brand. He taps the bottom of the carton on the back of his hand, offering you the stick that partially sticks out of the box. "Care to join me?" He asks, taking it in stride when you don't react. With a shrug, he puts the cigarette between his teeth. "Help an old friend, yes?"

You don't particularly like being the personal lighter for anyone, but you acquiesce — powerful and resourceful men with fragile prides are better as friends than foes; The task is so simple you don't even need to form a magic circle, a single thought making the end of the cigarette smolder before vestigial flames spark up from nothing, catching on the tightly packed dried leaves and setting them alight.

"Impressive trick." Zakhaev compliments and breathes in the nicotine, unbothered when he receives your silence again. You expect the rest of the weapons exchange to pass quietly, you and him watching from the sidelines as the men load heavy crates into the back of a truck. Your presence here is only as a guard dog.

Zakhaev surprises you by speaking up again. "Ah, there was another thing I wanted to speak to you about."

Another crate is set by your feet. You tilt your head to look at Zakhaev before your gaze flickers to the worker who pries the top board open. Inside isn't a minigun or an automatic rifle Khaled had ordered, but a sniper rifle.

"What is this?" You ask, just about keeping yourself from tensing; This is unexpected, a surprise, and surprises can get you killed faster than playing patty cake with a landmine.

Zakhaev, as if sensing your unease, waves you off. "A gift, my friend." He says in Russian, the words easy to understand. "And a. . . taste, shall we say, of what I can offer you in the event you decide to seek other employment opportunities."

Ah. So that's what this is about — he's trying to bribe you.

Now that you think about it, it isn't too surprising. He knows what you're capable of, and mages of your abilities don't grow on trees. "Is that so?" You ask in Russian, playing along as you kneel down and pick up the gun.

Your fingers move with life of their own, gliding smoothly and confidently over the metal as if you'd been born with it. The barrel is straight as an arrow, the butt fits comfortably against your shoulder, the magazine locks into place with a soft 'click', the bolt moves back with buttery smoothness and gives you sight of the live round before it's loaded into place with a second satisfying sound. It tickles your brain, that violent thing in your chest stirs with interest.

"You like it, yes?" Zakhaev chuckles, the sharpness in his eyes momentarily lost as he observes you as one does a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. "It’s a .50BMG, semi-auto, 5 rounds every 1.6 seconds, 1,800mile range, 1,319 m/s velocity, and has a 5-round detachable box mag with a muzzle brake." He details, and you mentally whistle to yourself; guns like these cost a fortune. "It's a nice gun, no?"

It is a very nice gun.

Something at the back of your mind tingles; a smoldering coal is quenched, a string snaps and sends a single needle through your amygdala. Foreign mana, as subtle as a tank, traipses at the edge of your consciousness — a fly unknowingly vibrates the threads of a spider's nest.

It is a very nice gun.

And you just found a target to practice on.

. . .

"What is Zakhaev doing here? I thought we buried him in Verdansk?" Sergeant Garrick’s voice chatters quietly over the coms as Captain Roberts makes her way through the swamp, muddy water up to her knees and insects buzzing around her head. A few of her best mages trail behind her, the rest of her team mingled between the monsters on the other side of the docks.

"Turns out our matchstick's just a magnet for wankers." Sergeant MacTavish’s voice crackles. She doesn’t stop the scoff that comes to her lips. He just has a voice that’s easy to dislike, then again she never did like mutts.

"Our mission remains the same, get Zakhaev if you can but Ifrit’s a more dangerous target." Captain Roberts wants to argue with Price. Hell, she did for nearly an hour after the briefing was done just on the subject why everyone but him and the wraith had to wear gas masks. Captain Price is too paranoid in her opinion; after the terrorist attack there's no way their target's mana reserves aren't depleted to shit, Ifrit probably couldn't put up a fight tougher than wet tissue paper but nooo, Laswell just had to pick that lizard over her own kind.

"Took care of a straggler." The deep rumble of Lieutenant Ghost’s voice sends a nice shiver down her spine. He had broken off to go ahead, briefly giving her a nice look at his ass. At least there’s one sideshow in that freakshow of a taskforce that’s easy on the eyes. She bets he would look even better without that ugly mask, all those big muscles on display and quivering beneath her…

"Alfa team in position." Price speaks into the radio.

Roberts shakes her head, refocusing on the task as she kneels in the dark water. She's partially hidden behind a rotten tree stump, but the night is dark and there's enough critters and insects in the swamp to make sensing them with mana difficult. "Team Bravo in position." She says.

"Good, stand by, we only get one chance at this." That's probably the only thing she and Price agree on. Opportunities like this don't fall into their laps often, maybe she can even nab herself a promotion if she captures both Ifrit and Zakhaev.

Curiosity tugs on her mind as she watches the weapons deal go down. She doesn’t know what she expected but this isn’t it; The last time she had seen someone capable of similar destruction, it had been a teenager in the late stages of lichdom— mind eroded, body nothing but skin and bones, magic rotting the poor girl from the inside out until all that was left was an animal in human skin.

She expected something similar, maybe worse, not for Ifrit to look no different than every other criminal piece of shit she's seen.

Unable to hold back her curiosity she hunches her shoulders and takes off her gloves. Her mage marks are extensive and ugly; reach to the first knuckle of each finger, the dried coral like texture scratching her skin as she places one hand on her face to peer between her fingers, another resting over her chest.

Captain Roberts can at least feel proud for being so magically gifted she can shorten a 40 something word incantation to just 13 measly words: "Sister of steams, daughter of oceans, give me sight to see the hidden." She can feel her mana leisurely crawl through her veins as she murmurs the spell, like squeezing honey through a cheesecloth.

The world lights up in an array of colors like a broken kaleidoscope, shapes and outlines flickering in and out as the mana inside every living creature mixes and twirls with the dark backdrop of dead mana without rhyme or reason. The sight is something humans were never meant to see, and it stabs at her eyes for even daring to look, but she can stomach it long enough to catch sight of Ifrit's mana.

Captain Roberts is disappointed to see the mana surrounding you is nothing to write home about; orange mana cleanly outlines your entire frame, barely a couple of inches thick, not too bright and not even the barest flicker in the even surface to indicate mana suppression.

The disappointment morphs into relief as she deactivates her spell — at the very least she won't need to waste her time with this monster and terrorist nonsense longer than she has to. Shame, she had been looking for a challenge—

A violent shiver runs down her spine, her heart lurches and bashes against her ribs with the feral panic of a prey animal trying to escape, cold sweat breaks out across her skin and pain blooming in her arteries as mana rushes to her fingers—

A bullet strikes the rotten stump she's hiding behind.

Magic explodes on contact.

Violent flames race to devour those still living.

. . .

You count 5 seconds between the bullet hitting it's target, the magic you imbued it with exploding, and it all going to shit.

You throw a hand over Zakhaev's shoulder and force him to the ground as the first hail of bullets comes your way. You drop to your knee just in time to avoid receiving a lead injection, the concrete behind you exploding in small puffs of dust as the high caliber bullets hit the ground or bounce off Zakhaev's boat to tear through the meat shields that are Khaled's men. You try to take a few potshots, but your position is bad and you can't tell where the shots are coming from.

You catch large elongated sticks fall from the sky and clatter to the ground. You immediately screw your eyes shut, bending at the waist to put your face parallel with the ground and pressing your hands to your ears. You avoid the flash as the stun grenades go off, but the following bang! rattles inside your ears and makes you stumble as you straighten out.

But you know this is just a distraction: beneath the whizzing bullets and echoing shots you can feel the world groan, the air shivering with disgust as magic slowly gathers at the fingertips of enemy mages. They take every precious second given to them to build and strengthen their spells, the average cast time around a minute.

You need no such preparation.

The moment you feel their spells release, like a rubber band snapping against your skin, you summon your own magic. You have neither the time nor space to produce a proper counter spell when you haven't seen your enemies casting circles, so your offence becomes your best defense — glowing circles spark across the air to shoot out violent flames, burning heat and freezing cold colliding in the crisp night air. Your magic is far superior, turning the balls of ice and water into steam.

The boundless steam floods the area and rushes at you like a stampede of frantic beasts. You pull Zakhaev close to you, shielding his fragile body from the blistering mist as it washes over you, nothing but a mild inconvenience. Your stomach feels tight, as if mocking you for not listening to your body.

At least you can be certain this isn't just some group of Khaled's enemies or gangsters that stumbled on you. The fact they're using water and ice spells means this was preplanned, they have a specific target — you.

The thought makes something inside you stir. You feel your heart begin to beat a little faster, a little harder, a little louder, banging against your ribs in the slow start of a war march to rouse the slumbering beast in your veins. Enticing it with what it you craves.

You hear Zakhaev say something but his words fail to reach your ears, not that you'd be able to respond with how your tongue feels like it's made of lead. Your body always does this; jaw tensing to keep you quiet, muscles relaxing in preparation, the lingering vestiges of nervousness evaporating to clear your mind so you can focus. Something in that fucked up brain of yours makes you switch to the first language you ever learned — violence.

Your grip is ironclad as you throw Zakhaev over your shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes, summoning more spells for cover instead of listening to his cursing. Even more steam blankets the ground, joining alongside gunfire and magic to create a disorientating shroud you're very familiar with. You easily duck and weave through Khaled's men, catching glimpses of enemy bodies moving beyond the steam as you head to the truck, hoping to use it for momentary cover.

Throwing Zakhaev into the back of the truck with the weapon boxes you skirt to the front of the vehicle, the sharp bang! of your fist knocking against the metal door scaring the shit out of the driver. You meet the man's eyes through the darkened lenses of your helmet, giving a hand gesture for him to drive.

Hummingbirds peck at the back of your skull, giving you ample warning to jump out of the way even before a circle spreads beneath your feet. A shard of ice erupts from the ground where you'd just stood, thankfully avoiding the car and giving the driver further incentive to get the fuck out. Ants crawl down your spine in another warning, and you saw enough of the previous circle to disrupt the one that appears behind you, a few orange lines springing up in the neat blue circle to make it fizzle out and send the half built spell right back at the caster.

With the primary targets secured you can turn your full attention on the attackers, your gloves smoldering as hot mana rushes to your fingertips. You hear pebbles crunch under a boot while you summon your own magic circles, the return of that tight feeling in your stomach making you break concentration just enough to catch sight of one of Khaled's men in your periphery.

You notice the gun aimed at you a second too late.

Bang!

Pain flares through your shoulder, your body moving on its own as you throw yourself to the side to avoid another round. You don't need to think for your flames to burst beneath the feet of your attacker, using the distraction to retreat into the space between two warehouses, giving yourself better cover. Mana rushes to the hole in your shoulder, drops of molten metal leaking from your wound when you lean forward, your clothing greedily drinking up your mana saturated blood and sticking to your skin.

Your magic repairs your body as quickly as you're injured, pain rapidly fading away until only the dull sting of betrayal remains. Like a sacrificial lamb, it catches the deadly attention of the thing slumbering in your heart.

It wakes up angry and feral and oh so hungry.

Fangs of freezing heat tenderly grip your heart, ravenous nothingness once birthed by your desperation now begs and demands for your will to give it shape. How can you refuse?

Flames spark at your palms, burning away the thick material of your gloves to free your hands. A freezing chill gnaws on your burning fingers and harkens the arrival of something that slinks out of your heart like crude oil, bulging and molding itself to your veins as it crawls to your palms. Darkness consumes the orange glow of your magic, leaving behind little pitch black candlelight flames burning at your fingertips. 'Flames' is a bad word to describe them when they suck the light around them; it's like looking at black silhouettes in the approximation of fire, painted straight onto reality by a child's hand.

A magic circle spirals beneath you, glowing bright blue and stinking of enemy magic. You can just about hear the chanting of spells near you, more circles appearing on either side of you, trapping you.

"Beelzebub," You mutter under your breath, not out of need — you've long since mastered the art of wordless magic — but out of respect. "Devour."

2 measly words is all it takes for the black fires to shoot straight up like the fangs of a beast, leaping off your fingers in wide arcs and creating a quickly expanding perimeter around you, circling like sharks as they rush outwards. The meticulously crafted circles shatter like glass, hundreds of little shards of visible mana fluttering around you for a second before they're swallowed up by the black fires.

Beelzebub is a ravenous spell, lashing out at everything around you with the sole intent to consume, to devour every little bit of mana in an endlessly fruitless attempt to sate its hunger. Regardless, if said mana has already been made into a spell, of it's still inside a person.

You don't see it, but you know the exact moment Beelzebub finds the enemy mages, screams of horror and pain filling the air as black flames descend on them like bloodhounds. You can feel Beelzebub's freezing claws tear into them, leaving the flesh unharmed but tearing their mana out bit by bit, devouring it, syphoning the power back to you.

Once, long ago, the acrid rush of foreign mana through your system would have knocked you on your ass, now it just forces you to sway and lean against the warehouse wall. Long ago, the way stolen mana gnaws on your veins and claws at your chest for escape would have left you writhing on the floor, but now you can barely feel it. Your stomach cramps, the urge to vomit still as strong as it was back then, your senses registering all the rot; people don't think about how many forms rot can take — decaying kelp, festering flesh, acid rain, gangrene, moldy wall paper — hundreds of little deaths making up the very essence mages depend on.

Your body begs to use magic before you explode, muscles tensing, chest fluttering, ribs squeezing down on your lungs in an attempt to keep the stolen mana imprisoned. Sweet relief floods your mind as the searing heat of your own magic pushes the stolen mana through your veins, herding it into your palms where you can easily reshape it into something familiar to you: Ash.

Pushing off the wall you rush into the open, using Beelzebub's flames to burn the lines of the attack circle into the ground. The thinning steam lets you catch sight of enemies rounding the warehouses in front of you, likely human or monster since Beelzebub would have taken mages closest to you out of commission. You don't ponder this further, the second the final line is drawn you use Beelzebub as a transition point and push all the stolen mana out.

The docks erupt in a puff of disorientating ash. You don't waste time waiting for someone to fire the shot needed to ignite your magic, falling to your knee as you punch the ground. All it takes is for the chips of volcanic rock along your knuckles to scrape against the concrete for a spark to form.

The resulting explosion is never pleasant.

The sudden surge of light and the loud bang! leaves you disorientated for a few seconds, your skin dry yet clammy as if you has just got sprayed by a flash flood of boiling water. Tiny chisels pick at your bones as you stumble to your feet, trying to sculpt you into something holier than what you are.

But you can't complain when the same explosion tears through soldiers like they're paper, not even leaving behind blood to stain you when the harsh heat cremates the bodies closest to you. Your lungs struggle to get in a good breath, the stench of smog and burning meat passing through the filter and clinging to your tongue. You can hear your enemies coughing, you can feel them moving through the smog in search for you, but your ash is so thick it completely hides you, giving you a few seconds to think.

Thousands of thoughts roll around your skull, but one stands out — Khaled finally betrayed you.

Fire shoots out from beyond the ash at you. Your body moves instinctively as you throw your hand up to guard your head and turn away. The hot flames lick harmlessly over your skin, too similar to the heat inside you to harm you, so all it can do is burn your outer clothes until your shirt and bulletproof vest peek out beneath the large smoldering holes.

You get a second to catch sight of sharp curving horns and predatory blue eyes staring at you from the ash, the smog shifting around a rapidly approaching figure. Next thing you know something hard hits you right in the stomach, fast and unyielding like a truck.

Your skin and muscles ripple under the fist, you feel and hear your ribs crack! under the immense strength right before the punch flings you back like a ragdoll.

You crash into a warehouse wall, the metal denting in the shape of your back as more bones crack. Pain flares through your body, your tongue, caught between your teeth, bleeds peppery acrid blood into your mouth. You gasp for breath as much as you're able to, chest weakly fluttering like a butterfly's wing as you find yourself unable to take in a deep breath.

Then a sickening crack! rings right behind your eardrums as your magic pulls out the rib piercing your lung, pushing on it until it fully expands and you can breathe again. Heat slithers through your body to glue together broken bones and torn muscles, repairing you as if nothing ever happened. You're on your feet in seconds, the ripple in the ash giving you enough warning to lunge out of the way before another stream of flames can wash over you. You send your own in return, a magic circle forming in front of you before spewing out a beam of concentrated flame. The force behind it causes the lingering ash to disperse, giving you better sight of your opponent—

Dragon.

Of course your luck has to be so dogshit you'd get a fucking dragon sicked on you. What's next, a damn stone-skinned goliath? Maybe a leviathan to really fuck you over?

You bend your knees as you summon a magic circle beneath your feet. The ash erupts with such force it sends you careening through the air, launching you into the ash free air above you. You're close enough to a warehouse to grasp the jutting out metal sheet of the steel roof, your muscles tensing as you haul yourself up.

Quickly wiping away the ash stuck to your helmet lenses your eyes instinctively look up to search the sky, the bright spotlights of the docks making the night so much darker. If a dragon's after you then there's a high likelihood there are more monsters, and those rarely come without at least one flyer in their team.

The subtle, unnatural, flutter of distant stars across the dark sky gives you enough incentive to throw up a fiery shield, retreating further back onto the roof. Feathers sharp as knives burn to cinders in your flames, some stragglers imbedding themselves near your feet, easily slicing through the steel roof; Harpy.

You can't tell what kind it is, probably a common variety, but it doesn't really matter so long as you can clip the bird's wings.

Mana floods into your eyes as you use a mana sensing spell. The sky lights up like an aurora borealis, the ground below explodes in all sorts of nauseating colors that makes a headache pound against your skull. But it's worth it when the body of the harpy lights up like a lightbulb, contrasting sharply against the sky, it's wings making for the perfect target.

You know harpies are fast fliers. It forces you to give up some firepower in exchange for a homing ability. Changing a spell is an easy thing to do, mentally erasing and adding a couple of lines in your circle before you summon it. You disable your mana sight so you don't blind yourself and let your magic loose, firing off 4 tightly packed balls of fire in rapid order.

You don't stick around to see it try to dodge your magic, turning to your heel to race across the roof after you flood the earth bellow with even more ash. You need to escape; you could try to kill the monsters, you doubt they have anything worse than that dragon, but you have bigger problems — you can't let an enemy like Khaled live.

Something catches your leg like you're a rabbit in a snare, an unforgettable cold creeping up your skin to gnaw on your brain. Ethereal shadows curl like ropes around your ankle and pull you down before you can burn them away. You tumble to the steel roof and blindly summon flames around you, rolling to your side the moment you get yourself free and just barely managing to avoid your own shadow trying to skewer you.

You burn away the shadowy spikes sticking out from the ground, flames flaring up around you to momentarily distract your opponent as you get to your feet. Your eyes settle on the one that tripped you; big fucker, tall and wide, half wreathed in shadows, a skull mask peering at your from the darkness. Your spine feels like it wants to crawl out of your back, the silence of the grave ringing in your ears when you go to sense his magic and pick up nothing.

The same nothing that makes up Beelzebub. Furious. Hungry. Dead.

Wraith. You are facing a Wraith.

Not a goliath, not a leviathan. Worse. Much, much worse.

You have no shot at outrunning that thing when your own shadow can betray you, not to mention the wraith's range is far larger than yours in the dead of night. You have no choice but to charge at him, a circle forming beneath your heel and ash bursting out to launch you forward, your magic burning hot and bright to produce as much light as you can in an attempt to limit the shadows he can use.

Flames wreathe your fist as you throw a punch to his side, your sudden advance taking him off guard just enough for you to hit him, fire eating away at tactical gear to gnaw on the dead flesh. It forces a grunt out of him before shadows spew out from where you hit him to engulf your arm, leaving you open for a sharp knee to the gut. Your hands flare up, volcanic stone melting into active lava to burn away the shadows holding you. A pillar of flame erupts between you two to force him back, but whips of shadow shoot through the fire in quick retaliation. You duck and roll, adrenaline rushing through your veins like a feral hound as you charge at him again.

Shadows and flames are both volatile and taxing, making you two employ similar tactics: rush and overwhelm your opponent. You have to admit, the wraith is fucking good; he's not an oaf despite his size, using it to his advantage and giving you no reprieve from the constant jabs, trying to bully you into a position where you'd be open for his shadows to pierce your flesh.

But you're faster, ducking and weaving between his blows, mana pulsing through your blood and strengthening your muscles when they think of failing you down. You can almost hear Jackal shouting at you for being too slow.

Your flames are an extension of you, you trust them to clash with his shadows so you can focus purely on the Wraith. You can tell he's getting annoyed when you duck under another swing and jab your elbow into his ribs, the un-melted rocks covering your joint much more painful than actual bone. And that's before magic shoots out from your elbow, flames burning away both of your clothes and creating a sizable blistering wound on his side.

"Fucker," His shadows flare out to put out your flames, "Stay still." You catch a hind of a British accent in his rough voice, unable to get any more as liquid shadows roll of his shoulders and shoot out at you. You're forced to stumble back in an attempt to avoid the shadows trying to claw your face off, your heel ending right on the edge of the roof.

There's a small space between the edge you're standing on and the start of the roof of the warehouse adjacent to this one, the space big enough for you to fall through if you're not careful. The fall itself wouldn't be pleasant either. Your jaw clenches harder and you swing your arm down in an arch, summoning dozens of palm sized circles and shooting out bolts of concentrated flame through the shroud of darkness. Some of them hit him and force black smoke to fizzle out from the wounds you inflict on him, his shadows repairing the walking corpse the same way your magic does to you.

That's not good. While you could go hours, you'll run out of the mana you'll need to take out Khaled if you continue this attempt to put the wraith down. Beelzebub's cold flame simmers in your heart, begging to be set free. You'd rather not use it again when the closest mana source is a wraith — a dead thing full of unfiltered rot — god forbid it triggers the only spell you've sworn not to use, but you don't think you have many other options.

Just as Beelzebub readies to crawl from your heart something else grabs your foot, sharp claws digging into your skin and jerking you down. You buck forward and nearly fall face first, throwing your head to look at the thing that's caught you. A man has half hoisted himself up on the roof, clothes torn and barely hanging on to his frame, a gas mask obscuring his face, one clawed hand gripping the steel to keep himself up as the other has your leg in an iron grip that leaves your bones groaning.

You notice the man's elongated ears and gleaming blue eyes as those of a werewolf. Those blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you summon a magic circle point black with his head, the reflective orange glow of your magic swallowing up all the color his eyes.

Shadows shoot out into the space between his head and your circle, devouring the ball of flames you shoot out so the worst the wolf gets is a face full of smoke and singed hair. You turn your body back to face the wrath, throwing up both hands to summon different circles to take both out, but you're too slow. Whips of shadow shoot out and hit you dead center in the chest. The force sends you crashing back, the dumb wolf holding onto your leg pulled down with you.

You crash through the window of the other warehouse and straight down to the ground. The fall forces a loud wheeze from your lungs as large glass shards embed themselves into your back and shoulders where the bulletproof vest doesn't reach. Your ribs crackle like popcorn as magic heals them, but the pain from constantly getting them broken and repaired is starting to linger.

Dark brown fur flickers in the periphery of your vision, the sensation of a heavy body bearing down on your own snapping you back to action. You throw your arm up, the sharp fangs meant for your throat biting down on your forearm. You don't feel pain there, but a sick sense of satisfaction bubbles in your stomach as you get the first row view of your assailant registering the blistering head of your mage marks against the tender flesh of his mouth.

He yelps like a kicked dog as he releases your forearm. With a grunt you grip his shoulders, the patches of fur there smoldering the few brief seconds it takes you to gather enough strength to throw the heavy mutt off you. You stumble to your knees quickly, forced to dampen your healing abilities. The glass shards dig deeper into your muscles as you move, but the threat of them exploding from the heat of your magic prevents you from doing healing your wounds; the best you can do is dull the pain.

The warehouse is dark, but the mana in your eyes gives you a rudimentary night vision, letting you see the werewolf scramble to his own feet, spitting saliva and curses at you, "Aw ye fockin' bawbag! I-"

The rest of his words fail to reach your brain as you register the ignited remains of your ash blanketing the ground, making it impossible to see your feet bellow your knees. The scent of melting steel and smoke invades your nose, your mind taking this as the most opportune time to replace the metal ceiling high above you with hundreds of feet of rubble. Your chest tightens, the wide walls of the warehouse closing in until you feel like there's no space to move.

You're trapped. Again.

Your eyes flicker around in search for an escape, flames sparking from your fingers to burn all the way up to your shoulders, your mage marks burning hot and bright in the darkness. There! — at the very back of the warehouse you spy a motorcycle, your way out. Only a werewolf stands between it and you. It's true what Taurus used to tell you: freedom is a rope and God wants you to hang from it.

Steeling yourself, your hands reach out to grasp the knives you keep strapped to your shins, a subtle shift of the handles in your palms letting your magic flow freely into the steel.

Let him try to stop you.

. . .

Soap 's hackles raise, his fur feeling like it wants to leap off his tail. Such a deep and strong stench of rot permeates his senses his mind thinks he's the one decaying for a second. His eyes focuse on you as flames coat the knives in your hands and artificially extend the blades to give you better reach. Laswell's voice replays in his mind, telling him not to get close. Hell, he swears he can he can hear his ma's voice call him a bloody idjit for thinking of rushing at the fucking demon.

But his body still shifts further, bones snapping and reforming, muscles growing and the tattered remains of his shirt snapping off his torso as his body doubles in size. He can see his glowing eyes reflect in the tinted lenses of your mask before he rushes at you, body low to the ground before he leaps, claws bared.

You sidestep at the last second and raise your arm, the artificial blade of flames licking a blistering cut across his side. Pain shoots up his spine, his blood literally boiling as the fire both cuts him and cautarizes the wound.

"Focker-" He yelps and drops to all fours to dodge a second slash, leaping up and swinging his arm in an uppercut. His claws cut into the Kevlar as they scrape against the bulletproof vest instead of your skin, snagging on something around your neck and pulling it with him as you lean down and duck back to create distance.

Johnny doesn't get to check what it is when you immediately retaliate by throwing your knife at him. He quickly pockets what he got off you and tries to avoid the weapon but it still hits him in the shoulder, hot flames burning at his skin to let the metal slide in deeper. "Bastard-" He snarls but before he can do anything you're next to him, ripping the knife from his shoulder as you duck past him to slash at the back of his knee.

Soap yelps from the pain as he tumbles forward, turning his body as he falls to roughly swipe at you with his superior reach. The force behind his swing makes you stumble, giving his body the few seconds it needs to regenerate. He rolls to all fours, muscles tensing to lunge again— a sense of wrongness shoots down his spine, forcing him to pause.

A pillar of flames erupts from the ground where he would have been had he lunged at you, the bright light blinding him. When he can see again, he catches your form on top of one of the shipping containers, magical circles appearing as you run across the container to pelt him with balls of concentrated ash. The balls explode in large puffballs of ash as they hit the ground, his mind urging him to move to avoid getting a face full of ash. "Aw no yer fockin' not." He mutters under his breath, taking a few quick and wide steps before he leaps onto the shipping container to escape the suffocating smog, racing after you on all fours.

This proves to be a mistake as you suddenly turn around, thrusting your hand out to cast a giant circle right in front of his eyes. Claws digging into the metal Soap throws himself to his side just as a beam of flames shoots out, singeing his furry tail and forcing a strangled gasp out of his lips as a bit of his thigh gets caught in the blast of fire.

He crashes to the concrete ground, the scent rot curling in his nose as the ash swirls over him, but can't reach his lungs thanks to the gas mask. Johnny's leg muscles twitch, his though skin blistered and red like a tomato, the tattered remains of his pants partially burned into his skin. He struggles to get to his knees, pain stabbing his skin as his body tries to heal, watching through blurry eyes as you reach your target — the motorcycle.

The engine revs to life and you get on it without wasting a second. A violent sensation rushes down his spine as you summon another circle, this one so big it stretches across the entire back wall of the warehouse. In a second the metal heats up to the point it's glowing, solid steel turning into molten slag and dropping to the ground like melting snow. Soap's mind stutters when you flip him off before racing away, shouting and gunfire audible but quickly growing quiet as you get away.

Fucking Bastard.

"So- Soap! H-ghr!- ow co-kghr-ppy?" Price's voice crackles through the radio, barely understandable thanks to how much magic is floating around him.

He groans, sucking in a sharp breath. "Still alive." He grinds out. Rapidly approaching footsteps make him stumble to stand, a threatening growl erupting from his throat.

"Just me." Ghost's voice makes him instantly calm down. His body presses against Johnny's and Soap lets himself put his weight on Ghost. "You broken?" Ghost asks, slipping Johnny's arm over his shoulder and gripping his waist, easily holding him up despite Johnny being nearly twice his size currently.

Johnny tries to breathe in deep with the gas mask restricting his lungs, "Just me pride." He glances down to his leg, the wound glistening with clear fluid and still blistered, his healing factor not even making a dent in it. "Fucker got me good." His ears twitch,

"We'll track 'em down." Ghost grunts as he helps Soap limp out of the ash filled warehouse, safe from the magic as he doesn't need to breathe. "I stuck a tracker, they're not getting far."

"Fockin' hope so, ah got a score to settle an' the bawbag flipped me off for fuck—" A thought comes to him. The tattered remains of his pants have pockets high up so he doesn't tear them when he transforms. He reaches into the pocket and pulls the thing he'd accidentally nicked off you. Johnny lifts it up so both of them can see the chain hanging off his fingers, a little more than a dozen dog tags dangling from it.

Even with the gas mask obscuring part of his face, Ghost knows Johnny's smirking. "Bet you Laswell will love this."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt @lilpothoscuttings @krystiannng @crankyweasel @ashy-kit @fyolaizs @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @aldis-nuts @whoislucas @birdiiiiiiiiiii

Masterlist; Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2(you are here) -> Chapter 3

[tigirl-and-co]

Wahoo! Rainmakers fic is here! Merry Christmas! I spent highschool mildly obsessed with these guys, and now I'm proud to present what is probably the only Rainmakers x Reader fic ever written. I didn't check or anything. Who else would ever.

I tried to give everybody a distinct personality, please let me know if you think the vibes are coming through! It's meant to be set in a vaguely G1 universe. But more modern. Like if G1 took place some nebulous time after cellphones became common.

When I Think About Rain

Ch.1

"So what the frag is snow for?"

Watching a lime green robot kneel down in the snow and leave handprints the size of your entire body filled you with an indescribable emotion. Trying to figure out how to explain natural weather patterns to three of them gave you a feeling you could describe in a word: headache.

Looking from Acid to Nova to Ion, you tried to figure out how to respond. "Precipitation on earth just sort of happens, and life evolved to work around it. We don't really make it. We did try a few times but it just doesn't work."

Ion Storm spoke up from somewhere behind you, as blunt as ever. "That's stupid. You guys don't even control what weather happens on your own planet? Sheesh, talk about lower lifeforms!"

You shot the seeker a particularly unimpressed look, causing him to snort. He liked taunting you, and you weren't sure if it was because he had a crush on you or if he considered you 'one of the boys.' You were pretty sure it was the latter, but after Powerglide and Astoria became an item, you couldn't be completely sure.

Nova was looking up at the clear blue winter sky contemplatively, and it sort of hit you that Cybertronians don't have any childhood memories of winter. No snow days, no sledding, no digging caves in a snow bank. Snow wasn't magic to them in the same way it was to humans.

But Nova Storm didn't know what he didn't know as he turned to face his bluest brother. "I dunno, I think it's kind of cool. Having to live each day under a new set of circumstances, never really knowing what your planet's gonna throw at you. Be fun, at least for a while."

The leader of the group looked up from where he was poking at the snow to stare at you. "Sounds dangerous. Are you sure you don't wanna just move to Cybertron? We wouldn't even tell Shockwave you were there this time." You knew Acid Storm wasn't stupid enough to think it would actually ever work, but he hadn't given up hope yet that maybe you were.

Taking a swig of hot chocolate, you rolled your eyes at him. "Sneaking you lot through the spacebridge once every couple months is already risky. How're you gonna play off using it every week to get me food?" You gave a sort of faux-haughty shrug, playing at knowing better than the multi-million-year-old space warriors. "I don't see why you don't just switch sides so we can hang out more."

Suddenly, Ion Storm threw himself on his back, and even with the muffling of the snow it was such a powerful movement that you had to brace yourself to keep from falling over.

He lolled his head to look at you. "Because Optimus would probably make us actually do our jobs, instead of-" and Ion switched into an awful Megatron impression- "perfecting our acid rain formula."

You couldn't help but cackle at that, and all three seeker's optics softened. You were so small, smaller even than Soundwave's cassettes, but you weren't afraid to live loudly. To stare the Rainmakers, the flying horrors of Cybertron, right in the face and laugh about their boss with them. A life so fragile and fleeting that you refused to live in fear for it.

How were they meant to resist you?

Acid Storm found himself walking over to you. The loud crunch of snow being compacted prevented you from being surprised when he bent down to scoop you up and set you on his shoulder, you simply huff in amusement. So touchy.

Unable to protect your face from the sudden increase in winter winds from being up so high and simultaneously smile amusedly at Acid Storm, you ended up doing neither and gave him a bizarre and unreadable expression that stung your eyes and burned your lungs.

Laughing, he put a servo around you to shelter you from the wind. "Humans are all so weird."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure ours is the weirdest of them all," Ion Storm jeered from just out of your line of sight.

You couldn't suppress a snort at that one, and hollered a reply into the wind.

"Your human?" you couldn't help but call him out on that one. "Weird, I will own up to. But who ever said I was yours? I'm a free spirit, man, I belong to nobody but myself!" You hoped they could hear the smile in your voice.

Nova smiled back at you. "Well, we did capture you that one time," he rebutted, "which teeeeechnically makes you 'our human.'"

"Pfffft, no way! I bought my freedom fair and square! You let me go, so you don't own me!"

Ion stood up and reached over Acid's servo to seat you in the palm of his own, looking you dead in the eyes. "If you're not our human, how come we can just pick you up and you don't complain?" He narrowed his optics and sneered triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head sympathetically. "Do you really think you're the only people who ever pick me up? Look at me, I'm adorable! People can't resist picking me up!"

You were too focused on Ion to notice Nova coming in from behind. "Aw, but we're your favourites, right?" He lowered his massive head down to your level, and if you didn't know him as the brains of the group, you'd almost think he looked like a puppy begging for praise. "We're the best at human-handling, yeah?"

After your heart climbed back down from your throat where the shock had chased it, you managed to feign being contemplative. "Hmmm... I suppose that's true. And I mean I did choose to spend a day hanging out in a snowy field in the middle of Fuckass Nowhere with you three, which probably has to count for something."

Now looking less like a puppy and more like the proverbial cat who got the cream, Nova grinned triumphantly. "See?" As he stood back up to his full height, satisfied with your answer, you simply had to giggle. In the low sun, his goldenrod colour scheme and general shape brought to mind a star at the top of a Christmas tree. His temperament certainly helped, of course. Giant killer robot or not, when he was happy, he had a sort of glow about him.

Acid Storm snorted.

"The Rainmakers: Scourge of Cybertron's Skies, and top-tier fleshy sparklingsitters." There was no malice in his tone- he really did just feel as comfortable joking with you as he did the rest of his trine. "I'm sure that'll put some real fear into the sparks of our enemies!"

You spun around in Ion's hand to give a witty retort. Ion fired a line at you, and you parried that, too. And so it went for the rest of the day. Eventually, enough hours had passed that your hot chocolate was gone and the stars had come out.

You smiled tiredly- you loved them and their banter, and you liked feeling like you actually belonged, but good God. There's only so many hours of witty banter in a snowy field the human mind can take. "Okay, boys. It's getting pretty damn cold out here, so we better get you home before I freeze to death."

Unable to tell if you were joking or not, they acquiesced. And in Acid's cockpit, on the long flight back to the spacebridge, you found yourself looking forward to the next meeting before they even left.

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 1)

aka: Let's Mitigate This Blast Radius Before It Gets Out of Hand

Alpha Gabriel Shaw dies and everything falls apart.

Ch. 2 // ao3 // 1.9k words

(TW: death, car accident, grief)

EDITS: small grammar stuff, formatting, and new title (formerly known as The Fall of an Alpha, but i hated that name so i chose a new one)

———————————————

Sept 3. 2017, 11:04 pm

Between the raging storm outside and the blaring tv in front of them, they barely heard the knock at the door. It was only on the second attempt did they notice, and even then it could have easily been dismissed as thunder.

Milo gave David and Asher confused glances. “You guys expecting anyone?”

David shook his head. Asher shrugged; he paused the game and tossed his controller behind him as he said, “I’ll get it.”

Milo stretched out in the newly available couch space, calling out, “Could you get more chips while you’re up? We’re almost out.”

“Get them yourself!” Asher retorted as he padded down the hallway, “Unless you’re too short to reach!”

“Oh fuck right off!”

Asher chuckled as he reached the front door. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole before answering, but as soon as he saw who it was, he wished he had. It would’ve given him a moment to steel himself.

An officer was standing in the hallway, her dripping face starkly grim. Asher recognized her as a shifter from a neighboring pack.

“Evening. Beta David Shaw lives here, yes?” she asked.

Asher tightened his grip on the door handle. “Uh...yeah, he’s um my roommate.”

“Is he here now?”

“Can I uh, ask what this is about?” Asher replied, his voice cracking slightly.

“There’s been an accident.”

It felt like the ground gave out from underneath him. Like a blast of thunder had gone off in his chest.

“Hey, Ash, who is it?” David called from the living room.

Asher ignored him. “Gabe?” he whispered, eyes wide.

She gave him a small nod.

“Is he…just tell me, is he dead?”

She shifted her weight uneasily before nodding. “Yes.”

“Come in.”

He moved aside to let her in, closing the door behind them. “He’s uh, he’s in the…um...follow me,” Asher said breathlessly. His feet were like bricks as he led the officer down the hallway.

Milo and David looked up to see a very pale Asher hurry across the living room and practically cower in the corner.

“Who was…” the words died in David’s mouth as he and Milo looked over at the officer standing in the doorway to the living room, rainwater trickling down her coat and pooling at her feet.

David stood, an edge of authority in his voice as he spoke, “Officer. What can I do for you?”

“Beta Shaw, please, have a seat,” she replied.

He stayed standing. “What’s going on?”

“David…” Asher pleaded.

David’s eyes shot over and met Asher’s—they were already red and glassy. He lowered himself back onto the couch, then looked over at the officer as dread climbed into his chest.

She stepped forward, her voice stern but not unkind, “Beta Shaw. About forty-five minutes ago, Alpha Gabriel Shaw was in a car accident. He died on the scene.”

David had never really known grief before. Sure, his mom had died, but he had been too young to really know what was going on. A few distant relatives and pets had died over the years, too, but none of that had seemed to really affect him. The deaths of his grandparents had been sad, but not debilitatingly so. He'd begun to think that maybe death just didn't affect him that way. He thought maybe he just wasn't built to grieve.

It was instantaneous. It felt like shifting—a full and all-encompassing transformation. Grief ran like magic through his bones, warping his core and leaving him unrecognizable. Those in the room felt it—Asher especially. He almost reached out, almost said something, but David was already talking, his voice cavernous:

"Thank you, officer, for informing me of the situation. Where is his body now?"

The officer blinked in surprise, but quickly composed herself. "The coroner has taken him to the nearest morgue."

"I assume they'll want me there to confirm his identity?"

"Yes, but you don't have to go imme—"

"Can you take me?"

She furrowed her brow. "Yes, sir."

David moved to grab his coat, and Milo shot up. “David, wai—”

“Stay here, both of you. Don’t tell anyone what’s happened. I’ll call for an emergency meeting tomorrow morning,” David commanded, “I want to avoid as much panic as possible.”

And with that, he left, pushing through the doorway and into the hall. The officer took a deep breath before following.

Milo sank back down. The two heard the front door open and shut.

For a minute, they didn’t speak. The storm swelled outside, rattling the windows of the apartment. The pause music on the tv played over and over at a low volume.

Staring blankly at the wall opposite him, Milo mumbled, “We’ve gotta tell Tank.”

“We can’t. You heard David,” Asher croaked from his corner.

“David’s not in his right mind,” Milo retorted, his eyes beginning to burn, “Gabe is like a father to Tank.”

“…was,” Asher whispered.

Milo locked eyes with him, silently pleading.

"I...I'm going to the bathroom," Asher replied before hurrying down the hallway. He couldn't say yes, but he wasn't going to stop him. Especially when Milo was right. They needed to tell Tank before they heard it from anyone else or, god forbid, at the pack meeting.

Asher closed the bathroom door and leaned his weight against it as sobs tore through his body, robbing him of everything—sound, breath, strength. He slid down the length of the door to the floor in a silent, heaving heap as his mind spun.

He gave himself five minutes.

———————————————

Milo pulled out his phone, groaning in frustration as he struggled to read his screen, tears flooding his vision. He wiped his eyes with one hand as he pulled up Tank’s contact with the other.

Tank was somewhere loud; he could hear it through the phone.

“Miles, what’s up?” Tank all but shouted.

“I need you to come to Ash and David's,” Milo rasped.

“What? Wait-wait, gimme a sec,” Tank said. He could hear them pushing through a crowd, then the sound of a door opening and slamming shut, followed by the shush of rain. They must have moved outside.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Tank asked.

“No I just…I need you here. Now.”

He could hear the panic in their voice. “...I can be there in twenty—no, fifteen.”

“No! Don’t speed. Please, Tank, drive slowly. It’s late, it’s raining, it’s not—” Milo held his phone away from his mouth for a second as a sob slipped out, “It’s not safe.”

Tank must’ve heard it. Their words shot out of their mouth as they strode into the rain, “Is David there? Ash? I swear, Miles, if you’re hurt and not telling me—”

“Tank, please,” Milo begged.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

“…we’ll leave the door unlocked. Drive slow.”

Once they hung up, Milo put his phone on the coffee table. He bit his clenched fist as tears pooled in his eyes and his chest convulsed.

————————————————

Everything was happening too quickly; David couldn’t keep up. One minute he was getting into his car, ready to follow the cruiser in front of him to the morgue. The next, he was looking down at a shrouded body, being asked if he was ready.

Ready? Fuck no, he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for any of this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gabe wasn’t supposed to die suddenly, in his prime, leaving his 24-year-old son to pick up the pieces. Leaving him an orphan.

Orphan.

The word made a desert of his mouth. He was alone. Entirely. His last safety net. His last pillar of support. His last corner to hide in. Gone.

David was bare, flayed open for the world to see. He’d never felt so exposed, and it made him panic. But there was no time to panic. He was still the Pack Beta. He still had a job to do. And for as long as he could, he’d throw himself into it, fully. So David chiseled a hard look onto his face and nodded.

The sheet was pulled back.

Everyone always said David looked like his dad. He took so much pride in that comparison. But in that moment, he saw no resemblance. He didn’t have an out-of-body experience, seeing himself on the table. He didn’t spiral at the sudden realization of his own mortality spurred by the likeness of his dead father.

Because that wasn’t Alpha Gabriel Shaw, revered Founder of the Shaw Pack.

That wasn’t Gabe, loyal friend and loving father.

The body before David was just a man, battered and broken beyond repair. It felt wrong to claim this husk as his father, felt like a lie.

But David had a job to do.

“Yes, that’s him.”

————————————————

When sound returned to his body and his sobs were no longer silent, Asher muzzled them with a frantic hand. He couldn’t let Milo hear. He had to be there for him. Once his self-allotted time was up, Asher rose on shaky legs. He pressed a washcloth to his face. He straightened his clothes. He smiled.

Leaving the bathroom, Asher went down the hallway into the kitchen and began to heat some water. He pulled down mugs. He got out tea. He waited. He poured the water. He wiped his tears. He smiled.

The mugs clinked in his hand as he carried them into the living room. He set them on the coffee table. He placed one tea bag in each. He sat next to Milo. He smiled.

“You get ahold of Tank?”

“Yeah,” Milo croaked, “They’re coming over.”

“Good. That’s good.”

He smiled.

————————————————

After ten minutes, Milo’s phone began to buzz.

Asher removed his arm from around Milo’s shaking shoulders and grabbed the phone off the coffee table, handing it to him. Milo cleared his throat before answering.

“Tank?”

“Is he dead?!?”

Milo could hear the storm on their end, along with cars rushing past them. Were they still driving? He prayed to whoever or whatever would listen that they'd at least pulled over.

“Wh-what?” Milo stammered.

“I saw his fucking car, Milo! Smashed up in the middle of the fucking intersection!! Is Gabe fucking dead?!?”

Asher gaped at Milo; Tank wasn't on speakerphone, but they were shouting loud enough for him to hear.

“ANSWER ME MILO!”

Milo glanced at Asher, who was vehemently shaking his head no. Not now. Not this way. Wait.

“…yes, he’s dead—”

“And David?!”

“David wasn’t in the car. But Tank, I need you t—” Milo was cut off as the line went dead, “Tank? Tank?!?”

Asher grabbed Milo's arm.

“They-they hung up," Milo whimpered, "At least I think they did. I hope they did…oh god." He called Tank again. It went to voicemail.

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his phone across the room.

Asher rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, scrubbing away the hot tears before they fell but no doubt turning the lighter patches of his skin a blotchy red. He put his arm back around Milo as he fished out his own phone from his pocket and called Tank.

Voicemail.

He hung up and tried again.

Voicemail.

Milo growled and stood up abruptly. He grabbed his coat and moved towards his phone.

“Wh-where’re you going?” Asher stammered.

“To Tank’s place,” Milo replied, picking up his phone, “You stay, in case they come here.”

“Milo, it’s still really bad out there, maybe you should wai—”

“I’ll have to call one of Colm’s old coworkers, find out where the crash was.”

“What? Milo—”

“I need to drive by it. Maybe Tank’s still there. Or maybe,” Milo’s breath caught in his throat, “maybe they crashed too. I don’t know. So I’ll drive by there on my way to Tank’s. I’ll text you when I get there.”

Milo was out the door before Asher could speak. Alone, he crumbled, sobs overtaking him once more.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

A-Z Sherlock Fan Fiction Tropes Bingo

Ahhh, so I saw this Fanfiction Bingo Card by @swissmissing going around, and even though I wasn't ever tagged, I wanted to do some recs of my own because, like, that's my whole brand LOL. I hope no one minds...🙃 I needed to have a list ready for this Sunday, and this was perfect, LOL.

And because I'm always trying to overachieve on these challenges, I'm going to do full black out, BOTH tropes in each square.

This will be a Combination of my read fics and "to read" fics [to fill in spaces I don't have tags for], which I will append the latter with (MFL) just like so, for those of you who only want fics I've personally read. And apologies, I had to remove some of my standard links to fit them all within Tumblr's link limits, so author names aren't clickable AND I've removed all series' links, so be sure to check out other stories by the authors!!

AND FINALLY, this is a rare list that I DON'T have in word-count order, just so y'all know! I hope you guys like the fics I've pick for y'all. Literally random picks from my lists, based on tag searches, LOL.

AU: A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

Amnesia: I Need You To See Me by Mssmithlove (E, 12,625 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Amnesia, Soldier!John) – After going back to war, John is yet again invalided home, this time with a broken ankle and a chunk of his memory missing, unable to recall the last five years he's spent being Sherlock Holmes' partner and husband. Part 9 of Happiness Awaits

BDSM: Lock and Key Series by 221b_hound (E, 59,509+ w. across 14 works || Series WiP || Post-HLV, Tattoos, First Kiss/Time, Anal, Hand Jobs, Captain John, Cuddling, Sherlock's Scars, Possessive Johnlock, Exhibitionism / Voyeurism, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Sherlock in Panties, PWP, Dirty Talk, Sexual Fantasies, Restraints, Photographs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Assorted Kinks, Sherlock in a Sheet, Sex on Furniture, Domestic Fluff) – John has been back at Baker Street for a year, following the debacle that ended in Mary's death. Things are good. Back almost to what they used to be. Sherlock might wish they were something else, now, but he only has himself to blame, he thinks. It's too late, now, for the things he first denied before he'd ruined any chances he might have had. Sherlock also thinks that people who get tattoos are idiots. But perhaps he's about to learn a thing or two, not least of which might be it's not as late as he thinks it is.

Bodyswap: Inexplicable by emmagrant01 (E, 34,664 w., 6 Ch. || Body Swap, TSo3, Magical Realism / Artifacts, Infidelity, Angst) – So what was in that matchbox, anyway? John and Sherlock find out, the hard way.

Crossover: Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Star Trek Fusion || Established Relationship, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Crack: Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Domestic: Back to the Start by slashscribe (M, 14,088 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Violin, Pining Idiots, Fluff, Domestics) – Sherlock hasn't played the violin since John's wedding (which is long since over), and when John returns to 221B, Sherlock relearns the violin as he and John relearn each other. Post S3 fic with an obscene amount of pining, idiocy, and attempts to pawn off tea duties.

Disability: Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w., 34 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis/Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, POV Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Drug Use, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it's supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

Established Relationship: Caught In The Act Series by ShirleyCarlton (E, 9,217 w. across 7 works || Established Relationship, Unintentional Voyeurism, Alternate POVs, Humour, Blow Jobs, Walking in on Someone, Switching, Public Sex) – This is a series of six scenarios written from the points of view of six different people as they accidentally walk in on Sherlock and John having sex.

Enemies to Lovers: Synchronicity by Calais_Reno (T, 46,424 w., 10 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, POV John, Bullying, Coming Out, Forgiveness, Drinking/Bars, Boarding School, Drunk John) – John and Sherlock meet again, years after they were school boys together. John hasn't forgotten why he still hates Sherlock Holmes. (MFL)

Future: Uncharted Territory by J_Baillier (T, 19,603 w., 4 Ch. || Dystopian Future / Black Mirror AU || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Drama, Homophobia, Bisexuality, Technology, Humour, Romance, Near Future, Happy Ending) – The System puts people through a series of assigned relationships in order to determine who their Perfect Match is. John believes that it works; Sherlock really, really doesn't. One of them is probably going to be wrong.

Fluff: A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

Gen: Octopus by glass_rose_paperweight (G, 705 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Bed Sharing, Limpet Sherlock) – A week after Sherlock and John finally get together, and John is finding sharing a bed with Sherlock Holmes to be ... difficult, sometimes. If not downright suffocating.

Genderswap: Cockscomb by birdie7272 (E, 115,302 w., 32 Ch. || Femlock / Gender Swap || Light Dom / Sub, Sensual Play, Cocks, Lace, Safe Words, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Truth or Dare, Slow Burn, Feminism, Relationships, Sexuality Crisis, Cheating, Power Play, Manipulation, Control) – Lace, whiskey, and a case full of cocks leads to a brand new kind of adventure. AKA The One With All The Cocks… When There Are No Cocks (MFL)

Historical: Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / Virgin Sherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy. (MFL)

Humour: Equine Arse Anonymity by Kayjaykayme (E, 3,834 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Public Sex, Coming in Pants, Humour, Halloween, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock needs to speak with suspects at a fancy dress ball. He chooses a couple's costume for himself and John. It is logical, practical and well thought out. John doesn't agree and exacts sweet revenge.

Illness: Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst, Promise of Forever) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Imprisonment: THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON by skyefullofstars (T, 110,758 w., 24 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Whump, Nightmares, Murder, Drug Addiction, Torture) – While Sherlock grapples with his new-found feelings for John Watson, he faces a very real threat: John's kidnapping and shooting at the hands of James Moriarty. And the knowledge that the love of his life is being used to test an addictive drug - at the risk of John's sanity and life. Prequel to THE BOYS OF BAKER STREET. Part 1 of THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON

Jealousy: The High Tide Series by stardust_made (E, 15,269 w. across 3 works || OMC, Angst, Jealousy, Developing Relationship, First Time, Romance) – A little favour Sherlock stupidly agrees to do for Mycroft leads to John meeting a handsome, afluent man, who is going out of his way to woo him. Sherlock struggles with the situation and with his own reactions to it.

Jilted: Love Is Series by SilentAuror (E, 36,903 w. across 2 works || Post S3, Alternating POV Each Story, Angst, Unrequited Love, Rejection then Reconciliation, Romance, Mary Divorce, Eventual Happy Ending) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him.

Kids: The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) –Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

Kink: John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times Series by wendymarlowe (E, 247,051+ w. across 45 works || Series WiP || Short Stories, Assorted Tags with Assorted Genres, PWP) – A collection of short imaginings of how Sherlock and John might finally allow their relationship to become physical. Don't be afraid of the giant cloud of tags - each fic stands alone and you can read them in any order.

Long: Free Falling by twistedthicket1 (M, 203,574 w., 38 Ch. || Guardian Angels AU || Guardian Angel John, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Kidlock / Teenlock, Light Mystrade, Passage of Time, Possessive John, Drug Use / Overdose, Victor Trevor, Graphic Bullying, Big Brother Mycroft, Hard Drug Use, Depression, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John, Panic Attacks, Nightmares/PTSD, Pining, Healing Abilities, Kidnapping, Violence, Torture, Blow Jobs, Virgin John, Emotional Development / Attachment, Mortality, Happy Ending) – All Guardian angels are born with a Chosen human. When this child is born, the angel comes into being to protect and care for them during their life on Earth. For John Watson, all he cares about in the world revolves around his Chosen, Sherlock Holmes. Watching him grow up though, the angel soon learns that God must have had a sense of humour the day he decided to make Sherlock, as trouble seems to follow him like a magnet wherever he goes. John can't decide what's worse, the idea of losing his Chosen one, or the fact that he may be breaking the most taboo law of heaven as he disguises himself as a human to better protect and befriend the beloved detective he's always watched from afar. He was meant to care for him. But what happens when caring evolves into something more? What happens when an emotion an angel is supposed to be incapable of possessing comes to life suddenly and viciously inside John's chest? 

Love Triangle: Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Magical Realism: The Frost Child by twistedthicket1 (M, 9,994 w., 2 Ch. || Frozen-ish AU || Magical Realism, Christmas, Angst, Fluff, Powerful John) – In a world where people are born with a Gift of varying levels, simple John Watson is the last person one might look at when thinking of any strong Magick capabilities. Hiding comfortably in the shadow of Sherlock's brilliant deducing abilities, John is content to keep it that way...

Major Character Death: I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

NSFW: Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures ||  Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say 'oh well, at least we tried'. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.” 

Next Gen.: If Equal Affection Cannot Be by blueink3 (E, 31,156 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Family, Retirement, Grown Up Rosie, Angst, Reunion, Loneliness, Sussex, Fluff, Sexy Times, Happy Ending) – Sherlock fled London a couple of years after John left him in hospital with nothing but an old walking stick and a half-hearted goodbye. Rosie grew up thinking that Sherlock died when he committed suicide in front of her father by jumping from Barts' roof. So it's somewhat awkward when they run into each other in a Sussex general store between the loaves of bread and the Mars bars... (MFL)

Omegaverse: A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,869 w., 26 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Omegaverse / Prime Universe Crossover || OmegaJohn / AlphaSherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Consent, Humour) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Only One Bed: The Cure for Snoring by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 1,278 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Conversations, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Fluff, Domestic, Platonic / Sleepy Cuddles) – Sherlock and John spend the night in Scotland after finishing a case. The sole Inn in town only has one room left...one bed. This would be fine - if not a bit awkward - if Sherlock hadn't developed a habit of snoring loudly. John suffers through many hours of sleeplessness before he discovers that skin-to-skin contact stops the noise. Part 1 of Dreamscapes

Parenthood: Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

Platonic: The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Queer: Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drugging, Smart John, Sherlock Has Internalized Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar, Flirting, John Manipulates Sherlock to Eat, John Deduces, Arguments, Kidnapping/Torture, Hospitalization, John Whump) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’

Quest: Licence to Kiss by fellshish (T, 13,739 w., 4 Ch. || Post-ASIB, Sort-Of Bondlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Angst and Humour, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock loves John, and John loves... James Bond. He only made Sherlock watch every single film. Tedious. And now John's birthday is coming up. Sherlock can't tell him how he feels, but he can organise an amazing gift: John's very own spy adventure. Sherlock begs Mycroft for a real case with some extra gadgets. And perhaps some actors pretending to be criminals. What could possibly go wrong?

Retirement: Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

Road Trip: Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (E, 30,568 w., 5 Ch. || Fake Rel., Road Trips, Slow Burn, Mummy Holmes) – “You love your mother, Sherlock?” John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk. “Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

Soulmates: The Heart On Your Sleeve by flawedamythyst (T, 5,441 w., 1 Ch. || Soulmate AU || Sherlock POV, Heartmarks, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Semi-S1 / S2 Canon Compliant, Reunion) – Sherlock stared at the imperfect circle on his left wrist in horror, then sat down on his bed with a bit of a thump. After over thirty years, his heartmark was finally showing activity. This was not good.

Slow Burn: Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

Teen AU: The Sky is Full of Fiddles by agirlsname (T, 25,659 w., 6 Ch. || 1895 Teenlock || Romantic Fluff, Bed Sharing, Swedish Folk Music, Dancing, Sherlock’s Violin, Poetry, Skinny Dipping, Summer Love, First Kiss, Proposals, POV John, Gay Surprise) – It's 1895 in the heart of Swedish folk music and dance. During certain weekends, boys are allowed to visit girls at night, wooing them with fantastical poems. If a girl lets a boy into her room they can share a bed all night, fully clothed, to talk and eat caramels together. John is seventeen and looking for a girl to marry like everyone else. He's very surprised when another boy suddenly stands outside his door, wanting to share his bed… (MFL)

Time Travel: The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Post-HLV, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John's relationship.

Undercover: The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Unrequited: Love Is Series by SilentAuror (E, 36,903 w. across 2 works || Post S3, Alternating POV Each Story, Angst, Unrequited Love, Rejection then Reconciliation, Romance, Mary Divorce, Eventual Happy Ending) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him.

Vampires: Bleed Me Out by antietamfalls (E, 87,987 w., 14 Ch. || Vampire AU || Bonding, Vampire Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Magical Realism) – John isn’t exactly surprised to discover that Sherlock isn't human. His vampirism doesn't pose a problem, even when their relationship gradually grows into something more. That is, until a deadly revelation about John’s blood sends their lives spinning dangerously out of control.

Villain POV: Genesis by pasiphile (M, 19,521 w., 1 Ch. || Graphic Violence, Moriarty’s Past) – Before he was Jim Moriarty, he was just Jimmy, a street kid with more pain in his past and more ambition in his head than he could handle, and only one other person he could bring himself to trust. Part 6 of This Life Is A Trip (When You're Psycho In Love) (MFL)

Whump: Trapped and Upside Down on the M6 by BootsnBlossoms (E, 4,256 w., 1 Ch. || Whump, Car Accident, Hurt / Comfort) – Everything felt wrong. His hair was going the wrong way. His arms were bent in ways he wouldn’t choose to bend them. His neck hurt and he couldn’t really feel his toes. Something was dripping on his face – and rolling up. A car crash. He had been in a car crash.

Werewolves: John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Supernatural Creatures || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

Xenomorphism: Forest King by Elphen (E, 141,856 w., 27 Ch. || Magical Realism / Omegaverse AU || Mythical Creatures, Group Sex, Body Worship, Drinking / Impairment, Dubious Consent, Anal Fingering/Sex, Transformations / Shapeshifting, Mpreg, BAMF John, Possessive Sherlock, Celtic Mythology, Paganism, Sherlock’s Violin, Frottage, Illnesses, Caring Sherlock, Netherworld/Underworld, Coping Mechanisms, Paternal Lestrade, Defensive John, Big Brother Mycroft, Insecurity, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Mild Jealousy, Pregnant Sex, Male Lactation, Birthing, Emotional Support, Parenthood, Family History) – After falling out with his sister, John ends up in a Cornwall Midsummer’s Eve celebration in the middle of a forest that’s rather…different. After the hazy night of magic and passion with a pale-eyed man, he goes home to London. He’s in for a surprise when his stomach starts growing and buds appears on his head. Not one to just accept things, he returns to Cornwall to demand an explanation. When he meets the forest king, Sherlock, again, he has to come to terms with not only what’s happened to him but what kind of magical world he’s been thrust into. Plus, there’s the questions of whether he trusts the antlered man and how he'll survive being apparently pregnant. Sherlock isn’t much help. That doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to somehow make John understand his feelings, however, even if he’s greatly hampered by being Sherlock. They slowly move forward but problems beyond their control may arise from an act done with the best of intentions. How will they cope, separately and together? (MFL)

Xmas: Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Zombies: The Hollow Ones by antietamfalls (M, 100,244 w., 23 Ch. || Walking Dead Fusion || Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Slow Build, Emotional Constipation, Protective John, Hurt/Comfort) – The dead walk. Mangled corpses of the deceased rise and mindlessly feast upon the flesh of the living. John wakes up, alone and confused, into the remnants of a city gone mad. He will search for answers. He will find Sherlock at any cost. And he will learn that the living are far more dangerous than the dead. (MFL)

Zoomorphism: How to Build a Heart out of Ashes by Teumessian (E, 144,931 w., 31 Ch. || Changeling AU || Slow Burn, Drug Use, Mentions of Child Abuse / Bullying, Mentions of Student/Teacher Relations, Uni-Age) – In an AU where a small number of the population become Changelings at a young age, at 17 John Watson believes he's destined for Normal life but then the Change takes him and he is sent to the Baker Institute. There he meets Sherlock Holmes.

[aylish91]

Hello there! I'm a really big fan of all the stories you write, especially Sea of Hope and the zombie apocalypse one (even though there's literally just one chapter of it LOL) and I know you're working on other stories and other things, and don't really like spoiling stuff, but.... Could we possibly get a few crumbs about more of that story? Please? 🥺🙏 Or maybe a little bit of information about zombie skeleton Y/N? Like since there are zombie do they have a couple bones missing? Like a couple ribs, or like do they have any eyelights or are there sockets completely blank? But if that stuff does count as too much of a spoiler, I understand. Again though love all the stuff you write! ❤️

Hello!!! I am so glad you like them! I absolutely love asks like these!!! Thank you so much!!!

MC in Zombietale is remarkably intact for a zombie, though they do have noticeably large cracks on her left leg. They are also a lot less morbid considering some of the "others", but still gross. Especially in the beginning. Most everything else are masses of flesh and... other, stuff... In the prologue/first chapter, they lose their flesh to become the skelereader we will come to know. However, without being able to bathe or have a good scrub, there is bound to be icky and grime. Bone on bone just doesn't work that great, you know? Eye lights are a red purple. I envision their hands and feet being, almost stained black, from all the gore they have to deal with in territory battles and the like.

~~~

On a side note, I may not have the full chapter, and it hasn't been edited. But~ I will let you read it~

I actually really like this one and need to finish it. At the moment, it is one of four story chapters that are currently being worked on. Sea of hope, (You, Your Children, and a Skeletal Island)?, and Lonesome West being the others.

Hope you enjoy!

~~~

ZombieTale Ch. 1?2 (1/2)

You stirred from your tranced sleep with a hissed sigh. There was a disturbance to the north. A not so foreign horde was currently mixing with some of yours and picking up into a frenzy. It was irritating, but sometimes it happened. What made it particularly annoying was that, because of the size and distance between the lot of you, you couldn’t quite get a good enough hold of their energy to stop and disperse them. You would have to go yourself to see what it was all about.

Another hiss left you through your links.

‘Stupid FROG!’

Your unruly “neighbor” was about to get a beat down if he was still around when you arrived. He might be a mousey cowardly little shit, but his greed sure caused you a lot of problems. At this point, you were starting to contemplate consuming his life energy so you wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. It was amazing none of the others hadn’t already.

The guy was a menace. Not strong enough to hold much territory, but bold enough to raid everyone around him. You wondered how many hordes you alone had commandeered from him during such raids. It was only a matter of time before he overstepped a little too far.

Internally grumbling, you uncurled from your makeshift nest of salvaged blankets and cloth.

It was time for damage control.

…

It was worse than you imagined. It had taken longer than you would have liked to get to the border. Carnage laid in wait. The little slimy bastard had chased an entire group into your territory. Evidence of heavy magic use along with bodies from both hordes scattered the streets and open spaces. He must have pushed hard with the amount of fallen still condensed within the area.

The dirty bastard didn’t even have the courtesy to leave once you arrived, casting his energy out as if it would convince you to leave. It only served to piss you off more, letting you know just how agitated and hungry he had become. You flooded the area with intent in retaliation, stunning the jerk enough to let you finally catch up.

The warehouse you found yourself at was brimming with chaos. The entire front and most of both sides of the building were swarming with broken frenzied bodies. A large garage door lay broken and trampled as bodies clawed their way inside. The idiot must have brought half of his entire arsenal to catch whatever prey he had cornered, dragging several hardy groups from your own border along with him.

Then you saw him. A stout blob of a creature, disfigured hands and feet disproportionately large and strong enough to be able to stick to almost anything. His head and mouth were just as grotesque. With large bulging black eyes and a mouth that went all the way down his neck. Just like his name’s sake, a putrid black mass spilled from it like a whip, waiting to lash out and drag his victim inside.

You had caught him scaling the building to surprise whoever was inside, preferring to trap and ambush victims due to his slower nature. You inwardly scoffed at his audacity.

Letting out a long-drawn-out screech, you pushed your energy wildly throughout any connections you could, confusing the horde still on the outside. Frog’s eyes met your flaring eyelights and for a brief moment, you could feel his fear through the energy. You relished in his desperation to prevent you from taking ahold of his own.

Leaping from the uppermost part of the building, he dashed as fast as his form could manage back to the safety of the border. It would have been an excellent time to hunt him, but panicked shooting and shouting echoing inside the building, pulling at your attention.

There were still survivors.

You let out another screech, using your agility to dash forward and through the stumbling fallen.

[passiveechobox]

Under Your Skin CH.2

The next day was more of the same - cleaning. Over and over again until your head buzzed and your hands smelled permanently of disinfectant. You were starting to think the fumes might be killing brain cells. Levi didn’t let up either. If he saw you miss a corner, he made you do the whole damn station again. Not messy enough to be scolded, just... not perfect. And with him, apparently, it had to be.

Eventually, finally, he let you move on to what you were actually there for, practice.

You were working line work today, basic shapes and crisp lines on fake skin taped to a saddle stand. It wasn’t glamorous. Your back already ached from hunching over but you weren’t about to complain. You’d tattoo the soles of your own feet if it meant getting better.

Levi was busier than the day before, mid-way through a full back piece on some gym rat who spent ten full minutes hyping himself up before even taking his shirt off. Now he was face-down on the table, occasionally letting out muffled grunts like he was dying inside but trying to sound tough about it. To his credit, he hadn’t tapped out. Yet.

Even with Levi elbow-deep in that dude’s spine, you still heard his voice bark from across the room.

“Your wrist is too stiff.”

You blinked, pausing. Looked around. How did he even see that?

Another correction came not five minutes later. “Watch your spacing. Bottom left.”

You turned, giving him a slightly wide-eyed, incredulous look. He didn’t even glance up from what he was doing. Just jerked his chin toward something behind you.

You turned.

There was a mirror. A huge, wall-mounted thing behind your station. Perfect view of your entire setup from where he was sitting.

He wasn’t magic, he was just watching… Constantly. Your stomach flipped a little, not unpleasantly. You turned back to your lines and adjusted your wrist angle.

You didn’t hear him correct you after that.

At some point, Levi pulled back from the guy’s back and cleared his throat. Just once. Sharp enough to snap the guy out of his pain trance. The dude groaned, lifting his head like it weighed forty pounds, then slowly pushed himself up on his elbows to look over his shoulder at the mirror.

His eyes lit up. “Yo! That looks sick, man!”

He grinned, wide and a little delirious, eyes flicking between the mirror and Levi like he’d just won a medal.

Levi just raised one brow. “That’s just the outline.”

There was a beat of silence. You could see the exact second that registered.

“Oh.”

Levi didn’t elaborate. Just turned to his tray and held out a juice pouch like this happened every day. Which it probably did. The guy took it with both hands like it was a holy relic, already looking a little green around the edges. He sipped it gingerly, trying very hard not to cry, shoulders hunched and legs slightly shaking as Levi went back to prepping the next round of ink.

You couldn’t help it, you were watching the whole thing unfold with a kind of morbid fascination. Then Levi’s eyes slid to yours, deadpan.

He didn’t say anything, just jerked his head toward your station.

A silent get back to work.

You jumped a little and turned immediately, hunching back over your fake skin like it owed you money. Linework, focus, no distractions. Even still, you smiled to yourself, Levi was intense, kinda scary. But he paid attention. More than most.

Once the shading was done, the guy left, walking gingerly, like his spine had been replaced with glass. He looked pleased, though, tender and sore but happy. Levi gave a noncommittal nod as the door closed behind him, already peeling off his gloves. Then he came over.

You tried not to tense up, tried to stay cool as he approached your little corner, but the way your fingers fumbled slightly with the stencil in your hand said otherwise. You’d been setting it down just as he stopped beside you, watching. And, maybe because of that or maybe because you rushed it, you peeled it off too fast. The stencil reveleaed was patchy, uneven and faint at the top edge, like it got stage fright.

Levi tilted his head, not unkindly, just observant, sharp as always.

“Leave it on longer next time,” he said. “And take it off slower. You act like you’re trying to give them a wax.”

You laughed under your breath, sheepish. “Right. Got it.”

You grabbed the stencil spray and started wiping it off, careful not to look at him too much. He was still standing there. Still watching. You placed a fresh stencil, slower this time, letting it sit properly before removing it with more care. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked over your lines again, his eyes skimming the fake skin. You suddenly became very aware of every tiny wobble, every place the line dipped just a little, especially that one section where he’d corrected your wrist. It was like every flaw lit up under his gaze.

He hummed.

Then finally, “You’ve got some good weight control.”

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

“But,” he continued, tapping a finger near one of the lines, “keep an eye on your wrist. On curves you stiffen up a bit.” Your eyes followed his gesture, sure enough there was a little break. Barely noticeable, but yeah, it was there.

“And make sure you’re stretching the skin properly,” he added, pointing out another spot where the line had gone a little uneven. “Or this’ll happen everywhere.”

You nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah. I thought I was, but it keeps happening.”

“It's mostly a practice issue.” He shrugged, then reached past you to grab one of the practice sheets you hadn’t used yet. “Forget the stencil stuff for now. It’s all well and good to practice placement, but get the basics down first.”

“Right,” you said again, quieter this time. “Got it.”

He gave a brief nod, something almost approving, and turned away just as quickly, back to sorting his station like he hadn’t just pointed out your weak spots with surgical precision. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and leaned back over the skin.

Back to basics, again.

Still, that “good weight control” was going to sit with you for the rest of the day like a trophy.

For the rest of the day, Levi works on smaller tattoos for different people, and you start to notice a pattern, he gets a lot of attention. Not just for the tattoos, though those are flawless. It's him, too. His face. His whole… thing. People flirt, or at least they try. They lean in, laugh a little too hard, ask dumb questions just to keep him talking.

Levi doesn’t care.

Doesn’t smile, doesn’t play along, barely even makes eye contact once the stencil’s on. He finishes the tattoo, wraps them up, and gets them out like he’s allergic to lingering.

You’re adjusting your grip again, finally starting to get the hang of stretching the skin just right, when the shop’s front door creaks open. You glance up and immediately feel the air shift. A woman walks in, she's tall, blonde. Her hair is so dirty it’s actually caked flat against her scalp, and even from across the room, she’s setting off your internal alarms. She heads straight for the reception desk where Petra is taking stock, clipboard in hand. You can’t hear all of it, but the tone is obvious. She’s asking for a walk-in. Petra’s being polite, patient, telling her that walk-ins aren’t done here. The woman doesn’t seem interested in listening. After a minute, she just pushes right past the desk like Petra’s invisible.

Levi straightens up before she even reaches him. His hands go behind his back like he’s just casually standing, but you see it. The tightness in his shoulders, the way his jaw tenses. He’s bracing.

She stops in front of him. He barely comes up to her shoulder, but somehow still looks taller.

“I want something under my arm,” she says, already starting to lift it like she’s about to flash the placement. Levi stops her with a single raised hand.

“I won’t be tattooing you today.”

She freezes, arm half-raised, then slowly crosses them instead.

“And why is that?” she asks, unimpressed. Like she’s waiting for him to backtrack. He doesn’t.

“You don’t have an appointment, you’ve been disrespectful to my staff, and you do not have the necessary hygiene for me to safely give you a tattoo.” He pauses, then adds, without a flicker of hesitation, “I also don’t want to.”

The woman lets out a loud, incredulous guffaw like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Honestly, neither can you, you’re still trying to figure out if this is really happening. A few more heated words get tossed around, sharp and petty, before she finally storms toward the door, shouting that she’ll never return and they’ve lost a valuable customer. Levi doesn’t dignify it with a response.

He just watches her go, arms crossed, shoulders squared, calm in that unnerving way that makes it clear nothing she said touched him at all. Your eyes catch on the set of his posture, the stretch of muscle across his back under the black cotton of his shirt, and you have to blink yourself out of it before you get caught staring.

But the buzz of your machine dies, paused without you even realizing it.

He notices, because of course he does. Turns just enough to side-eye you, one brow twitching like a silent get back to work.

You fumble, hunch back over your fake skin like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him grabbing the mop and a spray bottle. He moves to the exact spot the woman had been standing, running the mop across it with slow, purposeful strokes. Like he’s scrubbing away a stain only he can see.

It’s weirdly impressive, how seriously he takes it. How he backed Petra up without even blinking. You glance at her, she’s behind the counter, watching him with her chin in her hand, the softest expression on her face. Honestly, if you weren’t terrified of being caught slacking again, you’d probably be watching her watch him.

Instead, you pick up your machine and try to focus. And fail a little.

Just a little.

[noodyl-blasstal]

Cool, Calm, and Collegiate ch 1

It's @blupjeansweek!! Lup's returning to IPRE summer school for the first time since she attended it as a kid. Some of her colleagues are pretty awful, but one of them... Well... He's very interesting.

Find here or on ao3

--

Lup [14:45]

Made it safe, don’t burn the plants down and remember to water the kitchen.

Taako [14:45]

Instructions unclear. Filling bath with mayonnaise.

Lup [14:46]

You’re the worst <3

Taako [14:47]

Stop texting me and go teach kids space magic or whatever.

Lup [14:48]

You need to know I’m flipping you off right now.

Taako [14:48]

Never doubted you for a second, now go do your thing. Be safe, don’t talk to dogs, pet a lot of strangers.

Lup [14:48]

<3

Taako [14:48]

<3

Lup double checks the instructions, then stows her phone in her pocket, adjusts her rucksack, and definitely doesn’t give herself a pep talk, she doesn’t need to, she’s Lup fuckin’ Taako. They’re lucky to have her. These kids are gonna know so many things about space and magic and no one’s gonna act like she doesn’t belong.

“Eward! It’ll mess up my hair!” A tall elf looks perturbed as Edward, (her twin? Judging by the fact they look like mirror images they have to be, plus, twin recognises twin) holds out a satchel bag.

“It’s your bag, Lydia, dear.” Edward, clearly an optimist, continues to hold it out.

“Can’t Harry get it?”

“Oh yes. I’m sure he can come and sort this out.” Edward makes a sweeping gesture to the ever growing pile of bags and cases the poor taxi driver is piling on the pavement.

“I’ll call him.” Lydia snaps open her clutch.

Lup’s transfixed by her acid green nails and the wildly impractical heels. Not to mention Edward’s wearing a short sleeved suit jacket with embroidered shorts that Taako would kill for… how rude is it to photograph strangers?

“Harry… yes… sure, whatever… uh huh… well you’ll be glad to know that we’re here… yes… so can you come be a darling and get our bags?... I’m not sure that Daddy would like to hear that you’re being so unfriendly on our very first day… Thank you so much darling, we’ll see you soon.” Lydia grimaces and slides the phone back into her bag and shakes her head at Edward. “Such poor service here.”

It takes everything in Lup not to say something. Sure, their fashion sense is glorious, but they’re a caricature of awful if this is how they treat people. Lup’s ready to swing on poor Harold’s behalf. Not to mention the taxi driver they definitely didn’t tip, just waved her off once she’d finished hauling their ridiculous bags out of the minivan.

“Oh there you are, Harry, we’re just over here. Don’t worry about not being out front to meet us.” Edward smiles broadly, as if he’s not aware of precisely how much of a dick he’s being.

Lup’s willing to wager he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Harry though, assuming that’s the guy in the blue jeans who just walked reluctantly out of the front of the building, doesn’t look so confident. “Uh. Hi Lydia, Edward.” He tugs at the sleeves of his white shirt, clearly uncomfortable.

“So good to see you again.” Lydia says without looking at him.

“This is everything.” Edward points, as if there were a chance Harry might have missed the small mountain of wealth piled at the side of the road.

“And you need me to, uh, get some luggage trolleys?” Harry, poor sweet Harry, asks.

“If that’s what you need to move them to our rooms.” Edward shrugs, already scrolling on his phone.

“Did you check us in?” Lydia asks.

“Er… the accommodation office is…” Harry starts.

“Oh darling, these heels aren’t made for walking, are you sure you can’t just bring us the keys and let us know where we’re going?” Lydia titters and flutters her eyelashes at him.

Lup sends a beam of strength to Harry. Don’t fall for it, my dude, make them do their own life admin. You’ve go this.

“The accommodation office is over there.” Harry points.

Yes! Go, Harry, get ‘em!

“But darling, how will you know where to take our bags if you don’t check us in?” Edward asks, not looking up from his phone.

Lup watches the fight drain out of him. He fought a good fight…

“I’ll go to the accommodation office, which is over there.” Harry bites out.

At least he’s not trying to pretend he’s not pissed off any more. This is most definitely and absolutely not his job, for sure. Lup was under no illusions when she took this role. Science educator at a Summer education programme was never going to pay well, but coming here set her on the path she’s on now, and the least she can do is give back (and be legally allowed to make explosions for educational purposes.)

“Hey, Harold, mind if I walk with you? I haven’t been to the accommodation office before.” Lup catches up to him quickly, closing the distance in a few long strides.

When he turns to look at her his face is sour. “Please, uh, just, there’s no need to keep doing it.”

“Doing what?” Lup tilts her head, but doesn’t break her step. “Cha’girl needs to find the accommodation office, and you look like you know what’s up. It’s Lup, by the way.” She stops abruptly and offers a hand.

Harry stops too, looks at her for a moment, sizing her up. Then he smiles. “Barry.” He says, shaking it.

“Oh hell no.” Lup can feel the flush of heat spreading across her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I just heard them say it and…”

“Yeah, well, they’re not always right.”

“Not often right, from what I’ve seen.” Lup mutters.

Barry laughs, once, sharp, perfect. “C’mon, I’ll show you the office.”

“Thanks Barry!”

His smile is glorious.

–

“I’ll help.”

“It’s fine.” Barry huffs as he tries to work out whether it’s better to wheel two suitcases at once in front or behind. “You’ve got your own stuff and you need to get settled.”

“Cha’girl has a single hiking bag because she’s not a complete maniac.” Lup rolls her eyes. “Plus, they’ll just complain if you leave anything on the side while you drop the first lot to their room.” She grimaces so Barry knows how wrong she thinks they are.

“You, uh, well, can’t argue with that.” Barry shrugs. Then adds, softly. “Thank you.”

Lup bumps his shoulder with hers. “Lup’s got you.”

She ends up with her rucksack, three bags on each arm, and the hair-mussing satchel (hair completely intact because she’s capable of operating a strap, thank you very much.) Barry wields two cases with his meat hands, and one with his mage hand. Lup copied him to get the last of the cases.

“How do people even have this much stuff?” Barry asks while they wait for the lift.

“Dedication? Perseverance?” Lup nudges him with her elbow, hands blessedly free as she’s laid the bags down to wait for the world’s slowest lift. “How much did you pack?”

“I didn’t have to, I live just off campus, uh, the street behind the student accommodation.”

“Oooh, happy accident that the job came up and you lived nearby?”

“Well, I… you know… work here. It’s new. But I said I’d help with the, er, the programme.” Barry looks embarrassed about this fact.

Lup raises her eyebrow. “I thought you said you were Barry?”

“I am.”

“They didn’t mention a Barry on any of the forms.” Lup knows for sure because she googled the fuck out of everyone and everything about the programme when she found out she got an interview.

“I’m not sure they put me on the letters or the websites or, well, uh, that stuff… plus, it’d by a different name.” He pauses. “It’s a long story.”

Lup points at the cheerful lift floor light which is currently still stuck on 19. “We’ve got time, my guy.” She’s going to go rogue and hack into the computers to fix it if this school is deadnaming him or something.

“Okay, it’s not really a long story, but I’m not on the forms because I help unofficially, and Barry isn’t my government name.”

“Okay?”

“I prefer Barry.”

“Barry Bluejeans.” Lup points at his denim-clad legs.

“Why not?”

“Do you not want them to use your other name?”

“No no, it’s fine, it’s just for, you know, business. It’s what’s on my office door, it’s Sildar.”

“I never thought I’d know two! Sildar! Elf King of the Forest, Thirteenth of his Line…” Lup swishes her imaginary cloak and laughs gently. “Destroyer of…”

She stops, Barry looks stunned. Shit. Maybe he was more sensitive about his name than he made it sound. She’d fallen into a comfortable pattern. Lup closes the distance between them. “Oh, my dude, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, that’s an…”

“...In joke.” Barry finishes for her. Then draws himself up to a majestic height and swishes his own cloak. “Destroyer of Ill Informed Zombies.” He’s smiling.

“Hallwinter?”

“Tacco?”

“Barry?”

“Lup?”

“What the fuck?” Lup swears she’s buffering, she’s usually not short of words, but this? What is she supposed to do with this? Sildar, in the flesh, not just a guy in a computer. “You’re real!”

Barry laughs. Hard.

Lup pokes him in the side.

“Ow!”

“Just checking.” She smiles her biggest smile.

He laughs again and it sets Lup off too. They’re still gasping for breath when the door the lift light finally blinks another floor down.

“Did the last email help?” Barry asks, pressing the lift button again, as if that’ll help.

“Yeah! The way you explained it made a lot more sense than the textbook.”

“Cyrus.” Barry says like it’s a particularly awful curse word, and shrugs dismissively.

“So you have roughly three thousand degrees?” Lup asks.

“No!” Barry protests quickly.

“Uh huh. Have you forgotten how many you have?”

“It’s only four PhDs. It’s fine. Erm… Look! The lift’s moving.” Barry points enthusiastically at the blinking light which shows a whole floor’s worth of progress.

“You can’t distract me from the fact I’m with academic royalty right now.”

“I’m not academic royalty!” Barry looks offended at the very thought.

Lup just wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh Sildar, can’t I please have your autograph?”

“Lup!” Barry looks genuinely distressed enough that she decides it’s time to stop bullying him.

“So what’s the best meal on the canteen rotation? I figure you’ve been here a little bit? You said you were moving in your email last month, right?”

Barry’s discomfort fades immediately. “So they make this mac and cheese with asparagus in it and the summer school kids hate it because it’s got green bits so they always give you extra. I figure it’ll be different once the students are back, but uh, I guess you’ll be gone then?”

Lup shrugs. “Gotta wait on the post docs to get back to me, but my cheese yen thanks you for the baller tip! What else you got for cha’girl? I’m gonna plumb your depths.”

There’s a long moment. Lup dares Barry to double her entendre. He thinks about it, she can tell, but he doesn’t. She’s not disappointed exactly… but.

By the time the lift finally arrives Lup knows where the quiet libraries are, has a few routes for her morning runs, and, most importantly, knows where to get the good coffee (The Davey Lamp Cafe or Barry’s office. She’s inclined to try the latter first, because Barry has good taste, obviously, no other reason.)

“Okay, tetris time!” Lup zoops the mage hand suitcase into the lift, Barry shoves his in close behind.

“Do you think we can do this?”

“Cha’girl has better things to do than wait another 84 years for the lift, Barold, prepare to get cosy.”

Lup shoos him in with the suitcases next.

“Okay, if I put the bags on top of the cases, and then…” Lup scooches into the, admittedly small, gap next to Barry. “Is this okay?”

“Uh, yeah, fine… er.. Good… I mean… Yeah.”

“Do you want me to get the next one?”

“No! No. I mean, this is okay.” Barry’s swaying very slightly, Lup’s pressed against his side, so sways with him.

“They’re floor 26, right?” Lup asks.

“Oh, fuck, hang on.” Barry lunges towards the buttons. “Yeah, there we go.”

The lift grinds slowly upwards.

“So why IPRE? I imagine everyone was clamouring to get their hands on you?” Lup wiggles her eyebrows and Barry flushes bright pink.

“Well, uh, you know… I really liked their er… ethos?” Barry starts tentatively.

“Funding?”

Barry laughs, relieved. “Yeah, that. They have plenty of funding available. Plus, they seemed interested in letting me, you know, work on some of my own stuff.”

“Bonds?” Lup hisses quietly, as if anyone could hear over the slow grinding noise of The World’s Shittest Lift.

Barry nods and his face lights up. “You remembered?”

“Hard to forget when someone’s so passionate about something, Barold.”

“It’s also closer to Mum.”

“Of course. How is Marlena?”

“Still raving about the cookies you sent. She said they were as baller as you promised, and that you’d promised you would only send them to her so I had to come visit if I wanted to try them.”

“Who am I, but a girl who is willing to engage in cookie crime to help a Mum out.”

“I visit her!”

“I know.” Lup nods, he’s talked a lot about wishing he was closer, especially as she gets older.

“Now I can go more.” Barry adds.

“You sure can, I’d better look at the recipe book.” Lup winks at him.

–

“Leave them here.” Lup shrugs. “You’ve done your bit.”

Barry dithers, and knocks again. “I don’t know why they went ahead of me to get the key when they specifically asked me to check them in.”

“Weird power play.”

“Really?”

“Definitely, I’ve met their sort before. Just leave their stuff here, don’t hang around waiting. You’re the guy, they’re nothing in the scheme of research. This is absolutely not your problem.”

“Yeah. Yeah…” Barry keeps his hands on the cases.

“Barold?” Lup takes his arm gently to pull him away.

Barry twitches slightly, like he’s about to pull his arm back, there’s a moment where Lup worries that she’s gone too far. Sure they’ve sent some emails, they joked in the lift, but this is Sildar Halwinter, Magic Science guy. He wrote the textbooks, or should have, he’s got the cutting edge papers… He’s not just a cute nerd for Lup to boss about. Thankfully though, he relaxes, lets himself be tugged away towards the lift.

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ve given them enough of my time.”

“Yes! That’s the spirit.” Lup punches the air. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Which floor are you?”

“3.” Lup says. “I don’t have fancy parental connections to get the good view.

“Well, at least you’re in luck if the lift goes out.” Barry says wrly.

“You truly are a genius, Dr Hallwinter.” Lup nods cheekily.

Barry throws her a sideways glance, and smiles. There’s no blush this time, maybe he’s easing into it.

This time, they stand slightly further apart in the lift.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Barry asks. He sounds like he means it.

Lup wants to say yes immediately. There’s absolutely nothing she can think of that Barry can do for her right now, but she likes hanging out with him. He’s fun to talk to online, and more fun in person, if just for the immediacy… also she gets to look at his face. Er… she means… shit.

“I’m not sure I need a hand with my bag, but you’re welcome to come check out the digs if you want?” She realises too late that it sounds like she’s propositioning him. ‘Come look at my room’, she may as well ask the guy in for coffee.

“I’ve actually already surveyed the rooms, so I’ll let you get settled, but if you decide you want coffee before the staff briefing this evening then stop by my flat, I’m heading home for a few hours.” Barry smiles warmly.

Uh… did Barold just uno reverse her? Bam! Proposition me will you? Here’s one right back! No, no way, he probably just means coffee. Would she go if she thought he didn’t just mean coffee?... Nope, stop! Bad line of thinking. He’s being kind, it’s generous. They’re friends! She’ll see.

“Cool, I’ll get settled, write a postcard, then maybe head over when I go to post it?”

The lift dings to announce its arrival at the third floor. “No pressure, I’ll see you later, Lup.”

–

Hey Ko’

I know you’re gonna roll your eyes, but you’re getting postcards, just like we wrote to Tia back in the day. Today was fine. Those twins I messaged about are fucking awful (that’s right, I can swear in these now, when you’re the teachers no one checks!) they kept calling this guy Harry, turns out his name’s Barry. Barry Bluejeans (well, not officially the last bit, but he was wearing them, so sue me.) They made him carry their bags, so obviously I helped, and we got talking and I was all “he’s really cool. No idea why they’re so mean to him”. Anyway, anyway, turns out his Government name isn’t Barry. It’s Sildar fucking Halwinter! That one, yeah. So I guess my pen pal is my person pal for the next 8 weeks… I’m gonna make the most of it, I just need to figure out which questions to ask.

Anyway, I’m running out of postcard space, but it’s all pretty similar to how it was, the room’s slightly nicer, only one bed and a private bathroom (thank every god going, I’ll never forgive Greg Grimaldis his bathroom crimes), but it’s still student digs.

Love you always,

Lup xxxxx

---

Thank you for reading! Find chapter 2 here.

[canyouhearthelight]

Not the Chosen One, Ch. 11: Doctor, Doctor, Tell Me the News

We finally get to meet the final member of our cast, a character who was called "Long Suffering Uber Driver" for the majority of the brainstorming, until I actually got close to writing this chapter, and even then he ended up having a name change. There is 1 more new character after this, but she isn't a recurring character at this point in time, while this guy is intended to be.

Kudos to @baelpenrose and @writing-with-olive for beta reading this.

Also, for those who haven't seen Bael's chapter yesterday, I didn't forget to post last week, I swear. I was across the country, attending Bael's wedding, and just exhausted from travel. I literally landed in my home state at 9am last Tuesday. I was wiped, lol.

Sure enough, Benji had started gushing at the mere mention of Taji.  It was later that I found out that she had given Dex a list of questions to ask me regarding the protections around her clinic, were the boundaries holding, were there protesters again, etc.  Trey had clearly heard everything he needed to, because shortly after he’d eaten, we were waiting by the curb for an Uber.

“I’m still confused why you need a rideshare,” he admitted, rubbing his chin nervously before catching himself and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Soooo…..” I drew out. “I can’t drive, for starters.  Strong magic and steel don’t work great together.  It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it’s super distracting.  At least enough to keep me or Benji from being able to safely drive, if that makes sense?”

Trey’s head tilted side to side before nodding. “That makes sense, yeah.”

After a sigh of relief, I added the part I knew would make him laugh. “Besides, nothing kills a battery faster than crossing the wards.  Benji knows what causes it, but I don’t understand shield magic enough to explain it. Basically, strong wards plus batteries equals dead batteries. Including cars.”

“That’s why the Tanners park at the street?” he confirmed slowly.

“Yep!”

I was glad Trey got the gist of the matter, because just then a bright orange car pulled up to the curb and my phone - which I had dug out of the mailbox so I could even request the damned ride - went off against my leg. A dark haired man with a hawkish face and large glasses leaned out the window. “I’m Kevin. Stef and Trey?”

“That’s us,” I nodded, stepping towards the car and resisting the urge to scratch at phantom itches.

Kevin nodded before rolling up the window. Once we were piled in the back, he jerked his head towards my property before putting the car into gear. “I’m guessing it’s not actually vacant?”

“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business,” I ventured, reaching for the door handle.

“Oh, it isn’t,” he answered cheerfully. “It’s just weird to see a mailbox outside of an empty plot of land.  A lot of paranormals I pick up tend to have mailboxes like that, though, so if you’re behind wards or something, probably get a P.O. box and get picked up at a gas station.  But if you actually get your mail at a vacant lot, that’s really clever.  Just don’t tell me which it is, okay?”

Trey and I turned to each other, wide eyed. He decided to ask before I could. “Do you pick up a lot of paranormals?”

Kevin seemed to glance at the passenger seat before swearing softly and flipping the visor down. “Sorry about that, didn’t realize it was flipped up.” The backside of the visor shimmered warmly, a piece of paper I couldn’t read from this distance attached to it.

I didn’t need to read it though. I had one in my kitchen. “You’re a licensed magical transport?”

Without looking, he tapped the visor. “Specifically to ensure safe harbor within the confines of my space.  It isn’t a large space, but it’s safe.”

Relaxing into my seat, I patted Trey’s shoulder. “You’re almost as safe in this car as you would be at home.”

A condescending snort sounded at the exact same time that Kevin pulled over for a sneezing fit. “Oh, you must have cats,” he apologized, clearly not hearing the snort that I was now shooting daggers at. “Give me a sec to grab my spray, I have allergies.  It doesn’t add to your travel time, I swear.”

The pile of fur at Trey’s feet - one which had certainly not been with us when we had gotten in the car - showed no remorse.

I sent a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening when Trey sighed dramatically. “I am so sorry… Somehow, our cat - “

“Who is an asshole,” I interjected.

“- managed to get in the car without us seeing him,” Trey finished with barely a straight face. “We can turn around if - “

A brown hand flew up and waved us off. “I’ll roll the windows down. It’s normal, although you might have a familiar instead of a pet if he managed to follow with - “

“I beg your pardon?” Dexter yowled indignantly, jumping into the front passenger seat.  By the time he landed, he was completely hairless. “I am not a common familiar I will have you know.”

“The cat talks,” Kevin muttered in quiet awe, the car somehow still smoothly accelerating back onto our route. “He talks.”

How the hell do you give an Uber driver ten stars? Because gods and goddesses know, this man just earned it.  “This is Dexter,” I introduced wearily. “He’s… our guardian. Magically, not sure about legally.”

“Ohhh, I’ve heard about those…” Seriously, how in the hells was this man able to focus so clearly on driving when all this was going on inside his car??  “Nice to meet you Dext - whoa, you’re naked!”

“Seriously, that’s the shocking part?” Dex scolded, licking a paw before curling up on the seat.

“Allergies. Fur. Sneezing…”

Dexter formed himself into a tight loaf, face tipped down in chagrin. “I was not aware you were allergic. I had been comforting Trey before his healer appointment.”

“Stuffy mode,” Kevin whispered.  I doubted Trey heard it, as I barely could. Dex had the grace to pretend he didn’t. At a normal volume, our driver continued. “Healer appointment, huh? Man, I hated going to the doctor when I was a teenager.  Even though I know it was worth it now, it was so awkward at the time. I don’t blame you for needing emotional support.”

Trey leaned over towards me, whispering. “He’s a dork, but I kind of like this guy.”

“Harmless dorks are best dorks,” I confirmed. I wasn’t going to point out that Dexter hadn’t killed him yet, so clearly he was okay people.  Not a good idea to test the nerve of the person who was literally driving a weapon of mass destruction, after all.

After a few more minutes of bizarre shop talk between Kevin and Dexter - what constituted a sanctuary versus a warded area, merits of plastics versus steel in magic interference, et cetera - we arrived at a nondescript building. Kevin seemed to halfway recognize it, but for once said nothing.

We piled out, this time with Dexter in Trey’s arms, and I turned to wave. “Thank you. We really do appreciate the safe passage.”  Worst case scenario, the guy had faerie heritage and I didn’t have to worry about him in the future after mortally offending him.

“No worries, it’s my job! And hey, if no one is available after your appointment - “

Here comes the creeper line, I thought…

“- there is a bus stop three blocks that way,” he gestured in the correct direction for the stop I was aware of, “and it runs every forty five minutes. There’s a connection at Mulberry that will take you really close to where I picked you up. I think the drop off is four blocks from there?”

Without another word, he waved again and drove off.

“What an odd little man,” Dexter chirped.

[linaselandbasil]

Vampire Kareshi ch.3

Ch.1, Ch.2, AO3 link.

University au, Bloodweave.

Have fun reading yall!

...

After a long shower, a careful trim of his beard, cutting of his nails and a few drops of cologne, he felt ready. He put the wizardly robes on, he was looking great, feeling giddy. But also he's going to throw up from the stress.

"Wyll I'm nervous." He finally turned to his friend after a few minutes of checking the time and waiting for an 'im here' text.

"But you want this, so get yourself together. " Wyll was looking at him pacing in the room, comfortably sitting on the couch with a can of some disgusting sugary death drink in hand.

"I do. I'm just not used to stuff like this! Do you think he's going to kiss me?"

"I don't know. I'm sure he will if you ask him to. But make sure you don't kiss him too soon, wait until the end of the night."

"Um, okay."

"And don't be afraid to flirt. He will probably be put off if you just take all the compliments and don't give any back, it would make it seem like you're not enjoying yourself."

"Understood." A notification sound rang aloud in the room. "It's time... Thank you for lending me your fancy cologne, it won't be forgotten!" He checks the message.

'I'll be there in a few minutes, cant wait to see you darling.'

Darling... DARLING!

'The feeling is mutual.'

"Are you not going to get going?" Wyll asked, confused as to why his friend was just watching the parking lot from the window.

"I'll teleport, it makes an impression!"

"You can do that?"

"Of course, what kind of wizard can't teleport? Oh look, he's there!" Wyll scampered to the window to finally see this mistery man.

"That... My father has a car like that, just who is this guy?"

"He said his father was Cazador. I suppose that should tell you something."

"Cazador Szarr? I'm not surprised he has a son I've never heard about, I'm sure he has a couple more he himself hasn't seen."

"I see. Well, it's lovely talking to you in our shared livingspace that I see you in every single day, but I think it's time for me to get going! Until next time!" He bowed and walked into a portal that was freshly opening up behind him.

In the ambiguous space between the two portals he found himself a little stuck. Oh no...

...

Astarion checked himself out in the selfie camera, carefully inspecting his visage. He'd do it in one of the many mirrors of Cazadors displacer but he cannot, for obvious reasons.

He was startled by a loud magic magicing right beside his car. He was not eager to get out and see what's up on account of him being in the possession of survival instincts, but when a hand with a pretty ring on it reached out, he became intrigued.

"A hand? Please?"

"Oh, Gale! It's you!"

"Can you help me out?" He grabbed the hand and began pulling. No use. In the meantime Wyll was watching all of this go down from the window and thought 'That's one hell of an impression you're making.' He pitied the both of them and reached into the portal to give Gale a good push. He has 9 strength, so he's not much better off than the other two but it did the trick!

Astarion could barely keep standing as the human fell into his arms. "So you're a wizard?"

"Yes, I am! An apprentice of Elminster and a graduate of the Wizarding academy of Waterdeep! I'm working on my second degree here in Baldur's gate." He straightened up, proud as could be. Suddenly as he was faced with the elf, all his nervousness faded into oblivion. Standing this close, Gale also noticed that the elf was not by much, but still a little shorter than him. He seemed taller on camera, not that Gale is complaining.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were a wizard! This is interesting to say the least! I must say, you look positively delectable, darling."

"So do you." Gale looked at the vampires outfit, which was hard to see as it was mostly black. What Gale didn't fail to notice was the way it glittered as it was illuminated by streetlights. "You look much more solemnly dressed, I must say I feel like a clown."

"Oh no, you'll be fine, I'm the weird one for dressing for the casket I was always destined for. I felt like I didn't wear this black jacket enough, so I put an outfit together just so I can wear it."

"I'd say it was a great idea, you look... Pretty." The wizard fiddled with the sun motifs embroidered into the robes of summer.

Astarion opened the door of the car and beckoned him in. He did so without a question. Astarion followed shortly after, starting the car once again. "Thank you. But let me warn you, this gift is particularly hard to open, the zipper on this top always gets stuck!" Astarions sharp gaze was solely fixed on the road ahead, but he can definitely tell Gale was flustered beyond belief.

"I- I see... "

"You're cute, I'll stop, I can see that you're a bit uncomfortable."

"No, continue! I'm just not in my element, not much experience you see!"

"I understand." He started the car, all he could think about was how much he he wished that Cazador didn't like this one.

...

To Gales surprise, he wasn't over or under dressed, he was perfect. That didn't make him feel any less strange though.

A couple of guests he spoke to seemed to eye him with interest, then with disappointment as they got nearer, he wondered what that was about. Maybe they didn't like that he seemed to already have a pair.

"Darling, care for a drink?" Astarion appeared right besides him, speak of the devil. He's quiet as a kitten, but Gale didn't know he was supposed to get spooked so he didn't.

"I've had plenty already, thanks." He looked around at the other guests, who were behaving very very improperly. He's not that kind of girl.

"Hmm, you know, these people are quite the company, but I'd prefer yours alone. Would you like to find us a dark corner to slink away into?" Astarions arm was wrapped around his, the human could hear the sequins of Astarions jacket scrape against his robes rough outer layer.

"Sounds like a fantastic idea, let's go!" Gale didn't like these sorts of gatherings, he was eager to be in peace at last. The pale elf pulled him in the direction of the hallway, which was clearly not to be explored by the attendees.

Servants rushed back and forth through it, paying the two of them no mind. It was a lot darker than the ballroom, giving the illusion of privacy, but believe me, someone's always watching in the Szarr Palace.

On the balcony, the air was cold, but refreshingly less stinky than inside.

"Finally, a moment to ourselves, I almost wish we didn't even come to the party, hiding away in the gardens would have been just as good." Astarion said, inching closer to Gale. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would." Gale did some wizardly magic hand gestures at the sky and gorgeous swirling colorful lights appeared. Gale leaned into the railing and noticed Astarion immediately got cozy very close to him, they were touching, it was to the wizards liking but it still got his pulse all the way up.

"Fascinating. Can you also make a bed appear?"

"I can, although maybe that would be untimely, considering this is our first date."

"...True. You want another date after this? I hadn't been on a second date in a long while." Gale was quite surprised to hear that.

"Why not? I thought people were begging for your attention."

The charming smile came back to the face of the pale elf. "You know what? Let's not talk about that! Tell me about yourself!"

He thought for a second, there's a lot to say. "Um, I have a tressym, her name is Tara."

"I love cats." Astarion got real cozy, putting an arm behind Gale and watching the magic show.

"Me too, don't call her that to her face though. It's like me calling you a mosquito man." Astarions smile dissapeared, he looked at his date.

"... What."

"Because, you know, vampire?"

"YOU- You knew?" He put some distance between the two of them so he cam properly glare at the human.

"Of course I knew! You're not quite as subtle as you think and I'm a wizard, I know a thing or two about the undead."

"That's fair, how silly of me... It's almost midnight, isn't it. Almost time." Something is weird about him all of a sudden. Gale senses some sort of magic in the air that doesn't belong to him.

"For what?" The vampire stood up, pulling Gale with him. "Astarion?"

"Follow me."

He almost ran. Briskly walking through the dark rooms, back through the ballroom, into a weirdly placed door and straight dark hallway. Gale was never an athlete, he was wheezing. Through all this, he barely noticed the magic getting stronger. At the end of this hallway there was a room, which Astarion barged into, pulling the wizard along.

"Astarion, it was about time you arrived." Said someone whom also appeared to be a vampire. "Come closer."

Astarion dragged him towards the man, which Gale tried to resist but couldn't. "Are you Cazador?"

"Oh, you recognize me? How fun!" He stood up, towering over the both of them. He looked like he smelled something foul, but quickly schooled his face.

"Must have noticed my blood, let me assure you, it's not tasty!"

Cazador furiously glared at Astarion.

"I swear, I didn't tell him!" His tone was calm and collected, but still. He was afraid.

"I figured it out myself, you guys are not exactly masters of deception." Gale was often jarringly confident in his.... Well, everything. He thought that since he was in on some kind of secret, the vampire would spare his life.

Well, it wouldn't be smart to attack a mage.....Cazador is not the smartest, or the prettiest or nicest, but he's not attacking Gale of Waterdeep. Not that he knows who Gale, is, he hadn't left his palace in decades. "You're dismissed."

Astarion then dragged him out of the room and back to the balcony, completely ignoring his questions. This is so weird.

...

"So you can safely teleport back to your dorm? If not, I promise I'll pay for the taxi, just don't do it drunk." The vampire leaned into the railing of the balcony.

"I'll manage. I didn't have that much!" Gale adjusted his hat and awkwardly looked at Astarion, who was being eaten alive in self loathing and dread. He didn't show that, only a tiny bit of worry slipped past his walls for the wellbeing of someone he was ready to let Cazador drain dry.

"I'll trust your judgment, I was never any good at magic." They stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

"Is it appropriate to kiss on the first date?" Asked Gale, trying not to sink into the tiles from shame.

Astarion was about to say 'first base is missionary' but held his tounge. "Do you want to?" He asked with a grin you'd want to wipe off of him with a well balanced bitch slap.

"I do."

Astarion stepped closer, got on his tippy toes and kissed him. On the mouth. He put his hands on Gales arms, keeping him in place. Gale was still as a statue though, there was no need to hold him.

When it was over, Gale had a goofy grin on his face and got very very very red. A portal opened behind him and he slowly backed into it, feeling the vampires hand gently slide off of his arm.

"Goodbye, I'll text you."

"See you, hopefully soon."

...

[yesshewritestoo]

Ungodly Hour, ch. 1

Fallon sat in one of the recording studios with her father and Anika, notebook in hand. She wasn't sure why she was there, since she wasn't the one who would be inside the booth. The one inside the booth was V, one of the artists signed to Empire. Fallon rolled her eyes as V started singing. She didn't have anything against her, she just wished Lucious would actually let her sing the song she helped write. He said it would be a duet, and here Fallon was, on the outside of the booth, listening to V sing solo.

I would tell you that I love you tonight, But I know that I've got time on my side, Where you going? Why you leavin' so soon? Is there somewhere else that's better for you?

"That's not balanced," Lucious told the sound guy, adjusting the levels as V kept singing. Fallon sighed, resting her chin on her fist. It wasn't the sound, it was V. The song lacked emotion. Seemed like Lucious felt the same, since he stopped the track in the middle of her singing. "I need you to sing like you are going to die tomorrow. Like this is the last song you will ever sing. You hear me? Show me your soul in this music." He looked at the sound guy. "Hit it again."

He started the track again, and V picked up where she left off.

I would tell you that I love you tonight, But I know that I've got time on my side, Where you going? Why you leaving so soon? Is there somewhere else that's better for you? What is love, If you're not here with me? What is love, If it's not guaranteed? What is love, If it just ups..?

V stopped singing, waiting for a reaction from Lucious. He was quiet, spaced out. Fallon stood up, putting her hand on her father's shoulder. "Dad." He finally came back, noticing the eyes on him.

"You okay, boss man?" the sound guy asked.

"It's not there yet," Lucious said, standing up.

"Still?" Anika asked, watching him walk.

"Bunkie, wake up," Lucious told his cousin, who was currently having a power nap on one of the couches. "Wake your ass up!" He walked into the booth with V.

"Nik," Fallon called, getting her attention. She stood next to her. "Is Dad okay?" This wasn't the first time Lucious has zoned out in the middle of something. In these last few months, it seemed Lucious had been paying no attention to her at all. He didn't do much of that before, but now he didn't even do the bare minimum.

Anika looked down at Fallon, arms folded. "You know how your father is. He's just stressed," she dismissed. Fallon didn't think that was fully true, but didn't say anything.

"Yeah, I heard we were going public."

"How'd you find out about that?" Fallon looked at Anika with a knowing look. "Becky?" Fallon nodded. That girl couldn't keep a secret to save her life. The two chuckled as Lucious walked out of the booth, telling the sound guy to hit it again, for the third time.

And there it was. The emotion that was missing. She finally pulled it together. She sounded good, as much as Fallon hated to admit it. But V was her friend, so she was happy for her.

"Wow," Fallon smiled.

"She is truly magical," Lucious mused. "I mean, her voice, her lyrics–"

Fallon didn't hear the last part of his sentence. Her lyrics. Her lyrics? Most of the lines V was singing were written by Fallon, and he had the nerve to call the lyrics hers?

"Right," Fallon scoffed, leaving the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't like it," Imani put her hands on her hips. She and Jamal were playing around, making a beat for a song Jamal wrote. Empire was throwing a yacht party, and all of the Lyons were there, enjoying themselves. Andre was walking around with his wife, Ronda, Hakeem was preoccupied with women in bikinis, feeding him shrimp, and Fallon was probably somewhere with Anika.

"What?" Jamal asked, letting the headphones rest on his neck. "You think you can do better than me or somethin'?"

Imani nodded, "Absolutely. May I?"

Jamal chuckled. "A'ight," he nodded. "Go for it."

Imani pulled her locs up into a ponytail as Jamal slid over on the seat in front of the piano. "I would do something like this." She played a few notes as Jamal held the headphones in between them so they both could hear the music. She smiled, seeing her brother bopping his head to the new beat.

Jamal nodded his head, smiling. "Okay," he nudged Imani. "I like that."

"You're welcome," Imani stood from the seat, seeing Hakeem coming down the stairs.

"Don't get cocky, now," Jamal chuckled.

"Empire state of mind," Hakeem started, making his way down the stairs. "Let's go!" He danced his way over to the soundboard. Imani laughed as the two shared the soundboard, moving in sync as they made a beat together.

Things are looking up, I'm ready for tonight, I feel good, real good, Can't nobody hold me down, I'm gonna take advantage of, All these flashing lights, Cause it's the best time, the best time for it, We can do it,

Imani laughed, moving away from the soundboard over to Jamal. She pulled her phone up to her lips, using it as a makeshift microphone.

Can't nobody tie me down, If you want I got it, Tomorrow's not promised,

Jamal laughed, looking up at his sister. She just read the lyrics for the song five minutes before they started playing around. And there she was, singing it like she wrote it. Just completely care free. He loved to see it.

So live inside the mo...ment, Tell me, what are we waiting for? Oh, what the hell are we waiting for?

Imani looked up at the balcony, seeing the oldest Lyon, Andre, standing there, looking over them with Ronda. She smiled, throwing them a wave. Andre gave a nod, and Ronda smiled down at her.

Hakeem moved away from the soundboard, adjusting the hat on his head. He stepped around Imani, starting to freestyle.

Yo, Mal, Yo, when I was five years old, I realized there was a road at the end, Pretty girls, cars and bank rolls, Gold and platinum plaques...

Imani danced around, making her way to the front of the piano. She sat down next to Jamal, watching his fingers glide across the keys. Hakeem continued freestyling.

Gotta believe in yourself and gotta know your worth, I did it clean as a whistle, stayed away from dirt, Ah, I told you I'mma get it, Everybody, they talkin' I dreamt about how I'm livin' Reality was written, I put effort in my vision, That's why I hustle so hard, To be the best that ever did it, oh!

Hakeem snatched the sunglasses off of his face, looking at his siblings. Those three were a force to be reckoned with whenever they sang together. If Fallon was with them, she'd add a whole new dimension to the sound with her enchanting, almost siren-like voice. Those four together would send Empire off the charts, if Lucious ever gave Jamal, Imani, and Fallon the time of day.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.14

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

I have found peace in the darkness that surrounds me ever since that strange, dull pain coursed through my body and sent me into it. If I'm being honest, I didn't think Corey, of all people, would knock me out. He wasn't in front of me as I tried to turn around to figure out where that strange noise was coming from, but the other guy was, so only he could've been the person to do it.

And someone had to knock me out because I never felt my body hit the ground, or rather, I didn't feel any further pain.

Luckily, it didn't hold me unconscious for long, just for a few moments, as I could feel the Hawke being launched and put into the air. This would mean that we would soon arrive at the old wizarding school high up in the northwest, close to the school barrier between the Alfea Academy in the west and Red Fountain Academy far up in the north.

Instead of fully waking up, I go back into the darkness. To try and get some more sleep since I'm still tired. Considering I just came out of a small magically induced coma, it's somewhat understandable.

But it wasn't long after I went back to sleep until I could feel a sharp pain tear me from the refreshing darkness. My eyes widened in pain and surprise. 

Corey's head is close to mine. His face is covered in a mask of neutrality, but I could still see some strange satisfaction in his eyes glistening. However, I push those thoughts aside as my cheek still hurts. In my sleepy state, I let my hand wander there, only to wince at my own touch.

“Did you just slap me?”

With a shit-eating grin, Corey shrugged, put a finger over his mouth, and turned around. He is clearly mocking me for casting a silencing spell on him. It didn't help my flabbergasted state! How dare he do this to me?

I desperately want to stand up and throw him out of this machine of betrayal, but I'm still a little dizzy. 

“How long?” I ask in the spacious room, to no one in particular.

“About five minutes,” the calm voice of the stranger who had led me out of the academy answers quietly.

All I can do is groan in disapproval and fall back, trying to figure out how to pull myself together again. I don't want to embarrass myself when we land. That's easier said than done because I could feel a blazing gaze fixed on me. Without having to look, I know it's Cory. I shouldn't have silent him for my ears.

But even as I could feel his disapproving eyes judging me, I didn't care.

Somehow, I could sit up and press my body against the soft back of the spot where I had been lying, eyes closed and breathing deeply. I feel my senses returning, but the feeling of the Hawke hurtling through the air still didn't do my sensitive stomach any good.

It takes almost all of my composure not to puke on the floor. I will never understand why people voluntarily use such a vehicle. It's different to fly through space but through the air?

Luckily, the way shouldn't be far. So, I only have to hold on for a few more minutes.

Suddenly, I feel another pair of eyes watching me intently. But they stayed on to me for much longer.

“What?” I hear myself ask, annoyed.

“What’s wrong with you?” the guy who had led me out of the academy asks me with an audibly confused tone.

“Don’t like flying,” I tell him, barely managing to push down what’s in my stomach.

There was silence for another moment until this guy. This random guy had the audacity to laugh at my predicament. Annoyed, I open my eyes and want to confront him. Only to be overwhelmed by a particularly strong gust of wind.

One so strong that I have to lie on the floor to keep from throwing up. The same guy started laughing uproariously. Which I only notice in passing. 

Only a few moments later, to my utter delight, I could feel the Hawke descending. Hopefully, not because of any problems, but because we were finally at our destination. Soon, though, the vibrations of my family's magic flowing through the area calm me down.

As soon as the death machine lands back on the ground, I sigh heavily with pure relief. But it's only when the engine slowly turns off that my stomach calms down.

I let myself completely fall to the ground and chuckle happily. The urge to scream in pure bliss is strong, but it would only make me seem even more mentally unstable than I already do.

As I lie there on the floor, I enjoy the moment. My head no longer spins, and my stomach has calmed down significantly.

When I finally stand up, I'm confronted with the stranger's deep ocean-blue eyes, a wide grin on his lips as his eyes dart between Cory and me. Cory, on the other hand, seems annoyed and confused.

“What did the whackid tell you?”

His grin widens. He leans forward slightly and tells me in a small voice, “Oh, trust me, you don’t want to know.”

I raise my eyebrow and look expectantly at the stranger, waiting patiently, not thinking about leaving this monstrosity until I know what was said.

And the stranger apparently noticed that too, as his grin faded slightly. But he quickly holds his hands up in the air in surrender and looks apologetically at Cory with his eyes lowered. 

“He called your actions disgraceful and unworthy of someone of your status. Whatever that means. Furthermore, he told me how surprised he was that you suddenly didn’t like flying anymore.”

I nod my head and even open my mouth in shock and disbelief, pain flashing in my eyes. When I look at Cory, I see panic rising within him. He gestures wildly at the stranger. That's enough for me to stop this nonsense.

I aggressively step towards Cory, causing him to stop every single one of his movements. I could see his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he must have swallowed quite hard. Raising my finger, I point at him.

“I never imagined someone could be so despicable, unbelievable, or easily refuted.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the stranger's eyes light up with anticipation. At least until I stop speaking, turn to him, and point the same finger at him. "I detest liars," I tell him with a deceptive smile. "Cory may be a lot, but he would never say anything that could damage my reputation."

There is a strange, confused glint in the man's eyes. His smile vanishes, replaced by an unreadable expression.

"Doors open!" The pilot calls out to us out of nowhere. His voice cuts through the thick air around us, which has allowed us to separate.

I'm grateful to the guy, so I wave at him as he looks over his shoulder, extremely annoyed. He clicks his tongue, but I don't really care.

With renewed health, I head through the open door first, leaving the stranger and Cory arguing, or at least the stranger is arguing.

As soon as I step out of the death machine, I see the entire square in front of the old magic academy full of people, not just first-grade fairies and second-grade specialists, as I requested, but also second-grade fairies and first-grade specialists. The different grades of specialists are easy to recognize because their uniforms have different colors, and it is just as easy for the fairies because the first classes are shy and usually stand alone because they don't know anyone there yet. All the while, the second-grade fairies stand in groups.

In shock, all I could do is stare down, frozen in the doorway of the death machine.

I've never gotten so many dirty looks. Everyone there looks at me as if I were the “terror of the forgotten night”.

Only Cory's firm hand on my shoulder could pull me back to myself. I reach for his hand with my shaking one. I don't look back, not wanting to show him any form of gratitude.

With him behind me, I exhale heavily, straightening my back and turning my gaze forward, past everyone staring at me with disdain. I step onto the ground, my chest swollen with pride, the magic deep within the soil tickling me as it welcomes me home.

At least I have one advantage: this place is part of my homeworld. The magic here is quite different from the rest of the world. This means that even if no one here will like me, at least I feel at home. A small smile spreads across my lips because I know that magic - my true friend - will never leave me, even if everyone despises me.

[Masterlist]

[skankinator]

Complications Ch. 12

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI

Once again you found yourself avoiding the only person you want to be around. You spent your time playing pool and chatting with anyone other than Bradley between turns. Getting to know the team was a pleasant side effect of your avoidance tactic. After several drinks and laughs, you were having a pretty good time.

Eventually the squad was run off from the pool table after hogging it for too long. The drunken group piled into a booth that was much too small. You wound up smooshed between Hangman and none other than Bradley Bradshaw.

Natasha returned from the bar with another round for the group. “Make room for another,” she said making everyone look around for space to magically appear.

“You can sit next to me,” Hangman said. “Cap’n can sit on my lap.” He looks at you expectantly with a look of mischief in his eyes.

“Fuck no. I’d rather die,” you say causing the table to roar with laughter.

“It’s me or Bradshaw. You don’t want to leave Phoenix hanging. Not that I have a problem with that,” he jokes.

You look to Bradley and he nods giving you the go ahead. “Bradshaw it is,” you say and move to sit on his lap. He grabs your waist and helps lift you onto him.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t ideal,” he speaks lowly in your ear. His voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You turn your head to respond, but he is too tall for you to whisper to him. You reach for the back of his neck and gently pull his head close enough to whisper “don’t be sorry.”

As the night goes on, you grow very comfortable on his lap. You lean fully against his chest and he holds you there with a hand resting on your thigh. The entire table is too drunk to pay you any mind. The drinks have been nonstop and the conversations have developed into drunken nonsense.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom while Bob is trying to explain Lord of the Rings. You immediately become best friends with all the girls waiting in line.

“You’re literally the hottest most amazingest bad ass bitch I’ve ever met,” you say to the woman you just met.

“No because you are my soul sister and I love you,” the woman responds. “Ohmygod babes there is a super hot guy looking over here.”

You gasp, “on a scale from warm to actual volcano how hot is he,” you stare into her eyes as if your life depends on her answer.

“I’m literally burnt to a crisp he’s so hot,” your new best friend plays with your hair making sure it looks perfect.

“Okayokayokayokay. Where is he?” You ask hoping to nonchalantly turn and look at him.

“He’s coming over here,” she whisper screams. You both quickly pose in completely unnatural ways trying to act natural.

“Are you ever coming back to the table?” Bradley asks you.

“Oh it’s you,” you let out a snort laughing. “No I made a new friend and we are hanging out now.”

“What friend?” He asks looking around. Your bathroom bestie has in fact disappeared.

“Stop. Did I imagine her??” Maybe you should have stopped a few drinks ago.

“Hey do you wanna go outside?” He slurs although you don’t notice in your equally drunken state.

“Yesyesyes let’s go look for crabs,” you squeal with excitement.

The sun has long been set and the moon is high in the sky. The beach is drenched in the silver light of the moon. A warm glow of light and the muted sound of music comes from the bar. You walk out towards the water feeling a slight chill from the sea breeze.

You turn to look at Bradley, his face only partially visible in the light. You’ve never been able to look at him without admiring how handsome he is.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” you let your thoughts escape your mouth.

“You don’t want to be my friend,” he questions. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you,” you close the distance between the two of you.

“Then why don’t you want to be my friend,” he instinctively places his hands on your waist as you run your hands up his strong chest.

“I like you more than a friend,” you look up at him with hooded eyes.

“Oh thank god,” he sighs. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

You wrap your hands around his neck and stand on your tippy toes. He leans down and catches your lips in a sloppy kiss. Your lips move against each other slowly with passion.

[windupaidoneus]

tell me about the bloodsport wlws

the bloodsport wlws. (clasps hands together) let me use my brain oh i need crub to shut the fuck up rq ok there we go

so. philly. carina. the moon & stars. the winnars!!!! 🎉 of that one niche poll tournament thing. carina is a 20something college student who's a prodigy in all things magic but specifically has an affinity for space magic, & her fursona is a purple gryphon also.

^ her fursona (drew this before i saw a post on how to draw beaks. youll have to forgive me)

prone to overworking starself & does it regularly... from a regular human's perspective at least. star is physically disabled but also thanks to stars extremely potent magic star can just do a lot more than the average person, & is in a constant state of levitation to avoid putting strain on stars body. star is always going around helping as much as star can provided star can do it with magic.

this ^ is both a good & bad thing, as she is also, as you may have heard, a bloodsport tournament participant! she kind of. needs her magic for that. & well she keeps jobbing really badly despite being as powerful as she is. because of how much she uses her magic on the regular. the reason it's a good thing is that her magic can overflow & while there hasn't yet been a point where it did it's not fully clear what will happen if it does.

see her hair? it's kind of like a gauge. you can tell how she's doing on magic reserves depending on how "filled up" it is. the more purple, the more powerful! & what happens if her hair is completely purple? philly really wants to know

design note that was Just added too but her eyes change colour depending on her magic reserves as well. this is partly bc i keep fucking up which eye is purple & which eye is yellow so now both can be & they can be both at once even. because i have knowledge of heterochromia <- the central heterochromia haver

all in all she should probably not be doing bloodsport at least at the current moment when the stakes are so facking high in AA. in combat situations she kind of shuts down her ability to emote & speak properly because of how stressed it makes her so she's a bit of a bitch. um. she did cause an existential crisis once & felt really bad about it. sorry lucian. (he got better they're friends now)

all this. is necessary to introduce philly. bc philly is carina's childhood friend & philly was created because @greenshi loved carina so much that he had to give her a gf. you may thank him forever for cosmic yuri

ophelia "philly" delphia (why does she get a full name & carina doesnt have one? um. i didnt actually create carina i just voiced her & then elaborated a fuckton on her character ask @royaltyfreeramblings not me *sexily relinquishes responsibility*) is an epic & awesome werewolf who's constantly in an inbetween state of human & wolf. so a wolf furry yeah. moon goes on road trips with other lesbians* & a wet sack of meat who's having cringefail yaoi with some guy over there. moon is very confident but also happens to be carina's biggest hypeperson, which i find very sweet considering she was conceptualised as a rival & they completely skipped that stage LMAO

green would be a lot better placed to talk about philly. & they unfortunately have not interacted on screen in canon as much as i'd like due to the nature of bloodsport tournaments & also carina's jobbing adventures. but i love them a lot & i hope philly can be the one person to finally convince carina to get a damn wheelchair girl stop using magic for everything constantly you get so fucked up when it's depleted!

oh yeah there's also stuff that i don't know if i can share bc it hasnt been revealed to The Audience yet but they are very dear to each other & like. among other things. both of them have kept pictures of them as kids together even throughout all the time they spent apart. bc they did lose sight of each other for many years before reuniting. & idk i just think they're so cute & sweet. i love it when characters love each other did you know that

[sarandipitywrites]

writing patterns tag game

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

thanks for the tag, @adhdavinci! let's pretend this wasn't sitting in my drafts for a month 😅 go check out their lines here

passing the tag along (with no pressure) to @i-can-even-burn-salad, @macabremoons, @fanged-writer, @innocentlymacabre, @winterandwords, and an open tag for anyone who wants to share

sooo I'm gonna have to break some rules here bc I don't think I've even worked on 10 fics recently, much less posted them (not more than, like, a snippet at a time, anyway). so i'll start with what i've actually posted, then just... fuck it, we ball?

yeah that sounds good.

'Just stuff my dad into a bag,' she'd said. 'He'll fit, of course he will. Have you seen how small he is? He's bluffing, he won't really turn you into a fern,' she'd said. (Dead Roots, Dark Water, Ch 1)

For all his research, Daxter had never figured out who'd designed the Krimzon Guard Fortress. And it was a good thing, too, because if he ever did, he would shoot the architectural anarchist in the foot, run them over with a hellcat, and throw them in the port. Then he'd fish them out again just so he could shoot them in the face. (DRDW, Ch 2)

Magic and blood sit heavy on V’s tongue. (Untitled Cyberwitch WIP, Ch 1)

The silence amplified everything: the squeak of rusty nails in the boards beneath Luka's feet; the rat-a-tat rattle of the loose panes in the windows; Jules's unsteady breathing as they tapped on their phone; Luka's own stammering heartbeat. "I don't think we should be here." (I Am Alive)

I have always been here. (A Haunted Home)

'The monster is not your enemy.' A half-crushed note, faded and bled, written in his own hand: the only familiar thing in the room where Lienzo had awakened. (The Art of Empty Space (V2), Ch 1)

It was the pain that woke him. (TAES (V1), Ch i-don't-know,-i-didn't-section-this-thing-into-chapters)

The air coated his lungs in a thick layer of smog and exhaust, vapor and sweat and noise, cacophonous clanging competing for his attention. Engines, alarms, voices. Jak let them all in, let them bury him in a landslide of stimulation. It wasn't stale, silent, recirculated air. It was alive, and so was he. (DRDW, Ch 3)

Metal shrieked against metal. Violet paint streaked across the green of his speeder. Screaming. Crackling eco slugs reached out with staticky tendrils as they whizzed by. (DRDW, Ch 10)

The ocean breeze brought with it decay: rotting seaweed infested with sandflies; drowned fish with oil and eco caked in their gills; algae and mildew and rotting wood. Its icy fingers trailed goosebumps down his skin, cooled the blood beneath. (DRDW, Ch 13)

so, if we're looking for patterns, i think it looks like... i really like character voices; starting en media res; and starting with some really vivid descriptions. anything you guys see that i missed?

[pixel7777]

This Old House - A Bloodweave Fanfic: Ch. 5

See Ch. 1 for work summary and content tags. Read this chapter below the break here or on AO3!

Chapter Summary:

Incident Report: Unidentified Paranormal Phenomena Filed by: Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart Status: Ongoing Investigation Key Findings: Shadowheart, after a thorough and expert assessment, has declared the Szarr Palace not haunted. The Szarr Palace has responded by… vehemently disagreeing. Standard poltergeist activities observed. Shadowheart remains unimpressed. Gale remains extremely interested. Astarion remains exasperated. Next Steps: 🔲 Determine who or what is haunting the palace. 🔲 Continue debate on the definition of “ghost.” 🔲 If no solution presents itself, consider burning the house down.

Astarion

"There's no ghost," Shadowheart announced with the certainty of someone explaining basic arithmetic to children.

Cold moonlight streamed through the broken windows of Cazador's ballroom, somehow emphasizing the bone-deep chill that permeated the space. Astarion wrapped his arms around himself, not that it helped much.

Astarion snorted. "Oh? So the doors opening on their own, the voices, the apparitions—all that's just our imagination, is it?"

"I don't claim to understand what's happening here," Shadowheart said, turning slowly in place as she surveyed the massive ballroom, its once-opulent features now draped in cobwebs and memories. "But there are no ghosts."

Gale stepped forward, his breath misting in the unnatural cold. "Have you checked the entire palace? The attic contained significant magical residue, and the basement—"

"I've done a thorough sweep of this floor, the lower floor, and the dungeons," Shadowheart cut him off. "I'm a former cleric of Shar and a current cleric of Selune. Detecting undead is rather in my wheelhouse."

As she spoke, her silver ponytail suddenly jerked backward, as if pulled by an invisible hand. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"What was that, then?" Astarion asked, unable to suppress his smirk.

Before Shadowheart could answer, she stumbled forward, pushed by an unseen force. She caught herself and whirled around, hand flying to her holy symbol.

"That," she said through gritted teeth, "is not a ghost."

Astarion burst into laughter. "Are you sure? Because it seems rather ghosty to me."

"Fascinating," Gale murmured, already pulling a small notebook from his pocket. "The manifestation exhibits classic poltergeist behavior, yet you detect no undead presence?"

Shadowheart straightened her armor with a huff. "I came because you asked for my help, and I'm giving it to you. Vampires generally do not leave ghosts—it's just not a thing."

The temperature dropped further, causing even Astarion to shiver. A chandelier above them swayed slightly, though there wasn't a breath of wind.

"Yet something is clearly here," Astarion pointed out.

Shadowheart raised her eyebrows and extended both hands toward him, fingers formed into little pointing gestures. "The only undead I can sense anywhere is—" she wiggled her fingers at him "—this guy."

"So helpful," Astarion drawled. He rolled his eyes as Shadowheart stood her ground, utterly unperturbed by the supernatural chaos unfolding around her.

"Yes, I am actually quite helpful," Shadowheart said, brushing invisible dust from her armor. "By ruling out standard undead activity, we've eliminated a major possibility."

"Oh, what a relief," Astarion replied dryly. "We've narrowed it down to literally anything else in the entire realm of magical oddities."

A moldering book launched itself from a nearby table, narrowly missing Gale's head. He ducked just in time, the heavy tome thudding against the floor behind him.

"Thank you for that contribution," Astarion called out to the empty air. "Most enlightening."

Shadowheart's lips twitched. "You know, I didn't expect to find you playing lord of the manor in Baldur's Gate."

"I'm not playing anything," Astarion snapped. "I'm trying to get rid of this damnable place, not move in."

A vase wobbled violently on a side table before tipping over and shattering. Astarion gave it an exasperated look.

"Was that expensive? I hope it was expensive."

Shadowheart folded her arms. "So what exactly is your plan here? Because inheriting your former master's estate seems... questionable at best."

"Questionable!" Astarion laughed. "I didn't ask for this. Did you think I filled out probate paperwork while we were fighting the Absolute?  It was all settled while I was busy helping you lot save the world."

The temperature plummeted further. Their breath now emerged in dense clouds.

"I rather think—" Gale began before a curtain suddenly wrapped itself around his head. He struggled with it for a moment before freeing himself with a burst of magic. "As I was saying, I rather think someone or something wants your attention."

"It's certainly got a flair for dramatics," Shadowheart observed as a chair slid across the floor unprompted.

Astarion sneered. "Must have learned from its previous owner."

"Speaking of whom," Shadowheart continued, "how did you end up as Cazador's heir anyway? Surely he didn't—"

The air in the center of the room shimmered, cutting her off mid-sentence. Slowly, an image coalesced: Cazador Szarr in all his aristocratic glory, face twisted in rage.

"GET OUT!" the apparition bellowed, its voice reverberating through the ballroom. "GET OUT! GET OUT!"

While Gale jumped back and Shadowheart reached for her weapon, Astarion simply sighed. He marched straight toward the specter, stopping just inches from its incorporeal face.

"No," Astarion said flatly. "Make me."

The apparition flickered, seemingly taken aback.

"And if you want to convince me to do anything you want," Astarion continued, "putting that specific face on will never help your case. I hate that face. Find another one."

The Cazador image wavered, its features contorting with confusion rather than rage.

"That's right," Astarion said, crossing his arms. "I killed the real thing. You don't scare me anymore."

Astarion held his ground as the apparition flickered before him, but the bravado he projected outward didn't quite match what churned inside. He'd spent two centuries cowering before that face—the real version of it, at least—and those weren't habits easily broken.

No, he wasn't being entirely honest with himself. The nightmares still came, especially in those vulnerable moments when he slipped from trance into deeper sleep. He'd startle awake sometimes, convinced he could feel Cazador's grip on his mind again, pulling his strings like a marionette. Gale had literally burned Cazador to dust before his eyes, yet some part of Astarion remained convinced his former master would return.

But this... this pathetic display? This wasn't Cazador. Not really. This was just a cheap imitation, all flash and no substance. The real Cazador would never simply shout and posture—he'd slide under your skin, find your weaknesses, and twist them until you broke. This theatrical phantom couldn't even maintain its form under scrutiny.

As Astarion stared at the wavering image, it suddenly collapsed inward like a snuffed candle, vanishing completely. The ghostly cold dissipated, the room warming several degrees in an instant. The floating objects dropped to the floor, and the unsettling atmosphere that had permeated the palace seemed to retreat.

"Interesting," Gale said, immediately stepping forward to examine the space where the apparition had been. He waved his hands through the air, muttering arcane phrases under his breath. "I've never seen anything quite like this. It's not a standard enchantment or residual magic."

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "A not-ghost with performance anxiety? How novel."

"No, no," Gale said, pulling out a small crystal and holding it up to the light. "This is something far more sophisticated. Look at the way it responded to your direct challenge. That's not pre-programmed behavior—it's dynamic, adaptive."

Shadowheart circled the area slowly. "Something is listening and reacting. Something intelligent."

Gale looked at Astarion with that gleam in his eyes that meant he'd found a new magical puzzle to solve. "It's remarkable. Whatever this is, it recognized you as a threat to its position when you directly challenged it. Then it assessed your confidence and... retreated."

"Well, I am remarkably amazing," Astarion drawled. "A heroic vampire who scoffs in the face of danger. Who wouldn't retreat?"

Astarion caught the way Gale was looking at him—that half-proud, half-hungry expression that always made his dead heart feel strangely full. He decided to capitalize on the moment, tilting his head and flashing a challenging smile.

"What? Impressed by my bravery in the face of supernatural terrors? Or just admiring the view?" Astarion preened slightly, running a hand through his silver-white curls.

Shadowheart made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh, but Astarion kept his eyes on Gale, who was already moving toward him with that endearing look of determination.

"Both, obviously," Gale said, closing the distance between them.

When Gale reached him, Astarion leaned in eagerly as the wizard's lips met his. The kiss was brief but carried a familiar warmth that never failed to surprise him. Two hundred years of emptiness, and now this—this ridiculous, brilliant wizard who kissed him in haunted ballrooms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Astarion lingered a moment longer than necessary, partly for the pleasure and partly because he knew Shadowheart was watching. When they separated, he caught her exasperated expression.

"Really? Here? Now?" Shadowheart asked, hands on her hips.

Astarion smirked. "What better place than a haunted mansion for a little romance? Adds a certain... thrill."

Shadowheart shook her head, though Astarion noticed the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. "Focus, please. Do you actually have a plan for all this?" She gestured broadly at the decaying grandeur around them.

"We do, actually," Gale answered, his hand still resting lightly against Astarion's lower back. "We're planning to make this entire place someone else's problem."

Astarion nodded. "The goal is to change the name of the Szarr lordship—so we never have to hear that wretched name again—and then pass the whole thing on to an 'heir' of sorts."

"Essentially," Gale continued, slipping easily into his professorial tone, "we'll disentangle Astarion from all legal obligations, settle any outstanding debts using whatever valuables we can find here, and transfer ownership to someone willing to take it on."

Shadowheart walked across the ballroom, her boots clicking against the parquet floor. She ran a finger along a dust-covered table and looked back at them.

"That makes a certain amount of sense," she conceded. "But I'm not sure anyone would willingly take this place as is." She glanced upward as a chandelier swayed slightly without any discernible breeze. "Especially with this... unexplained and rather unwelcoming phenomenon lingering about."

Astarion let out a dramatic sigh. Of course Shadowheart was right, which only made it more irritating. The woman had an infuriating talent for stating inconvenient truths.

"Yes, thank you for that brilliant observation," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hadn't noticed the flying objects and ghostly apparitions might be off-putting to potential buyers."

He stalked across the ballroom, kicking aside a fallen candlestick. "We'll simply have to drive this... phenomenon out. Whatever it is. I refuse to be saddled with this place any longer than necessary."

Astarion gestured at the decaying opulence and rotting corpses around them with distaste. "And I certainly have no interest in assuming the title of 'lord.' From my observations, Baldur's Gate's nobility are almost entirely disgusting creatures with more time and money than sense or decency."

"No argument there," Shadowheart said with a wry smile. "Though I'm not sure the aristocracy of any city fares much better under scrutiny."

Gale cleared his throat, stepping between them with that maddeningly reasonable expression he wore when about to point out something obvious. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I feel compelled to mention that driving something out typically requires knowing what that something is first."

Astarion threw his hands up. "And how are we supposed to figure that out? It's apparently nothing our divine expert—" he gestured at Shadowheart "—can identify, nor does our resident arcane genius—" he moved his hand toward Gale "—seem to have concrete answers."

The frustration bubbling inside him felt uncomfortably similar to the panic he'd experienced facing Cazador's specter yesterday. He'd thought himself free of this place, of everything it represented. Yet here he was, trapped by bureaucracy and haunted by... something.

"What's left, then?" he demanded. "Do we hire an exorcist? Burn the place down? I'm open to suggestions, particularly destructive ones."

Shadowheart tilted her head, a thoughtful look spreading across her face. She tapped her fingers against her armor, considering.

"Actually," she said slowly, "I may know someone who could help."

Astarion crossed his arms, impatience building as he watched Shadowheart's cryptic little smile. "Well? Are you going to enlighten us about this mysterious someone, or shall we stand here exchanging vague pleasantries all day?"

"Someone who specializes in unusual situations," Shadowheart replied with maddening opacity. "That's all I'll say for now. I need to speak with her first."

"Her?" Astarion pounced on the only concrete detail she'd offered. "A name might be useful."

Shadowheart gathered her cloak around her shoulders. "When I've confirmed she's available and willing. No point getting your hopes up prematurely."

"How thoughtful of you," Astarion drawled. "Always concerned with my emotional wellbeing."

"Always," Shadowheart agreed with a sardonic smile. She turned toward the entrance. "I'll send word when I have news."

Astarion watched her go, resisting the childish urge to mimic her parting words under his breath. The moment the massive doors closed behind her, he turned to Gale with an exaggerated grimace.

"That woman," he huffed, pacing across the filthy floor. "Would it kill her to give a straight answer? 'Someone who specializes in unusual situations,'" he mimicked, raising his pitch. "How perfectly unhelpful."

Gale leaned against a dust-covered table, eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know, for someone who spent two centuries being professionally mysterious, you've got remarkably little patience for it in others."

"That's entirely different," Astarion protested. "I was mysterious for survival. She's mysterious because she enjoys tormenting me."

"A worthy pursuit," Gale said solemnly, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Astarion narrowed his eyes. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, of course." Gale pushed off from the table and approached him. "Always yours. Even when you're being unreasonable."

"I'm never unreasonable," Astarion said, knowing full well that he was being precisely that. "I just don't see why everything must be so complicated."

Gale brushed a cobweb from Astarion's shoulder. "The complexity of life is what makes it interesting."

"Says the wizard who gets aroused by incomprehensible magical theories."

"Only the elegant ones," Gale corrected with a grin.

Astarion's irritation began to dissolve despite his best efforts to cling to it. He gestured at the decomposing bodies scattered around the ballroom. "Speaking of complexity, how in the hells are we supposed to get all this... mess out of here? We can hardly show the place with rotting corpses as its primary decorative feature."

To his surprise, Gale's face lit up. "Actually, I have found a solution for that particular problem." He pulled a small copper wire from his component pouch, twisting it between his fingers. "I've been working with several promising students at Blackstaff."

Gale muttered an incantation, the wire glowing briefly between his fingers. "Nikka, we're at the Szarr Palace, and we're ready when you are."

A moment later, a shimmering portal opened in the middle of the ballroom. Through it stepped a young halfling woman with spectacles perched on her nose and her hair pulled back in a practical bun. She wore the gray robes of a Blackstaff apprentice and carried a satchel that clinked with various implements.

"Master Dekarios!" she exclaimed, then froze as she took in their surroundings. Her eyes widened at the scene of carnage, but she quickly schooled her expression.

"This is Nikka Brighthand," Gale said. "A student in search of extra credit. Nikka, this is—"

"Astarion Ancunín," she said, her voice admirably steady despite her obvious shock. "The vampire spawn hero from the Mind Flayer crisis."

Astarion cleared his throat and offered a theatrical bow. "Yes, that's me. Astarion Ancunín, heroic vampire, savior of Baldur's Gate, and now—" he gestured expansively at the decay and destruction around them, "—proud owner of all... this."

The halfling woman adjusted her spectacles, utterly unimpressed by his sarcasm. She simply nodded and turned to examine the nearest corpse with clinical detachment.

"Nikka is one of Blackstaff Tower's most promising students of practical applications," Gale explained. "She's agreed to help us with our little... sanitation problem in exchange for help with her illusion work."

"I've designed an efficient system," Nikka said, already pulling implements from her satchel. "With your permission, I'll go through each room and essentially magically shovel all the remains into a portable hole." She held up a small black piece of cloth that seemed to swallow the light around it. "I'll use prestidigitation to handle the, um, more persistent stains."

Astarion wrinkled his nose. "Squiggly smears, you mean."

"Precisely," she agreed without flinching.

Gale placed a hand on Astarion's shoulder. "Nikka has kindly offered to do this, but we'll need to supervise her work. For safety reasons."

"Supervision?" Astarion frowned. "Sounds dreadfully dull. Watching someone else clean?"

"We can conduct our inventory while we accompany her," Gale said. "And ensure that whatever is happening in the house doesn't end up... well..."

"Eating our magical cleaning service?" Astarion finished for him.

Nikka looked up from her preparations, apparently unbothered by this implication. "I've faced worse in practical exams. Professor Oroluhn once had us clean a laboratory after a failed experiment with oozes." She shrugged. "I still have all my fingers."

Astarion found himself smiling genuinely for the first time since entering the palace. "Is that the standard for success at Blackstaff Tower? Retaining all your digits?"

"For first-years," Nikka replied without missing a beat. "By third year, we're expected to keep all major limbs."

Astarion laughed, a sharp and unexpected sound that echoed through the ballroom. He looked at Gale with raised eyebrows. "I like this one. She might actually survive this place."

"High praise indeed," Gale said with a smile.

Astarion watched with morbid fascination as Nikka unfolded the portable hole with a practiced flick of her wrists. The black disc lay against the parquet floor like an absence rather than an object, a void waiting to be filled. The halfling produced a simple wooden staff that began to glow at one end, then gestured toward the nearest werewolf corpse.

The cadaver slid across the floor as if pulled by invisible strings, tipping headfirst into the hole with a soft thump that seemed impossibly small for the size of the body. Astarion had expected more... squelching.

"Impressive," he admitted, leaning against a relatively clean section of wall. "Usually getting rid of bodies is much more labor-intensive."

Nikka didn't even look up from her work. "I imagine you would know."

Gale choked back a laugh, hastily turning it into a cough when Astarion shot him a glare.

"Shall we continue the inventory while Nikka works?" Gale suggested, pulling a sheaf of papers from his pack. "Just call out anything that looks valuable or interesting."

Astarion sighed dramatically but pushed off the wall. "Fine. Let's see what horrors await in Cazador's little museum of misery."

Room by room, they progressed through the main floor. Gale checking items against some list, Astarion calling out pieces that looked valuable enough to sell, and Nikka following behind like some sort of macabre housemaid—summoning corpses into her portable hole and scouring away bloodstains with efficient flicks of her hands.

To Astarion's surprise, the house didn't interfere. In fact, as they entered the grand dining hall, several chairs seemed to shift aside of their own accord, allowing Nikka easier access to a partially decomposed thrall slumped beneath the table.

"Did you see that?" Astarion hissed to Gale.

"The chairs? Yes. Fascinating," Gale said, already scribbling notes. "The entity seems to be... helping?"

"Or it simply doesn't like rotting corpses in its dining room," Astarion muttered. "At least we share one preference."

As they moved through the east wing, the pattern continued. Doors that had been stuck swung open at their approach. Furniture rearranged itself slightly to clear paths. Once, when Nikka stumbled over an unseen obstacle, a wall sconce briefly brightened, illuminating the hazard.

"Whatever haunts this place must have standards," Astarion observed after a particularly dramatic example where a heavy sideboard had slid two feet to reveal a hidden cache of putrid rats. "It apparently draws the line at festering cadavers."

When they finally approached the staircase leading to the attics, however, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature dropped sharply. The door at the top slammed shut with an emphatic bang.

Gale raised his hand toward the door, murmuring an incantation—only to have every light in the hallway simultaneously dim to near darkness.

"I believe," he said dryly, "that was a 'no.'"

Nikka sagged against the wall, looking exhausted. "I'm out of spell slots anyway. That last batch of thralls in the servants' quarters took everything I had."

Astarion glanced at Gale's enchanted timepiece. "Past midnight already? No wonder our little halfling is fading."

"Tomorrow, then?" Gale suggested.

"Tomorrow," Astarion agreed, eyeing the firmly closed attic door with suspicion. "Perhaps our resident not-a-ghost will be more amenable after a good day's rest."

Astarion watched Nikka fold her portable hole with practiced precision, tucking the seemingly impossible void into her satchel. The halfling's shoulders drooped with exhaustion, and even in the dim light, he could see the dark circles forming under her eyes. Magic always took its toll, especially the practical kind.

"You've done admirably well," he told her, surprised by his own sincerity. "For a student."

"High praise from someone who's lived two centuries," she replied, stifling a yawn.

"Don't get used to it," Astarion said with a smirk. "I'm notoriously difficult to impress."

Gale helped the halfling gather her remaining implements. "We'll send for you tomorrow evening, if that suits? Perhaps start with the lower floors this time."

"Perfect," Nikka said, securing her satchel. "I'll bring extra components. This place requires... more than the standard cleaning spells."

After Gale opened a portal to return Nikka to Blackstaff Tower, Astarion found himself lingering in the entrance hall, gazing down the sweeping staircase. The palace felt different now—less oppressive, somehow. Whether that was due to the removal of decomposing flesh or some shift in the building's mood, he couldn't say.

"Shall we?" Gale extended his hand, and Astarion took it without hesitation.

The night air hit Astarion's face like a blessing as they stepped outside. He breathed deeply, savoring the scents of the city—not exactly pleasant, but infinitely better than the lingering miasma of death they'd spent hours wading through. The stars twinkled overhead, familiar and unchanged despite the tumult of his existence.

"You know what I need?" he announced as they descended toward the Lower City. "Wine. Lots of it. And to watch you eat something in a setting that isn't surrounded by corpses."

Gale laughed, the sound warming something in Astarion's chest. "That can certainly be arranged. The Elfsong's kitchens should be empty by now."

The tavern was still lively when they arrived, with late-night revelers clustered around tables and a bard in the corner massacring what might generously be called a ballad. Astarion caught the eye of the innkeeper, who nodded discreetly. Their arrangement—generous payment for after-hours access to the kitchen—was well established from previous visits.

While Gale rummaged through the pantry, Astarion slipped down to the wine cellar. The lock was barely worth the name; he had it open in seconds. Running his fingers along the dusty bottles, he selected three promising candidates. A rich red from Amn, a pale white from the Moonshae Isles, and—his personal favorite—a blood-red dessert wine from Waterdeep.

When he returned to the kitchen, Gale had already started cooking, his sleeves rolled up as he chopped vegetables with surprising dexterity for a man whose talents lay primarily in blowing things up.

"Wine for the chef," Astarion announced, setting the bottles on the counter and uncorking the white. "Something light while you work?"

Gale accepted the glass with a smile. "Perfect."

Astarion moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Gale's waist and resting his chin on the wizard's shoulder. "What culinary masterpiece are you creating tonight?"

"Nothing fancy," Gale said, leaning back into him slightly. "Just a simple pasta with herbs and a nice-looking cheese."

"Sounds delicious." Astarion pressed his lips to Gale's neck, just below his ear. "You're utterly wasted on me, you know. A wizard who cooks his own meals when he has a vampire companion who can't eat them."

"Not wasted at all," Gale replied, his voice growing slightly unsteady as Astarion's hands began to wander. "I enjoy cooking. And I enjoy you watching me eat even more."

"Is that so?" Astarion murmured, nipping gently at Gale's earlobe. "Then I should ensure tonight's meal is particularly... memorable."

Astarion settled back, content to engage in light flirting while Gale cooked. He poured himself a glass of the blood-red dessert wine, swirling the liquid under his nose, inhaling the rich aroma. His eyes never left Gale, tracking every movement as the wizard efficiently chopped herbs and tossed pasta in a boiling pot.

Once the meal was ready, Gale dished out a generous serving and sat down at the staff's kitchen table. Astarion refilled Gale's glass and joined him, propping his chin on his hand as he watched Gale eat with genuine enthusiasm. The simple domesticity of the moment was strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the horrors of the palace.

As Gale finished his meal, Astarion's gaze grew more intent. He reached out, tracing a finger along Gale's jawline. "You have a bit of sauce..." he murmured, leaning in to lick the corner of Gale's mouth.

Gale chuckled, trying to pull away half-heartedly. "Astarion, not here—"

But Astarion was already sliding under the table, his hands deftly working at Gale's belt. "Shh," he hushed, tugging Gale's pants down to his ankles. "No one's around to see."

Gale's protests were weak, his breath already hitching as Astarion's cool fingers brushed against his thighs. "Astarion, this is... public indecency..."

Astarion grinned, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin of Gale's inner thigh. "Then you should be quiet, shouldn't you?"

He didn't wait for a response. With a swift, practiced motion, he sank his fangs into Gale's thigh. Gale's breath caught, his hands gripping the edge of the table as Astarion drew deeply, the rich taste of Gale's blood flooding his senses. He knew the effect this would have; Gale's body tensed, his arousal immediate and intense.

Astarion took his time, savoring the moment before withdrawing his fangs and licking the wound closed. He looked up at Gale, his eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. "Now, where were we?"

Gale's voice was unsteady, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Astarion, we can't... not here..."

"Really no or only play no?"

Gale bit his lip and flicked his eyes from the swinging door—was all that was between them and the bustling bar—to Astarion, nuzzling at his erection.  "Yes, dammit."

Astarion smirked up at Gale, who rolled his eyes first in annoyance and then back into his head as Astarion took him into his mouth. Gale's play protests dissolved into incoherent murmurs, his body trembling with each skilled motion of Astarion's tongue. The kitchen filled with the sounds of Gale's pleasure, his half-hearted attempts to chide Astarion fading into desperate moans.

Astarion reveled in the sensation, the power of bringing Gale to the edge. He used every trick he knew, every intimate knowledge of Gale's body to drive him wild. Gale's hands found their way into Astarion's hair, gripping tightly as his hips moved in rhythm with Astarion's ministrations.

"Astarion... you're going to get us arrested..." Gale managed to gasp out, even as his body betrayed his words, pushing deeper into Astarion's mouth.

Astarion hummed in response, the vibration sending a shiver through Gale. He redoubled his efforts, determined to make Gale come undone completely. The sounds of Gale's pleasure were all the encouragement he needed, the taste of him, the feel of him—it was intoxicating.

Gale's protests were long forgotten, his body tensing as Astarion relaxed his throat and swallowed him down to the root.  Gale buried his fingers in Astarion's hair and rocked his hips, fucking Astarion's mouth slowly. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of Gale's moans and Astarion's encouraging hums, the clink of glasses and the distant hum of the tavern fading into the background. There was only this moment, only the two of them, lost in each other.

Astarion felt Gale's body tense, the telltale sign that he was close. He didn't let up, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. Gale's grip on his hair tightened, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he thrust faster.

"Astarion... I can't..." Gale's voice was a ragged whisper, his body trembling on the edge of release.

Astarion knew he had him. With a final, skilled swirl and suck, he pushed Gale over the edge, the wizard's cries of pleasure filling the kitchen as he came undone in Astarion's mouth. Astarion drank it all in, the taste of Gale's release, the sound of his ecstasy, the feel of his body shaking with the force of it.

As Gale's body slowly relaxed, Astarion gently released him, looking up with a satisfied grin. Gale looked down at him, his eyes glazed with pleasure, his breath still coming in ragged gasps.

"You're insane," Gale murmured, his voice hoarse.

Astarion chuckled, climbing out from under the table and settling back into his chair. "And you love it."

Gale shook his head, a weak laugh escaping his lips. "Only you could make me forget where we are..."

Astarion leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Gale's lips. "That's the point, my love. To make you forget everything but this."

Gale's eyes softened, his hand reaching up to cup Astarion's cheek. "You're impossible."

Astarion smiled, his thumb brushing gently against Gale's lips. "And yet, here you are. With me."

Astarion savored the dazed look on Gale's face, feeling smug satisfaction at having reduced the articulate wizard to incoherent mumbling. He always took pride in his ability to shatter Gale's composure, to make that brilliant mind go completely blank with pleasure.

"We should..." Gale gestured vaguely at his disheveled state, still struggling to form complete sentences.

"Yes, we should get you decent before someone walks in and gets an eyeful." Astarion slid back under the table and tugged Gale's pants up, fastening them with deft fingers. "Though the look on their face might be worth it."

Gale swatted his hands away. "You're incorrigible."

"You weren't complaining a minute ago." Astarion rose to his feet and offered Gale his hand. "Come on, let's get you to bed before you collapse. You've had quite an evening."

Gale accepted the help, his legs still unsteady. "Between the house and the... other activities, I'm thoroughly spent."

They gathered their belongings, Astarion making sure to bring the unopened bottle of red wine. No sense leaving perfectly good vintage behind.

The tavern had quieted somewhat, though a few determined drinkers still lingered. The bard had thankfully concluded his musical assault on the patrons' ears. Astarion guided Gale through the common room with a protective arm around his waist, shooting a warning glare at anyone who looked their way for too long.

The stairs proved challenging. Gale stumbled on the third step, and Astarion caught him with a laugh. "Careful, my love. I want you in one piece."

"Your fault entirely," Gale mumbled against his shoulder. "You've drained me in more ways than one."

They half-staggered, half-danced their way up to their room, bumping into walls and stifling laughter like drunken youths. Astarion fumbled with the key, distracted by Gale's lips on his neck.

Finally, the door swung open. They tumbled inside, Astarion kicking it shut behind them. The wine bottle dropped forgotten to the floor as Gale pulled him close, their bodies pressing together with familiar hunger.

Astarion backed Gale toward the bed, his hands already working at the fastenings of the wizard's robes. They fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing, mouths seeking each other in the darkness.